I Love My Man

I hold close

This dusky jewel

His breath, it sighs

As sleep unfolds

My heart feels his

A gentle beat

A song cast out

To siren my soul

Such magic spellcasts

The depths I sense

Pour rainbows, prismed

From eyes so velvet

Haunt my memories

With love so sweet

It ripples through my flesh

Ripe and juicy

As sacred as stars

My love, he sleeps

Beside me

Reality Bends

Ignite my eyes, and brain, and seed
Bring crystal oceans over me
Of depth and love and fantasy
Turned real all through my touch


The nature of reality boggles us all. It is what we all grapple with from the beginning of life. Questions about who we are, why things are as they are, and why we die and suffer loom large. Are there gods, or one god (with a big g or little g?), or is it really us in disguise? Are we solid, energy, or a lonely brain in a vat? Can there be peace on earth? What does it even mean to be peaceful and loving? Are we truly with others, or is it just a dream, a hologram created from bored, electrical lightning storms brewing within a cluster of wayward nerve fibers? And what does it all mean? What is the point, or is there even one, to start with?

Wading in this murky water, feeling the undertows and rhythms, being prepared to surf or be dashed upon the rocks...all of this is what it means to be alive. How we choose to create this personal reality is really about how we choose to define ourselves. We can't choose our borders unless we first see the limits; who we are depends on what we determine ourselves to be for or against. Reinventing ourselves is simply a matter of perceiving our world anew...asking questions about what we fear, what we love, which team we're on...playing with different answers and belief systems will open us up to sometimes surprisingly odd expressions of ourselves. There are no limits except those we personally pick and enforce, no rules except those we choose to follow. Reality is nothing more than shifting sands in the wind, and the wind is stirred simply by our focus and attention alone. We are master creators who have forgotten that we only came to the sandbox to play.

Change your beliefs and you change your world. Shift your focus to something more fun and interesting. I find that, for all of my life, I have been focused on the world being a fearful and painful place. But is that really true? It has been for me, but its also what I created. I was told what to see by my parents, brought up fearful in a well-meaning kind of way; at forty-five years old, however, I can now better decide for myself. Do I like the 'me' I became? Do I feel fulfilled? Do I like the belief systems I locked myself into? Or am I just totally bored with it all? Have I run the course of all that I am capable of under this limited box of beliefs? I think so. This box, a toy box at one point, has now become a lifeless casket. I long for a new set of Legos. Or maybe a chemistry set. Ooh! Or maybe that red bike in the store window that will take me out of my room and down the road to my neighbors....hmmm....maybe they have cake and cherry vanilla cokes and conversations endless about String Theory. Maybe Michio Kaku is my neighbor!

My point is simple: choose who you are with conscious focus. Don't settle with who your family and education and financial status told you to be...play with different ideas. Who would you be if you were Buddhist instead of Christian? A firefighter instead of a data analyst? What beliefs and fears would you need to confront if you always secretly dreamed of being an artist, or a business tycoon, or, as immortalized in an amusing Monty Python skit, a lion tamer? ("I have a hat!")

Explore your reality. Know that you created it. Know you can do better. And never forget to play.

Shaken and Stirred, One Rebel Soul, Please

Wind torments this lonely valley
Exhales and rattles tender bones
And creaks the timber, tree, and soul

Moan low the howl of wildness
Catch fire and spread the fever high
Burn these bones to dust


I miss the passion of my soul. I miss the need to call out to the wind, to let my voice mix and mingle with its force and travel far through canyon walls, echoes heard in foreign lands that bear seed and sun and pools of life. I miss the need to reach out and touch, to trigger tempests in seas of tranquility; of mediocrity; of stagnant, barnacled slumber. I want to stir the ground beneath, and feel the swell of storms of dirt as lightning sparks from finger tips. I want to create the revolution; through me, new life is borne.

I have been watching a documentary on the history of jazz. Though I am not a big jazz fan myself, I enjoy learning about how different forms of music have unfolded, as well as who were the channels who brought in paradigms of thought and expression previously unheard of. I admire the beings who are brave enough to hear and heed the creative voices others would deem as crazy. I admire the artists who are brave enough to stand alone, and through sheer gravity of will they bend the fabric of time and space around them.

I am blown away by Miles Davis. This was a cat who, drowning so deep in the love affair with heroine, sold his horn and became a pimp to bankroll his addiction. And yet, in a moment of clarity, he decided to break the affair off. Alone, he went to his father's house, locked himself in a room, and for seven days danced with the demon of addiction until he came out clean. No help, no meds to temper the rage. Just a cold turkey decision and an empty room away from all who could derail his train. And then, much later in his career, he was offered a recording contract at Columbia...a major move that sent him mainstream. The problem? He was stuck in a contract with a lesser label for four more records. His solution? He went into the studio and cranked out four albums in two days. TWO DAYS. His mind made up, his force of spirit on fire, he pulled out of his head and heart a stream of brilliance that filled the depths of four albums. No retakes, no corrections. Who does that?

That is what I want for myself. I want to bite so deep into the flesh of life that its blood transforms my essence. I want to call out and be heard, to shake the ground with a power that sets all squeally vermin of night and shadow running for the rocks they crawled out from. I want to be the revolution, to grow my toes into the earth and, thus rooted, let reality know that I am here to stay.

Rattle my bones in winds of fierceness; the chimes, deafening, will call and sing forever.

The Search Continues...

It has been well over a year since I've written anything for this blog.

I have been in a rut, to say the least. I think I gave up on the thought that I had anything left to say. It certainly hasn't been that I've not felt passion, nor has it been that I've had no new ideas stewing within this head of mine. And yet, the inkwell has been dry. Even now, I struggle to put words on this page, struggle to see my expression as anything more than a forced exercise meant to coax out some form of creativity from my silenced soul.

But coax it out, I must. I have lost myself, dear readers...lost myself to an inadequate perception of who I was and who I am, lost myself to a disease that keeps me in constant pain. I gave all my power away to belief systems too small for me and also to individuals, whom I love dearly, yet who do not know or, sadly, are too selfish to care about who I am. It's my fault; I made them, the people and the beliefs, my world. I loved them and clung to them as a child does her favorite doll...problem is, I made them bigger than I am, which is silly, since this is MY world and I am Goddess here. And now, upon awakening from this dark dream, I am weary of self destructive doubt. My blog, originally called "The Search" to document my search for the man of my dreams, has turned into a bigger, and more juicy, search. It is time to reclaim myself.

So, who am I? You know, I've shut down so fully that I've lost interest in so many things. As a child I loved drawing, and writing, and astronomy, and psychic phenomenon, and magic. I spent a summer, when I was nineteen, working at a small airport and snagging a few flying lessons. I was, for a time, a "healer", and got involved as a massage therapist and colon hydrotherapist. I was interested in psychology and dream work. I pondered different dimensions and realms of reality. I did estate planning, machine shop work, fix-n-flips when the housing market was good...I laid a mean tile, baby! I sold retail, had my own businesses, studied medieval history in college, pondered going to seminary...as a matter of fact, as a girl in my late teens, I could go through the college course book and had a hard time picking a major because I wanted to do and be EVERYTHING. And now I sit on a couch and play Candy Crush for hours. What happened to me?

So, its time for a new search. I DID find a lovely man to enjoy time with, but I fear that I have grown old and boring and I am, still, terribly unfulfilled. Its time to rediscover life, to tell this stupid disease of Rheumatoid Arthritis that it can no longer have me, and to plunge back into the daylight, one hobbled footfall at a time. I'm not dead yet; a little rougher around the seams, perhaps. But I am still here and still breathing. Let's see what happens.