Ineffable Soul, You Were Born Divine

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You were born sacred. You were born a child of heaven, sculpted and set upon this land to live in grace and harmony. Your value has always been beyond calculation because you are more important to the Divine plan than anything, and that is because you are the Divine plan. No one like you has ever touched this earth before. You are unique and your energy signature changed the vibration of the planet the very first time you set your feet upon her soil. You can not be weighed or measured. You are ineffable, like your parent, you are here with a purpose that you may not ever know until you take your last breath. But don’t fear, wether you know your purpose or not you are living it. You are here and your presence is enough.

Society tells us to strive, to compete, to succeed where others have failed. To work our fingers to the bone, watch the bottom line and be the person who always shows up even when our family is in crisis and we’re so tired that just breathing feels hard. We put in a 110% in our careers but our relationships are expected to somehow manage themselves. We are too busy, too tired, too angry at a coworker to be civil to our partners, our children, our parents because we’ve fallen into this misconception that to be a success we have to bring home the money, create status, and walk out the door of our million dollar MacMansion with a fit fine partner who’s not an embarrassment. This part of living is societies wish for your, not God’s.

I just watched a truly primitive man speak on his belief that the value of a woman is centered solely on wether or not she had the capacity to maintain her hold on her high caliber man. He stated that a woman past forty was no longer a viable woman if she had lost her partner or had failed to ever find a high caliber man. A single woman of forty was a failure physically, socially, and economically because she had failed at her one duty, she had failed to achieve or maintain her hold on a, “King.” 

There’s not much to be said in response to this type of neolithic thinking. The knuckle dragger concept that a woman must have a man to be of value in her community is not new. It’s been around for a few thousand years. The sad truth is that a man without a woman is far more bereft of the pleasures and comforts of life than a single woman ever could be. The feminine makes the home comfortable, we add the warmth and the good scents, we bare the children who add life and joy to that home and we celebrate life, remember the holidays, the birthdays, the anniversaries, and we offer the pleasures of our bodies out of love. I’m frustrated by this idea that all a man needs to bring to the table is his paycheck while a woman must not only contribute financially but also domestically, and sensually in a way that will keep her, “King” happy and also faithful. 

I’m not addressing this piece to you enlightened men who are awake and engaged in life, who spend quality time with your children and still bother to make love to your wife wether she’s wearing makeup or not. I’m writing this because I’m hurting, have lost what looked like a high caliber male, and I’m almost forty-seven. So what part of me believes that I’m somehow to blame? Or that I wasn’t enough? Or that I somehow failed? Right now I think it is the part of me still clinging to my religious and social programing that says family is forever and a woman who’s been tossed out was no good to begin with. I prayed before I started writing this because I knew I would need strength to do this topic justice, and I don’t believe I have…yet.

So, what if I told you that the sacred feminine used to be worshiped, that to lay with a woman was a sacred privilege. That a man accepted by a woman counted himself lucky to be honored by the touch of her body. My God, look at a women. What about them isn’t sacred. Is there anything more beautiful in the world than a woman? If there is I haven’t seen it. I love femininity. I’m proud of being a woman and I love wearing dresses, putting on makeup and being beautiful. I love feminine men. I love the way they move, the way they dress, the way they care about their divine bodies as if at birth someone whispered, “you were sculpted by god and made glorious.” Maybe toxic masculinity is threatened by the Divine Feminine in women and men because in its toxicity it can’t feel its own divinity, its own grace. Maybe that’s why it rapes and kills what is beautiful at such a staggering rate.

There is so much glory in an awakened man, so much beauty and grace in his gentleness, in his love for his family and community. I have dreamt all my life of loving and being loved by a Divine Masculine, of hearing his voice and of speaking openly to him in the knowledge that I have been heard. I think when the toxic masculine talks about woman’s service to their, “King,” it is because owning a woman is the only way they understand love and throwing off a woman is easier than waking up, finding inner peace, divine stillness, and self-love, which is a thing that only a real man, a Divine Masculine, is capable of doing. 

I love love, I always have and I always will, but I will never again settle for being a man’s toy, not when I know that I can remain fully me, fully alive, fully autonomous and still bask in the love of a truly good and divinely awakened man.

So cheers to the Divine Masculine. You are out there and we need to hear from you more.

Gratitude, the Opposite of Resentment, is a Nicer Way to Live

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Happy Thanksgiving. It’s polite to say that even if you don’t mean it. I don’t like Thanksgiving but that’s my problem and just a small part of why I’m not the easiest person in the world to live with. I have opinions and ideas and grudges and resentment and I suck at playing happy, especially on holidays that have lost the spirit of what made them holidays to begin with.

I’m not going to harp on the realities of the first Thanksgiving or how it could have been beautiful and memorable in and of itself, if the colonist had only NOT turned around and killed the Native Americans, who had shared their food stores, in the months that followed. Colonization is a nasty business and much talked about these days, thankfully.

What I am going to talk about is resentment and gratitude and how they can’t exist in the same mind. The be gratefully resentful would be to experience cognitive dissonance. Two competing realities existing in one mind is crazy making in the extreme. I loved my family and I resented the domestic dis-ease that came with the holidays. My mother hated the holidays and made certain that they were miserable for all of us. In the end my sibling and I started doing the cooking and buying mom booze well before we were of age just to get her through the day. Drunk mom was fun mom and we’d take her when we could get her.

I resented the work and the memories that went into making my own family feast because my mind was locked in the past. I missed my grandmother and my grandfather and the grief of the loss of people I loved broke me. After many years my husband took over the cooking and I am grateful to him for that. I have been in cognitive dissonance about most of my life, feeling both grateful and resentful to be alive. I once spent an entire winter flipping the sky off just to let God know how much I resented him for dragging me here.

Now that I’m single and alone I still hate Thanksgiving for the thing it has become but sitting here now over my gyro dinner with baklava and Dr. Pepper I feel less alone. Beside me sits a lit candle, behind that stands red roses for my Gypsy ancestors surrounded by dancing bracelets, and a medallion of the Madonna of Chartres. The moment I prayed and offered this day to my ancestors in gratitude and thanks was the moment I felt God’s peace settle over me like a warm blanket. I have been resentful but I am now grateful. I have been difficult but, in this moment, right now I’m peaceful. I can’t tell you how long these better aspects of me will last, all I do know is that in feeling them I feel God and find rest.

Enjoy your day. Value your family. If your family sucks start a Friendsgiving for all your lonely people. Notice your resentments and study their cause. It’s nice to fix things before they become a habit. Practice everyday gratitude. Past your resentments there are things you are grateful for.

I love you. You are the reason your ancestors worked so hard to survive. We are all family. Bless the hands that prepared your meal. Cook love into your food and if you can’t, order Pizza.  

The Masks We Share

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In therapy yesterday, I told my therapist that I was no longer afraid of my future, that I was riding the wave of what it is to be a single woman in this world. That it’s true that I don’t know where life will take me, but that I do know that wherever I land I will make my home. Over the last few months, I have rediscovered a resilience I had forgotten I had. In living a life that was not mine I had forgotten the cloth my soul was cut from and the girl I was went somewhere I could not follow. She’s with me now. She is me and I am her and we are riding this wave together.

It’s not a tidal wave, or a hurricane, or a tsunami I am surfing. It’s a life wave that most of us ride at some point in our lives. I’m not sad anymore. My heart has mended and I know that I was put on this earth to love and to love well. I know my own grace, my own inner goodness, and I know that I loved fully and absolutely even when all hope was gone. I love still.

Today I met a homeless woman my age. Her eyes were my eyes only lost and sad and wandering. How easy it would be to become her. She started to wander into traffic so I called her and she came to me on my island of a street corner. “A mask,” she said, panicked. “I need a mask.” I rummaged in my bag, pulled out a clean one and gave it to her. “Take care of yourself babe,” I said and then blew her a kiss. She blew me a kiss and I walked to the gym. Our kiss broke my heart because in that short interaction where I saw myself where I could have been if not for the grace of God, I also saw my own pain and fear reflected back at me. “Take care of yourself,” I was talking to me. “Babe,” I was talking to me, the blown kiss, I was sending love to me while loving her for being the me that somehow fell into the insanity that I have fought for so long.

Inside the gym I went straight to the bathroom, locked the door and got down on my knees and prayed out loud. I prayed for all the hungry, and the cold, the lost and the forgotten, the insane and the sane because there is only a hair’s width of distance between one and the other. I prayed for my husband and I prayed for my son and lastly, I prayed for me. When I was done my eyes were swollen with crying and I stared at my wrinkled puffy face and saw the girl I was grown into a strong sane woman who loves…loves…loves…without condition.

I am riding this wave and I don’t know where it will take me and I am doing it with compassion and kindness, forgiveness, and love. I invite you all to join me. Let go of your expectations, your preconceptions, your biases and your pain and remember that somewhere in the depths of a city you are cold and raged and begging for a new mask to wear because you are frightened and alone with no mask at all.

Be humbled. Know the I AM. Find comfort on your knees. Love without condition. Be peace to know peace. I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my soul. I honest to God love you.

Polarity in Relationship, are you Growing Together or Apart?

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The light can’t know itself without the dark. The darkness is only the absents of light. We each hold within ourselves both the light and the dark. Some people hold more dark, others more light. It really boils down to how you vibe. Do you vibe high with joy, creativity, nature and love? Or do you vibe low with anger, resentment, retaliation and Fear?

Human nature always wants what it doesn’t have. Happy high vibe girls often go slumming to experience what it is to be tossed in love with dark vibeing, sexually aggressive low vibe males. The same as high vibe boys enjoying the company of low vibe girls. We dabble in a little light and a little dark hoping to just visit the other spectrum of experience and not get stuck there. That’s the gift of living on a polarized planet. Also, vibeing high or low has nothing to do with income, race, or status and everything to do with a conscious choice of perspective.

So, what happens when a high vibrational being gets taken in by a low vibrational being masquerading as a high vibrational being? In all honesty, it can’t happen. Energy matches energy, and like attracts like. Whatever you are attracting is in a matching frequency to what you are projecting. If you’re angry at your family, you’re young and rebellious you may attract someone with the same anger and rebellion vibration that matches with yours. A problem only arises when you grow up and make peace with your world, forgive yourself for vibeing low and forgive everyone else for the parts they played in the past drama. Now you’re free, you’re happy, but the person you aligned yourself with has not done their work and is still angry, resentful, sullen and in a place of unforgiveness. After years together the energies have shifted; a high vibrational person is living with a low vibrational person and conflicts emerge.

I was practicing in a Buddhist temple once when a monk was asked to speak on marriage. “Marriage is fine if both individuals grow at the same pace,” the monk said. At the time I believed that marriage kept people stuck but, in that moment, I realized that a successful marriage is possible if both partners actively seek spiritual and emotional growth ongoingly. I have dedicated my life to growing spiritually and emotionally. I know what stagnation brings, I see it in every person who refuses to grow and thrive while life passes them by.

Humans are constantly evolving, constantly changing, we’re overcoming past traumas and shedding our skins like glorious snakes. We change jobs and we change cities. Maybe it’s time we stopped looking at divorce and breakups as bad things. Maybe we should celebrate the end of a relationship because someone has vibed up, grown up, and evolved.

I love you. It’s okay to part ways. Nothing really dies it just ascends. You are more than this reality.


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Grief is not an emotion that will be ignored. It can’t be healed or pushed down or forgotten. Grief raises its ugly head and howls like a mangy old dog that refuses to die. It clutters your dreams with living memories, holding hands with you, reminding you what warm skin felt like just before waking you again to your aloneness. Grief is an unwelcome friend, always by your side, always calling up memories of the one lost, the one missed, the one you would give everything to see and hold again. This is grief and its not going anywhere. I have cried out shame and trauma, rage, and depression but grief has me at a standstill. It says, “No woman. This is where we are.” This IS where we are. I am grieving. I am in the season of grief. I have known love and now I must grieve my love without end. Time will not heal this wound. I will travel new places, find new understanding, know new love, but this love, this grief will always be at my elbow whispering, “Do not forget.”

I love. I see you. You are my heart.

God  bless you,


Beautiful Object

Concept By Anonymous

The beautiful object waited quietly in the corner shop window. Someday she knew a collector would come and choose her from among all the other beautiful objects that sat around her. One harmonious day when the sun was glinting off her well polished surface she saw the collector she had been hoping for, the collector who had come to appreciate her, and choose her from among all the other beautiful objects. When he looked on her, when he chose her, when he took her home, she was filled with a shimmer that shined from the depths of her heart. Joy glowed out through her beautiful exterior illuminating her many miraculous colors.

The collect wrapped her carefully in paper and held her carefully in his arms as he carried her home. Once home he took her from the box and held her in his hands. He turned her over looking on her with pride and then placed her with love upon a shelf where he could see her always from anywhere in the room. The beautiful object was filled with joy to be so loved and appreciated and to have been chosen from among so many other beautiful objects.

The days pass, she was happy and he watched her from afar, moving through his day, through his life, seeing her from the corner of his eye, and smiling. Yes, she was a beautiful object, and she knew in her heart that he loved her and she loved him. But the days grew longer, she saw him less often, and dust begin to gather upon her beautiful exterior.

After what seemed like an eternity she heard his return and her heart lifted. In time he came to her and taking her gently in his hands he wiped the dust from her eyes, from her head, from her beautiful exterior, and held her so lovingly that once again she began to glow with joy, and hope, and love, and light. Then without ceremony he sat her down again upon the shelf.

A long time past before he touched her again. She grew sad and lonely on her self. She wanted to see him, to be held by him, to be touched by him, to have the dust washed from her eyes, and from her glowing exterior. She wanted to be beautiful, and to be bright, to be loved, but he was gone missing somewhere in the world. The dust grew thicker and thicker until she could no longer see the sunlight coming in the window and it could no longer pierce the filth that clung to her beautiful sides leaving her un-illuminated. And yet she longed for the moment when he remembered that she existed, for the moment when he came and dusted away the dust, and held her in the light, and loved her for her beauty, for her fine lines, and for the way she lit up when he looked on her.

One day he came home and he held under his arm a thing carefully wrapped in paper. The beautiful object could not see yet she heard the paper and she felt his appriciation through the dust, thought it was not directed at her. She felt him grow closer and her heart began to glow. She felt the light that would pour through her when he cleaned away the dust, when he held her in his hands, when they were once again reunited, and he appreciated her the way she deserve to be appreciated.

But when he came to her he pushed her aside and he placed before her a new and beautiful object. He did not take her from the shelf, he did not dust her, he did not clean the dirt away from her eyes, or hold her in his hands and appreciate her. instead his eyes were focused lovingly on the new beautiful object that glowed with sunshine and with light, basking in the warmth of his attention.

With time the beautiful object became completely blinded by the dust and debris of her life on the shelf and she even began to forget what it was to be held, to be touched, to be loved, to be looked at, and appreciated. She languished in blindness for many years. On the last day that she would spend with the collector who had shown her such love, she thought only of the memory of sunlight and the way she used to glow. She felt no hope, she felt no light, she felt no love, she only felt a sudden longing for movement forward toward something new, something unknown.

The movement came, the unknown followed. When the dust was finally washed from her eyes and the light again poured through her beautiful sides she found herself in a new place, held in new hands, dusted with new love. New eyes regarded her with great appreciation for her beauty, for her unique lines, for the special figure that she was. And her heart bloomed again as it had of old, and she felt love pouring through her, she felt light shimmering inside her, and she felt happiness pouring over her. Everyday the new collector held her, dusted her eyes and lifted her to the light mesmerized by the way the sunshine played through her miraculous colors. Once again, the beautiful object who had hoped, and wished, and longed, began to learn trust, certainty, and peace. And she learned that she had value not because of the joy she gave but because of the joy she felt inside herself when the light filled her and she remembered what it was to glow.

Glow on beloved brothers and sisters. You were born to be the light.

This Dualistic Experience Ain’t for Beginners

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I see you my sister-my brother. My love for you is as pure today as it was when we were glowing spirits excited by the lives we planned to live at the Creators feet. Ha…the naivety of children who have yet to know the world. We have played at love, fallen head first truly and deeply into love, and we have walked away from love knowing that it was the wrong love, a non-reciprocated love. We have fought out loud, yelled in each other’s faces, we have cried together and alone.

I remember the first time you tasted ice-cream. How your face lit up. You remember the first person I ever fell in love with. The love felt so pure I knew that if I lost that person I would never love again. Oh…the drama of children. I lost that person and have loved a million others in the endless lives I’ve lived since. But I remember you. Each time we are reborn, each time we bump elbows in a crowded room I see your soul smiling at me through new eyes and I remember you.

God give me strength, my soul whispers because with you, it’s always an adventure. Good or bad you bring the party and your parties are never dull, your wars are outrages to humanity, your conquering is a crime, your taste is too bright, too garish, you are no good for no one but you are always just right for me. I fight your wars but never on your side, I attend your parties but always steal the spotlight. I restore your fallen, rebuild what you have ruined, and tease you for your groundless bravado. You are a worthy advisory and give texture and flavor to life.

I think when Creator made duality, he was thinking of us. The light could not exist without the dark. Like the Yin-Yang, we are joined in a monochromatic swirl, a little darkness in my light, a little light in your darkness. And so we go, creating havoc, creating healing, creating the experience of what it is to be alive with the errant innocence of children. You build your corporations and I position my protestors and the game begins. From a human perspective there is so much pain, so much loss, so much destruction. I have cried. I know you have too. But we are souls having a human experience and life must be lived for the lessons to be learned. So, gather your troops, state your case, prepare for the lessons that come from experience, and let the games begin…as they always have…as they always will. Let’s Play!

I love you-You got this-Keep going.


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I surrender. My war is fought. I lay down my resistance and pray for mercy. I pray on my knees in the carnage of my lost ambitions, a broken home, smashed family photos, the scent of an uneaten dinner rotting in an oven that will not be warmed again. I surrender this life to my creator, I surrender every hope and dream I’d had for it. I no longer hope for anything other than the momentary peace that comes between sleeping and waking, work and rest. Even in rest I am nagged with the why’s of my life, with the what if’s, the should haves, and the why didn’t I’s. My brain is a prison when I let it run free, fighting the war again and again that I strive everyday to set down and surrender.

So I breathe, I pray, I meditate on my knees and silence the bitter places that would stand up and scream for justice when I already know there is no justice, there is just-his version of events and mine. And so I breath, and count my breaths letting the grief subside until I am strong again and capable of moving on with my half finished life. And I do move on, as the strong do, no matter how shattered. Loss comes and loss goes, grief comes and lingers longest, time will not heal this wound but living well will deaden the sting and I plan to live well. I have trained to live well. I have surrendered my past, am free and fully intend to live so well that I will become a picture postcard of sunshine and gratitude to all the people who have lifted me up and held me tight. You know who you are and a million times, thank you.

I got this-I will keep going-I love you.

No More Masks

This is the last mask I will wear, the one called wife. It was never mine by choice but came hidden in a box with a ring.

How it clung to me, hid me, bent my will and my purpose until I no longer knew myself; my dreams drifting away on far flung currents.

Your joys became my joys, your interest-my interests, and I smiled because I loved you, did my duty by you and the family. But the family shrunk away until it was just you and me and the boy.

What was fun? I washed my 1000th dish, smashing it just to hear it break. What was joy? I fold away another mountain of laundry that will appear again the next day.

The boy made me laugh and in him I remembered joy and fun. He was full of monkey tricks and more wisdom than I will ever fathom. Such a mind behind those chocolate brown eyes, such a heart of strength and love.

He is grown, and you are gone, and this mask called wife lays in tatters, torn as it was from me by a hundred punishments. But you were not the only villain. In pretending that we were happy I committed the ultimate betrayal, the betrayal of myself.

I Go Bravely

I go bravely even though all my cards are played, my house has fallen, my love is broken, and I stand here naked as a babe in the snow. I am blue with the cold of my vulnerability, yet I stand head held high before my demons daring them to come and take me. Is this bravery, this slow suicide we women face because we dared to say no, take a stand, and then find ourselves alone in the elements with no place to turn? If so I’ll choose this death over the suffocation of your fine cage. You were master, punisher, with holder of love, but no more. I have freed myself and in going free I have taken flight into the chasm of the vast unknown, knowing only that my heart still beats and tomorrow will come wether I have the strength to join it or not. Though my parachute will catch no air and my wings have lost their feathering I will take this fall believing it is better to break and be reborn then to remain whole and unchanged. I go bravely into this world without the insurance of a good life, but with a life, my life, held, captured, grasped tightly in my own two hands.