I Scribe Soul Moments

How To Safely Jump Off A Runaway Train

2013-07-10T00:14:00.001-07:00

If I start to break down the 20 plus years I've been an adult, it feels like the runaway train ride a person could ever take. It loops and spins, jerks up and shoots down with mass force a thousand and one times! There are too many moments I didn't think I'd survive. I've been to streets I shouldn't have been traipsing on, fought fights I shouldn't have been fighting and made a lot of choices as an adult that sent me reeling into out of route directions lasting longer than they should have.

So how'd I get off that runaway train?

I didn't learn the safe way off the first time. Oh no, I learned it by thinking I had the safe way off the ride, crawling out of the train car, almost being sucked under the wheels, then climbing back in to re-evaluate my next option. My biggest lesson? To listen to my intuition. When it said "time to leap" I had to go without fear and do it.

I've received so many experiences which have taught me about myself. I have learned to be an active listener, to be present in the moment, to always embrace gratitude as the first option in everything. This doesn't mean that we always succeed at it. It means we actively continue to try, to perfect or skill and to become better at being present and mindful.

I have many mantras that I love, but if I had to choose one favorite, I would leave you with this one:

"I let go of that which has served its purpose and accept the new without fear."

Here's to releasing chaos and accepting peace!

This Thing Called Fibromyalgia

2013-06-18T12:12:00.001-07:00

When I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with chronic pain/fibromyalgia. It was 1985. I was in the color guard in my high school band, twirled rifle, played volley ball and was an avid jogger. I was athletic and in shape, a mere 130 lbs. standing at 5'9". Yet when I woke in the morning, I struggled to move my body the pain was so great. My mother said what she always said for any ailment.

"Go drink a big glass of water. You'll feel better."

After a few visits to the doctor, I was diagnosed, and they promptly medicated me. I was given a lovely pill called Mepergan, a wine colored capsule that numbed out the pain and sent my head into a delicious high. By seventeen, I was addicted to them. As the years went on, I became accustomed to living with pain, with my joints aching, being unable to brush my hair in the mornings, my skin hurt so bad. It affected my mood, how I treated people and how I felt about the world.

There wasn't and still isn't much sympathy or understanding for chronic pain sufferers. We are often treated dismissively, told we are hypochondriacs, over exaggerating, dramatic; need to get over it and get on, there's really nothing wrong with us, and more, especially if we don't have an obvious secondary pain causing disease.

I was always told that there was no cure for me. Numerous doctors told me that the best I could do was figure out how to live comfortably with this disease and to make sure that I stayed on medications. The test for fibromyalgia was brutal. I was poked and pinched all over my body, and the time span the pain lasted afterwards was measured by the doctor. At the peak of my fibromyalgia suffering, I was taking six different medications three times a day.

Vicodin
Cymbalta (and various other anti-depressants) (because pain causes depression)
Clonopin (because pain causes anxiety)
Flexural
2 different types of steroids.

My days centered around medications.

My weight ballooned over 300 lbs..

I was smoking almost a pack of cigarettes a day.

I was binge eating to comfort myself.

I was spending days in bed medicated.

I hid it. I faked being “together” because I didn't want to be judged. I smiled to the world and acted like my life was great. There was a span of three years with very few photographs of me, and the few existing were face shots. My body dysphoria was so twisted, that I refused to accept how heavy I'd become. Needless to say, I was grossly abusing myself physically and mentally. I was sicker than I'd ever been, and I was at the end of my rope. There were a few times I looked at my medication, thinking that if I just downed them all, I could go to sleep permanently, and the pain would be over forever.

Then one morning, I woke up realizing that I couldn't go on like this. I couldn't go another day taking a handful of medication at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I woke up having had a moment of clarity coupled with the decision that I could not continue living like I was. I got up with a new determination running through me that I had no other choice but to find an alternative. My body, mind and soul were desperate for a change.

My first act of defiance against my fibromyalgia was to throw away the carton of cigarettes sitting in my freezer. I tore open the packs and ripped every cigarette in half. Nicotine and fiberglass are the worst one can feed their pain. I never touched a cigarette again. A week later I disposed of all my medication.

I didn't know where I was going with it, but I was hell bent to make some changes because I certainly was exhausted from the suffering I was experiencing every day. I began to study everything I could on fibromyalgia. The more I studied, both from a scientific and spiritual angle, I made a discovery that opened my eyes like never before. The majority of fibromyalgia pain is linked to a person’s emotions, physical health and environment. What? I was mind blown, but suddenly so much about my life and adult history made incredible sense.

Albeit, I have scar tissue in my lower spine from the beatings I received as a child, but the deeper link causing my constant pain was the way I was treating myself. My body and my spirit knew it, and I knew it. My emotional pain, unspoken suffering and suppressed traumatic memories and experiences were causing my body to suffer.

I now had somewhere to start, and I became extremely inspired. Once I opened up my mind and heart to receive answers they began to flood in! By chance I met a spiritualist who started me on a journey to connect with my inner self/child. I met a doctor who had begun a practice teaching positive affirming and tapping techniques. She sent me a c.d. I played it in my car. I started caring about myself and my choices. So began my journey into pulling out the painful memories so that my body and soul could begin to heal. The more I spoke to others who had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia but had conquered the pain, the more I came to understand something.

It is curable to an extreme degree, meaning that the pain can be diminished by at least 80-90% through the choices we make for ourselves.

It takes deciding to make changes and stick to them.

It takes active, daily work.

I knew that I couldn't continue to complain about my illness if I was doing nothing to help cure it. I was abusing my own body and subsequently creating my own pain. I had to accept responsibility for my own behavior if I was to conquer my pain. When I stopped smoking cigarettes my pain lessened considerably, within the first week. When I followed that by ceasing to eat junk food and went completely organic and vegan my pain lessened considerably more. I began to take daily walks. I didn’t just walk to exercise. I walked to connect with nature, to enjoy the trees, to welcome my new path. I walked with the purpose of loving and connecting to my body. My pain continued to drop. My energy came back, and my spirits began to lift.

Seventy pounds lighter and three years later, I was living almost pain free.

I changed my way of thinking about my body and my future. I searched out positive influences, cleaned up my environment, who I was hanging out with and connecting to, and who I allowed into my space. I started meditating and believing in myself. I realized that it was better to funnel my suffering into healing then it was to use my pain as an excuse to wallow in self pity.

Today, I am about 50 lbs. away from my target weight goal. I am healthier physically, emotionally and spiritually than I was ten years ago. I am happier internally than I was ten years ago. My fibromyalgia pain is at least 80% less than it was ten years ago.

Here's what I can tell fibromyalgia sufferers.

1. Diminishing the pain takes making some choices, and they will feel like tough choices. Until you make them and start to feel better. Then you will crave feeling good.

2. You have to want it. You have to desire it, and really, truly believe that you can feel better.

3. You have to be willing to do the work and not allow anyone to stand in your way.

I truly believe that there is a direct connection between the increase over the last twenty years in fibromyalgia sufferers and what we eat, especially if it has chemicals/pesticides on or in it, our emotional and spiritual state and our environment. The toxins from cigarettes and GMO foods are a huge contributor to chronic pain/fibromyalgia. And not to get too "political" here, a lot of people profit when a human being is in pain on a daily basis.

There are days when I still wake up in pain, but now I know it’s because I ate poorly the day before or the last few days, or was obsessing in my head about a certain situation that was not positive, or allowing someone/thing in my environment which was draining me. At times, I will wake up in pain when I’ve had to face a childhood memory or a night terror, which too, are lessening as my body releases and empties those spaces. I remind myself that I choose what I allow to come into contact with my body, mind and spirit. I forgive myself if I haven’t made the best choices, and I move on.

I didn't choose to be abused as a child, but I certainly have the power to choose how it affects my life as an adult. It is never an easy task to face ourselves, to dig into our past and our behaviors. In fact, it’s usually one of the most difficult things to do. Yet, when we take the first step; when we are willing, we find that the journey becomes easier. It is a gift we have the capability of giving ourselves.

We can choose to heal. I believe that if I can do it, anyone can. If I can go from being miserable about life, being obese and not wanting to live, to being strong, passionate about life and full of joy, I believe others can too. Being strong doesn't always come naturally. It certainly didn't for me. I had to build my strength through spiritual and emotional exercise. When I started to wake up in less pain and began to feel better, something switched. I stopped being addicted to my pain and misery, and I got addicted to feeling good. Now, I don’t have to work at it so much. I naturally care about feeling good.

I believe in human capability. I believe we can release our pain and replace those spaces with rich self love. There will be days we still feel twinges of pain. It's how we react that matters. I share my life experiences openly because I believe with all of my heart that you matter too.

Side Note:

Relationships and Fibromyalgia - I would encourage anyone who is a partner of a chronic pain sufferer, that if your partner is unable to participate in certain activities, like sex or physical sensation, because of their pain levels or their energy levels because of the pain, that you put aside the need for sexual and other activity and instead, focus in on helping your partner develop skills to help diminish the pain. For many people, this takes an overall lifestyle change in many ways. For instance, you certainly can't expect your partner to stop feeding toxic cigarettes to themselves if you are doing it too, or eating healthy, if all you eat is fast food. If you want a successful relationship, my personal thoughts are that you must be willing to make the changes required to bring that success about for both/all of you.

Days of Being

2013-06-16T00:15:00.001-07:00

Mindset. Actualizing. Worry struck me sideways. I leaned away into gratitude. I make memories out of thoughts and creating futures. Didn’t know where there would be fuel, sustenance, other things. A breath and a smile said “it’s cool, baby. just be.”

and so I did. just be.

friends are welcoming, open arms and smiling faces.

patterns weave on their own, making rainbows out of hope.

I am royalty, deserving.

I have conquered:

saying no

saying yes

actively listening

holding space

patience

acceptance

and being alone.

My Mother Wasn’t Happy

2013-05-12T21:16:00.001-07:00

The truth is I cried a lot today. I woke up crying. There was no specific reason why, but I did. I couldn't escape this day. It stung me in my face at the store filled with balloons and flowers and cards. It punched me every time I drove past a vendor on the side of the road selling last minute flowers to give to mom. It came back with every client who told me "Happy Mother's Day", every abused child I've ever talked to, every Mother who has lost a child, no longer here to tell them to have a happy day in general. This does not mean we cannot cherish the beautiful connections we have. As a mother, I am richly blessed with two amazing Kings I call Sons. Yet, they adore me every day, and would adore me the same without a holiday to remind them.

It's such a time of truth, of ending facades, of acting like something is fantastic when it's not, and today... was not fantastic for me. It was filled with grief and memories that I couldn't escape. I don't know how many years I'll write these letters to her. Maybe until the pain is all gone. I share because I know there are some who will understand and feel understood, and that matters more than anything. ♥

Dear Mama,

It's Mother's Day again, and this is the third year I've used this day to write to you since you left this dimension.

When I visited Lea last year, she said she had a dream about you. In the dream, she saw her friend Margaret who had passed away from cancer.

"Lea!" Margaret exclaimed. "I saw your mother."

"Really?" Lea asked. "How is she?"

"She's working, working very hard." Margaret said as she faded into the blackness.

Lea says that in Islam, they believe when a soul departs this human dimension, depending on the deeds it committed in this life, it may have to do hard work in order to advance again. I think you're doing a lot of hard work. I think you're pounding through stone to make your way out of the darkness.

I talk to Daddy, and I feel like a little girl again. We don't spend our time grieving or lamenting what you took from us. We're busy cherishing that we have another chance at being Father and daughter. I have a new earth Mom. We call her Lady J. She's amazing and kind and the type of mother I wish you had been.

You know what I've been doing, Mama? I've been speaking the truth, and that feels so good. Even in death, I allow you to carry your own responsibility for your actions, and that is freeing.

I do love you, like a sad sister who long ago lost her way. I miss your dark black eyes and how when I became a woman, you always called me out of the blue with a bible verse. I hated those verses you know, but somehow they made sense with what was going on in my life. Your psychic ability was always apparent, a natural witch, even if you couldn't accept the title because your Christian shawl was too tightly wrapped around your shoulders.

I miss you wearing your dark sunglasses and us calling you "The Godmother"; talking to you like Michael Corleone and giggling like girls. We sure learned how to laugh in those last days didn't we? Funny how laughter masks so much pain.

Today everyone is celebrating something they really should celebrate every day, but you know humans and their holidays. My hope is that you keep picking at those rocks. Sooner or later, you'll uncover a diamond, a peephole of light, and that's how brightly I hope you shine.

Happy Mother's Day. For being the vessel who brought me into this dimension I will always be thankful. This has purpose.

R.I.P.

me, the baby.

72 Minutes of My Voice

2013-04-30T00:11:00.001-07:00

The audio version of Dusted Shelves is being mixed, mastered, and I am preparing to touch your ears. This project has been 10 years in the making, and to see it coming to fruition is truly a dream come true.

Signed and unsigned versions of both the book, Dusted Shelves; memoir of a cult child and the cd are now available for purchase on my website. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I enjoyed creating it!

Visit my site! http://venniekocsis.com

You can also join if you wish to receive my occasional newsletter!

See you there!

The Foolishness of Fool

2013-04-20T17:17:00.001-07:00

There are fools
Addicted to foolishness
Dramatic situations
Snorting lies like white powder
Chasing the next high.

They leave damage in their wake
Smashing acceptance like hurricanes
With no concern
For the cleanup.

I bear their scars
In every tear line
Staining my cheeks.

I am buried under the heaviness
Breathing in the emptiness
Of their dismissive carelessness.

It is the season of sadness.
They wring smiles from the innocents,
And I watch girls cry blood tears
As their hearts die.

Shut down
Mode block and protect
Build a poison moat
Around my decadence
So when they try to taste
Their predatory intent
Will waste away slowly.

I soak in more than mouths reveal;
The thoughts concealed,
And I become celibacy
As intimacy evolves into absence.

I left my wings in the sand.
They are buried under child castles
Waiting for the tide
To take them to the deep
As I weep, weep
For what can never be.

You don't know the whole of this,
Don't pause to see,
Or listen to the words I speak,
Too busy wearing the crown of "Me"
Because nothing exists
Outside your self-centered need,
Gathering, discarding,
No emotion
Towards the souls you are harming.

Solitude is my safe place
Away from the arms I crave,
Not present when the eyes boil over.

I clutch thrift store pillows
With psychedelic flowers
And await the witching hour
Where other kin understand of
The sadistic carelessness of humans.

v.k

Aloneness

2013-03-30T13:28:00.001-07:00

I used to dislike being alone. The silence and absence of connection would rip through me making me feel neglected and unloved. So often I felt misunderstood, and because I spent so much time masking my pain in an attempt to feel strong and together, it was, I’m sure, impossible for those close to me to really know and define my inner agony. I needed satiation, instant gratification and constant conversation. I was detracting, avoiding, numbing and emotionally self medicating.

Self awareness and introspection has brought me to a different space. Now, I cherish my solitude like a precious gem. Now, in this moment, I accept my aloneness as a necessary part of my vibrancy and health.

I have to be careful. I find in these times that I can stay inside of my aloneness for days; to the point that it turns into an attempt to shut the world out, and that, I’m sure, is not always a a positive perspective. Where once I couldn’t get enough of human connection, now, sometimes the energy of humans grates at me like nails on a chalkboard.

Balancing has taken much work. I am in a moment by moment state of reminding myself to remain open and aware in this moment. I am learning to be a humble observer. Being alone has allowed me to connect with silence, no need to participate in forced conversations where moments of silence feel awkward, but instead spending time with me, the breeze and the sweet singing of my wind chimes.

Where once aloneness pierced me like a drowning mass of angst, it now caresses me in knowing, thought and purpose. I am observing the world from a silent perspective, and each day I draw one step closer to pure and total acceptance. I have gone into the silence, for it is in the silence, that I have truly become familiar with the authentic voice of God; the sweet singing of my own inter-dimensional ability to have conversations absent of words.

Technorati Tags: silence,balancing,trauma,survivor,DID,ptsd,soothing,alone,aloneness,coping,living,balance,silent,strong,survive,cult,ritual abuse,spirituality,spirit,oneness,consciousness,awareness,meditation

The Hugeness!

2013-03-22T22:15:00.001-07:00

My male cat, Sir Moscato, is almost 20 pounds, and he's not even a year old yet. He's going to be massive! I'm gonna be able to sell kiddie rides in the neighborhood in December. I'll put a red bulb on his nose, some antlers, and trick the kids into thinking he's Rudolph. Wait, he's black and white. He'll need a costume. OH! A "Pet Rudolph for a Dollar" petting pen! ::chuckles:: Must go make notes.

A Few Vennie Facts

2013-03-06T03:25:00.001-08:00

Some Random Things About Me

1. I like time alone. Too much noise grates me.
2. I am ocd organized and get quite irritable around chaos.
3. I do not have a gross attachment to money. It does not drive me. Creating and touching people's lives drives me.
4. I do peel a banana, in the same way the monkeys do.
5. I once almost drown in the Mississippi River.
6. Vanilla is my favorite scent.
7. I am an insomniac.
8. While I agree the world is a cold, hard place, I don't believe one has to be an asshole because of it.
9. I wholly believe in the power of love and the absolute turn on of Domination.

Ways To Win My Heart

1. Be kind and genuine. watching a man treat people well is very sexy.
2. Be honest. tell it like it is. but be classy.
3. be a gentleman and treat me like a lady. open my door for me. pull out my chair. kiss my cheek. show me chivalry isn't dead.
4. have a kick ass motorcycle (Harley preferred)
5. be spontaneous with me - if I pull you behind a tree, don't stop me.
6. play footsies with me under the table.
7. pay attention to what i like. example: a random literature magazine as a gift would go a long way.
8. be self confident and lacking of Ego. Ego is so boring. I will lose respect. check it at the door. humility. that will reel me in.

Turn Offs

1. Shady People
2. Uncleanliness
3. Bad hygiene
4. Inflated Egos

It’s Not Always Easy

2013-02-06T22:53:00.001-08:00

Today was heavy
Filling out forms
Talking about it
Going back
memory regression therapy
Already exhausted
It's just begun

Ghost Chair

2013-02-05T01:27:00.001-08:00

Flashbacks come in the matter of seconds. I round the corner in the kitchen to fill the cat food bowl, and I run straight into a shadow of the kitchen chair reflected on the wall. I am frozen in my step; immediately swept back to my childhood, my little body, tied in a chair. I throw these moments into poetry, pictures, music and art. I know no where else to store them.

Ghost Chair

There are ghost chairs
dancing shadows in my kitchen
it's a division of demons
creeping into the limelight.

I hold my fists tight.

I am riveted in this breath
staring at the darkness;
the lines on the walls;
I am re-walking dark halls
between men legs.

I can't break my eyes away.
I reach for pictures.
This is a trigger
in full blown affect.
Gotta document
so they'll understand
how unexpected flashbacks
wait lurking in corners.

Television screens
and movie scenes
always avoiding
in case I'm swept in reverse
to the times I was hurt.

Bruises never go away.
They're right here
dancing in the shadows
cast by the day.

I'm stuck in ghost chairs
missing fistfuls of hair.
and I'm there again screaming.
I shudder.
The memory echoes like
thunder in my head.

Turn away
Turn away
Don't travel there today

But you see
emotion lingers
makes the minutes go slow so
it's best to write a poem
and let it seep
to keep it from whispering
"remember me?"

I don't wish to recall
yet I long to fill the holes
sift through the dirt
and dig up the bones.

Someone's gotta pay atonement
for the innocence they took,
but death has come to greet the swine
and they're almost off the hook.

One day they'll return
to where the fires burn
and in the middle will be a chair
just waiting...
waiting...
for the wicked fan fare.

I hope they splay their wrists bare
and eat it with the twine
like they did mine.

All I have left are the pictures
the sunlight makes in halls,
unexpected incidences
when my mind decides to recall,
an ink stained bed sheet,

a thousand journeys
written on lined paper,
and a ghost chair
dancing on my wall.

by Vennie Kocsis

Poet

Free Exclusive Download!

2013-01-31T22:57:00.001-08:00

♥ Attention Followers/Supporters. ♥

For the first time ever, I am making a piece of my work available for **FREE EXCLUSIVE DOWNLOAD** I feel compelled to do this because this piece is so valid at this time as so many of us survivors are struggling to have a voice. I want to share it openly in the hopes it will help us be understood, and even more, to heal.

This spoken piece, Daughters Returning Home, I performed at the 2012 Slutwalk Seattle Rally, a cause giving voice to end rape culture, and the burden placed on women to carry the brunt of that violence. When I wrote this piece, I was very burdened by the amount of pain I feel from the astronomic number of females being damaged by molestation, sexual assault and rape. I have come under some criticism that I do not include males in this piece. I want it to be understood that I do not minimize abuse of males in any way. It's so important to me that I convey how much I speak out against abuse of all children no matter their gender. I have had conversations with males who have connected with this piece, and I am so grateful for that. I have felt for many, many years that my specific calling is to connect with my sisters. My intent is never to exclude, but instead, to bring together, to promote growth and light.

I premiere for the first time ever in .mp3 format, Daughters Returning Home. Please share it. Send the link to everyone you know needing it. Download it to on your i-pod, your phone, your computer, and when you need to cry; when you need to feel hope; when you need strength to fight; listen to these words, and know, you are NOT alone. I/We are here, right beside you, holding you and cheering you on. ♥

CLICK TO DOWNLOAD “DAUGHTER’S RETURNING HOME”

Emerging the Empath - a self portrait

2013-01-15T12:35:00.001-08:00

Title: Emerging the Empath - Self Portrait
Medium: Acrylic on canvas
Size: 18x12
Artist: Vennie Kocsis
{Available for purchase in print to canvas and poster - message for details or visit http://facebook.com/venniekocsis)

So You’re Awake. What Now?

2013-01-14T19:24:00.001-08:00

So you're awake! You finally get it! Everything is clear and flooding in. Truth is everywhere you look. You understand that processed food is poison. You understand that there is an attempt to create a One World Order. You understand the financial enslavement, the religious indoctrination and the veil which has been pulled over your eyes. Now it's lifted, and you're on a frenzy sharing every photo, article and quote you can find. I get it. I really do. There's an excitement which occurs when we finally wake up to truth.

So what do you do now? How do you move forward? Now that you're aware of the problems, how do you contribute to eliminating them?

This is where people sometimes drop off. They stop at the level of passing on as much information as they can. They don't go much further, or they become hypocrites, sharing a lot of information, and demanding people change it but no doing so themselves. They stop at actually.... changing their own behaviors and choices.

Sharing pictures with quotes on them is great, don't get me wrong. But if you do not add to that by taking active part in changing yourselves, then all the sharing is nothing more than a churning of information because in the interim no change is being made on an individual level.

Take stock in yourself. You have to do more than just pass on messages. You have to actually start to look at your own behaviors and actively take responsibility for understanding how your life choices might be contributing to the very problems you now passionately wish to change.

To help that process along, start by asking yourself some of these questions:

*Where do I shop?
*Am I shopping locally as much as I can, understanding that not everything can be bought locally, but making sure I've exhausted my options before going to mainstream stores like Walmart, Target or the Mall?
*Am I changing my diet to incorporate more organics, finding my local markets and being willing to pay slightly more to support the local markets so that they can lower their pricing and make organics more accessible?
*Have I moved my bank accounts from mainstream banks like Bank of America, Wells Fargo and Chase and put them with local credit unions?
*What books and magazines am I buying? How do they affect how I see the world, myself and others?
*Am I turning off our televisions, disconnecting my cable and getting out in nature more?
*How do I feel, think and speak about myself?
*How do I feel, think and speak about men?
*How do I feel, think and speak about women?
*How do these three affect how I feel, think and speak about the world?

These are just a few small steps that you can do to really begin to make a change, not only in yourself but also in others. Because once you make these changes in your own life, your authentic self will begin to speak through example. Your own growth will inspire others to follow suit and this is how change and progression truly happen.

❤If something comes to life in others because of you, then you have made an approach to immortality.❤ Norman Cousins

from my progressive heart to yours,

Vennie Kocsis

Caught - spoken poetry

2013-01-09T23:51:00.000-08:00

Let’s Talk Orgasms! {video}

2012-12-15T09:12:00.001-08:00

The video you’ll only see on my blog!

Let's discuss what orgasms, sacred whores and temple sluts, shall we?

Dear Self,

2012-12-02T20:01:00.001-08:00

Dear Self,

I am writing you today to tell you what I have learned from you. Since you often forget, I feel it’s important to remind you.

You have taught me that I hurt; that pain is relevant and an important part of the process of where I’ve come.
You have taught me that it is alright to cry.
You have taught me how to soothe; how to sip hot cocoa and snuggle up with a funny movie and a blanket.
You have taught me to create art; to make music and to write when I feel I am drowning.
You have taught me that I am healed, even with these scars, even when they ache; that those are just phantom pains.
You have taught me to be strong and push on.
You remind me that even when I turn to food to comfort myself, I deserve to be healthy and to not self abuse.
Most of all you have allowed my cosmic memory to become fully awake and remind me that I am an angel having a human experience.

I appreciate and adore you. I believe in you. I am proud of where we have come together, what you have allowed me to let go and what we have gained.

I just wanted you to know that I love you.

Sincerely,

It Takes 90 Days For the Crazy To Come Out

2012-11-23T21:24:00.001-08:00

The last week of July 2012, I was working in one of my client’s shops for the day. In the afternoon a gentleman who came in to pick up his dog needed to use the bathroom. As he passed by me to do so, I got lost in the prettiest blues eyes I’d ever seen. He was tall, bald, and had an adorable crooked smile. We gazed at one another for a moment, and as he was going out the door, he turned and said, “I’m not leaving here till you agree to go to dinner with me.”

and so I did.

The next three months we were in a whirlwind of dating. We laughed, went to dinner, spent time at his beach house, watched movies, danced to music, cooked food, and sensual moments together. We walked our dogs, hiked in the woods, found out we both loved thrifting and spent August and September digging around in thrift stores.

We shared life experiences, the pains of our childhoods, what we’ve learned, how we’ve grown, and how much more we want to grow in the future. We were both Progressive, organic and deeply rooted in caring for the planet.

I was enjoying being with someone who laughed as much as me and enjoyed the same things I enjoyed, even down to the same music. He had loads of Adele and Ray LaMontagne on his playlist. Could it get any better than that?

But in the beginning of November I began to notice things changing. He seemed to have a drink in his hand every time I saw him now, something that hadn’t existed before. He was short of patience with me. We had an argument, something we’d never had, where things came out of his mouth which shocked me; things I won’t repeat here; that let me know, I had to end this dating relationship immediately.

On November 9th, I did just that. I took my son to his house where I had some belongings I wanted to get, and I sat him down and let him know that I didn’t want to see him anymore.

His initial reaction was to ask me why, what had he done, and I explained to him that we were not on the same journey in life. He had begun to show an extremely negative side, and this was not the type of dating relationship I wanted.

When I would not give in, he turned for the worst. He became vile with his mouth. He told me I was just a slut, an unstable and worthless human being, and I quietly got the few items I had, saying nothing as I headed towards the door. My last glimpse of him was standing by the island in his kitchen with a large butcher knife gripped tightly in his fist. Driving away from that house, I felt as if I had just begun a war with a demon.

I was about to found out just how much.

Four days later my neighbor witnessed him sneaking out of my driveway at 5:30 in the morning, get into his truck and speed off. He’d sliced all of the tires on my car, and all of the tires on my son’s Monte Carlo SS.

My first call was to the police to begin what I knew would have to be a swift no contact order. This man was not taking losing me very lightly. What continued from Wednesday to Friday made my skin crawl; he showed up at my client’s shop looking for me; went to a mutual clients house whose yard he had landscaped and left a note on her door about me; emails; phone calls; texts, tell me he was going to get me; driving down the alleyway of my home and opening my back screen door.

When finally he was served the no contact order he fell silent.

This is the first time I’ve shared publicly what I’ve been through the past few weeks mainly because I have been dealing with the situation and trying to rebalance myself.

This situation has left me a slight bit jaded. I had no signs that this person could snap. In fact, I had references on him from prominent individuals in the community. He owns a successful landscaping company and had done large jobs on million dollar homes in the city. I purposely asked around about him, and I was told that he’d be a great guy to date.

Yet friends of his whom I met when we were dating, chose after the fact to reveal about this man’s past, and he is an abuser.

When I told one of his friends that we were no longer dating because of his negative behavior, she said, “We know that he has a history. We were just hoping you’d be different. We’d never seen him so happy as he was when he was with you.”

Now as I sit here a week away from a court date where I most likely will have to look this man in the face I asking myself the usual questions, “could I have avoided this?” “where there signs I didn’t see?”.

Dating is frightening. Even known members of the community can’t be trusted, and while I don’t like to allow my experiences to keep me from connecting with other people, I can’t help but feel very held back at this point from opening up to another dating experience any time soon.

In conclusion, as the saying goes, it does take ninety days for the crazy to come out.

There's A Choice We're Making. We're Saving Our Own Lives.

2012-11-05T12:16:00.001-08:00

I am a poet, a writer, a musician and a visual artist. I am all of these wrapped in one body, but before all of that I am a Concerned Citizen of this Planet Earth.

It's not about me, or how much attention I can muster online to help boost my self esteem and ego. It's not about how many "likes" or comments I can get. It's about releasing, sharing, connecting and healing. It's not about creating guilt, but sharing inner truth.

When I look in my skies, and I see chemicals raining down from the clouds, then I look at my social network feed to see people arguing instead of working together to form solutions, or complaining about their college classes instead of being thankful they even get to study, or that the new shoes they bought yesterday don't fit instead of feeling gratitude that they have shoes, I think "We are doomed."

I think we are doomed because I see the energy being consistently put into the atmosphere by disinterested and complacent humans, and it's frustrating. It's what keeps this planet spiraling out of control, and I see people wanting to complain so people will say "oh, so sorry", feeding into self pity instead of trying to grow, heal and progress forward.

I want this space I use to connect to be filled with knowledge which inspires people to pay attention to issues which concern our own mental and physical health.

They're spraying us hard in the Pacific Northwest. Look at your skies. Now understand your illness, your irritation and your pain. If they can put your life expectancy to about 50 years old, they get a good 30 years of work out of you, lots of money for your medical insurance and illnesses, and they get to keep your social security. It's a surefire plan.

A scientist recently said that the most grave problem on this planet right now is the influx of chemicals into our skies. This photo I just took 10 minutes ago. This is what is happening to us right now as I write. We have to wake up... And wake up now.

HAARP, FEMA, and my Hurricane Katrina Experience

2012-10-29T22:33:00.001-07:00

When natural disasters are created by government funded corporations like HAARP, big money is laundered by the Investors, hereto known as the United States 1%. There are multiple ways in which they do it, but one way which is not often discussed in the open, is something I'm going to touch on as I tell my own personal story about Hurricane Katrina.

FEMA, a natural disaster relief division of the American financial system gets millions of dollars a year in fund allocations. When natural disasters hit our country these funds are intensely increased.

When natural disasters are predicted/created, transportation companies like Landstar, headquarted in Jacksonville, FL a mostly Conservative, male run company, begin the bidding wars to acquire the transportation accounts to haul in emergency supplies to natural disaster sites like Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast. I can guarantee you that all of the major transportation companies, SWIFT, JB Hunt, Interstate, are right now burning the midnight oil to submit their rate packages in the hopes to win a chunk of the money about to be paid out for this new hurricane disaster.

Here's how it starts becoming big money business. Lets go back to Hurricane Katrina. We won't go into how much they made off of wiping out a good chunk of real estate so they could re-invest, re-sell and make profits. We're just going to focus strictly on the money made from the transportation only.

During Hurricane Katrina, Landstar had a division they fondly called "the war room", a transportation team which went into action when natural disasters hit. They arranged air and land transportation for these types of natural disasters. The war room has been a long term division of Landstar.

By the time Katrina hit New Orleans, Landstar already held a large portion of the bids for the water hauling. I know firsthand. I was employed there. I worked on some of those bids and managed an account hauling water during Katrina. This put me in direct contact with representatives working for FEMA.

The first night that our drivers sat outside of Houston, TX, with FEMA paying Landstar up to 300 dollars a night to have the drivers loaded, sitting and waiting, we didn't think much of the fact that the drivers were just sitting. We figured FEMA was working on the routes, security and the like. On top of paying out the sitting fees, FEMA paid 4-7 dollars a mile to have the water and supplies picked up at stations around the country and hauled into Houston, the closest city with direct access into New Orleans. We won't even go into the paying out of dead head miles, having drivers run hundreds of miles with empty trailers to insure enough transportation was available for FEMA. Other accounts we held in our office suffered, their loads sitting undelivered as we massed drivers towards Texas for FEMA loads into New Orleans.

But by the time the third and fourth night turned into five, six and seven nights of sitting, our drivers were starting to get antsy and upset. They were calling into the office, calling our cell phones, wanting to know what was going on. Stuck in their cabs and at various truck stops listening and watching the news and the desperation happening in New Orleans, they began to question why they weren't being allowed on into the city to deliver the supplies. Drivers reported to us that the National Guard was stationed at the highway so no trucks could get past and on towards New Orleans. Why, they wanted to know, was the Army blocking the entrance?

One driver, in frustration, told me he was just going to drive through them. Many of the drivers felt that something was wrong, and they were right. Something was severely wrong.

As people struggled to live, screaming for water inside of the New Orleans Dome, the National Guard stood stoically blocking supplies which were a mere four hours away. When we called FEMA asking what the hold up was, we were told that they were waiting for orders to release it. There must have been a script handed out. It was a lot of "Ma'am, I'm sorry. We're waiting just like you. I just work here." Always waiting for someone higher up to give the go ahead. No one ever did. Enough supplies were allowed in to make it seem like they tried to do something. They didn't.

Most of the water loads I arranged into Houston were sent back to their origin and never brought in. I created invoices to the tune of 3-7 thousand dollars apiece to send to FEMA. My boss made a nice chunk of change that year. Landstar made millions off of that disaster, and FEMA paid it all on time. Landstar wasn't the only transportation company getting paid. We who worked the ground levels, however, are left with the images of watching people beg for water on the news as we sat with it just a few hours away.

I will carry the effects of that time with me for the rest of my life. Every time I listen to the stories, even to this day, of how FEMA still has not paid to help the people of New Orleans, I feel a pang in my heart. I knew I was working for an unethical and greed centered company who was freely laundering money for their Republican cohort, George Bush and his beloved FEMA. The particular office I worked out of is one of the biggest agencies for Landstar, ran by a proudly Conservative and Mormon family. I don't have to try and guess who they're voting for this year.

I get ill when I think of some of the things I witnessed working for that company. It was one of the worst times I felt the most helpless inside as an adult. I eventually lost all heart and dwindled the job away until my boss said "You don't want to be here anymore.", and I said "Yep, you're right.". I was exhausted and drained by their drama, religious rhetoric and disgusting greed. Even when they helped us, there was always a catch. Such is the way of the greedily wealthy.

FEMA and their Corporate consort/s exchange and launder money every time there is a disaster. The money the one percent cycles just goes in a continuous circle, exchanging into each other's hands. The American people suffer from it, as we feel the massive consumer affect these disasters have on our economy. The associates advising and allocating money are the same ones investing, owning or in bed with the very companies they are paying the money to. It's a win win for them.

We all know what is coming as another HAARP fueled disaster hits our country; as they launder and pillage us again. I do not know what the answers are except that we have to start telling the truth about ourselves, the choices we make in our specific lives and how we can choose to change those choices.

FEMA, HAARP and other government funded agencies do not have the interest of the poor, middle class or even semi-rich in the forefront of their minds. Maybe we can reach out on an individual level to lend more help to those immediately around us in need. The trickle affect of that would be astronomic as we move towards a life of being released from sucking on the nipple of the 1%.

until then... I continue sending peace, love and understanding to those who will suffer when they should not have to in the hopes that we can rebuild with Love, Truth and Integrity as our Intent.

I Care. Do You?

2012-10-16T22:50:00.001-07:00

When Mitt Romney slipped and started to say "puppet" instead of "pell" while answering the first debate question which focused on student loans, I smiled to myself. Exactly, Mitt, Exactly. We know what's really going on in that little head of yours. The dark forces unfold themselves quicker than they can control. Freudian slips happen anytime, anywhere.

Watching Barack gracefully explain his strategies while Romney continued to whine like a spoiled child was like watching a swan try to teach a chicken to float elegantly. Watching Mitt's blinking eyes speed into quicker repetitions when he was getting nervous about trying to defend the truth Barack kept slamming him with; stuttering and grasping for another percentage, was a built in lie detector.

Mitt blinked into the camera and said "I'm going to give the middle class a whole lotta breaks just cuz I'm cool like that!"; so cool, he was too cool for taxes; too cool to even pay his own part.

Barack said he has a moral obligation to this country. I agree. We have a moral obligation to ourselves, to the 99%, even to the members of the 99% who really truly believe that the 1% give two shits about them. Yes, we have a moral obligation.

I watched thirty minutes of the debates on youtube, then clicked the lovely red x.

Barack's record of what he has done specifically for the 99% speaks for itself. Anything else is irrelevant as we stand on the edge of the cliff attempting to hold onto our freedoms, which sit right at the tips of the Republican claws.

Not voting to re-elect Obama next month is the equivalent of stabbing a knife into the vagina of every American woman who will lose her right to have an abortion; into her pocketbook as well when she loses her right to equal pay in the workforce, a bill the Republicans are already working to eliminate. By not voting for Obama, you'll be ripping out the hearts of every same sex marriage, every transgender person, fighting for equal rights for medical insurance. We are humans. If you don't care about anything else that's happening, at least, care about us.

The Wounds We Carry

2012-10-08T14:53:00.001-07:00

He said his mother was a Jesus Zealot. She said children should be seen. Not heard. Spare the rod. Spoil him. She lectured, indoctrinated, brainwashed and belittled.

She made him sleep outside in the rain once when he was eight. All night he shivered in the cold January rain which covers the whole of the Pacific Northwest. He found an old tarp in the garage and crawled inside of it. She asked him the next morning if he'd learned anything. He said yes, that he'd behave. She told him that his suffering would bring him closer to God. It didn't. It only brought him closer to his anger, his bitterness, his distaste for life.

He said once she made him go a week without dinner because he got in trouble in class. He'd said something funny. The teacher called "class clown". His mother made him sit there at the dining room table, his father on one end, she at the other, his brother and sister across from him; all with plates full of food. She made him fold his hands on top of the table and sit silently watching the family eat. What did he learn, she asked when the week was finished. Again, he said what he needed to, that there was a punishment for sin, giving in so life could go on; so he could have dinner.

I looked in his eyes. I saw the pain there; the loss of self; the same anguish that came for me, the knowing that religion had allowed our mothers to abuse us, allowed them to justify their actions, allowed them to extract from us every ounce of our individuality or right to choose who we were.

There's a pang in my stomach for the millions of children who get bent over laps and dealt harsh blows to the ends of their spine. There's a stream of heartache for the hours methodically sitting through church services. There's a sadness for the way it starts, so innocently, so young, with no protection or defense against it; how they are swayed with pictures and morning Bible schools, singing and clapping along with songs, the way they get to children before they infuse the fear, that place where the sinners go, where the flames lick at their feet and they beg for water.

I wonder if humans will ever stop; ever free themselves to live in the simplistic wonder of self existence, where the planet leaves them in awe, where kindness to one another comes without a bargain of believing in a doctrine. I wonder how long before the children stop being punished in the name of it all.

If I could hold him in my arms and take him back; become his mother; give him the love he should have had, I'd try and take them all, these child adults, so torn from what was justified by a book, something none of them could ever understand. Yet I am left here with the wind and my weeping, because I don't know how much of the pain I can continue to help them all carry.

Loving My Wounds

2012-10-05T13:40:00.001-07:00

In my adult life, struggling to come into who I am fully, one of my biggest obstacles has been romantic relationships. Because of my traumatic childhood, I have often chose to love men who abused me in some way. Abuse came in many forms. I have chosen men who have abused me physically, mentally and emotionally.

I've been pushed, choked, hit, controlled, disregarded and belittled. I have been told I wasn't enough, that I was too fat, that I was "fuckable" material but not "wifey" material. I've been cheated on, lied to, misunderstood and further hurt.

Two experiences which will always stand in the forefront of mind are when I was told I was too overweight to take as a date to a military ball, and when I was instructed not to hold a man's hand in a parking lot because he was afraid other women might think he was with me romantically. I don't know why I let myself be treated that way. I was devastated by those situations, and I accepted it.

I chose these relationships because I did not understand the fullness of my worth. I never believed that anyone of any substance could ever fully love someone as broken, damaged and messed up as me. So I took what I could get. I settled for less; for those who just damaged me further. I believed that maybe that is what love was, being treated as I always had been as a child, as an object, a thing, and not as a person or someone worthy of being treated as a Queen.

There are all kinds of books and movies depicting men who meet creative women, sweep them off their feet and love them because they are so wildly artistic and wounded. I find that these depictions are just that; fantasies of unrealistic scenarios.

The truth is that for the most part, a man, conditioned to have a sense of entitlement that women are supposed to cook and clean for him, are unable to love a creative, damaged and hyper-sensitive woman fully. They don't understand her need for solitude, yet they very often want her to understand his. They find her over-emotional, too talkative and/or living in a fantasy world.

Loving a creative empath takes an immense amount of understanding. Loving anyone takes stepping outside of self. I have realized that in every one of my relationships, I have been the one constantly sacrificing, giving, changing and selling myself short.
I have seen myself alone as time continues on, as the lines get thicker around my eyes; as the hair continues to turn gray and gravity pulls at my skin. I have even as of late considered that I may not be as compatible with the male species as I would like to think I am. I don't know who I am compatible with anymore. I have always been faking it to make it. I don't want to live like that anymore.

I don't know what the future holds in regards to my romantic involvements. I have considered the possibility that I am not to even focus my energy there at all. I have considered wild alternatives such as joining an all woman spiritual commune where I could focus on creativity, receive true intimate friendship and love and grow in other ways.

The more I delve into allowing myself to not accept anything which creates hurt or doesn't allow me to fully bloom and be inspired, the more I find that things I believed were right and good for me may not be what is in my best interest.

I don't know where life will lead me in regards to my romantic relationships, but I am more open to new possibilities than ever before. I deserve to be loved for me, and I want to feel that more than anything; the full acceptance of being loved and adored for exactly who I am.

Blankets

2012-10-01T11:10:00.001-07:00

I have a blanket with a silk lining. I am three. It is between my finger and thumb. I am caressing and continually rubbing the soft silk. It goes with me everywhere. It is my twin with its stained baby blue hue. I am soothed by its presence, and by the time summer is over I will never see it again. It will end up in a burn pile with the rest of the artifacts documenting my childhood.

I won't remember another blanket until I am a woman.

There will be the one with the seventy's flowers, grotesque and bawdy, comforting to the touch with its satin folds. There will be the knitted one in three colors, mermaid green, purple and blue. It will stretch and wrap perfectly around my body, warm and snug like a feathery cocoon. It will be borrowed by my eldest son and never returned. He will become attached to it like a second skin.

There will be the deep purple, double crocheted blanket with the yarn tassels gifted to me by my brother on a night he had enough vodka in him to bring the feelings out. He will leave for Alaska, and the purple fuzz will scatter over my couch and bed, reminding me of the capability of love after pain, reminding me that I may not see him again before his liver becomes sodden with too much gin.

It will soothe my friends, sick from too many tequila shots and children struggling through aching fevers. It will bring me out of night terror dreams, catch tears brought on by the solitude of the full moon and understand moments where sadness has no meaning.

I am wrapped in blankets that have become members of my family; blankets telling stories of blankets past, blankets lost and the wonder of blankets to come. I keep blankets for the one stolen; the one which carried the last morsel of my innocence into the scorching flames.

Longing For Home

2012-09-22T00:06:00.001-07:00

I'm tired these days; exhausted. I'm wondering how long before I'm in a tent, writing music under the rain, chewing on breakfast bars. Where do the bards go when they can't take the world anymore, but aren't ready to die? Where do the songstresses lay their heads when the walls of the city bounce their falsettos back into their ears like crashing cymbals? The noise of the breathing is too much sometimes. The scent of the anger overwhelms my skin, and I itch to scratch it out. They smell sad and morose as they dig in the trough of their own slop. There's a fog in my head; a wandering lost wind; like I'm here, but I'm not; like I'm in mid leap. I'm alone on this hillside waiting out misting time. My jaws ache with pain, and my skeleton feels like metal creaking beneath my bustled skin. Sleep can't take me deep enough to escape the dreams, and I refuse to sip a pill. My heart is beating in my eyelids. Everyone who passes me reminds me of why I long for home.