Archive for April, 2009


Fresh Starts

They can be good or sad or painful or any number of single things, perhaps they are a multitude of things.

Most likely they are a multitude, and we take ’em one at a time. Only way to surf through them…


Here comes my wave~~~~


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Gandhi said, “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

This is something I read long ago and was intrigued by the statement…enough so that I researched it and spoke with people of different denominations and of different faiths. Some became holier that Christ himself; others were more open to the idea that much is twisted to suit the “faithful.” Many said, with sadness, that many “Christians” do much to push people away from Jesus with their smug attitudes and turned backs…

Few actually follow the teachings of Christ. They are more concerned with twisting his beautiful words into their delusions of being righteous. No wonder the word righteous became on par with a cursing/swearing…

A few ruin it, the grace to be found in Pure Love. Judge and shun others who have a more joyful and hopeful belief in genuine love and loyalty.

Be like me or be bad…ignorant words spoken with hidden hate and sneers.

Christ-like, indeed.

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Random Thoughts From Two Mad Women…Mine And Hers

Grab bits and pieces of peace whenever they arrive, embrace yourself and each other and life, fear not the boogie man when he visits for his stay is short, banish from your heart those who suck you dry, and replenish when you are thirsty in your soul…

we are alike,
look for our commonalities not our differences
welcome diversity of color, gender,
anything that is not the spitting image of yourself
work together, play together, share what you have

Do not be afraid to be you, to reach out, to hold the one who reaches for you
Keep The Door Open,
the door we sometimes close in despair
Scar tissue around your heart doubles the tenderness found there, also

Know that you are in the right place at the right time for the right reasons that may never be revealed to you.

Recharge what needs energized, frequently it’s our spirits. our hearts. our desires.
All rolled into one.
We either want it or we don’t want it. There is no middle ground unless we make one if the seduction of limbo wins..
Shaking off the boogers of guilt and shame isn’t a challenge, it’s a frigging race to see if we dissolve them first or they dissolve us…

We are loved whether we want to be or not–others see us in a much different light.
Make peace with the reflection in the mirror…

Speak to me of your solitary times
What fills those moments?
Do you sing of your beauty with abandonment?
Or whisper only lest you seem too proud?
Do we whisper of our despair when once more we stumble
…from grace and from glory?
We are kinder to others than to ourselves
Are we the inheritors of bashing ourselves?
From childhood we ease into possessing talents unknown
Sometimes by surprise, others by necessity
Speak to me of your learning them
…speak softly of the fears and of the sorrow
Filling the heart with weariness, too tired to go on.

Shout to me of your beauty
It is there you know
Be not bashful
Your gifts are great and you must honor them
Feigned Ignorance is not becoming a spirit of humility,
nay it shows only esteem gone astray
Find it, you find life
Woven strands of guilt snap off the soul
Freedom to embrace who you are

Do you know love?
Love for yourself
Unconditional it must be
Forgiving yourself for wandering off your path
Perhaps it is time to remember
We stretch so we learn
No stretch=stagnation=living death

Wake up and walk your solitary path,
greet those on the parallel of your own
Bind and band together
Each walker important
Individually and member of the traveling troupe

Solitude and Solidarity

Courage is the power to let go of the familiar…

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Say It Ain’t True

I’ll say it, though. It is true. True that support is given, but sometimes there is an element of “my support is better than your support.”

Should it not be like a puzzle that someone puts together, joining the pieces that pull together a picture of what they need right then?

As they say in 12 step recovery programs, take what you need and leave the rest…

There are kernels of wisdom and truth in most posts that are offering support and caring based on individual experiences.

Why is it necessary to discredit that offering? Personal dislike for the person replying in their best way?

Or does Ego play a huge part in not seeing beyond their own offering?


Wouldn’t it be more mature and more helpful to either keep the ego silent–if such a thing is possible–and just share what has worked for an individual? If advice/sharing is considered dangerous, that’s a different animal. If it’s different in some way, what is the problem in being glad there are diverse and equally important sharings?

Competition over whose advice is more valuable for any reason is sad, foolish, and serves no useful purpose.

Well, perhaps it serves a purpose…stroking your own ego is an enticing action at the expense of others.


Way To Go


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What Is This Feeling?!

It is familiar, true. I’ve felt it before, yes. The name is right on the ol’ tip of the tongue…Aha! Relaxed/calm/drama free for awhile. Typed that and immediately thought of a shoe dropping. That’s ok, I countered with, “I hope it’s a purple one.”

How interesting to have a good feeling pop up, how weird to question what the feeling was…I’ve become very comfortable with negativity, I suppose. In me and in others.

Remembering another blog entry about being a resident in the town of Woe-Is-Me. Some people become residents but for a short while, others will never leave it. The permanets have been elected to the City Council…aka they know how to bitch.  They have the patent on suffering/pain/I can’t do that!/huh? Then we have the wimbirds…those who come and go according to what is happening in their lives. They stay long enough to rest, lasso courage, and ride off into the storm, singing off key. They’ll return whenever the need arrives, they have no intention of staying.

Playing was refreshing and childlike and I’ll do it again and again.

I made the grass angels, got rained on, cupped my hands and drank that magic rain. Let it drip from my hands, run down my face, felt it merge with tears.

The good tears and the magic rain.

Bad tears are those that are bottled up, good ones are those that found their way to the light.

After the lightening came within what felt like inches, I sat on the patio and watched and thought but didn’t wail in frustration…for a change.

It interested me that I sat there, feeling good, but not giving the lightening the attention it should have…

How many times do I do that as I walk my path of healing?

Hear the severe weather in the background and ignore it?

Ignore the storms gathering in my spirit?

kinda like I asked for trouble?

left myself wide open?

thought I was rooted in safety?

denied play time was needed and needed NOW?

Blush, blush.

Bit my butt, it did.

Coming down a peg or two is not nearly as much fun as going up three or four of ’em.

Gonna get a bandaid for the bitten butt.

Root around and find, “The Gods Must Be Crazy.” Part One.

Add a few to my laugh lines, all forty thousand of them.

You see, it’s forty thousand because I’ve had more laughs in my life than tears…and who the hell ever heard of tear lines?







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Permission To Not Play

Sometimes I just want to be in left field, making grass angels, kiss the butterflies when they fly off to their adventures, and not give a hoot about the sunrays being bad for my skin…it’s wrinkled anyway.

That warmth feels good on my face and ears and neck, I welcome it.

John Wayne Syndrome again, Ethel had it worse. Yet again I failed to notice I was trailing Ethel as she fought her battles. Yep, I had to cover her back.

Metaphor for damn I’m tired and it’s ok to be worn out.

In place were all my neat little rescue tricks. Except I wasn’t depressed, I was, and still am, physically exhausted. In turn that’s going to steal some glad and leave sad in it’s place.

So…I’ll continue to name the dirt rabbits and draw geometric designs in the dust, and eat jelly and peanut butter crackers.Spoonful of mint jelly followed by a cracker topped with pb scraped from the jar. I must remember this time not to put my hand in the jar to scrape the bottom…

Players running around looking for bases of security, intent on barely touching one before they are seeking another…home runs?

Not in this game we call living/existing. We race for the next hit, thinking it will be our final solution to soul-sickness.Why race all the time?

Why not slow down? I’ve smelled enough flowers for 3 billion people. I want to inhale the grace that surrounds me, exhale the mustiness in my spirit.

I’m going to spit and it won’t dribble down my chin. In the grocery store. I shouldn’t be spitting there, folks are buying their food…but it might help them stick to their diets…visual of an old broad having a spitting contest with a five year old. That’s me.

No Joplin this time, downloaded the free 99 songs on Amazon.

Tibetan chants among others, interesting and new to me. What a grand surprise! I liked many of them, others? Say something nice about that kind of noise–hmmm…come back to that later.

Game time

Arcade then left field making de angels and hiding the balls.

Baseballs not brass ones–I use ’em on occasion.




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