Category: Compositions

To this day, all pressure is put on the female of the species – which is designed more sensitively – to atone for abuse, rape, and/or incest, and to manage pregnancy without much (if any) protection or support by the male of the species, whose seed is responsible for the germination of the eggs carried within her.

The little girl was thence banned from all participation and associations. Worst of all, she wasn’t believed. More children would be hurt because the elder men were esteemed at the pool parties.

In my ancestry, atrocities have been committed against the innocent.

From a grandmother being stuffed upon birth into a garbage can because she was a girl born in Sicily (then rescued by her mother) to more current abuses done to my parents in their childhood and brought into my childhood by male predators, I have experienced and borne witness.

As I grew, I couldn’t help myself but I kept an eye open for other children in need and tried to champion and protect them. Sometimes my efforts helped, while other times I could only give them the message that they were seen, valid, and we would each some day find our freedom.

As an adult, I was determined to ensure that my children would never experience such horrors and was able to keep them safe even beyond their teenage years when our family’s stability was shattered.

I believed that when two people join in partnership as adults, they have an opportunity to support each other in healing from past traumas and to share a new vision of joy ‘s destination that they may embark upon together and co-create.

But, if the wounds are too thick and repeatedly avoided, and if society is still rife with sick and abominational perceptions that it is ok to weild violence against humanity, we must align ourselves with those who share our philosophies to keep encroaching darkness from succeeding.

I have seen wonderful, creatively intelligent men fall when they’ve encountered traumatic psychological or physical incidences.

When they have chosen to turn away from themselves and to not fight towards full recovery, they became lost to me.

Not just because they pushed me hard away, but because they gave up their own identities.

Though the pain of losses raged and entropic demons tormented, fire of spirit honed a will more tenacious than his own to champion their love when circumstances kept tearing it assunder.

Bringing light into the world in the form of children, protecting them from the blight of predatory darkness – these sustained and continuously re-innovated efforts take nothing less than a warrior’s spirit determined to right the wrongs in the world by at least giving her cubs their own chances for new beginnings.

I had just graduated from the healing arts school and was entering into the field as an independent professional when my life-mate partner became disabled from a motorcycle accident.

We were in our early twenties. The accident was life-altering and set us down a spiral path which never allowed our broken connection with each other to amend and recover.

They had finally arrived at the concert in the evening, but she had been foolish to indulge him.

He now resented the fact that she still wanted to attend and refused to go in with her.

She walked in late, conflicted, and sought their seats. She knew she couldn’t stay. She would be paying for it.

The rush of energy as the band came on – something she’d been offered and had to turn down when a teen, now gifted by her best friend – was denied again.

As the crowd surged to the music, she walked the perimeter and main isles, ignoring the guards’ line-of-sight restrictions while taking in the color and vibrance of the band.

It felt like a hole had been torn in her center and that a great wind was blowing through it.

As she turned to leave with her heart wrenching, Duran Duran’s lead singer asked her the questions “Who do you need? Who do you love when you come undone?”

She knew that it could no longer be the false hope to which she’d always clung.

They had been preparing for months as the lucky few chosen randomly from the public community pool to take the rocket into space as a feat of glory furthering advances of the human race.

There were supposed to be many people on the crew, but the corporation cut back on supports because they wanted details kept secret. They decided to use just one person and preprogrammed automation to transfer the package to the nearby planet.

However, the more the woman chosen for the project researched, the more she realized that the contents being delivered might put all of life at risk if any complications occurred during transference.

As the launch date neared, she insisted that the full feam be restored to the project so that their collective input could ensure successful outcome.

With many knowlegeable minds contributing perspective and experience, benefit could be more productively magnified.

When I briefly lived in Santa Barbara, California, and was pregnant with my eldest, I got to attend the city college where the open green looks out upon the Channel Islands’ Pacific Ocean.

There, I could plan anything from exploration of evolution on the islands, to Marine Biology and Ethnomusicology at the university, to film making and photography – even acupuncture in Chinese Classic Medicine should I care to invest the time and procure the funding to pursue these dreams.

I felt that I had happened upon a rare find of energetic synergy and that I was tapping into a source that could propel me to new levels in healing, creativity, and educational expansion.

Glorying in the feel of the cool cement parking structure and then wending my way through the mazes of campus rooms and buildings, I longed to dig in and settle deep into subjects of language, music, and art. I felt an amazing future opening ahead of me where I could swim in and indulge in Culture.

But, as my mind lulled into the sensuality of learning the piano, creating imagery with my hands, and fashioning exotic articulations from my mind and mouth, the world-traveled French professor’s luring us further into experiencing senses of capturing the essence of each moment catalyzed an epiphany.

I realized that I could not have this dream, yet. I was at a crossroads, and my choices must be sound.

I walked away from everything that made my heart, mind, and spirit personally satiated to embrace the souls to which my life was bound.

First, I must ensure that they could also have a bright future to look toward and be able to count upon.

The thing she wanted most, she could not have. She had to let desire for it shrivel like a vestigial organ.

(Title play on words.)

I try to be content with my delayed advances. It’s a matter of constant negotiation with emotions.

Mostly, the response to pain and inflamation plagues like Job’s lot in the Bible stories. This causes my system to dip into the abyss of longterm carried frustration.

(How does one purge this from their system if circumstances keep pile-burdening?)

Most recently, the muscles in my upper right thigh attachments have seized into a movement-limiting severe torsion.

I still walk with grace, but in a controlled limping gait of strong intention that makes me swagger and puff out my shoulders like a warrior.

Not intimidating at all to prospective suitors.

I suppose it’s to be expected that my body parts take turns spasming because I am often realigning my approach to life’s situations.

Thus, I am pushing at old holding patterns that push back, attempting to keep me stationary, while I extend my efforts too far forward to overcompensate against the suction from the maws of entropy.

She kept scrambling to find it, now that the world was just right outside her door, ready for her embracing.

She just felt stuck and her muscles were locking up around her, strait-jacketing her inward to preserve her from incurring further harm.

I love external expression and play. It just hasn’t been safe for me.

When I loved full well and heartily, others conspired to chop down love’s tree.

Though I remain “standing,” I no longer know what I can trust around me.

I have this dream someday I’ll meet the right One for me, who would understand and help me embrace life completely.

I know – I am relearning how to find my own happiness.

But, it just isn’t the same as the magnificence you can experience by co-creation.

Inside, I still feel as alone and isolated as I did when in my childhood.

At least now I have the power to positively impact the world around me.

No wonder she was exhausted and her adrenals were blownout flat. No wonder she would sometimes respond automatically to negativity toward her in a ptsd-type reaction.

When positivity continually meets resistence from other minds, hearts, and spirits firmly bent upon recreating levels of hell she had already come through, messaging over time sinks in to breed thoughts like “she’s the one who’s crazy.”

No wonder she would drop “friends” in an instant if their behaviors or beliefs trended back toward that direction.

No wonder that she preferred the solitude of her own company as she worked to unravel internal tangles, over the company of those people outwardly distracting and entertaining.

It was hard to believe that she had been misled, again.

Only this time, with dreams so clear that they felt real and outlined specific things he said.

Look.

It is one thing to have fantasy desires.

We all need something to reach for – even if likely extremely farfetched.

But, she could not help but feel that she had been willfully goaded by the clarity of the messages.

That they did not reflect what he wanted publicly portrayed about him indicated a severe mismatch.

She had been thinking there was something wrong with her because she felt so irrepressibly angry, frustrated, and hostile – without any positivity inside.

Then, she realized she was in the lull before the time when she would need pragmatism, so she had to face and process old negativity that had conglomerated.

She’d been tricked.

Thinking by behaviors around her that she was getting treatment by a woman turned into full-blown panic when a man walked into the room once she was undressed.

While he worked to depth some zones desperately needing help to relax, any form of actual enjoyment was replaced by survivalism.

The feeling taking over her awareness was horrid as the man kept making mouth noises, his stomach kept gurgling too loudly as if he were sick, and then his wet, squishy-sudden repeat farting releases wrecked the music’s soothing ambience.

Meanwhile, one of his hands would dissappear from her body and go off on its own prospectively unsavory wanderings throughout the session.

The indescreet-discreet “accidental” pressings of his male member against her side here or there made her mood even more distressed.

(Was it a parlor of “happy endings?!)

In hindsight, she ought to have stopped everything from the very beginning and walked away, thereby avoiding prevailing inner conflict plaguing her now – even days later – that some of what he’d done had actually benefitted her.

She learned early on that she was disposable. Non valuable. At the most, chattel.

She didn’t understand how people could not see the beauty inside one another and why they chose to indulge in sin.

Until she realized that humanity was plagued by a sickness, and distanced herself so that she could better understand it.

When I visited my grandparents as a child, for most of time the television was on in the background of whatever we were doing.

From Mutual Of Omaha to golf and game shows, I Love Lucy, Hawaii Five-O, and Disney if I was lucky, there was another world to turn to to compare and contrast our lives against.

This influence in my life taught me to question everything due to Walter Cronkite Jr. and to analyze “fantasy” vs. “reality” by exploring romance, comedy, action, and thriller movies.

Now, when I toil at a mass of dishes, discomfort is relieved mentally by watching a Netflix series. If I cannot fall asleep, I am lulled into complacency with a show running on loop, volume down low next to me.

She realized she was designed to help others when they were in need. It was time she aligned herself with those who would have her own back.

(Title play with words, Sole vs. Soul Provider)

“Do you think you know the difference between Fantasy and Reality?” she asked him.

“Of course I do,” he replied, a bit surprised. “I walk that line of demarcation nearly every day of my life.”

She looked at him as a quirk of mirth twitched briefly in her eyebrow, and a hint of a smile formed on her lips as she waited for him to ask for clarification.

In the shadows, once protected,
She sees him and calls his name.

“What are you?”

“I am the Source of Love.”

“Are You God?”

“God is a concept created to help stabilize Humanity’s understanding of itself.”

“But, does God exist?”

“God exists, according to perceptions.”

“Does this mean that we should all believe in God?”

“Not necessarily.”

I am sick again.

Did I catch it from the client who returned from a trip where all their friends tested positive upon their return – but they did not?

Did I catch it from a friend whose coworker tested positive two days ago and they only now found out?

Is it just some other virus taking opportunity to invade because I have been overworked and stressed?

The point is, I had a full work day and weekend lined up to bring in extra needed funding, and now that’s all borked.

Because I have a conscience.

You get fired for having a conscience.

You are forced to move again because of your conscience for wanting to ensure the landlord is paid no matter others’ lack of conscience for firing you for having a conscience.

I had to cancel clients today to protect them. I have turned away sick clients to not spread any contagion.

Inconvenience resents conscience.

What makes others stand up for each other for having a conscience?

I could sure use this kind of support for protecting my fellow humans, rather than their punitive judgements causing them to turn against me.

In a society without conscience, there is little reward for the brave.

She had never met
Someone like him:

A mirror image to
Her heart’s desire –

To her vulnerable
And open caring;

To her generous
And giving spirit;

To joy’s playful
Inner creativity

Being allowed
In the sunshine.

Talking by text to a ghost is not the best way to go:
Much can be misconveyed and misinterpretated.

She had a dream where they were speaking
And something he said made her feel bad.

So she countered with a retort which
Resulted in making him walk away.

Then, feeling like it was too late,
She found better words to say.

As the days began to blur into sequences of events and the lifting of one foot after another to meet marching project timelines, her sense of self began to fade into nothing but the pressing drive of purpose to provide for her family while helping others – and a teetering, precarious balance between expending and recovering energy.

I had woken early in the morning, acknowledging I had not dreamed of him in the night and resolute to not dwell on it.

However, after I fell asleep again, I dreamed I had in my hands his previous university attendance portfolio which showed various classes he had taken and he had accumulated an even greater amount of student loan debt than I have.

He had chosen my same gamble to invest in a future with the goal that someday more than enough money would be earned to comfortably pay the loans back.

Luck and good fortune had favored him, therefore, it could still favor me.

When I dream of him, I am given messages of acceptance and loving inclusion which restore my pride’s status – and I realize just how much circumstances harmed me by this positive contrast to their negativity.

I wake up from these dreams of him with a new option on how I would like to view and feel about everything, knowing that a cherished and beloved peer thinks highly of me – even if only in my imagination.

I began writing, as many people do, in an attempt to uncover the real me. I keep shifting and adapting constantly, amending and accomodating to help clients and family.

We all shift ourselves daily to some degree, but what shocked me the most, which I have been trying to amend, is that as much as I cared for him and was there for him through the worst of everything, my husband did not want to be with how I wanted and tried to be.

I never want to go through living alone again with only a body next to me and the spirit inside far, far away on some other destination where he would rather be. It is better to be alone and free than enslaved and bound to relationship anarchy.

I do not want just a home body committed to me. I want to be with someone who is adventurous and full of positivity. This could be expressed in a variety of forms of internal and external reality: I desire invested interaction.

Someone who is dynamically expressive, yet also likes to relax in downtime for our inward retreats. Someone who likes how I think and feel from simple expression to complexity – and who also desires my interest in their cares and passions.

After writing so many years in privacy, I thought I better come out to “the streets” and start letting myself be heard and “seen.”

How else is my match going to find and get to know me? We likely do not travel the same circuits, if he’s an independent like me.

Loath to become overwhelmed from past associations again, I had been delaying unpacking the garden boxes to see what was in them.

However, with the joyous momentum of having enlisted a neighbor and now friend’s help in getting the foundations of this year’s gardening efforts underway, I opened them in the search for wood screws he will be using to create a large planter box for as many snap pea plants that I can cram into them.

To my delight, I found the peacock stained glass picture, our door mount, and the lovely drop-shaped and rounded colored globe lights we never had the chance to hang – saved for our new home’s spring occasion.

The feminist movement has brought many positive changes, but it has also confused roles in seeking compatible partnership.

If a normally reserved woman would now like friendship or partnership, it seems left up to her to pursue the man because a true gentlemen has been “schooled” that his gallant advances would be seen as too aggressive.

Yet, he has also learned by observing power hungry women to fear if a woman is assertive in her desires, so where can real relationship begin?

During their engagement, the young suitor kept bringing up how his family and friends strongly advised against their marriage, and eventually he began comparing her advocating for their relationship to that of trying to manipulate his heart as had others.

He then abdicated his role as the man she had grown to love and trust in an attempt to stop the personal strife being wielded against him.

It hurt her profoundly to watch him turn away from the bright light of hope and love’s faith they had shared – and to have him discard her as if she were unworthy.

When she later received the dreams’ messages about a true champion, someone more on her level with whom she could prospectively share nourishing the world, she saw his status and the public eye focus attacks on him.

When she tried reaching out to him, she met resistance on different levels through different channels and realized that if they were to have any form of connective collaboration together, she would have to leave pursuit of it up to him.

Though quite capable of “taking on the world” if and when needed, she could no longer invest energy in a man without his equal reciprocation.

Bald eagles soaring high with bright heads reflecting slanted sunlight; harriers and various hawks hovering over fields or perching on poles as sentinels; a pair of mallard ducks streaking low over the car-traveled streets in community neighborhoods – and even wading in the flooded parking lot “pool” in front of the local Fred Meyers store.

It is helpful to be empathically sensitive when raising children, helping a loved one who will not speak their needs, and clinically assisting clients.

The trouble that I have is closing the door to my internal perceptions so that I am not constantly bombarded by external environments and by my own internal cellular-synaptic callibratings.

This results in my spending a lot of time alone so that I can grapple with things I want to change – but most of my life has been alone in that only briefly do I interact with people who can sync up with my capable extrapolation levels.

I am not a prude, though selective. I am just wired to receive and exchange along specific frequencies filled with esoteric daring creativity.

After a chiropractic adjustment, my realigned cervical spine soon goes out again from the simplest of this or that movement because the muscles themselves are not being retrained, and thus, go back into same held-stuck patterning.

I am finding this thematic greatly irritates me, taking me away from desiring to direct morning energy from sitting down and doing needed paperwork to immediately launching into clean up and “make changes happen” external expressing.

My mind fights for focus and will over attending preperceived “priorities,” but maybe being stuck still at the desk is not the best thing for me in my quest for healing’s recovery – and I need to stop fighting myself in internal conflict over it.

Distorted expectations were drilled into, ill-fitted squezed around, and demanded of me.

All they wanted, “reasonably,” was conscription of my soul’s blind obedience in puppet dancing to irrational rules and obligations.

Rejection, judgement, and deep shame eruptions into my bloodstream by implanted mines set to trigger at “disobedience” awaited my even daring to breathe

Pavlovian training associations with elders top downing has me seeking how to purge regressive programming.

Fifty-one is a good time – the perfect time, in fact, to have a mid-life crisis.

I plan to live at least to one hundred years old, and fifty is officially half of a century.

When I was just turning forty, my ex decided he would have his mid-life crisis – and transferred the bill to me.

Yeah, yeah – one side of the story. Who cares, anymore.

But, I must have finally reached some kind of real base for myself after ten years of struggling through malarkaical circumstances to achieve any recovery.

I pant and twitch as account the cost, and wonder how now to define myself.

When I learned how the man died, I was frustrated at his unnecessary loss of life.

He had been running and had a heart attack, as he made it to the masjid. The men there did not know how to save him, for they did not believe in intervention.

This had happened elsewhere and was conveyed by travelers, but soon a local mid-aged father and husband also died of a heart attack – and was not saved.

I was so upset by this repeat occurrence of non-intervention and I felt that it was a type of irresponsibility to preserving life by not using knowledge humans have been given.

Because I frequently now visited the local masjid, I was invited to attend the man’s funeral. I felt conflicted about this because it was such a personal gathering and I did not know the family.

When I was at work the next morning, day of the event, I was walking outside to the mailroom with my manager who was training me, and I looked up and gazed at the clouds gathering overhead with sun streaming around and illuminating them from within.

Deep thinking, I was suddenly given a vision of the clouds bringing those who had come to transport the man’s soul to Heaven.

I saw a revered woman in charge, orchestrating everyone in preparation. She looked down at me and smiled, nodding her head in approval and inclusive acceptance.

This acknowledgement startled me because we both knew I did not conform to religion’s inclinations. But, what mattered was that I was on a righteous path that only the most honor bound and determined dare quest upon.

Years later with little to show in my hands except those things which truly matter, I ponder at these occasional gifted glimpse-contacts with the spirit world and reexamine what my life’s mission is.

I do “good works” and attend to my own and others’ needs, but it feels like something important to my soul is missing – and that part of me is still on hold, waiting.

There was a woman my age I grew up young and parallel to. I played the drum rhythms.while she danced and swayed in the colorful flow of silks, gathering men’s attentions.

I thought she was delicate and graceful, magical and ethereal. I even took lessons from her briefly when first had my eldest.

But, I kept finfing that externalized beauty kept needing to externalize for more attention – from extra-partnership affairs to having one’s nudes on the wall in the bathroom for the rest of us to see when visiting – just by accident, of course.

And the part of me who sought a mentor to guide me from internal to external in safely decided (though it still keeps looking for good role models) that it was safer for me to keep my passions for privacy, wrapped tightly close around me.

I had another one last night in the bathtub when trying to press out neck’s tension.

The first one was around Christmas 2020 after a whplash hard-fast crack into the back of my neck and head at an angle from the leaf end of our kitchen table when the chair slipped out from under me.

I had enough tension and must have pressed the perfect angle.

it is not fun, but very sureal, to feel the hindbrain kicking.

When you have a partner (a truely devoted one), all of these daily trials and overwhelms can become like background scenery of part of the day’s play: a mere backdrop to the real love story – which is life’s ultimate priority, and why I continue to often feel lonely.

Current trends in latest media, lecture, and book advice bombard us with messaging about how going solo is our ultimate destiny – Yes! Yes! – for only then are we fully actualized as individuals in this materialized state of being!

I call BULLSHIT on this ideoligy. There is merit within it to a point, but humans are family-oriented creatures. We need our loved ones to be a vital part of our dreams.

It is impossible to avoid retriggering when a child has been assaulted in their own home, in the area we left, and then I visit them as they are hastily light-packing and leaving their belongings behind them to move to another state and leave their belongings and the bad things behind them.

It is difficult being out in the alternating cold, sunshine, and rain in the environment that makes my face puffy and worn and my muscles ache while windswept hair rearranges visage into form of a mountain witch blending into the scenery, as I meet and greet people gaily in salt-of-the-eath, down-home interacting – dissolving my city slick identity while I bid fond farewells of goodbye.

Being back on the property in the wrong shoes, traversing over slickery-slanted mud waddles, worrying if gravity will slam me down again for the slightest minimalist yet effortful attempts to just make sure my parents’ property is ok and that I have my few remnants properly removed, finally.

The molding, thriving mildew on and in everything including in and outside of my car to various degrees; the tossing of empty tires to rid them of collected in-groove rain water and tree detritus – only to have upon ground-tossed impact that water spraying at force directly back into my eyes and face…what are the odds of that carefully callibrated angle hitting so perfectly?

Apparently, Ihave hidden talents I do not even imagine…

Miraculous maneuverings of collaborative creativity result in my car at last tied securely to a trailer for towing back to an implied, promised resurrection.

And this was only Tuesday!

What happened is that I returned to our prior home to retrieve my car, and when I returned to our current home, the dogs smelled our old one on me.

Now, they have returned to those previous misbehaviors – throwing aside since then respect for me – when I am exhausted and shoulder pain from a long week is now escalating into a migraine.

Yeah…

This combination is going to flare me.

I do not know how this is possible (and Lord you know my current challenges), but if there is a way for me to process my end of things better, and if there is a way for him to process his end better and reach me sooner, please Lord, let our union’s blessings happen.

Finding herself contained within confines of a perceptual box, she began alternating between clearing incongruencies inside and pushing against external barrier limitations.

I have been trying to twease apart the reason – the underlying meaning – for why I had those two dreams which have led me in this direction.

Sure, they provided a better carrot more close to my desires than anything I had experienced on that level, before.

And of course, they gave me motivation and something to believe in when I had experienced too much loss and was undergoing severe pressures.

However, I could have had other dreams occur that may have stimulated my reignition to overcome more crushing circumstances.

It is just that these dreams spoke to the core of my soul’s questing for a specific kind of love.

And if it is not to be reciprocated, why show me exactly with whom to secure my heart’s attachment?