Month: November 2021

I’ve wanted to inspire others to come out of their shells and embrace the creative beauty waiting to emerge from inside them.

I’ve wanted to represent a vision that anyone can overcome difficulties if they believe in their heart they’ve the right to challenge them.

I’ve wanted to have my life’s choices show how far I’ve come – the ground gained and pride won, even though I’m still struggling.

I’m learning that maybe “conflict” might happen every day, and that I don’t have to associate it with thoughts like “it shouldn’t.”

Self analysis is productive, but self criticism is destructive.

Giving our efforts another chance to succeed, no matter perceived prior “failures,” is what keeps us adapting and overcoming.

Modesty, while being valiant, remains key.

I could feel that it was tragic I was marrying him, but Spirit sent rain and a rainbow on the day. And somehow. It felt right to do it.

The rain gave a chance for my mother to lend kindness and inclusiveness by letting me borrow her nice, velvet jacket to keep me warm over my silver-glint wedding dress.

Our second child could be seen by my mounding belly, and our eldest of nearly four years old looked so proud and dapper in the rented outfit as our ring bearer.

I’ve since lost our wedding certificate from that blessed day of subtle lighting, which accented through the mini chapel’s beautiful, stained glass windows.

It was as if the whole world’s activity had muted to give space for our progression.

Putting the ring on him was awkward – and inside, embarrassing: it did not slide easily onto his finger. In fact, it was as if his flesh was resisting.

I decided to let him put it on himself in front of everyone, as we played it off – joking. This symbolized to me that he was entering our agreement of his own free will and choice.

I knew that I was doomed to someday leave him.

He couldn’t be mine without his own voice.

An elaborate refoldable landscape that circulated water running downhill, then back into the unit to come out again.

I had to adjust the rocks and fabric to minimize spray at the bottom end from when the water hit that with too much force and not enough gradual bend.

Sweet-scented orchid-type flowers mixed with other unique, hand-sized exotic plants were preserved, moist and viable, in their shipment package.

I put them into a low water, ceramic container about the size of a cup, just enough to keep roots nourished, with the help of an enthusiastic delivery lady.

There were more items in various decorated envelopes of Oriental, gold accented, metalic-flake nuance waiting for me to explore.

Someone had put in a lot of time and energy to promote good feelings that they were thinking of me.

Feeling engaged in the process and appreciated, I saved the best for last: the personal note addressed to me.

There were many parts I had yet to unwrap: small packages of creative thoughtfulness.

But, I awoke from the dream before I could learn who sent them, and their intention.

I accidentally added a “woman” to my Facebook from overseas who claimed to be 28 years old.

“She” immediately began asking me about my age, if I still had sex, and did I want to have sex with “her?”

Let’s get one thing straight: 50 is the new 30, baby.

Secondly, we can’t have sex remotely and be effective.

But, most important of all, I usually don’t add men from “her” country to my profile, out of respect for Hadith.

So, the fact “she” pushed for “relations” made me suspect it was a man.

Just because I am American does not mean I lack propriety nor morality.

Why are repressed societies so hung up on fantasies of lesbians?

Their brash pursuit completely bypasses their religion’s precepts of respecting other humans.

The days have shortened.

Nights are long and black, with hours stretching before morning.

I recognize patterns – but the rhythm is different as I’m driven into action.

It takes time, patience, investment, and endurance to grow one’s own business.

The panic to get a job – any job – to help cover expenses combines with memories of past follies.

You cannot just enter – then exit – without a cost.

“Hey, man.

These things need to be taken seriously.

What’s out there doesn’t play by the same rules we do.

They’ll grab on – take a hold of you.

I only travel there when I have to – and only along the border, when I need safe passage from one “real” realm to another.

Heed my warning.”

She had a fellow peer who was a recovering healer whom she encouraged to get back into “the swing of things.”

However, she decided she would not let this friend work on her because her friend was even more empathic – and wide-open-receptive to spiritual things.

The trail blazer knew by now that something was attached to her. That it was drawn forward when she let her guard down, or when she was exhausted.

It had the nack for playing on others’ perceptions. She could sit back, not participate, and just watch as people projected onto her – if she wanted to.

Maybe it was some sort of untamed gift for her using. But, who in their right mind would want to mess with an insatiable genie?

She could sometimes feel that it was from the blackest core, filled with hatred’s envy – just waiting. It frightened her to think that it might ever be able to use her as a tool.

Her immune system felt constantly fatigued, as if its presence was always feeding, depleting energy as her cells fought to keep it from infiltrating.

She couldn’t allow her friend to access it: it would take advantage of weakness.

Ignorant anger targeting her throughout her life’s growing was the reward for her taking on the Satanic curse – meant for her mother.

I’ve been interested in who they are and what they could be.

I never asked for much, but when encountered their resistance to growth, this is where conflict between us happened.

They wanted to stop maturing, expanding, challenging – they wanted to just give up and stay where they’d reached a point of “comfort.”

I am not opposed to this if it still lends productivity. But, I am resistant to acceptance if it does not inspire their healthy progressing.

This is why I considered marrying a younger man: the men my age or older have just given up.

However far they’ve advanced in their life to their current rut has been concluded as “enough.”

I just can’t live like that, partnered to a living “relic.”

Life is for exploring and adapting to.

Our self expressions are here to be charismatic!

It’s not that I crave material things, its that I crave ease of functionality.

I am not attached to money – but having it lends sense of security.

I love the shape of deep bath tubs, built well for luxurious relaxation.

I get a thrill when seeing or touching something of fine craftsmanship.

Clothing made of quality weave, which slides and glides or hugs elegantly entices me.

Shoes that are sassy in subtlety and solidly grip while walking – yet are smooth when turning – keep me feeling grounded and responsive.

If I had heels on, they’d be made so I could run in them: not too high and with ankle support.

I crave the comfort of purpose and ability, in all things.

I arrived late to the night’s outdoor gathering. I wasn’t sure what they were doing, and hung back to get the feel of it.

As I turned to leave, he emerged from the bustle and offered that we could go for a drive.

I was flattered and accepted, as it seemed he was not needed, and no one took notice of our leaving.

We got into his smooth-running, low-set easy luxury, and it pulled out of the gravel lot onto the winding country road.

I enjoyed just taking in the scenery: looking across and past him into hidden valleys as they revealed – and to my right, into depths of dropping hills as we ascended.

I enthusiastically thanked him and sat back, sighing with contentment, as it was nice to be the passenger and take in marvels I usually miss as the driver.

He smiled – a bit surprised at my genuine elation over such a seemingly simple gift.

He parked us high in the mountains and offered for us to go trail climbing. Gravity was easy, and its laws were permissive.

At one point, where all we had were ledges for handholds and gaps under our feet to hover over, I easily pushed and pulled lightly with my hands until on solid ground – no fear inside me.

He followed as I proudly stated I could handle myself (amazed at my own sense of confidence), and that I was used to challenging the boundaries of reality.

Throughout the journey, we spoke of little things. I was aware I was chatting gaily while my tones were variable and mixed with heartfelt laughter.

He was observing our interaction, as well, and I wondered what he thought of me.

Our relating seemed effortless in all things, and I felt protected by his company.

I remember him sitting in the blessed, cool relief of our concrete-floored garage in the impending doom of coming summer.

Two warped women were there, one on each arm, as he rose to meet my entrance when I arrived home, early afternoon.

How old was I?

4, 5, or 6?

Back when the bus would drop you off for walking home to unlocked doors and the lack of parental supervision.

I told him {for once, my voice openly spoken) that he did not belong there, in our home – especially with those women!

I must have screeched at him like a tiny dragon: indignant – and unexpected.

Something about his energy had alarmed me. I could sense black night around him, and his reaction to my claim proved my instincts correct.

He’d thought to mess around with my mother.

I don’t know exactly what he had intended, but he’d brought these hussies to help him teach her a lesson as part of his scheme.

He unleashed once-barely-restrained venom onto me – and I became the hapless target, as he spewed poison for her rejecting his “virility.”

He conjured evil around him – which came crackling – while attempting to frighten me conceptually by what he did not know I could somehow perceive.

He told me he had prepared a curse for my mother that would bring her to her knees, destroying her free will, and making her his servant as the lowliest worm for all of eternity.

Something in me quivered – then snapped – and I called forth the thundering Voice of Authority.

“NO! you shall NOT succeed!!!” commanded the warrior skreeling from inside of me.

“Your curse will backfire onto you, for my mother is 10x as strong as your sniveling!”

And then, as vexation consumed him, he cast the curse vindictively at me as he fled the scene with his witches.

The power of the hurt rage consuming him and the implications of what had just happened froze me solid.

I checked-out of reality, drifting around the house in a daze.

I had just taken on a pissed-off dark wizard and bluffed him, redirecting his ire onto me.

I tried to tell my mother what he had done, but she cut me off mid-sentence, determined to go after him and “tear him apart” for his ego.

She did not listen – and would not have believed me – so I let it drop, telling her that he’d already been humiliated.

If she didn’t believe in these things, how could they be part of reality?

With age, time speeds.

Maybe having an infection distorts and snap-shots frames of perception.

Perched in a Starbuck’s lounge above the shoppers, I nestle with a rare cup of hot chocolate in pure liquid cream.

Yes, I added whipped cream on top, with chocolate sprinkles crunch-melting.

Give me a cinnamon-dusted straw and a pure chocolate spoon to enhance stirring and drinking.

A small cup of refreshing ice water on the side compliments internal warming with hydration.

With life accelerated, its small moments as these that must be captured –

And joy embraced that I’m now in a multi-cultural scene.

As I make my “debut” in the “public” light and try to bring myself forward honestly, it occurs to me that there are concepts that I can approach factually and exploratively with an open mind and caution that perhaps others cannot respond to so equanimously.

This means that I feel constrained in broaching some subjects of uniquely-angled interest, except through creative nuance by only lightly discussing them in the “surface” world. 

i have private blogs where I go to ponder and explore deeper psychology, which I call “the underground.”

I am still “but a shell” out here at times. and must return there for deeper musings.