I couldn’t see you clearly. My love of love painted you in colors you never wore. It hung mistletoe on an everlasting ribbon above our heads promising kisses that didn’t come. In love I wrapped the banister of our lives in sweet smelling wreaths of pine that hid the stench of loneliness that rose always from the roots of our relationship.
But my God my vision of you was beautiful. I have never loved the way I loved you, or begged the way I begged you for a hug, a kiss, eye contact. “Just touch my hair,” pleading, “love me!” But you were busy and life was busy and the boy, the beautiful boy, needed my love more. And so you went, and so I waited, taking scraps of love from your fingertips, a post-it-note with a hand drawn flower, my hand on your back as you left us again for the world. Yet I loved you, and yet you left while I focused more and more on the boy who was my everything.
When our roof caved in I called on others for explanation as to how a quarter century could be lost in a flash. “Why should he suffer because you were delusional enough to believe you had a happy family,” I was told. Oh no, you should not suffer for the colors I painted you with. For the love I conjured up and tossed like confetti over our love’s funeral. I was blind, too alive to a dreamed of togetherness, the future, of our retired lives, our peace, each of us sharing the carefully cultivated love I stored up for two, never noticing that your share was missing, held back, and disinterested in my hoped for retirement. Love made me delusional, trusting, far seeing, and blind to the pain in the moment. Now the boy is gone, and you are gone, and my love in all its many colors is a withered blackened thing.
Love meant loyalty, kindness, being present, conversing as equals, deep snuggles on the sofa, your arm around my shoulder, my head pressed to your heart feeling safe for the first time all day. Love meant having dinner ready, making sure the house looked nice and the fridge was full. Love meant being a good mom, picking out good clothes for my family, and being prepared months in advance for the holidays. That was in the early days when I had purpose and felt a part of the family I had worked so hard to create.
All of that is dead now. Choices were made that still leave me stunned, vailed insults where whispered, and kisses were avoided with a look that suggested that instead of offering love I had offered shit on a spoon. I loved, I still love, and yet I am shit on a spoon offering kisses and begging for hugs that were unwanted, given only because the therapist said my need for basic love was warranted.
I will never understand love, why my heart pours it out like a river that is always flowing, yet never returned. Why I believe that being loving will garner me the right to be loved. Why my being present, being honest, being raw with my emotions is repugnant. I will never know love because apparently, I don’t know how to do it properly.
Should I have been cold, played games, spent all the money on hair and heals. Should I have flirted with my personal trainer and stayed out too late with my phone off. Should I have neglected our child and spent more time with my friends just to keep you jealous? I can’t ask you now. You’re with her and I’m here watching the snow fall and wishing that all this was over. I want to scrub you from my skin, but your touch is like vomit in a white carpet, the smell and the stain wont wash out.
I will never understand love, how it can be taken and not returned. How it can be used and not appreciated. How it can be cultivated and shredded from one day to the next, your smiling almond eyes that made me glow one moment were withdrawn the next, your voice withheld as I was left to feel unseen and alone. Were we ever really a couple, or was I just a box checked on your list of accomplishments that you were told would make you a man? Are you a man now because you juggled me and her? Are you a man because you chased other women, and then played pure and innocent when you came home to me? I will never forget the shame I felt when I asked my doctor to test me for VD’s. Your cruelty has taught me what our love meant.
And then it happens, that moment when you look up from your place on the floor and see the holy spirit standing as a column of light, inches from your fingertips, yet if you were to reach out you could not grasp its light. A thousand times on your knees praying through the pain and then it’s there like Christmas to a small child, only a small child is joyful at the sight of Santa, where as you know this last bout of loss and pain, of praying and suffering, have simply broken your brain.
Or has it? Is it ok to see God? You pray each day, remain faithful, remain devout, pure in heart and mind and word and yet when the light is there, when that holy instant does occur the fear of mental illness, that dread of a cracked psyche, over the love of the light, seems far more powerful. You shutter, look away, look back and decide. Do I believe in God or do I believe in my own madness? And yes it is easier to believe in madness when so many Mother Mary’s walk the halls of mental institutions, flanked by bearded Jesus’ in their medical robes.
But you do not believe you are God, only part of God, a fractal so bright and so in love with God that God is…real…to you. And so you look up and up into the light and you know why Joan led the French and Valentine advocated love, and why Jesus defied the Romans, because the beauty of this light, of this love, asks for nothing but your everything, and your everything you will not hesitate to give. So you shake off the notion that you are lunatic, unstable, overmedicated, and you rise and love, and serve, because the light is so bright that to do anything else would be unthinkable.
Who knows where the pain hides? Stored as it is in a body that can only cry out with an ache or sourness unaccounted for by the soul that resides within. Who knows why the stomach turns when a perfume glides through a room triggering memories better left unspoken, repressed, shut away for another time when life is more convenient and there is time to cry.
Who knows why the back aches even after the injury has healed, the body has recovered and yet the memory of all the cruelties of the moment seems lodged between this vertebra and that. Is it memory alone that waits there to wake us in the night with a throbbing pain or stiffness laced with a sense of loss.
We stuff our grief so deep that it becomes a poison in muscle and bone, tendon and organ, corrupting the natural flow of the body until sickness sets in. Our buried emotions fester until we shine a light on them, calling their memories to the surface, freeing the body of the burden of holding so much pain for so long.
My left shoulder reminds me that I was not heard and so I was hurt. My stomach reminds me that I was not loved so I did not learn love. My eyes scream that they are tired of looking at an unfair world so they are dry and tired, their vision blurred. My heart weeps because it was broken by false promises, the promise of love that was really a lie dressed in a cheap ring.
Where does the pain lie when you close your eyes and sit with your body. What does it tell you when you dig deep into the story of your life. How old were you when the bad thing happened, and where did the pain move too when you were too afraid to confront your truth.
Everyone one of us is a walking story of love and loss, confusion and injustice. To clear these energies is to find peace, to find yourself, to find healing, and to know a freedom you have not known since the first blow fell so very long ago.
Husk that I am, I am blown by every passing wind daring not to dream that I may some day find ground and rest again upon an earth so seemingly determined to cast me off. I float over this life, wishing to catch a branch, but the branch from which I sprouted cut me off at the first sign of autumn. I am golden now, my green youth gone and my leafy spine shows through my color like a promise of the end of a life that seems only to have just begun. I have no seed to cary, no future to look forward too, no loved ones to grasp onto, and so I drift up higher and higher into this windstorm seeing the earth, home, nurturing mother, laid out below me like a mountainous distance that I may never fall toward.
“Yet there is a future,” the wind wipers as it casts me out to sea, over frothing waves and tempests so violent that I am torn. “There is a future,” the wind confirms as continents pass in a blur of noise and I am still alone, a leaf on a breeze, wishing to touch ground. If I have a purpose will it be as mulch to other fertile things? Will I feed the roots of young shoots and fade into soil.
“Yes, says the wind, and you will know what it is to grow new life, to be the mother of new things, to feed a world that you are at once apart from and at the same time a part of.” Storm upon storm has been my life but the sun has come and a soft breeze picks me up and lays me down upon the earth I was born from but have never touched.
“There little leaf,” the breeze whispers, “you are home.” The snows come, my color fades, and I am a leaf skeleton in the shade of a tree, my color and pattern fallen from my form to mulch the land and make it rich again. The tree shakes and seeds fall to be covered by my manyfold brothers and sisters who will warm them, feed, them and pass into the soil what gifts they have to give in order to birth these new beings. I am home now, a memory in the soil of oceans and mountains, of winds storms and loneliness, I am home and a part of something bigger than ever I was. I am become the earth made richer by my presence. I am returned to the oneness that bore me. I am home.
How often do we stumble and rise again to hobble on a bloodied knee, a twisted ankle, a damaged wrist that tried to catch us but couldn’t hold us as we fell. It seems a sinister thing to bleed and heal and bleed again in this chaotic world so filled with pain and confusion that maybe it would be better to blow it up and end it.
I want to be new again, innocent, fresh as a baby in a soft blanket held close to a loving mother’s breast. To be anything more is too much. All this adulting is too adult. It tires me before my feet hit the floor. I dare myself to live wild and loose, debt free and without a contract yet freedom is like the cosmos, a vast expanse with far off destinations, barely glimpsed by the eye, bridged only by an endless expanse of empty dark distance. I am no star walker in this fragile form I ware so I sign the contracts and hunker down to pay my rent.
Half grown children dream of the freedom of the parentless life, of red couches and coffee houses where friends meet to chat and do nothing. They laugh and play at being the adult never dreaming they could spend an hour just looking for a password to an app that is barring them from viewing their bank balance. Time dies in ridiculous ways. It was all supposed to be so fun, except for the simple fact that we forgot that fun is a thing made up and created not expected or anticipated.
Love was the most powerful force in my world until it was trumped one night by joy, a feeling so foreign that when it hit me I sewed it to my feet like a second shadow. Joy trumps love, is love, only wrapped in happiness and elevated so high that it dose’t get upset when the wine is spilt. It laughs the way we laughed in memory, in those sun kissed days before we decided to take it all too seriously. Reborn, I am the child again, and the world is mine. I have chosen joy over love, over bitterness, over resentment. I have chosen joy because to do less would be to cease to live again.
Rage isn’t a thing we are born with but it can move through time, through our history, through our past selves, to settle on us like the inheritance of a weak chin or red hair. I was the inheritor of rage, the suppressor of rage, the enactor of rage, which led me to be called Pit-Bull, Demonic, Hell-Bitch and so much more because I held my ground and said, “Fuck-No.”
So how does rage fit into a modern high-vibrational life based on unconditional love, compassion, and peace. This is the question I have been wrestling with this week. What is rage to you? I would love to hear your responses. I know that for me. It begins as a heat in my chest when a see a smaller and less fierce being attacked, threatened, coerced or worse. I know that when my boundaries are pushed I feel this heat spread through my body as words come unbidden into my mouth and pour out in statements that I would never have the courage to utter. There is a force in me that says, “Hell No.” And it means every syllable.
When I was five, the school librarian said she was going to put my friend Florenza over her knee and spank her. I told her that she would not. That only mommy’s and daddy’s were aloud to spank and that if she, (the librarian) touched Florenza, I would have her fired. I meant every word. Where did this rage come from? What created this all consuming fire that stood up and said no? I was five, shy, dutiful, and being raised in a religious culture that did not even allow me to make eye contact or talk back to a boy because some day he would be a priest in the church.
I can’t tell you how many times I have stood up for others, stolen animals that were being abused, and stopped dialogues that were turning towards toxic gossip. I can’t stand injustice, abuse, or fuckery of any type. And yet if I’m a spiritual person who doesn’t fuck with people’s bridge time why don’t I let the weak and the innocent get there ass’ handed to them? My answer is, because my response to dominant attacks on the defenseless is instant and part of who I am. So who Am I?
I have lived many lives as a soldier, war chieftain, warlord and viking. I loved being a warrior and riding a horse into battle. I loved being a chauvinist bastard. I loved the thrill of battle, wenching, slaughter, and the smell of a burning village. But several centuries ago I decided to make a change. I decided to evolve. Since making that decision I have had six terrible lives as women and abused boys who suffered so intolerably that I can not go back to being the person I was ever again. I have put away my swords and picked up my babies and I have been a good mother, a good wife and a good person ever since.
So is my rage the left over energy of a hedonistic warmonger or is my rage a gift from my dark goddess who doesn’t ever want to see one of her children hurt ever again. I don’t have an answer. I have reached out to my sisters, some of whom have lived similar lives before choosing peace and compassion and they have told me many beautiful things. One said rage is a chaos energy that only destroys and has no place in the new age. One said that rage is a focused energy that creates clarity of purpose when used to set boundaries, protect the innocent with a ‘momma bear’ energy that says NO and I LOVE YOU!
What I get most is that rage refined is rage without chaos. Rage must have a purpose and a direction and be used as an energy conduit and not a means of destruction and revenge. Rage with chaos has no direction and is distorted. All distortions cause pain and in our modern age causing pain to our brothers and sisters is not an option. This is a process for me, and it may be long or short. Whatever comes of it I will give it back to Source energy, God, the great I AM in the hopes that I can move away from chaos and distortion, moving instead into unconditional love and strongly set, and bravely reinforced boundaries. Maybe with time my rage, like my past, will melt away into memory and I will finally walk in grace, or maybe walking in grace means setting a purposeful intention of offering my shield and my strength to those who most need it. After all, who I was is part of who I am. the question is, how do I use all the facets of my experience for the highest good?
You were born free. You were born innocent of the world and there was never a soul contract or any other form of other worldly or other life contract binding you in any way. You were born remembering God, the I AM source that creates all things, and you knew you were a creator in form until the first time you understood the limitations placed upon your caregivers by a society that would never have your their backs or yours. You felt the weight of your separation from God, the I AM presence in that moment, and you realized that your energetic connection with this almighty, the all loving power had been pinched off and was now being severed by other peoples ideas of what it was to be a being in a body.
You were taught about the remote god, the punishing god, the sin and inequity of being human. You grew heavier with this weight until it bent your shoulders and you slouched for the first time and forgot how to play. You were born perfect but the world and it’s many fold proprieties tore you down and built you up into it’s idea of what it is to be safe and normal. From color within the lines, to don’t cry like a girl, to don’t show your shoulders or the boys will think you are easy, you were crammed into box after box until you forgot you were a creator sent to earth to build all the beautiful things that made your heart leap and your soul glow. You forgot and grew up, got a job and, your light faded.
It’s time to wake up now! This is not a statement but a command. It is time to wake up and remember who you are. It is no coincidence that on my awakening journey the first question I was asked by my blessed spirit family is, “Do You Remember!!!!” It has taken almost two years but I remember now. I know now. And it’s time you knew too. You are a creator being who creates through energy signatures expressed through thought, word, and action. You create as you go by saying statements like, “I’m tired,” and you make this statement a reality. “I’m fat,” and so you are creating fat and experience what it is to be fat. “I’m sick to death of this bullshit,” and so you are sick, maybe to death, and the bullshit just keeps coming.
How do we stop creating from a place of lack and pain and poverty? How do we shift our thinking onto the road of creation. Begin by watching your thoughts and words. Choose impeccable though and language. If you need to express something negative, begin with, “In the past I noticed…” this form of speech is not creative, it is not invoking the I AM presence and casting a spell over your life. Any time you begin with an I AM statement make certain that what follows is something you want to create. Say, “I AM feeling really whole, healed and well today. What a blessing.” This simple statement is the first energetic statement that begins your creative process. Make up all the positive I AM statements you want and follow them forward. You are at the same time creating miracles that undue all the harm that your past mis-creation manifested in your life.
You create for you, you manifest for you, you are a spark of the I Am in form and you are guided and loved and seen by your almighty parent who gives you all you ask for, the good and the bad. You were born innocent and open and aware that all needs are met. Society may have tried to teach you otherwise, but you know better. Deep down you know that you have the inherent right to work with the I AM presence in your own life. Through love, faith, and gratitude, we can change our world.
Begin with simple loving I AM statements and watch your world change. I AM sharing this knowing with you now in the knowledge that with faith and commitment to impeccable thought and speech you can step into alignment with who you really, truly are. God has already blessed you my brothers and sisters. Now it is time to begin to bless and restore yourselves. And when things feel hard all you have to do is tell God, “God, this moment, or this thing I am dealing with is too much to bear. I AM giving it to you now.” And you will feel the gift of release in that sacred instant as the I AM presence eases your suffering. We’re not in this alone. We’re loved and cared for in our darkness and in our light. Faith in God and focus on a better way of living will bring you all the joy and prosperity you never even dreamed possible.
We can not create peace through war, or fix a relationship with lies. When we set out to do right in the world we must first determine if we are right with our idea of who we are, and if our notion of who we are is in alignment with the I Am presence that creates all things. Being right isn’t about being justified, it’s about acting from a place of compassion, non-judgment and an urge to hold space for those who are healing and help those who have asked to be helped.
Self healing is letting go of who you thought you were, of what you thought you wanted, and choosing radical surrender to the I AM. Fixing yourself is noticing and not attaching to negative self talk, violent imagery, and imaginings, grudges, spite, and all the other drama addictions that tempt us each day to rise up in unconscious action instead of tolerance and acceptance. When you feel childish resentment rise up in your mind, tell it, “I see you and I let you go.” Unfocused immature thinking should not be judged, is not a sin, or failing, it is just your inner wounded aspects making themselves known. If not acknowledged the memory loop, or enraged or bitter thinking, could sweep your mind down the rabbit hole of destructive thought and away from the present moment where you are truly free, couscous and alive.
Darkness is also a part of the equation and a role we choose to play in this dualistic earth plane. Though we are all one in universal consciousness and formed by the Devine, we are not all called to be the light. I call you my brothers and sisters knowing that we have all traveled on the wheel of life for time out of mind, and I say to you with love, I have seen you in your darkness, and I have seen you in your light, and I know you to be a child of heaven and of the light, and no matter what side of the invisible fence you are on, you are still playing a role that is important to the transformation of our culture, our society, our government, our world, and I will see you and I will know that everything you are and everything you do is important wether you have chosen the light or not. You are the messiah you have been looking for just by showing up in this time of change because you are part of the change we have all been searching for. Free will means you have the right to experience these times in fear or in faith. The light is here for all of us but forced on no one.
In a seven hour spiritual discourse last night with a large group of friends we came to the conclusion that the I Am presence is not just love and light but also hatred and darkness pulled together into one creative energetic power that, while it is empowering and watching over us, it also remains neutral. When called on it answers, lifting away pain, clearing away confusion, setting lost feet on correct paths, never asking which path these feet have chosen. The paths we choose are up to us, not the I AM. This is free will.
I find the concept of a balanced deity liberating. After a life time of trying to shut down my darkness and step into compassion, love, light, and endless smiling gratitude for everything, I have chosen my own neutrality. I embrace my light and I embrace my darkness. I embrace my loving qualities and I embrace my rage. I am not a door mat and I am not a saint and that’s probably why this blog post feels so lopsided and confused. I want peace and the light but I also understand that I need silence and the night. I think I will end this leaning tower of what-the-fuck by saying no matter how light or dark you feel your energy is, still question it’s reasons and motivations, know that we are all one, meditate, find your faith, help more than you hurt, and if you could manage to not take sides that would be really excellent. It’s almost better not to care right now because at least then you’re not hurting anyone. As John Lennon said, “What if there was a war but nobody came?”