Stolen Times


What was taken, I shall take back, no matter how long it takes,

For each day that was stolen, I shall steal them back, no matter if the time is a stow away,

Moments never earthed living, we will live on earth now, honoring the life at all stakes

What was taken, I will give back to you, in cherished moments each day

This mourning

My heart pounding, bags at the chair, I’m ready to leave… for the minute?, hour?, day?? I don’t know, but I feel my heart ready to explode. I say I’m leaving, just ok. We embrace, my heart is pounding, surely you’ll feel it and say something. Nothing is said. My hearts beats faster. Time to pull away, you still embrace, say nothing. I grab my bags, unlock the door, silence is walking out with me. I say I love you, you say I love you back, nothing more.

You walk by me and your phone is in your hand, head down. You walk by me and head away. I am left to sit or follow. You walk by and smile. Head down, phone out, up to closing of door. I am left to sit or follow. You walk by me and your hand reaches out to graze me, your gaze head down phone out.

I had a dream this morning. I shared and cried about it this morning. I had a dream where I was crying and mourning and I shared about that this morning. I am in mourning this morning.

Christmas I say is sad, I found an ornament. I say it is sad that I haven’t bought new ornaments in a long long time, the newest one I found yesterday. It was sad to find the ornament, the newest ornament, it’s wreath of Heaven Baby, ornament. This is why I don’t like to decorate, find new ornaments, it’s just sad.

It’s a sad ornament filled, I’m in mourning and your head is more often lately in your phone, I am having anxiety, you’re probably going to give me grief over this act of grief and lack of acknowledgment, and the day is going to be your family decorating with ornaments, will I might get accused of abandoning you all while I’m expected to sit extremely uncomfortably, and I got a lot going on and things I should be doing other than being made to feel like a what’s your problem and probably won’t check in on me, kind of morning.

I’ll go grocery shopping instead.

BMD . a story about how the body remembers even when the brain doesn’t

Through my grasp it slips, the grip’s loosening over the gap of gasps as it becomes a familiar feeling, the reeling in of what’s real, what’s really happening, the fastening of the winds whipping the sounds of silence violently through my soul, now on the cusp of cold, screaming silently into a sound chamber where only I remember your name forever and when to honor… except for, I dismayed, could say nothing, except for the engrained tear exchange for the DNA’s reframe of the refrain through my brains terrain of dry docks and torrential rain.

This is the face.

This is the face of love. Each time my heart is touched by love it is etched in my soul. It creates a path of proof through the smile’s lines of love’s joy and laughter. Then wanders through the brow’s furrow of love’s wonder. It penetrates the pores pouring from love’s pain. Love looks like this.

This is the face of desperation. Pleading for the pain to process and bring peace. Begging for release from the bindings and shackles of shame from continually feeling this way. Bargaining no more, but blinded by defeat. Desperation looks like this.

This is the face of hope. Recognizing that this is a moment of an awareness of raw experience and reality. Lit up briefly by the reflections of the tears sweet brilliance of beaded reckoning. Relinquishing the idea that I have to keep it festered and vested in the cavity my soul reveals as wounded. Hope looks like this.

This is the face of disgust. Putting too much sacred deliverance into a space already self filled. Giving with relentless effort to offer more just to prove worth to the takers who’ve passed on praise. Inflicting a self imposition and acknowledgement of misalignment. Self, not self. Disgust looks like this.

This is the face of bewilderment. Standing in a cleansed body state of muddled mind. Perceptions shifting and breathing brings only moments of mild mannered transitions. In disbelief with feeling of washed over and sharing poses more as imposition, overlooked and taken for granted. Bewilderment looks like this.

This is the face of strength. Grimace and regrouping, bawling and growing. Perseverance begins to permeate after repeated experience. Going in as a dove, coming out scorched dark, now a raven, yet continually still it flies. Rising to the challenge baffling the deliverer of discourse. Strength looks like this.

This is the face of grief. The sudden onset of not understanding that operations continue. Disbelief of lack of attentive heart compassing language and cognition. Wayside, left in wonder. Sad overcame by weight weighed by a judge of less caliber. Cast aside and left alone in the debris of dismantling. Grief looks like this.

Again again

Guess what? I am grieving again… Again… Again… Again… was silently. The last four days. Grief. Again.

And I’ve been holding it into myself because let’s face it, who really cares?… Yeah I know that we all say that we care, because of course we do. But at the end of the day isn’t it just another emotion, again? Again?

This is not the kind of emotion that you can just not have… Yes you can work on triggers, you can work on breathing, you can work on a holding it and letting it be and acknowledging it,… But eventually it goes away, again. It’s not something that is “Dealt ” with the never to resurface. It does resurface, again. And sinks and rises again.

And I don’t think that people don’t care, because I know in their form of caring they do, we do. We all have our capacities. The closest people in my relationships don’t even ask me how my heart is doing in relation to the death of my daughter. It’s hard to want to go there for them… Again.

I think I have one friend who actually inquires about Archaea specifically. So I know at least one out of my hundreds of friends and even at that the closest people in my life… Someone cares. Which helps phase the day… Again.

But moreover I think the bitterness comes from within. Because the levels that grief touches are constantly surprising me. Over and over I find myself saying… “Am I still feeling this again?” “Am I really at this moment again”…

And again I find myself saying… “No one has ever been here before. Not even you. (to myself) No one has ever experienced this moment in time and space emotion heart and brain. I am the first to navigate this. People are welcome to be on or off my ship, but the captain I must remain, and feel all these waters out… And search for a stable ground. “. …again.

Into the new year…

Among all the other shifts, I could feel this one floating about my essence. Taunting, in its own subtle form, only offering enough aloofness to keep my instincts peaking. It could have been that a friend gave the plain prophecy or rather New Years resolution in disguise. He knew I knew., but to know, and breathe the actual thickness of the air where it should be light and brisk… that is the knowledge. also, the knowledge to come.

A few deep personal issues have come to a head the last week and it was expected. I felt ironic that the timing of what I spoke about months ago have taken place in my observation within such the time frame and now I am facing many things full face.

I have seen my face in the reflection in each person I have encountered and applied some form of judgment on. It is simply amazing how much the judgement I don’t actually pass on others gets absorbed by my own interpretation of who I am. I take in all these assumptions and let the direction of opinion be stewarding.

Now after have been going through some life changing moments recently, I observe that there is a new beginning. It’s esoteric but timely and is most assuredly described as cliche

the free resolution turned my faded goal of yesteryear back in toward my interrogation of self and scrutinized the very thing I keep running into. Blame. And in the process of finding happiness in the midst of darkness I keep pulling the cloak further over the progress.

Entering the new year was to represent another day. Another chance to show who I am, despite how I think I am turning into one crazy deluded woman on a mission to understand pain.

Entering the new year was to be a breath of fresh and ready filled air. Oxygenated with aspirations and inspirations.

I did not anticipate having to exit the end of the year watching what I do not have. Nor did I even come close to anticipating that to bring in the new year I’d once again be breathing the heavy air that holds my body down to the seat so that it doesn’t rudder away with the speed of which my heart beats.

But I was thankful for the company that I was blessed with. It leveled my heart just enough so I could see and have the knowledge that now I know, it is time to focus on intentional healing. Even in the pain that lingered from precious and previous days, there was a love holding my understanding or at least holding enough of me so that I felt secure enough to express my dualities of existence in the previously mentioned experiences.

Entering into the new year has provided ample opportunities to utilize the information gathered through last. It is an energy that is a risen vibration, waiting to be tapped into. Human conditions are fighting just as strong to be in charge and I am in the sense of feeling astral.

I can only hope that more of us will continue to heed the purity of instinct, deliverance or receiving the messages. Internal work. Eternal work.

Tints of it all

It’s always been a path that has twisted the second I have put my foot upon what was perceived as stable earth. Especially any time I have made any proclamation of change or declarative to myself. Or anyone else for that matter. There was never really a beginning step, nor do I see the paths direction clearly now.

It has an air of taste but not fully indulge, regardless of the all you can eat buffet. It is the holding back children from the desert bar after eating all their dinner. A reminder to the senses that they are only in control of detecting deliciousness but not given the utensils to fulfill the salivation for hope and fulfillment.

Looking into the mirror has been a ritual in compartmentalism and I think I have become the pastor of preaching projection. The imagery that I am seeing in this reflection is of generic body parts and decorations on the anatomy. it’s not a clear picture, it is a bit foggy. And yet it is clearly seen as a component for an opportunity to critique my whole self, none the matter of the bold attempt to witness through another’s observation.

Moments of beauty linger still and wrap their scent stamp of importance. immersing ideas that memory and present agenda can somehow coexist. Breathing in a breath that was taken years already before and freshly adorned with a sound. This envelopment of calming acceptance has been trying to guide an old soul. The urgency of anew has been heeded. Moving into the fog has been the design all along.

One step forward, two steps back

One month later and how do I feel…Have I gotten closer to the truth or further from what is real…I feel so much progression generally and regression specifically. In moments of space it is easily filled with the hopes doubtfully, and substantially its impact becomes harder to hold up, more straining to look up, more pressure to contain so it will inevitably abruptly erupt. More or less all up in your cup . is the cup half empty or half full.. Is the full filled with minds or minds full of static… Black and white intermingling noise generated from habit. It’s erratic and destined to its own path of channels that change, based on the programming to become familiar and yet it still feels so strange. The brain has kind of been rearranged and complains to the heart . Setting in motion the tearing apart of all the evidence built for the case of love being made and the components that make the defendant evade from the scene oblivious to its obscene behavior and pleading on the stand. It stands firm and demands the justice it had been searching for before . The glow wore , before it got brought back to the hearts court.

chris(t)raitor

 

ah there it is. that emotion. so familiar. never too far gone to be missed. not like the way i miss you.

my kids keep asking me to set up a tree, set up some lights…they dont know that i think about doing just that every single night. my daughter begs me to just at least set up the lights strings, she doesnt know the kind of complex pain that idea brings. see these are the things that are supposed to be cozy, supposed to be heartwearming, singing  the kinds of songs that are inviting and charming. but not entirely to me, it all is alarming.

see they dont know that if i allowed this to take place, then my honor, my disposition would be a disgrace, erase the meaning of taking  a side so to speak, leave me feeling feeble and meek, and not to the definition this  season implies by festive speech. not to the implicative and traditonal form that i used to preach. back before i was, we were given a breech in the   trust, now a questioning of beliefs and integrations of those traditions is a must and back to those harkening heralds make my heart bust.

in my previous belief system, christ was with man and man was with him, gather around together and sing the worshippings and the hymns, circle around and give prayer for those in need and expecting that the “good Lord” will hear the good deed, and we look to the sky and we look to the churches to help our broken hearted get out of the lurches, but its those very same preachers and prayers that are giving the heart up for purchase.

my heart was paid for they say, but they dont say how much i actually paid for my beliefs that day, when i had to put my head to the floor and give everything in my soul to believe and to pray, to let the words whispser out of my mouth, let thy will be the way… oh i did pay… that inglorius play that i had to play a part in starring as my own character, wacthing myself become the worlds worst mother, listening to him say that he will take the other.

so now back to the season of hope and of healing and all that i see are the backs of my eyelids peeling as i try to peel back my pain and judgment of all that i see and hear, when it is the time for me to hold the “lord” near. and i know there are other meanings to this time, but for me it was the only celebration that had brought a semblance of mind and the hopes and trusts of this world and his to combine are now falling as fast as the snowflakes dissapating near the roadside. and now to the glimmering lights of silver and gold i am blind.

but i beg to see. i beg to feel good, feel better,  feel all the love that i should from my creator, from the master of love and hope maker. but if i gave into that then i would be a traitor, because it was me that he asked to trade for her, it was me, he asked to keep my life over hers for. so if i go about the world, singing of joy to every boy and girl, then i am forced to remember, that my little girl is an angel forever, he became a demandor, and that is not something that i can choose to be a worshipper of and play my used to be love and master christmas, life decorator,.

processing, reflections, and phoenix

im processing …. and realizing there is a pulsing in the brain that is now abscessing, and simultaneously fracturing the essence of structure, …. breaking down all the zoning and the breakage causes a puncture,  the very core of stabilization… the shaking of the foundation created the shattering of the perfect reflection… only seen in the mirror of self preservation…. preserving the perverse and twisted of versions, the self visualized identity, … as the remnants lay at the floor of our souls debris… the destruction occurs naturally…. only chaos comes from the natural being while intentionally, reaching for the metaphysically, observed,  and released,  for the physical attendee to record visually… purposefully arising from the ashes with intent and poise, silencing the piercing shrieks that explode from internal noise….. with louder and more quiet, with peace and partaking of personal riot, the duality sits in one seat but has a co pilot… flying this aviation device in natures glorious defiance, navigationally pleading for direction or guidance …..while holding out for the results of this test, the years of experience are the only reliance….. relying on the self, based on what was once true, only leaves making the fool make a fool , the fool sets the new standard of what not to do, raises the bar of what to make sure to do,  ensure the new place in the opportunists new dormitory, a broken improvisation of “new” in an old story, a horror story, where peace is misplaced and love is brutal and gory, engorged, in self servitude and division of self sustainment…. watching the self try to rebuild within itself is devastating entertainment…. without the leading of the game of blame,  it seeks its own demise… falling further into the fiery path no longer disguised, and once again, out of the ashes with a smile, the soul will rise