These precious two stayed with me for 45 mins crabbing. They were so sweet. Owen and Shilo. I love children. They were great to be with. She was begging me to let her go swimming š³. I needed to talk her out of jumping into the muddy creek, especially so when I found out she does not know how to swim š³. A family member finally showed up, asked me my name, let them know that I was in charge of watching them now š³ I wanted to be angry about that AND for the way that adult presented (super drunk) but I consciously chose, instead, to just simply BE with these kids because obviously they need safety. Imagine being handed over to a complete stranger? OMG They so craved attention and someone who was present and available. Owen wanted to talk me out of my crabbing net, hook, bait, bucket and honestly, I almost fell for it – his eyes were so full of joy š„° I wanted to give them EVERYTHING. I wanted to steal them and take them home to love foreverā¦but instead I shared a nice afternoon with them by a muddy creek, catching crabs and talking about nature. You should have seen how proud they were to catch them all by themselves. Taking turns with the net and string. Justin and Olivia and their dad joined us too. And the two newcomers took their turns with the net and string. Of course we threw all of the 16 back after observing them a bit in the bucket. They were green crabs and way too small.
Every once and a while we are reminded that our calm presence just might be a magnet, a gift for those in need.
We are all exactly where we are supposed to be at any given moment.
We can be there for strangers yet not feel pulled out of ourselves (overextended).
We can remain in our center (not triggered) despite others trauma energy.
Material things are fine but what we all really need is connection.
We can be powerful in the lives of others simply by being ourselves.
Lastly, that having no plan, no agenda, no control over a situation makes you available for rich, spontaneous, meaningful interaction.
Maybe more adventures with these two this week. One things for sure, they need š + ā¤ļø
I told her that she could hold the net as long as she went and put her swimmies (arm floats) on creek is at least 6 ft deep right here.
Iām in love with morning mist. Slipping around unnoticed like a forgotten shoe on the side of the highway. The moisty moist, seeping through obstacles on its path. Unexpectedly, life succumbs to the commanding curtain. As we awaken to the new day, thereās a breach in the outer bands of body aura.
The awareness of the wet, the cling, the intimacy of cool arriving suddenly. Silently. Allowing. Every Season with itās own version.
Winterās mist freezes. Preserving perfect ice spheres on each blade of grass, every dry remnant of expired flowers, berries. Frist, itās called, glittering and shimmering giving note to shapes and shadows. Naturesā icy fingers dripping, building new layers. The invisible becoming visible each air droplet pregnant with moisture. Each finding itās resting place on the earth.
Spring mist brings with it hope and cleanse. Working itās way into our lungs. Cleaning and clearing the lung cobwebs of Winter stagnation.
Summerās mist with its mysterious, muted splendor, loudly claims its plot. Arriving at the tree tops and descending heavily upon the vegetation. The greens greener the browns earthier.
Autumnās mist that hovers low as the tallest wheat stalk, gives an unexpected hug. The breath of the soul cut short. A slow n steady exhale hijacked by a disowned gasp.
The mists of Autumn. Outlining landscapes of past splendor, once showcasing lush bounty. Rich orange, red, gold, pink foliage now encased in humid, hanging, pregnant air. The foggy veil moves erringly hand picking, encasing each dead and crunchy. Breathing life into the lifeless. Fungus rising to the mist, faces turned upward toward the sky awaiting the gift of moist.
Iām in love with snowy silence. White wrapped muffled fuzzies or is it fuffled muzzies? Either will do on such an occasion as this. Blankets of frozen warming me with fond memories. Memories of younger days. Much younger days after the storm. The sky purging all its discards. Heavy, thick, frozen air pausing life. Muting color. Halting movement. Muffling audio. Witnessing the world losing its voice.
Ready. Standing outside. My puffy fluffer snowsuit, 2 sizes too large, insulating me from the harshness. Rosy cheeks, hand-me-down winter boots and 10 cent knitted church bazaar hat. Ready for all of it. The silence deafening. I breathe in the crisp, freshness. I barely notice my chest making small movements under the layers.
My little person body filling, cleansing and clearing. But I know it always does. Without efforting or worry or pressure. It just happens. The freshness streaming to my lungs. Filling them with silence. The stillness then warmed and released to find its way out unobstructed. Completely.
Motionless on the deserted and speechless sidewalk. I wait. And listen. For nothing and everything. Sounds of silence disturbing and delighting me. The emptiness got me full. A snowblower in the distance. Scrape of a metal shovel. All is lost. All is found. All is well. I stand, frozen, listening for nothing. I hear it. The silence. The snowy silence.
As a Lotus, I rise from the muddy waters. Anyway. Pic belongs to afishnamedkaren
The things I needed to hear. To feel real, validated and seen. Human. When I was not wanting to live, I could have used some reality. But letās be honest. Seriously, youāve buried everything. What youāve done mummified, locked away. Of course, in the likeness of what was done to you. Someone ruined your lives so you then turned that on me. The damage you three have done. Shattering any chance of normalcy. For me. History repeated, when no one was looking. Default, complacency, asleep.
But still, there are all the things you never said. All the things I was starving to hear. All the things that might have changed my sad life, allowing me to feel instead of just surviving. To thaw my frozennessā¦
Imagine hearing – Iām sorry you hate your body, we did that. Iām sorry you need hyper vigilance just to feel safe, we did that, we never let you rest. Iām sorry you feel transparent, like everyone knows what youāre thinking, we needed to keep you feeling exposed. We apologize for pressuring you, never letting you rest- for if you rested you might have gathered courage and strength to outsmart us or tell others what we were doing. Weāre sorry you fear assault will come any moment. Keeping you fearful kept you compliant. Weāre sorry you cringe when you hear whispers in the night, we didnāt want to wake anyone. Weāre sorry we ruined everything for you and arenāt sorry about it. Weāre sorry we treated you like you were nothing, insignificant and insane when you confronted us. We couldnāt let others see our crazy. We still canāt see it ourselves.
All these things youāve never said, running through my head, running through my head, running through my head. But itās all ok. I say them. I tell that precious little girl inside me, who is growing up now because Iām in charge. I apologize to her for you, despite you, in defiance of you and for the love of me. All the ways I love myself. All of the love that I am, that I have to give. Anyways.
You never destroyed me. Never took it all. All along, I had the golden goose. My army was just waitingā¦My Spirit watched from afar as I soaked up all your bullshit wrapped in a pretty package of care and family. While I lived as a shadow, on the periphery of even my own life. While I tried to not exist at the age of 7. While I would hardly speak and just watched others most of my younger years. While I would never bring anyone over to my house because it was evil but everyone was smiling – you(s) and I could never have known the slow burning fuse had been lit.
I was meant for greater than I could ever have imagined. I am this. A private joke that keeps delivering. A smile so deep into my core itās engraved into my soul. The smug smile of knowingness. I am that. Of overcoming. Of pity for you tinged with a hint of compassion – yes I said compassion- for your (still) inner turmoil and lack of awareness.
I have walked. Far. Never to return to you. For you are invisible. Because you could never say that youāve tried to destroy me. That you wanted to destroy me. Because you were destroyed by your abusers. Youāve never been honest. You all canāt be. I understand. I understand everything now. Thats why Iām so powerful. So powerful.
Recently digging through an old box of school memories. So many surprises. Surprises? Well yes I lived my elementary and middle and high school days but was shocked to see some things stored in the plastic bin. Perfect attendance middle school – what? Why? I canāt make it a month now without taking a day off. I guess going to school was way better than spending the day at home with my crazy mother. Even a Math test looked good.
Then thereās all the awards. First place in this and that. I mean Jesus Christ even a gold medal finish in the 880 race. No memory of winning. At all. Looking at the blue ribbon, no memories, no feel good, no pride. Back then, and Iām guessing, the win prob felt good for like 5 mins then I quickly buried it under all the heaviness of the time. Winning or being perfect was like oh well, check it off the list. It was empty, dead, devoid of feeling or celebration. Too much light/aliveness was always extinguished.
My parents sorta expected that we were fabulous but there was no recognition for it. We quickly had to snuff out and semblance of joy and feelings of pride. Itās like having everyone cheering for you and you look down and everyoneās gone and your stuck feeling stupid and ridiculous with a smile on your face for absolutely nothing.
So do your best, I was told. Excel and win everything so you make us look like good parents – was the idea. But donāt you dare actually OWN or HOLD the joy or excitement or light for too long because then youād be full of yourself. And full of light. And we canāt let you have that either because that pushes on our wounds of inadequacy. And we canāt have you running around all fabulous, bragging and knowing your worth and actually feeling special. Lord knows you wonāt belong in this family.
All the while, everyday you told me I was a special girl and so loved. Praise, encouragement- All lies, all empty. All the time. No safety. No validation or recognition. No where to land. Thatās all I knew. I learned so well. Was handed the self hate/dumbed-down baton and ran with it. I ran hard and fast. I was the best. Of course I was, I had no choice. Your presence no longer required for the massacre of good in me. Bloody massacre. I gotchu. I got this. Iām a good, obedient child. Fuck
Now estranged from the original executioner, Iāve noticed ancient strands still in my fabric. Threads of fear. Fear of being seen succeeding, not belonging and pressure to be, have and do the best. All self imposed. My material unraveling now. Dry rotting. As I starve those parts, silence the outdated voices -by noticing how I dim my own glorious light.
Wake up with that catastrophic feeling. The exhale feels too deep, too dangerous to surrender to. I may not be able to take anything in if I let go and give everything away on a breath. Inhalation shallow as to not take anything in -too deeply- or permanently.
This one feeling as I wake ā Canāt believe I have to keep doing this.. -doing what? (I question the feeling) Keep living? So elusive and slipperyā¦Where TF does this feeling come from? And before I totally freak and want to run far away from this feeling, I remember, itās JUST a feeling.
An ancient feeling. Like something Iāve been battling against for lifetimes. Past lives. The impending doom, someone coming to the village to burn it down, to capture me and throw me in a dark cell with rodents, feed me to the wild beasts, tie me to 2 horses who run in opposite directions, publicly hang me because of my wisdom, medicine, practices and beliefs. Feels so real and connected to pure DREAD.
It hits most often when Iām riding high, in a particularly good place, feeling assured that I āgotā this life thing and it doesnāt GOT me. When I have the upper hand on living. Feeling bulletproof. Dread wants me to know otherwise, steal my joy and aliveness.
There is recognition. I am positive I deeply know this place well. Like the bottom of a dark sticky pocketbook š¤¢ The empty, cold, sharp walls of a hopeless existence. Dread thrusts me onto the edge, teetering over the vast cauldron of self hate and disgust for living well and being SEEN living well. It attempts to talk me into despising everything including myself.
The dread is borne from wanting to extinguish my own life. Bourne of overwhelm at the thought of continuing to carry a burden and secret much too heavy for my petite frame ā just a whisp of a human, exactly what they wanted for me- to wipe myself out. Ending my own lifeā¦.yes, the icing on the cake, the bow on the package.
Another life ruined, how smug their expressions. Fuckers. Hoping and praying I would trip n fall and impale myself on the cross I carry. This dread, as an abuse survivor, is etched into my fabric. Bathed in dread every day ā I was an adorable, absorbent little sponge. Maturing, I could be loyal to their dark foundation they so carefully poured into my frame OR I could boldly refuse to be the load bearing wall of their house of horrors.
As I choose to no longer carry the weight of all that has transpired, I have something for ya- a big Fuck You with your name on it. Iām stepping out from under the weight, Iām done. I didnāt perish, I wasnāt silenced, I donāt hate myself like you did, I didnāt repeat what you did to me, I didnāt act my rage out on others. No, I didnāt. I chose a much different path. The path of revenge.
Sweet, delicious revenge. By telling the truth, by being fabulous anyways, by cutting the cords, hooks, chains – of your essence ā away and off of me. To shred the dread you branded me with and vomit it back all over you. Free. Free to be who I came here to be. Without interference. Without permission. Zero Apologies.
Resurfacing of dread, 42 years later has a way of reminding me of all the ways I am glad to be free of you and your sad lives. Freedom is sweet. The independence amazing. The ease of life, gorgeous. Knowing I turned ā and continue to turn dread into celebration? Amaze balls outstanding.
You are not your dread. It was given to you. You came by it honestly. It is not the truth of who you are. It may try to rent space in your life. Dread is full of lies to keep you playing small in a promising life. Someone may have thought your light, your powerful energy, needed to be snuffed out. You may have been a threat to someoneās power, as your light was blinding them. Take back your light, your magnificence, your power. Donāt just exist. This is what thriving looks like. This.
Today I am so thankful to lead a normal life. Making mistakes and laughing to others about it. Knowing itās ok to be an unmade bed in a sea of āseeminglyā perfect beds. Itās ok. Not perfect. I have gratitude for my awareness ofā¦Shitās def gunna happen, sometimes all in one day. Sometimes all in 30 minutes. Iāll be fine. Iāll fix it, or maybe it doesnāt need fixing. Maybe Iāll have gratitude for Spirit orchestrating things just the way life SHOULD unfoldā¦
I feel gratitude for the folks on my path. Teaching me more about myself and how to BE in the world. I know most people I meet are caring and supportive and generous souls. I feel thankful that I can be real and messy and quirky and forgetful and have that be ok.
If these are the only issues today – it was a damn fine day. I feel thankful that I can dig deep and muster GRATITUDE even when life feels like a dirty trick. Even when it feels like someone might be filming me with a hidden camera. Even when everything I touch turns to shit. Even when. Gratitude lives here. Everyday.
Who are you really? What makes you tick? Not what do you do for a living. Not who are you in relationship to others…(mother, son, sister, brother, wife, grandpa, etc.). I was asked to describe who I am. After much thought about why I think I’m in existence, I came up with this description.
I am love. I am light. I am truth, real and raw. Both colorful and dark. I am synchronous with growth, death, rebirth following the cycles of nature. I am my own best friend, confidante and lover. I am sensual, funny and deep. I am a beautiful mix of human and spirit. Light and heavy. An unchanged core of varying human experience, I am a beautiful mess.
When you werenāt looking I was having fun. When you werenāt looking I made friends. When you werenāt looking I got all Aās and Bās. When you werenāt looking I got trophies and ribbons. Praise and encouragement from teachers and strangers. When you werenāt looking I followed all the rules.
When you werenāt looking I was unraveling. When you werenāt looking I was starving myself. When you werenāt looking I kept our family secrets. When you werenāt looking I hated you. When you werenāt looking I was planning to die. When you werenāt looking I felt isolated and weird. When you werenāt looking I wished it was you who died. When you werenāt looking I could feel crazy.
When you were looking I told you I loved you. I keep our family secrets. When you were looking I followed your fucked up rules. When you were looking I believed all your fabrications about people and the way life worked. When you were looking I believed the beautiful, sweet story of our tragic, broken family. When you were looking I was the perfect daughter. When you were looking I silenced the truth I felt so I wouldnāt upset you. I silenced who I was because I always felt defeated. When you were looking I made it seem like I had a sane Mom.
Your looking, an uncomfortable look of ownership, dangerous caged rage. Those eyes tho, burned a hole in my soul. A hole so deep, my lifetimes fell in, waiting to be rescued. But you were still looking so theyād have to wait. Because when you were looking, it wasnāt safe for me to own anything. It would be taken. Any semblance of aliveness was forfeited. No choice at all, the need for food, shelter and love was ever present. When you looked, I surrendered it all, smiling. Set on fine China, dainty flowered setting that hid the tears. Because when you were looking, appearance was Queen.
When I was looking, the color turned to death. I could flirt with pink and green and orange and red but only for a minute and it surely would be detected and devoured. This fed the hungry beast inside you. When no-one was looking. It slithered, smiling, through the caverns of our existence. Spreading itās brown paralyzing slime onto our child lives. Twisting n turning so we never could sense direction. When no one was looking. Your inner beast ran through our home salivating, relentlessly stalking. This was not a safe existence for children, when no one was looking.
Intolerable and exhausting. Swimming upstream from birth. We surrendered, we yielded to crazy, to the killing of our innocence, our right to be free, to live unburdened. There really was no choice. We handed it over because weāre just children. We craved belonging, safety, love, softness, easy breath, dreams. Sacrificing our well being over and over. The darkness victorious, stamping out our light, our dreams, our drive. When no-one was looking.
Mission accomplished. Torched souls, we assist you in drawing the shades of life, a smiling mask donned in public, living āas ifā so as not to raise any suspicions about our fucked little lives. All this darkness placed inside, the saccharine sweet lies conflicting with and twisting our fight for sanity, lucidity, transparency, space.
All this ālookingā but no seeing. Your eyes glued shut Mom. You didnāt really have to āseeāyour food to be able to eat it, now did you? You could smell the life force, the need to be stripped of our aliveness, our need to be silenced and gutted. Sensed like an animal in the night. Just to feed your emptiness. She fed from and possessed our every emotion, when no one was looking. She took everything. Our joy, our anger, pain and peace. And handed us back blankness, autopilot, apprehension, lack of self trust, hate and suspicion of others. Insanity. We learned so many things about darkness and dancing with crazy.
Iāve transformed, Mother. And what a trick this MOTHER word! Iāve stripped your ugly from my existence. No longer a subscriber. I was the one who escaped, by some small miracle, I made it. My Spirit rose up to assist me. I was made for greater things. Without your sad influence. Without you looking, Iāve dug and scraped and washed and scoured you from my loins. 30 years is a long time to live, surrendering oneās essence, in service to another. āOut of serviceā an outstanding book title I foresee in my future. Although, āwhen you werenāt lookingā could work, too. My mind is free. Free to roam without restriction, censor or proper.
Thank you Mom for leading me to the edge and shoving me off. Body sinking to guaranteed demise, my Higher Self was there to catch my fall. The Human Spirit is a powerful force that can lift you up and beyond what you thought was possible. Listen to the call, take the difficult challenge of putting yourself first, staying the course and rising from the asses.
It would be great to start every day with a fire ceremony. In nature. Crows, hawks, squirrels chasing, leaves rustling, cardinals chirping. Discarding old patterns, thoughts, beliefs into the flames like dried, crunchy leaves looking for transformation, new life, different form. This morning I place in the fire, a long held belief that no longer serves me. The flames destroying its hold on my voice and placing my (today) intention on a sense of peace and aliveness around having my truth be enough. I am enough š
It would be great to start every day with a fire ceremony. In nature. Crows, hawks, squirrels chasing, leaves rustling, cardinals chirping. Discarding old patterns, thoughts, beliefs into the flames like dried, crunchy leaves looking for transformation, new life, different form. This morning I place in the fire, a long held belief that no longer serves me. The flames destroying its hold on my voice and placing my (today) intention on a sense of peace and aliveness around having my truth be enough. I am enough š
Iām in love with the smell of October rain. Arriving upon a cool, warm, wet, chilly breeze. Coating crunchy leaves and crispy flowers. Gathering dusty, dried earth for a communal autumn hug. The rain slowly arrives, moving in on the quiet. Settling into its resting place, lukewarm and lovely.
Making up for Summer drought, it falls. And falls. Smelling like forest floor. Like rich brown soil. Like the underpinnings of fabulousness with a side of mushroom spores and pine bedding undertones. Resurfacing the foundation of new life. Possibilities. Rich mineral magnificence.
The fragrance of possibility. Of spent corn stalks, cold harvest moon mist and pumpkin spice. In the air, previews of icy rains and solid precipitation. The falling away of what is no longer needed. That which weighs us down. Rain showering off the unwanteds, the old, the haggard, tired. The dead crunchies in our lives.
Washed into tomorrow on an endless cycle. Each rain flushing our discarded patterns. The old, worn out becoming new again. Replaced, reset, realigned by fresh new growth. Breathing in a little slower today to fill my empty spaces with the smell of rain in October.
This week I met a child. No ordinary child, you see, she was extraordinary. What made her extraordinary you wonder? Well, really nothing and everything. She, unknowingly, touched some of my unhealed shadow. She was able to stir up some of my long held, restricted, outdated beliefsā¦her presence so magical, playful and open hearted.
So rooted in the moment, she held my hand and started to dance, spinning around, motioning for me to dance with her. In a public place. We danced and twirled. I complimented her āpurseā as I referred to it. She quickly, confidently corrected me, āMy satchelā. āOh!ā I said, amused, āOf course, how silly of meā. She added, āDo you like my dress?ā I replied, āYes, itās amazing, the flowers are so pretty.ā She is usually adorned with the most fun, colorful, feminine, alive dresses and proudly displays them where ever life takes her.
Everyday for this child seems exciting, like itās her first and last day on this earth – all rolled into one. Excited as hell to be here, experiencing, tasting, feeling, making the most out of each social encounter, showing up as is, beautiful. Simple, no complications. A gift to everyone around her.
Where has OUR sense of honor – for our own existence – gone? Did we grow out of it? Was it shamed out of us a long time ago? Hers is alive and well, on display for all to see. No apologies, no minimizing, she is fabulous and itās palpable. Why do we save our ā āspecial items/clothes/shoes/perfume/jewelry/colorful accessoriesā – for an event that seems worthy? WE are worthy – WE ARE THE EVENT. We ARE what weāve been waiting for.
Even in the most mundane days/tasks the raw material for fun, joy and connection is waiting for us to notice. I share the experience here, with this extraordinary child because she truly is āspecialā. In a society where the highest academic achievement is still king – I find it to be a bit shameful that infectious joy, compassion, aliveness, presence, spontaneity and heart are not as prized as report card marks. I became the student this week. She, just living in the light, is a natural teacher.
I feel a little piece of myself in everyone I know, everyone I meet. We are all a mixture of light n dark. A fine recipe of delicious complexity. I am joyful and depressed, Iām hateful, I am optimistic, Iām a killer, Iām jealous, Iām content and curious, wild, responsible, disengaged, entitled, invisible, enraged, tired, discouraged, complacent, magnificent. Big breath inā¦.. real, lost, embarrassed, hopeful, dreamy, open, humiliated, passive, judgmental, honest weird, eccentric, lonely, pissed, accepting, blank, spiteful, alive, proud, blessed, dismissive and aggressive.
If weāre honest, several of these are living within us. Sure the positive traits/experiences are easy to embrace and recognize. The darker, shameful, maybe even shocking tendencies we def try to conceal, deny, excise. They need love and compassion too. Theyāre looking for recognition and expression. To be lovingly surrounded with safety, protection and containment.
You fought, you pleaded with me to shut up. Oh I wouldn’t shut it. Not for a hot second. You created this mess. All of you. Perpetuated it by keeping the lid on, simmering, bubbling. Me poised to explode. Abuse years, haunting memories, flashbacks and dirty tricks making their way to the surface. Into the now. My mouth too small of a space for this hot garbage baggage to escape. It came through my pores, my guts, out of my eyes. Violently it breached the walls I had erected to keep the silence with you. For you. About you.
I wanted to save you. All 5 of my sisters. I would physically carry you if I could. Come with, I begged. I tried to wake you, slap that cool-aide pitcher out of your hand. Jesus Christ. You were abused too, I saw them, I saw you. How dare you deny this? It wasnāt your fault. It was just the way it was. Generational. My best efforts to save others were received like āattacks, attempts to ruin the family or make problemsā.
Even in my dreams, I was unsuccessful. You were frozen. I would escape, door left open, and no-one followed. You stayed. I pleaded. I escaped. You dug in harder. How I wanted to remove the dark cloth from your eyes. Rip and tear and claw until you saw. Scream like the wounded animal that I was…until you connected – with something. With reality.
Torturous to want something sooo out of my control. Yet, I kept on. Pain and anguish were frequent dinner guests. A plate and seat were saved. I wanted someone to board the reality bus. Empty bus then, empty now. Oh, how delicious it would have been to have someone stand beside me. To honor OUR truth, OUR breaking up with dysfunction, OUR naming the insidious virus. Divorcing the dead from our life.
As children, our leader wanted us distracted. Our perfect saccharine sweet smiles. Pretty pin curls and dresses. Manners and obedience and black paten leather. Exceptional family. Got us so much outside attention. Stroked her gross ego. Believable. The world believed the picture. We were not allowed to question. blindly pleasing, serving. Resistance just a dream. Beautiful little liars, all of us.
Remembering all of this. Remembering all of the ways we had to leave ourselves. All of what we were forced to give up in order to belong, to have somewhere to live, food and some semblance of safety….
I walked away. Cutting the frayed cords, split ends. I was tired of hemorrhaging on those who drank my blood out of both sides of their mouth. I decided my life was worth saving, worth better. Donned with the ole oxygen mask, I stepped new steps out into the world. Lonely, edgy steps. Only taking small sips of life at first, barely looking back at the owned, the victims, perpetrators, the voiceless.
I actually did you a favor. Free from the reminders that my face brings. Free from the sting of my authenticity. Free to believe the beautifully creative fairytale you tell of your past. The fabricated loveliness of the overcrowded vacant house we were raised in.
I am no longer the one who ruined this amazing family unit. I am no longer the lost sheep. I am no longer cause of chaos and making poor, defenseless mother sad. Gag. I am no longer trying to pry you from your completely functional, well adjusted existence. I have no desire to wake you. You are completely correct, my energy, my desire to transform and re-parent, and evolve, and open my heart, and see and hear and feel – that is all for ME. I wonāt waste any of that on you. My bad.
As a courtesy, I will leave you alone. You all function way better in a slumber. No matter how delicious, I will not remind you of the atrocities. We can leave them where youāve buried them. How dare I devote any portion of my life and love to those who think Iām trying to ruin theirs? I will even tuck you in with soft, fuzzy blankets. Sleep well. Sleep well.
Iām in love with deep breaths. The boundless kind refilling my sails. Conscious sips of love welcomed into my chest scape. Dismantling an anxious foundation fortified with last weeks sludge. Thought by thought, I see them to the door. Some reluctant, but soon completely evicted from this wisdom pipeline of the soul.
Conscious or unconscious. I breathe. Resetting the tick, time, tock. Slicing up deadlines and have-toās. Making manageable the most tangled armor. This luscious, quenching air filling the deep crevices between uptight and spacious. Grounding the body right here, right new
The holy rolling of chest. Breath enters and exits on two lane highway traveling South. Drawing in fuel, to our receptive muscles. Once again, saying yes to life. Then the exit North. The release of rib cage tension allowing drainage of all that is not serving us. All that has expired within us. Each cycle bringing us closer to ourselves.
In an endless cycle of fresh. An endless cycle of Peace. An endless cycle of Presence. Iām in love with deep breaths.
Iām in love with loud purring. Body shaking and telling of fondness for life. A soft, rhythmic blanket of furry love. Unscheduled pleasure. Rising and falling, sleeping and waking. Our eyes closed tightly, savoring the tune. Your whispers of fuzzy somethings at the foot of the bed.
The 3am motor, my favorite engine sound. Sheets ripple, erupt with fluttering plaid flannel. Sleepy pats offered. Met with nudges, of the predictable kind, to carry-on. Purring the kind of purr that becomes more audible with a rub.
This is where sensory joy lives. Comfortably. Amidst the pitter-patter of sounds from this warm furry throat. No troubles in this moment. Or this one. Or this one. I lay my heavy head on your fat, warm belly. Your kitty pillow accepts my forehead. Riding with the gift.
My ear bathed, absorbing the peaceful concert. Feeding my needy inner child soul with fizzy sound waves. Soothing even the most silent of frazzles. Within.
May we walk unfazed through lifeās invisible fence. You know the fence. The fence of – you should know better. The fence of – playing small. The get it right the first time – fence. And lest we forget, the fence of… I donāt belong. The cage that minds our business. The trap that has us playing small, dimming our own light, asking for approval and chasing validation under someone’s spell.
Head up, passing through. Anyway. Follow me if you wish but I cannot hear you. My ears dammed and scarred from absorbing your lies. Your fence reaching beyond our visual fields. Innervating even at the corners of my psyche. Interference, blocking everything grand, conceptualized or spoken. You penned it, dammed it. Kept it contained. All my free, wild and imaginative snuffed before coming to fruition.
Only now can I freely roam, untethered, cord severed. Free to discover in my own head space. None of my freedom sacrificed to your cause. My original medicine, realized. My -who I came here to be, paying no mind to your disgust, contempt, salivation or wanting to devour me. My body expanding, unfurling. Without you.
Never serving you again. This is what revenge looks like. I have exsized you from my loins. My energy system. My property. No longer free to take from me. No more toying with my power or grooming me to serve you. Where there was ownership there is disconnect. I unplugged you from my energy. You can no longer charge your system by draining my life force battery.
I am a true warrior, I sincerely thank you for this. My Spirit drove me to be more, separate from you, don’t look back and put myself first. Everything you never wanted for me. Well, you’ve got 7 others. You won’t miss me much as you continue to decimate their lives with your disgusting, hungry energy.
Continue to search for me if you wish. Iām not hiding. Iām boldly dismantling fences.
A Fish Named Karen 