Author: A Fish Named Karen

Real, Raw, Truth Seeker, Survivor, Writer, Healer, Intuitive, Beautifully Human. All pictures belong to A Fish Named Karen
resilient · responsibility

Like An Eagle

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I sensed the secret you carry. Blaming my physical unrest on food, the two drinks, my sunburn. Your frantic energy, palpable. The fox that showed up, running by making himself seen. Then the snake. Spirit commanding my attention by sending in the wild beasts. Illuminating that which lurks under beautiful smiles. I see it all. Like an Eagle.

The building tension you carry – feeling it in my own neck. Overwhelming. I can take on your energy, at will – as a way of knowing. Then, right before me slowly coming clearer, unfolding with certainty. With sadness. With accuracy. Suddenly I’m doing it. Putting together the clues of your broken childhood. Betrayal by betrayal. All of it.

I can sniff it out. This info comes with a high price – a sudden physical overwhelm, unease. As I realize the reason for your blankness, your habitual guarding, the distance you keep, your refusal to take part in activities, meals, refusal to leave the house, engage. It suddenly makes perfect sense. This protest. This fuck you.

When I witness your many refusals. Reluctance to greet your brother. Opting out of family “time”. The way your mother has to force you to acknowledge your brother. She physically assists you in hugging him. The nervous laughter. I knew. I knew. I could see all that is hidden. Under plastic smiles.

It hit me hard. So blatant. So powerful. This explains so much. I know things. I know shit people would never want me to know. Why do I know? What is the purpose dear God. Please tell me. Don’t be stupid, it’s obvious why I know. I was was this girl, I am this.

Can I actually help? Can I help? How can I? It’s actually torturous to be privy to such delicate, guarded info. I want to help. I want to give her the gift of validation. I want to blow this the fuck up. I want to slay the evil in the room. I want to save her sanity. Hide her in a warm safe place. Where her safety is paramount. But. My heart hurts so much right now.

But. I need to keep MY inner child safe. I need to protect HER. Put her first, reparent HER as this trigger swirls. I can do for her what was not done for me when I was young. I can keep myself centered and grounded and not swirl, also with the insanity of sexual abuse. I will never abandon my inner child to save someone else. THIS is the work. My work. Never jump in to save someone. Make every attempt from ground. From the shore. Have a plan. Process. Otherwise we are all lost in the deep darkness.

Do I say anything? Do I to hint that I know? I cannot expect that she will be receptive. She might deny. That’s not the point tho. She needs to know that whatever she says I will listen. Just open the door and get my healing foot in, or even a toe. Hell, a toenail.

God help me to use fox energy in my heart. Be stealthy, clever. Meet evil with light. It saddens me that she suffers in silence everyday. Everyone is dead around her. Everyone. I visualize ancient, petrified, headless bodies around me. No one to connect with, no one to feel, no one to love. Reach all you want. They’re unavailable. Dead. Tragically familiar. Having to partially die myself just to survive.

Guide me. Use me for her support -either physically or energetically. Please let me be there, as a comfort. As a confidante. The sounding board and voice of reason that I did not have. The safe one. The receptive heart. If she’ll let me in to her closely guarded, sensitive heart. If

My tears and grief are real, solid and visionary. Don’t mess with my fucking intuition. I see through. I see the real. I see your dark, that which you wish to hide. I see your shame. I see your self loathing. Your having to act out to have everyone leave you alone. Throw an emotional fit just to get someone to pay attention.

I know this. Some part of her wants me to see. Is willing. Needs this. Will I be met with that part or an imposter? No way to tell. How much will be receptive? How much will fight, run or collapse and be transparent? It’s frightening to be seen, really seen. Exposed. I got you.

No one knows I can see. No one. I am often met with denial. It’s natural/habitual. I know and sense too much. I have an enormous responsibility with this gift (jury still out on the “gift” term). Heavy burden in my hands being privy to such weighty information. I’d ask Spirit WHY, but the answer is ridiculously obvious. Enormous.

The sadness of the abused children. All shutting down differently. Deadening themselves. you can see the disconnect. The terror in the eyes. Can feel the crazy, swirling, frozen, ungrounded energy surrounding the family. Many kids, many families. Way too many.

We survivors can help. We can be what WE needed. And never could secure. It’s never too late to get what we came for. To give what we couldn’t get. It’s never too late to offer our wisdom, our hearts, our safety. Our love and understanding. It’s never too late. To go out on that branch, trusting it will hold you. Eagle medicine abounds.

words

Not For Nuthin

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When your opener is “Not for nuthin” fasten your seatbelt for some down n dirty. The segway to the land of misfit thoughts. The ones that don’t belong in our plastic, positive “be kind” -or else- society. The back alley, censored and tabled for just a moment like this.

Not for nuthin proceeds personal truths too racy for public display. The dirt, the OMG, the bedazzling. The real, caged in the back alleys of the mind. These patient opinions wait for release. Purging aliveness and authenticity. Selfish? Sure, refreshing? Absolutely.

So, not for nuthin…

Transformation

Gifts of Silence

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Ever listen to the leaves unfurl? Lying here it’s about all I can do. A lot in common these leaves and I. Hanging out in the present moment observing, listening, waiting. The slow angelic pitch, I imagine violin string elegant. Starting low and slow and opening as the pitch rises in question and wonder. Just barely audible as I sit in natures classroom. On nature’s furniture.

Announcing, loudly,. Claiming their assigned seasonal seat. Each an expression of individuality greener and greener still. Resilience and ready mixing with the promise of the Summer’s heat. Assuming the role of caregiver for the entire tree. Providing shade for all who seek. The face of the company ready to stand tall and accept storms, adversity and insect nibbles.

Oh the silence. Silence that holds colors, movement and nature’s agenda. All timely. Full of patience and promise. The silence that speaks so loudly one cannot possibly ignore. Like outstretched palms. These unfurling leaves. We can place our angst and suck -onto their plentiful surfaces. Nature never judges. Never scoffs. Just transforms.

May Break My Bones
healing

May Break My Bones

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Oh the bone pain, the freak out of incapacity. Having to rely on those with fake compassion. Bedside medical procedures without warning or explanation. I was frozen. Frightened. Wise and alone. Surrounded with smiling haters. Reliant on the living dead.

I was 19. With an undeniable thirst for victory. Mixed with a contempt for my own existence. Which would rise to the top, only time would tell. Armed with a deafening fuck you, a hardened shell ready to battle for my life. Stupid familiar territory. To show you that despite your impenetrable cold, I am victorious.

You broke me, now I’m am physically broken. This too, again, also, will break me down, this too, will devastate me. Defeat me. Because it has to. Because that’s what I’m here for. I signed the contract. To get me to do the inner work. This is the way it works. Bring it.

But. It will not. Own me. Extinguish my breath. Keep me down. Physical limitation fucking irrelevant to the drive inside. Just another mountain, jagged, inhumane, punishing, here to slay any signs of life. A life that is present but absent, just like yours.

But I don’t, won’t, can’t see it. Just like you. My life force stronger than the weight of tragedy then or now. Stronger than the weight of you. Inevitable. Predictable. But something needed to crack me open. Something.

So pregnant with dysfunction. It was time. On the brink of oozing the generational secrets. From a higher place, the universe spoke. A tragic accident, the undeniable catalyst for awakening. Spiritual awakening like a tsunami. Like someone left the truth dam open. Higher forces prodding the reluctant, like me, to visit with the emotional trauma beast within. Behind the dimples and unassuming sweet teenage smile…

Wild beasts of recovery and revenge running amuck. Their stories unearthed, audible. However difficult, we digest or reject. Each painful. Each useful. Over time we choke out the dark, discarding the lies and betrayal and other nasty reminders of remnants on evictions doorstep.

Thankfully the flight of graceful, here. The angelic realm poised to embrace my broken, trembling body, providing a safe haven in a sea of lost. Where it’s free to NOT be ok. Freedom to feel even the darkest of feels. Freedom to express the rage and terror, shame and shock. Openly.

Physical recovery parallels emotional. The unlikely victor I’ve met in me. Snatching back what was mine. Taking back strength, power and unearthing buried resiliency. Bones and emotional strength unbreakable, unstoppable, opaque, dense, unyielding. Like a bone that mends with fortification – now protected, safe and dependable – like no other bone. Unable to return to its previous condition. Maybe even stronger.

I’ve forever severed my dependency on the unstable and instead focused my reliance on my own inner wisdom. My own fortress of sanity, house of rock, walls of protection. Brokenness calls for attention to our unfinished places. So we may live our best versions of ourselves. Our most authentic lives. Without apology. We survive. And thrive.

heart

Oh My Heart

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

On a walk today I was called to sit on an ornate stone bench and just be with these lovelies. Bleeding Hearts they’re called. How perfect for these times. We can allow our frustration a voice. Tears, ranting, writing. Dripping, leaking or gushing from our being. Allow your heart to bleed when it needs to.

Manifest

Oh Rain

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rain blessed rose

Rain gifts us an invitation to heal through our senses. Our shoulders, held high with unresolved fears. Drop a little lower. We imagine the raindrops as a shower of peace and tranquility. A watery embrace from another world. Enveloping our physicality.

The smell of rain conjures up feelings of a warm summer day when time seems to stand still. We soak in the suns presence through thirsty skin. Rain tastes like fresh ideas, rich with aliveness and hope, breathing in. Taking in all of life’s’ raingivings, we are brand new.

We may see the rain but do we really SEE the rain? Each drop, intentions pure, life giving gold. Falling with anonymity, for the greater good. The collective wet, gathering en mass. On the sidewalk, in a pond, on our body. Every liquid pearl connecting, melding, with selfless surrender. An invitation offered, to the present party. The Here and Wow.

We hear rain as a familiar tune. “All is well” hymn beckoning us to listen, intoxication inevitable. Steady rhythm, in likeness of Earths heartbeat. Tamping out all the wrong, the intrusive, disturbing buzz of life. We sit. We listen. We open to greatness only rain can stir.

If only…..when it rains.

inner work

Deep-Rest

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The deep sadness that comes in. I let it in because I know it needs to be met. Seen. Heard. Somehow it feels familiar like a stranger that I keep meeting up with. I don’t want to know this part of me. I’d rather believe everything was fun and alive and innocent. Back then.

But no. This is real. Real deep. Real helpless. The horrible despair. Grasping to live. To feel. To be someone else. Have someone else’s childhood. Where are my memories? Did I have fun here? I think as I sit in my car overlooking a fav ice skating place. Did I enjoy it? Was I numb? An empty smile, laugh. What did I like?What was I like? Just an empty vessel filled with others thoughts and wishes?

Did I express my confusion? Did I cry myself to sleep? Why so few memories? Feels like 18 years condensed into 2-3. Was I even conscious? What’s in there? Who’s in there? The code was one of silence. I never expressed anxiety, terror, depression, frustration, rage – did I even know I felt those? Could I even feel? now I do, now I feel – overwhelmingly so.

The mind fuck, staggering. Did they purposefully place the dead inside me? To make sure I was so hollow? Not quite sure…maybe they were dead too. Definitely. I was absolutely raised by the dead. Nobody’s gotten out intact. No-one. But rather than be ok with that or find comfort with company – there’s none. They have their own BS meters. Mine is ultra sensitive. My soul wants better for me. I won’t continue to be bathed in untruths and stories of how wonderful childhood was.

Every once in a while I hit bottom. The lowest of raw emotion. Like all of my childhood experiences run up to me at once, begging to be rescued, clutching and clawing to be seen and heard. The least I can do for my inner girl now is to be present and let the unsettling memories and emotions have me now.

It was that bad. It was hopeless. Instead of wiping myself out I wiped out any expression of what as going on. I had no tools or support to process what was happening at the hands of those who were supposed to keep me safe. Victim? Absolutely. Staying that way? Absolutely not. I’m raising MYSELF from the dead.

I’ve turned the tables. My life now unrecognizable from what it was. But still, the past has a way of bringing us the next piece, when we’re ready to deal. I must be ready for the deep despair, the gut wrenching loneliness, the what’s the use of going on – type of heavy thoughts that fuel my desire to take the day off and brace for the all of emotion.

So I take the day to rest. Deep-rest or depressed, however I say it, I am surrendering my armor. Surrendering. My fake smile. My escape hatch and eject button. I stand up, stand tall and withstand the unwanted-est emotion, the triggered memories, the bullshit life in poverty and love lack. I just rest.

Deserving

Aliveness is never Cancelled

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

Hopefully we realize

before regret grows us old

that we’re crafting

our own existence

not to be consumed

with impressing the others

with shiny somethings

or silencing our soul’s whisper

with cunning substance

for status and financial gain

as none of us are

getting out of here alive

although I believe

in life after death

much work is required

to be alive before death

to the greatest extent possible

let’s together realize

the simplest existence

an appreciation for things

without a price tag

Nature, feelings, memories,

love, touch, taste, smell, sound

shall we be #1

in no other area

than our own well being 💜

appreciation

In Love #20

A Fish Named KarenLeave a comment

I’m in love with sleepy smiles. Gently spreading east and west. Following a long night’s rest. Transforming the expressionless. An open invitation to hang out deep as shoulders sag. Head tilt welcoming each moment without expectation.

The glistening morning sun sweeping across my tired face, caressing my smile with golden warmth. I lie still basking, breathing, planning. Nothing. Existing fully in my expression. Of pleasantry, of nothingness, in the space between thoughts.

The gentle childlike energy swirling amidst my unassuming grin. Keeping me whole. Wanting me present. Between my lips, gracefully ushering in the newest, sweetest oxygen. To be ushered out in turn, discarded purposefully. Taking with it, everything challenging the grandest of facial postures.

I love sleepy smiles.