Thursday, October 27, 2016

Just over a month has passed since my last entry. I'm surrounded by friends that want the best for me; my trusty rogues, flying high in the sky.  I watch with wonder as they help me put lifes fires out and add fuel to my own joie de vivre.  Opening myself up, exposing myself to a life where the glass can and should be half full is a blessing.  Letting the glass-half-empty practice wither is so gratifying and timely.  I've come into a life where there is loads of possiblity just waiting for me.  I cannot go back to who I was.  Spirit has planned this all along.

The present scenario I'm "living" in has shown me a lot.  It has taught me that a truly cluttered life starts with a cluttered brain.  Seeing this property littered with shit is an immensely accurate portrait of what is going on in the owners brain.  I've experienced her clusterfuck of rants, and instead of spewing back with the same dark force of energy, I check myself.  I make sure my side of the road is clean, so to speak, then reply accordingly.  It really isn't all that difficult when I remove the desperation and focus on the solution.  I do not and will not function in an environment where being a bully is more important than being a compassionate human.  There is no room in my world for idiots.

Yesterday is over.  I am done with forfeiting my dreams in order to make others happy.  Living from place to place, I put my animals in jeopardy just to have them with me. Saying that I could take the best care of them was prideful, as I know they have come here on this earth to love and be loved, no matter if it's me or another lucky person.   Their next owners will fill them with a life that they deserve.  I simply couldn't do it anymore, as I was compromising my needs in order to think I was saving theirs.  If I truly love animals, it is an honor to find them a home that can care for them, be there for them, give them all that they need while also living their own life well.
It is indeed one of the most painful losses, but I have to realize my dream.  In order to realize what I've been put here for, I have to step out of the way and let my heart be heard.  I have to find me; the creative part of me that is deep within the core of my being.  I have not been honoring myself and looking at what I need to bloom.  I've just put the seed in the bottom of a hole, covering it with excuses and fears instead of enriching it with Truth, Wisdom, Positivity.

The sacrifices I made yesterday have left me completely flat emotionally, but when I see and re-read The Alchemist, I remember that the fuel I need to energize again isn't to be found in a pill, wine, negativity.  It is found when I see what lengths I went to make necessary change.  I did hella things in order to be happier, so now I have to bless the experiences leading up to this very moment I'm typing to you, dear journal, and see what is next with fervor and excitiement, not jumbled nerves and crying.  I have see my tears in different categories: it is greatly healing to cry when there is grief, loss, pain.  There is a time and a place to share these things, and I must get a better handle on my floodgate of tears shed at the drop of a pin!  There are the tears of excitement, where your face is blissfully hurting from realizing your goal, seeing hardwork rewarded or...reaching or pursuing your personal legend.  The tears that are the most disturbing and run out of every pore of me at any given moment are the tears of forecasted fear.   I call it that because they futurize the unknown horizon and think the worst is about to happen.  I mean, I have lived in allllllll kinds of precarious scenarios - you would think that these prepare me to receive Any thing without being fearful.  There is a time and a limit the Universe allows for upset and fear.  It is at those times where I am not supporting my calling and trying to control my environment.  I came here to realize something my parents did not.  I came here to be of service, to be happy, to make others light shine makes mine shine greater.  It is my time..

Monday, October 24, 2016

Sept 13 - 2016

I'm sitting here in the cold draft of a nightmare soon-to-be over.  The air is as thick as the thieves while vultures circle overhead,waiting for my departure.  The vultures I speak of  can't help their narcissism.  They were surely born with a penchant for stealing souls, corralling their victims into their bottomless well to draw from when they needed power.  I am not a victim.  I am light, I am Presence, I have a soul that is bound with chords of strength and grace.  I am captivated by a nack for survivng - surprised, but not surprised, by every feat of compassion beyond measure I've endured.  I will beat her vampire sucking spirit to the ground with my courage and grace.  I am Leah Morrah.

The life she took was merciless.  A Sensless act of irresponsibility, which in some cultures, she would be killed for killing.  Some cultures would muzzle the perpitrator.  I would like to hold the vision of both the deadly dog and it's merciless owner to be muzzled, but again...I,m on an energy saving spree, not an energy mindfuck.   My boy didn't ask for anything but love and time in the sun.  There was no reason for him to die, as he was the epitome of all Things Beautiful in this World. But what if it's a message of something greater? What if the gods were protecting him from something much worse?  What could Be worse, I guess, would take an unnescessary shit load of energy I need to preserve in a bottle; a jar for emotional emergencies only.  To waste time and convert energy molecules into sad ones is just not practical.  I am a rounded emotional being tying to fit myself in a squared practical hole.  ouch.

I Know I have angels watching over me.  Mark the Mighty swooping in and saving the day ! ... he definitely needs a cape :)  A little Indian woman, Rekha, showing me ways to channel my strength, inviting me to festivals celebrating Life. The simple beauty of a small Hindu temple.   G & I swaying to words we can't read or pronounce, but understood just the same.   The music may be in a foreign tongue, but still felt and recognized as Spirit moving through us.   A message from Spirit to grab what Is and run from what Is Not.  

If I can continue to successfully peel these layers of fear from my being, all will be revealed.  I've been bathing in a sea of victim this and worry that for years.  Now is the time to get naked.  Now is the time for my true form to take root.  Now is the time for Love as strong as steel and as smooth as silk to envelope my naked body and clothe it in robes rich in wisdom and purpose.  This is my time.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

I haven't written for nearly a year. Though I'm not here to make up for lost time, I am merely here to make up with myself.  I have not been an attentive partner.  I've neglected everything that matters; my psyche, my belief in others, but especially the belief I had in myself.  I used to be a fighter, a negotiator, my own advocate.  Now my brain is fuzzy, I trust no one and I go through my days like I'm thumbing through a boring book of fiction.
I read this wonderful work by Dr Brenne Brown on Shame.  She did an interview with Maria Shriver that sounded like she was reading Me. "Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging'.   If she could actually interview me, what would I say?  Would I be able to share from my gut, a different part of me?  One that is stronger, sounds better, a clearer defined part of me that I didn't know was inside?

The thing is, Magic and Shame don't go together Magic is oil to Shame's vinegar.   I have let shame into my life, and it has worn out its welcome.  It's time to sweep that guest out of my house, as it is just does not fit with my decor!  I really do think changes happens when I let myself be open -  I just allow my whole being to be porous, soaking up the entirety of the promise or the possibility, or too-good-to-be-trueness of another. But in this phase of my life, I have not left any space or energy for me.  In other words: I've wasted so much time holding space for people and the problems they bring to me, I've nothing left for myself.
I re-read my entries and feel like they all sound the same.  The shake-up needs to happen!  I need to stop carrying the black cloud around and just leave it for Eeyore.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Don the cape

I had yet another Light bulb moment.  I Am a Writer.  This realization knocked me clean into Kentucky and wasn't something that happened overnight.  It happened probably as soon as I was old enough to put two words together and make my first sentence. I was a Writer even back then.  My only fan was my sister.  my quirky confidant; we were twon polar opposites stuck in a family that thought girls were useless and reminded of that notion.   Endlessly.  My sister, who is 6 years older than me was like the Poster Child of Nerdom.  She could've probably won awards for it, but instead, was bullied and messed with because she was smart and different.   I love every bit of that Nerd, because she taught me to write and to think and to Dream.  She taught me that just because I was cute and blonde, I needed to use my brain not my looks, because sooner or later, the hair would turn colors (she checked Daily!) and my looks would change.  Thanks, sis...thanks a lot.
In addition to my tutelage from my sister, I wasn't doing normal kid things like the other kids in my 'hood. Instead of making tree houses and pretend bat caves, I was sequestered on one of those lawn chairs of the 70's, where you wear the imprint of the webbing on your ass all day.  I studied the thesaurus.  Yep,  I became a wordsmith at the ripe old age of 6.  I would sit there for hours looking up words and writing poems and stories.   I got accolades from my first grade teacher for my poems and even got published in the local newspaper.  I still have the article to this day - 'Squeaky the Mouse' made it in the paper next to the ad for gas for a buck and the obituaries.  My poem, "War, War...What is it for?" made it as far as my first grade teachers bulletin board, as the subject matter was too advanced for a kid like me to write about.  It dealt with the atrocities of war from the innocent eyes of a 7 year old kid.  Mind blowing that it was over looked and misunderstood, but I was a kid in the Midwest, so go figure.  
Over time, I've written and scraped many poems, kept more journals than there are volumes of the encyclopedia.   When I was unattached, I used to befriend guys online to test drive my stories.  I had given up finding a guy that understands me for Me, so instead I seasoned my dialogue with just the right kick to keep them wanting more. They fell in love with my writing, but never got as far - or as near - as looking into my eyes and seeing the depth my heart could truly go.  I put a limit on my spending as far as my writing went. I was very frugal with my stories and poems, as I knew if I 'sold out', I could never really have my souls secrets to myself anymore,.  That's why they call them secrets after all.  I preferred to be a bit of a ghost writer to these men that swooned over my words, as the confidence faded when time comes to actually meet the someone that has fallen...for my writing.  The risk of maybe someday someone Getting me was a tightrope I was not quite willing to walk.  How about if they reject me - say my work is stupid?  No way, no how. I always kept a metaphorical baseball bat at my side in case someone failed to see my tender heart lay behind my mellifluous words. 
Fast forward to my Light Bulb moment.  That thing I was getting to that I had to take 3 or more paragraphs, before editing, to explain.  The thing I need to focus on is not if my writing wins other people over, but if it wins Me over.  I'm not looking to fall in love with a reader, because then I would become the 13th Disney Princess and become animated and buxom.    I needed to fall in love with myself, with my writing; see that I have purpose and unleash my guarded heart, not settle for Mr. Almost.  .

Once burned
lessons learned
twice shy
stupid guy
wants to look for something more
sounds like Macys closed at 4

Told me he's a fragile man
Can't you buy that in a can?
Think I'll put him on a shelf
Sell him for a penny
Give him free if you don't mind
I'm calling in his nanny

More is betta
so he said
I though that meant in money
Conquests are a dime a dozen
 I don't think its funny 

Friday, February 15, 2013

Maria ... I just made a gem named Maria!

This may seem like a fairly simple feat for the average jewelry artist.  Making jewelry that is pleasing the eye of both the creator and their audience.  It's more than that for me.  Two years ago, I could see myself walking into my studio area, fondling the individual stones, maybe even piecing something together in my head, but it would stop there.  I wouldn't, couldn't let myself see that I had even a smidgen of creativity to follow this pursuit, this seemingly straightforward task of creating this perfect little bauble.  Looking at these today, I haven come a loooong way, baby!

When I started my journey back through this Ptsd stuff, I had no idea what I would uncover.  The road is painstakingly hard and slow as a baby turtle, yet I know I am no where near the Finish line.   When I started delving into this Pandora's Box of Emotions, I prayed,  meditated, threw salt over my shoulder....anything that would take me back to the Me I knew was inside. With the help of time, patience and a few wonderfully wise women, I have begun again.

I titled this on my jewelry site, The Maria, as it is sleek, beautiful and quietly strong.  The real Maria that inspired this piece has all of these qualities...and then some.  I had the privilege to meet her last summer at Brave Girls Camp; an experience I'll never forget.  None of us will. The experience of bonding with these girls was like the Ya-ya's,  the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and any other fantastical novel about a group of seemingly different women, coming from different paths, different socio-economic levels, meeting in a lovely, unbiased, neutral ground to Find ourselves..  We saw that inside, in our core, we all want the same thing.  Love.  Love of self, more than any other type of love,  is the missing link.  The key ingredient that Connects us all.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

This Lil' Light of Mine

I remember as a child going to church with my family.  It was a bit silly, I thought, as our family is going to a sacred spot for an hour to "get all holy" was screwed up, as we would act as-if for an hour, inside this 4 brick walls with stained glass angels watching over us little fakers.  When we got home, instead of feel refreshed and anew, took our usual places in the Punch & Judy show, and who the hell is Judy?!    Even though I have these cray-cray memories of life as a kid, I also have the pictures that float in my mind; the sweetest melodies in that bliss-filled hour  I still hum randomly.  The best thoughts of Church weren't the damnation or tarnation people often link with the traditional Church Lady stereotypes.  The best memories were those songs - songs that we there for me unconditionally every week.  The liturgies, the Sanctus, the Offertoryhymns that gave me comfort, even though I didn't know what it meant.  As my life at home was unpredictable and protected, this red brick building we went to every week to "Act Saved" was there for me, giving me these rote songs that didn't judge me or make me eat brussel sprouts or the dreaded liver and onions.  It gave me the peace of my understanding - exactly what it said it would do.
The thing I craved most as a child was peace.  As a family, whether at the dinner table or the church pew, each member would play their part in the game of Deactivating Peace.  Usually my brother would start the marble down the slope by saying something rude to my sister.  That would send her into a tizzy, which caused me to delightfully kick my brother under the table to stop being such a tool.  That would make him complain to his mommy, which made my dad yell at her for being his cheerleader.  On and on, no matter where we were, this pinball game would go off, sending the ball this way and that, going no where while going everywhere.  This constant state of unrest seemed a bit of a cheat, as even in a legit pinball game racks up points; feel that momentary rush when the lights and bells go off at the end.  The sad point of our game was there Was no end. All I learned is how groovy flowers and fuzzy neon pink footprint stickers would cover the holes in the wall that were made by my father.

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