Validation

validation
can have several definitions…

when alone and a realization from a past discussion usually with a personal nod
i said shitty no you said stupid, yes, no, yes, no… and i knew i was right, never a great thing to say perhaps, but i generally am observant especially when clear headed.

I see what others misperceive.

Stephanie and the no parking sign… i mean it happened often enough and i need to say anything to the blind eye NO you just know and keep on keeping on.

validation when alone… perhaps it does seem senseless to attempt convincing ones tunnel vision denial resistance to self truth

to speak the truth doesn’t mean one will like what is stated thats not the point… i often do not like anothers truth. i don’t speak it for them, i speak it for me…

to speak ones truth in my definition is stating a true feeling, not an irritated observation of ones actions.

to critique is not my truth, how i feel in my heart at the moment is the truth for me.

To feel speak for me, not you, its not about you, its never about them.

You do not meet me, i do not meet you, we are not a mix we are oil and water. I was in a momentary daze of rebelliousness and wonder lust…

too often explaining trying to help you understand me, i am not your teacher i do not want to teach. i want to swim and flow and walk in stride. it will just work, no force, no resistance, no teaching just float

open to receive each others beauty vitality individuality

you exhaust me emotionally, its like spending 3 hours with a 5 year old who is not your child. its not my job to explain myself and life to you. you are stuck in your own stories.

its painful to observe and harmful to listen, for me i must set boundaries as you will empty my lake and i need to feed my fish.

I’m done


Death – Birth – Grief

DEATH – BIRTH – Nature

Stars in the sky, do they fall to their death
Loss is a result of death
Experiencing grief without replacement or distraction
my dog dies i get another one
my lover and i depart i get another one
my iPhone 5 dies and i replace it

I say my dog died
you say my dog passed
i say i killed my dog
you say why would you say that

i didn’t murder my dog
i eventually replaced my iPhone 5

often humans stay in living dead relationships when someone close dies
saying I’m sorry for your loss is a detached conditioned response to death

Im not ever sorry
i say that sucks
when asked how long did it take to get over your grief
the response was I will let you know…

often words get in the way


Dear Doris

wow is this what Doris Day experienced?

anyone really living in wisdom and what do all these words really mean and do they create your reality and what happened to the belief in fate… too many people inhabiting the earth now for that perhaps and out of site out of mind…

how can i feel in the same space as i was with a brief interlude oh they say grief about what and still i grieve and i feel for others in grief and there are no words it is what it feels like crap it snot wired to have people die its life its wired to wish people were dead instead of grieving th eliding an departed they say its worse than death i miss he so much and i want to go dig up her body and watch her run and tug and fall and get back up again… I am not the same person i once was i lost my innocence my silliness… i went almost a whole year without crying and all the anger and sadness has returned perhaps a brief distraction of what i imagined being truly loved would feel like again

i dont blame i feel i am aware i make choices an then some things just fucking happen… oops i did it again as i thought i was done with that and so i am still unknotting my web of stories inhabiting my mind my heart and my core, i look i plan i intend an then i do nothing an when i finally show up i am bored out of my ford so loops i do it again and what does it mean and why does it have to mean anything

time moments tears sadness laughter ache pain sorrow smiles sarcasm life death pets

i would call doris and ask how do you feel about the cycle and are you still alive


I can be a little bitch at times

I can be a little bitch at times.


I can be a little bitch at times

feelings of being betrayed, replaced and insignificant all go under the umbrella of abandonment. I know it may sound obvious to you, but to me it just clicked today, my armor goes up by the push of a magic button and i defend with my shield. I once was referred to as a dictator, HA! Now i see it. i can trace it back so far, always the same thread of weaving the habitual web.
I put myself wildly into life, i was a hyper child often referred to being out of control. I had such energy it must be why my wise, yet good intentioned mother put me in theatre, it seemed to supply a conduit for my untamed nature at the time. I was wildly talented and soared at musicals. It drained my battery that seemed to recharge nightly as I sleep. Ready to tare by morning. A warrior fighter, a leader, a visionary, intuitive and wise beyond her human years.

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Always foraging ahead of the curve and it doesn’t always pay to be the first. but this may have nothing to do with the story you you may be telling yourself right now. What if it has to do with ancient wisdom and knowledge. A deeper existence allowing you to embrace the dark while surfing the light. The ocean is dark as the sun interacts with dark it creates a wave of light rolling over the dark leaving it perfectly by nature as it was with constant motion.
In transformation you ride the shift. when you stop you wait, fuel up and do it again seeking the ultimate high. That perfect connection with the wave of dark and light in perfect stride. It is said with life their is always death, you cannot have life without death. both painful with different layers.


being

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Some say she is a magician

a healer

some say she is a serpent a dragon a heathen

some say she is a shield warrior a seerer a spinner a haag

a wanderer a meanderer a gypsy an empath

what does she say

pieces cock blocks my taurus balanced by laguz

little birds pester my hawk struck by lightning pointed by Tyr

witches burn at the stake burdened by those blinded by their light

the answer is the question  the delivery of personal truth


Remembering by the whisper

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She thought to her self as the silent words traveled out of her heart down her arm dripping from her fingertips into the pen drying on the pad of paper… have you ever felt betrayed, have you ever felt such rage burning deep within you that was unrecognizable?

 

Have you ever gone so deep within yourself that the pain ahead was scarier than hearing a window break, awakening you in the middle of the night…

 

A knowing that a prowler has entered my safe space and I don’t have a weapon to defend myself, so I lie frozen in my bed listening intently as footsteps slowly creek towards my lair. My body trembles and my breath is shallow as I remain suspended in the unknowing of the future… and even if I wanted to scream aloud for help my unspoken words are suffocated like the emotions suppressed over the years past to this nights awakening…

 

Revenge was prominent and wouldn’t be quailed by positive affirmations or igniting an attitude of gratitude. Instead the fire burning in my core was out of control and too hot to touch. I wouldn’t walk away from the flames that danced and spun around me…

 

I stoked murder convinced it would ease the burn that was dangling overhead as it had been so often prior to the betrayal… Sparks whispering “hey little girl what are you doing come back”.

 

My weapon of choice was a brand new shiny deep red and black pickaxe with the highest price tag.

 

As I drove to the alleged murder scene all the tears rushing and pouring out of my eyes were flooding my ability to see clearly and I found myself instead pulling into my driveway detouring the route I planned out to commit the orange streak crime.

 

I picked up a pencil and note pad and began to write all my feelings of anger, hurt, fear and deceit. Rage pain and anguish splattered onto the paper of words silently screaming towards my perpetrators.

 

And finally I surrendered and allowed my body to bleed and filter the chards of glass that pierced through my heart dripping of blood that seemed to stitch itself back together to begin again Unknotting and reweaving the habitual web that lead to the ripping and tearing of my loyal cock blocking soul.

 

My mischievous wounded pick squeak of a boy was much wiser than I acknowledged…. A hearth in the earth was created with that pickaxe, to house a fire pit surrounded by the banging of their drums that pounding through my body and strengthening the roots that where deceived by the drought.

 

A deep grave was dug again utilizing the intended murder weapon to bury my beloved beast that died after a long active adventurous fully lived life. A ritual created and held by the hand legs and arms of the trees.

 

I recalled the words written by JC… Anger used as fuel to create a map that lead to the words on the pages each and every day.

 

The whispers begin again “Hey little whirlwind you are starting to forget”. Listen I will guide you to remember and perhaps prevent the suppressing of your core that you so lovingly embrace by the flickering light in the dark…

 

Fertilize your roots that have not yet rotted away as this is where their hidden and perhaps you will remember your freedom.