Category: My thoughts…

• Put in Place.

  On Saturday morning, my Laptop died, and down went the Blog.

  It is hard to believe that I have come to love this blog, and feel such a separation. 

  I am now talking from our desktop, shaky at best, unreliable, slow, and it has a mind of it's own.  Sometimes  he let's me finish, mostly he doesn't.

  I will now be less verbal, and it will be a surprise to both of us if I indeed publish.

  Fighting what is, isn't an option.  For now the pace will be slow.  Perhaps I was going to fast.

  I laughed out loud in a shocking sorta way, and it took me hours to realize that I still was connected, but I had to use the old friend in the corner.  I had so quickly become attached to a slim portable black new addition.

  Graduation, our daughter's, also stepped in, Life has a way of correcting us. This may have overshadowed the way I participated in life itself.

  For now, when I get on, when a new post appears, we will all know it was the message that had to be read, if not, it was just one for my head.

  Thanks for your kindness, your attention and thoughts and answers, who knew a Blog could be your friend.  And how kind of this friend to remind me, that life, my life is going on, and to live it as well as write it.

  Humbly and happily not in control, to Blog or not is not up to me. However it is up to me to remember my life is in real time, now.

  This is not a dress rehearsal or a draft for a book,if I am not present, it will all pass me by.

  Patience, unknowing, surprise, delight, all live along the pathway, along with many of life's friends, it is never up to us which one will be our guest.

  Put in Place by life! 

  May 3, 2009

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• Law of Reality

  A point in time, simply a point!  However there seems to be points of high and low, of sad and joy, of learning and growing, of leaving and going, of undoing and doing.

   

  So maybe there are opposite points in time?  Maybe we lull our selves into thinking only high points exists, which then puts us in a false sense of security.

   

  Secure about what?  Secure where?  In our minds?  That seems to be the only place security lies?  How is that possible?  Points have homes in our minds and in reality?

   

  When a call comes in or someone gives you information, where do you go to see if it is correct?  Mind?  Or do you begin to look backwards for evidence and then look around in this point of time for it to be true?

   

  I know this too sounds confusing, but in my world, when I answered the phone and the voice said, “it was grandpa”, I knew that within me the words matched the fear that coursed through my body.

   

  No disbelief arose.  It wasn’t like I had a choice.  It just came out of nowhere and landed securely in my knowing.  And immediately took a fast train backwards, making stops that connected images that fit the words. 

   

  While speeding backwards gathering more and more evidence it seemed like you are crashing down trestles of long held beliefs, bridges of thoughts, built by emotions…. time seems to move in two directions or more at one time.  You are here and there and over there, all at the same time.

   

  The dreams and hopes of futures collide with the fears of unknowing, shame, guilt, horror, sorrow, slammed into a land where past thoughts and beliefs feebly stand.

   

  Imagine Feeble thoughts and beliefs, there is no such thing!  We build our lives, our marriages, our kids, our friends, and our days, all are based on feeble thoughts.  Now that seems mental.

   

  I had a belief that my Birth family stood firmly behind me. Held me up.

   

  As we live our lives, it is fluid, it comes and it goes like the waves on the ocean. Sometimes it comes in bringing treats, sometimes sorrows, sometimes pain, sometimes disbelief, sometimes corrections to long held beliefs. 

   

  It seems almost impossible that one wave will come in and all who stand there will be affected differently.  How is that possible?  The wave is the same, the exact same ingredients, yet it will cover each of them differently, affect them differently.  Leaving them either standing taller, or may even take them further out to sea.

   

  How does this work?  Is it their pasts, their firm beliefs, fear of unknowing, what makes some come through and what makes others sink.

   

  I feel like a wave of Truth washed over me, literally leaving very little of me standing, yet some how once the feeble thoughts were taken out to sea, I stood stronger.

   

  The point in time will be forever etched, and I will forever trust, not me, my thoughts, my beliefs, but the wave.

   

  Unknowing what the next moment brings, I just immerse my self in the Present, feeling all, seeing all, hearing all.  This is all there is, until the next wave.

   

  I meet people and understand, that for some, the ocean tosses them about, tearing up their thoughts and beliefs, and they struggle to control the ocean.

   

  I fought it too, with no strength left, I surrendered.

  I thought I was drowning, losing all my beliefs, nothing to hold on to.

  All that was there was the ocean, the waves, and me.

   

  With no fight let, I gave up.

  I gave up my thoughts, all my beliefs, my future of old hopes and dreams. 

  I thought I would die, instead I new me was born.

   

  The Ocean and I, where will we go, what will we do, who can dream the bigger dream?

  All I know it is simply impossible to fight reality and win, only but 100% of the time, just as a wise woman told me.

   

  "I fought the Law and the Law won", that refrain just came to me…..I will take it as the Law of Reality.

  
  

  April 30, 2009

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• Ride Naked

  Who puts Perfect in us?  What makes us Perfect?  Who are the Perfect maker people, where do we find them and how does it work?

  And how do we know we need Perfect, how do we know we are missing Perfect? 

   

  It seems that all are seeking Perfect?  It seems that it is the prize and I want to know where is the Perfect store, the place where all Perfect is stored, I want to fill up on Perfect, for without it seems we are doomed for failure, failure without Perfect.

   

  Perfect, boy for such a nice word, it sure causes a hell of a lot of grief, we lose ourselves for it, we cry for it, we die for it, we kill for it, we lie for it, we steal for it, my God, it seems to be a motive for a life of hell.

   

  And I am not swearing just to be dramatic, I literally mean hell, if you are not Perfect you are in hell.  And if you let go of that word, Heaven!

  That now seems mental, and upside down and backwards, for all our lives ever since were little, Perfect was what we wanted.

   

  Perfect baby, Perfect girl, Perfect mom, Perfect wife, Perfect friend, million and one Perfects!  Until Perfect stands before us, always, and not just sometimes, like we can’t see us for the forest of Perfects.

   

  How in the world have we gotten lost behind Perfects?  Lost behind Perfects, so we are there, just that Perfect is standing in the way?

  Who put it there? How long has it been standing there?  And why do we want to hide behind Perfects?  Why?

   

  We hide ourselves behind Perfect, so Perfect is a mask?

  The mask is Perfect? That is the mask? We pretend to be Perfect?

  That doesn’t seem right, but true.

   

  WE hide behind the Mask of Perfect…so Perfect is not real?

  Perfect is not real?  How in the world did we go seeking something that is not real?  Not real?

   

  So what is real? If the mask is pretend, fake, untrue, and it’s name is Perfect, than what does that make us behind the mask of Perfect?

  Just us.  Just us being ourselves, what is wrong with ourselves?

  Who told us we could not be ourselves?

  Who wanted us to be different and why?

  Where did this all start, what is wrong with being you?

   

  Somewhere along the way, we had to hide behind the mask of Perfect, somewhere we had to pretend.  Someone didn’t like us as we were, why?  What happened that they didn’t want to see?

   

  It is shocking even as I write this to see that Perfection is a screen to hide behind!  I knew I was ok as an imperfect person, but now I am way way way ok!

   

  For now I know that my mask is no longer needed, for I am ok without it.  I stand alone, mask-less and proud. 

   

  Our El Camino has a window sticker “Ride Naked” and I loved that saying from the beginning and now I know what it truly means, ride without a mask!  And get this, my license plate says UBEEU, ride naked and you be you….

   

  When my parent’s masks fell, so did my world, for I was in love with their perfections, not the person behind.  Imagine I was in love with a mask.  A mask, and I wanted this mask to change, to do this and do that and to love me back.  Oh my Goodness this is good.

   

  No wonder I made sense when their mask fell, for I never fit the mask!  My mask. 

   

  A mask of Perfection….that will stay with me awhile.

   

  Standing here naked and imperfect!

   

   

   

  April 26, 2009

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• Sisters

  Three Sisters, three lives, three dreams, One Source.

  Each life has it's own path, unknown to all and maybe even her.

  Each life is filled with passions for things she wants to do.

  Each life has sorrows, failures and growth.

  Each life reaches towards dreams beyond her wildest hopes.

  The Source can change from time to time, depending on her lesson.

  Sometimes we love the things that hurt and hurt the things we love.

  Sometimes we lead and at times we follow, all with a loving heart.

  Sometimes we know, sometimes we don't  and times we need each other so.

  Sisters come in all shapes and sizes, some related some just feel connected to.

  Sisters, there isn't one perfect one, but one that fits our needs.

  May us sisters always find each other in our own truth and honesty.

  May we heal our wounds and celebrate all the pleasures on the way.

  May we always have one right near by just in case of need.

  I love the sisters of this world, all the broken, abused, happy, and sad, delighted, at peace, in trouble and at need.  I want you all to know there is no imperfect sister to be found.  A sister always fits with me.

  
  

  April 24, 2009

  matching, one Source, pathways, separated, sisterhood, sisters

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• Bucket

   

  Hands.  Simple hands. They speak a language of their own.

  What makes them tell their story, what makes them do what they do, what powers these hands, makes them move, or lay silently.

  Hands.  It seems to me they mean more than a name. 

  Hands lift you up when you are small and when tasks seem too big.

  Hands can slap you down and away, when all you want is love.

  Hands can teach you to survive, or keep you hopeless.

  Hands….watch those hands…..feel those hands….listen.

  They are speaking a message, what are they telling you.

  I held a sleeping hand.  Now that sounds weird, but I did.  It was warm, it was caring, it was pure love.  It lay part curled in total peace, gentle and silent.  It lay there just for me.  I held it and was filled with peace, with gratitude.  I held the hand and tears slipped down knowing.

  Knowing what?  What did I know?  It seemed I could read the message of this hand.  I could now read the true message of another.

  I could read or could I feel?  What was I feeling?

  Feeling? Hands can bring you feeling?  Hands deliver our feelings?

  Now that seems weird. 

  I always thought we had feelings, like it is a given, like it comes with our hair color and our eyes.  Isn’t it part of the package?  Don’t we all come with a nice assortment of feelings?  Where are they stored and how do they get there?   Are we responsible for our feelings?

  Hands without feelings, what would that be like, lifeless, useless, hopeless?

  Feelings where do they come from?  Who makes feelings?

  Who teaches us feelings?  Is there a class on feelings when we are young?  Who decides our bucket of feelings?  Do we get all kinds?

  Do babies come with their bucket full and little by little do they seep out?  Do they seep out or does one kind overflow the others.  Are little children responsible for what they carry in their bucket of feelings, or is it possible that is our job as parents?  Little hands with a big bucket full of feelings. 

  Inside my bucket was overflowing with feelings, murky, dark, swirling, sad, scary, frightening, too little, heavy, to much out of control, vulnerable children, keeping safe too many, no one is watching, all alone, no one to tell, no one to listen, I am responsible for too many, not my children, can’t stop the flow, twisting and pulling, falling, I can’t keep holding this bucket, it is far to big for me….or is the bucket too small.

  One day the bucket crashed to the ground and all my feelings fell out.

  All. They lay on the ground, messy.  And I lay on the ground. Empty.

  Sad. No love was in my bucket.  Loveless, hopeless, lost. I had carried that bucket for nothing. I had dragged it around for naught.

  Me. A Bucket. Both Empty.

  Empty, I reached for a hand. 

  In it I felt something.

  I held that hand. 

  That hand carried me, accepted me, loved me, cared for me and waited.

  With patience, It knew I would find my own way.  It knew I had it in me, long before I knew. 

  I held the hand of God.

   

  
  

  April 24, 2009

  emotions, feelings, God, hand, overflowing

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• Reality

  Names.  What does a name mean?  You call someone by their name, or even by their title.  What does that mean?  What does that really tell you about a person, and what does it cover up?

  A name covers things up? That seems weird?  Can you hide behind a name?  Can you use it as a mask?  What does a Mask cover?  How do you know there is a mask, can you ask, can you peek, will they tell you? Do other adults warn you?

  In the Native American way, they name people, such as Run Fast.

  And you could pretty much know what that person was Know for.  They don’t have names like Slow Walker for someone who runs fast.  And I wonder if they ever name the baby wrong and have a new renaming ceremony.

  When my son was little, he and his cousin seen a huge man trying to wiggle into a booth at Burger King….and they both were amazed and said “do you think he will fit?” of course in a voice that carried far and wide!  As a mom, my first instinct is to protect the Man and tell the boys, you don’t say that, and in fact I did. I also remember these big brown eyes look at me and say plainly, Why?  It seemed goofy to them?

  Think of how we go around and label things correctly for them.

  A tree.  The sun. A house.  The easy and plain things, but get us into an area we feel uncomfortable in….and we start to disguise, twist, sortakinda name it.  Hoping that they will not discover our lies.

  Now bring this into abuse? 

  What I would like to see is the opposite happening and teach all children to be ok with proper naming of actions….sorta like the Native Americans.  Or see all adults being true.

  Maybe in one day a person gets many names.

  In the past four years, I began noticing I no longer called or seen myself as just one role, mom.

  I would say “cooker girl”…when cooking.

  I called myself by what I was doing, not who I was.

  It sounded almost childlike, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  If you go to www.messyguru.typepad.com you can see what I mean.

  However, I will warn you right now, this is a dialogue between an abused boy and what he calls his editor.

  The editor is the one who refused to see what is, now and back then.

  Maybe you could also call him, Mr. Denial.

  It is with the greatest respect that I enter his site. 

  He and I are very much the opposites. While he remembered everything, my mind forgot it all. 

  I was literally blasted into reality with a mind full of wrong information.  It seemed a Mental Lady in reality for so much I had wrong.

  Abuse lives in the mind.

  The body holds the truth, but the mind controls our lives.

  An abused mind is the hardest thing to make right.

  I had said, “It is literally like being lost, trying to find yourself and you don’t even know your missing, or what in the Hell you look like. “   Where do you begin?

  The courage it takes to willingly go into a mental mind and sort things out, is an adventure I wouldn’t wish on a soul. 

  The greatest tool an abused person has is REALITY, Period.

  Without reality we are lost forever.

  We must go back to the seed of the abuse to see where we got it wrong and speak to denial to get it right, to argue to challenge to use our grownup big words this time.  For when the initial abuse happened, you can be sure we were left alone in our minds without adult supervision.

  Reality what a Blessed place to be!

  Reality or Denial, Pick one.

   

  April 23, 2009

  awareness, denial, falsehood, masks, pathway, reality, roles, twisted mind

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• Trying.

  What does being the voice of your life mean? 
  

  
  

  How do you temper what comes out, what stays in, what to say and where?  Are there rules that say when we speak and how, even to whom do we speak.

  Is it more about whom we are in front of?  Does the voice change depending upon who is in the room?  If the voice can change, where are these voices coming from, who decides who gets to come out and when, what to say and how and why?  This seems confusing to say the least.

  Wayne Dyer has a phrase or at least he was the first I heard using it.  “Beyond the good opinions of others.” 

  Somehow we have been taught to shut down voices that may hurt others, or switch voices to smooth over rough waters…and are they really voices or just simply words.

  Can you really change a voice, is it more like you take a word and exchange it for another.

  What happens to the action when you switch the words around, can you really use words to make a correction of actions?  Is that possible?  Do words have that much power?

  Actions to me became law.  Actions to me are real.  Actions are truths upon themselves.

  Actions rule.  Actions became vital when all else failed.  So words although useful to explain an action really really in reality cannot change it.

  There is another saying “you can’t un-ring the Bell”

  Now this to most people again are just words, words with a harmless ring.

  But to some people who so desperately need actions, words are just simply words.

  Letters shuffled around, sorted through, and flung at you.  When you are waiting on actions words just never see that big. 

  Oh and how actions can damage, how actions even the slightest can hurt.  An eye turned away ever so slightly, shifting, wanting to escape our truths.  Seeing folks in a distance that duck down aisles so not to have to see/say/be in our world.  Silence is an action too.

  When you have a canyon full of devastation, a mountain of ruin within you….you too wish you could do the same.  But that is not an option….where I go, it goes!

  The very very very hardest part is to accept it.  Accept what so many are turning from, you can’t afford to leave yourself.  You can’t afford to walk away.  You can’t do to yourself what so many already have done. 

  There is another saying “be the change you want to see in the World”…

  I had to do what so many could not do.  I had to be the one to save me.  I had to be the one to sort through the trash that so many could not bear to see.  I had to put proper name tags, use words I never ever thought I would use….I had to be the one. 

  I could no longer pretend to pretend to be someone I no longer was.  No matter the ‘good’ opinion of others.  The only opinion that had to matter was mine.  There was only one voice I had to use, the voice of a damaged little girl in an adult body in a mess beyond her wild imagination, without instructions.

  I began small.  I began to put the proper labels on each and every action.  Words.

  Words. Words.  Who in the world could imagine that by putting the wrong word on an action your whole world changes….and lucky for me you can unravel it the same way!

  Simple word…action. Action word…the hardest part is to speak the proper word for a very improper action!  Little did I know, I would have a real hard time convincing others to change their labels, to say nothing of their actions.  Hopeless but hopeful I continued on.

  And of course some files are harder to switch for there is huge amount of emotion attached, hopes and dreams, futures….well you get the picture.

  I have a whole new file system…..well almost…I just may have to begin one labeled Author.

  If I write, I have to use the word writer.

  Life is much easier if actions and words match.

  Life is easier if I label myself correctly.

  Labels are meant to be changed…..dont' get left with the one that says "she didn't even try".

  April 21, 2009

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• Two Ways

  The two different ways to experience this world! The first, like you are the main character in a wonderfully delightful suspenseful book!  Where all around you are scenes of intrigue, stories untold, places you are excited to explore, people with curious features and doing odd things in odd places just begging you to ask “Why?”

   

  And in this book you get to be the Main Character, the person of focus, the one who moves the book in any direction, you are the bus driver and the only boundaries are the fear of the answer!  If you have an open mind and a thirst to understand, your passport is good to enter into any situation!

   

  You get to decide which ‘supporting or minor’ characters you bring along.

  Do they add to your story, do they make you better, hold you back, kick you into un-chartered waters?  If for some reason, they are stuck to you, how do you deal?  With humor or hate, do they control you or do you proceed and allow them to tag along!  Are you willing to allow a parade of people to maybe see you as an odd person doing an odd thing….could it be perhaps you are adding color to their stories, maybe you are there for them to ask “why?”

   

  As your story or life moves ahead, you also get to decide what will the main characters personality be, what traits is she wanting and how does she go about getting them. What are her strong suits and how can she turn her weakness into colorful life lessons.

   

  Oh, and you can be the Dreamer while living in the Dream…Where is it you want to go, do and be, you pick!  But you sometimes are walking into Nightmares, but even then, you can become a villain or a saint, you can let the moment define you or not!  This is your book, you decide.  You are the Author of you life! 

   

  Yesterday I had the opportunity to witness a woman who lived just like this!

  She was bright, full of wonderful energy, open and eager, she looked at you and you could see the wheels churning….what is her story, boy I surely would love to know.  And all the while oblivious of herself in the present moment, she was not just thinking about life, but being Life.

   

  I said there were two ways….well the other way is to be a character in someone else book

  Never knowing what it is like to be the Main Character.

   

  I love that I am allowed to be in my story and that there is a real good chance it won’t match yours, but that is the beauty of having separate bodies and our very own minds.  I truly get to do my own book, and I can be as imperfect as I want, doing way imperfectly perfect things. 

   

  Maybe I am doing things just to make my life more colorful, maybe I am learning as I go, maybe the mistakes I make are really opportunities in disguise, maybe it is a chapter I want in my book!   I love the freedom to be me, being the main character in my book, the book called My Life.

  
  

   
  

   

   

  April 21, 2009

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• The little blue note…

  Sometimes you are just floating along in your day, and out of nowhere the past comes and stops you dead.   Unexpected and loud, it blows away the energy of inspiration taking with it your happy day.  You are made to take a detour.  Unscheduled it demands your attention, now!  Overshadowing the delightful Author in my writing class.  In seconds the world tilts.

   

  Part of you hesitates like a stubborn child reluctant, but the curiosity wins, again.  Dare you not look, dare you look.  What is the risk to just turning away, not peeping even once?  Who will it hurt more this time, the hope or the hopeless.

   

  When my son was little and I wanted him to do something he didn’t like or if I was the Mom he was unhappy getting, he would say, “I am not going to be your boy no more.”  To him that solved it all, if he was not my boy, I no longer could tell him what to do.

   

  When I opened the mailbox, a large manila envelope poked out behind a few innocent white envelopes.  In the corner the address unfamiliar but the scrawl was familiar and carried the weight of the world.   What do you have to say now?  Why are you so determined to come into my world, what do you have to say to me, what?!   God why?

   

  The mind can scroll many different possibilities, but my body couldn’t take the stress, so I just simply opened it up.

   

  Recipes?!  Recipes for real?! 

  With a small square blue posted note, and the same handwritten scrawl;

  Hello!

  Additional recipes for the family cookbook.

  I miss you very much.

  Please cash check by end of May I want to balance my checkbook. 

  Will stop payment June 1^st.

  Love you always Mom

   

  I flip through them absentmindedly and a few family names float around, mixing in with Taco Soup and Waikiki Meatballs.  Not knowing what else to do, I eat my tuna sandwich, looking deeper unseeingly into the many pages of how to prepare meals for a family.  This seems sort of odd, coming from a family that can’t even be one. 

   

  Is there a recipe to put a family together?  How about one that can combine listening ears, seeing eyes and loving arms to create a different mom?  Is that in this pile of paper?  Can you make that?  How long does it take?  Is there time?

   

  What to do with the recipe of a family that doesn’t work?  Can you just get a new recipe? Gather the right ingredients and if you follow all the directions, do it right, will a great tasting family pop out?

   

  This cooker girl can’t find the right ingredients that I need, it seems they are all wrong for the recipe I want.  What appears is the stuff for a family that I no longer have the appetite for.  What I am craving and longing for just isn’t there.

   

  They say you can choose your friends, but families are forever.  I guess they are right, no matter what flavor they are.  There is simply nothing I can do to change them, nothing to make them easier to swallow I am left with this dish that has been handed down from generation to generation. 

   

  All that is left for me to do is refuse to eat.  Refuse to partake.  Go hungry.

  My heart grumbles and rumbles, but this is not where it will get fed, again.

  Empty and hallow it walks away.

  Hopeless won again.

  I am not going to be your girl no more.

  The little blue note never asked how I was…….

     

  April 20, 2009

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• Self Love

  How is it that to love yourself, without another seems foreign?  Is it true, that we alone cannot experience love?   That our love feelings are dependent upon other, and what happens if there is no other?  What are we to do?

   

  It seems too that religion holds God, like another holds love. 

  How is that possible that in order to get to God, you have to find the right church, the right pastor, the right words?  And in order to get love, you have to find the right person?

   

  I had relied or had a lazy relationship, as my brother likes to say, with this thing called Love and God.  I knew both through the eyes of other.  It was their definition that I knew, I didn’t know my own.

   

  I blindly followed, submissively agreed with whatever they said, and I worked really hard to never displease, for they held my love, and my God.  I always believed that to turn from them, was turning away from Love and God. 

   

  I was shocked to know that God came with me.  He didn’t just live in Church, in a building painted white.  He was available in every tree, a bird, it’s song, the sunrise, in kind eyes, a gentle hand, there seemed no place that God wasn’t. 

   

  Love was harder for me to find, or love of self was harder.  I had been abused, tossed about and aside. I had to work my way into liking me, with all my imperfections.  This was definitely was an inside job.

   

  I knew that there was no way I would ever trust again, for others to hold my love.  I also was certain that it was up to me to be the keeper of it, if I were to find it.

   

  It is a hard thing to find, especially when you have no idea what it really is.  Maybe it was harder to recognize.  I simply went by feelings.  It  seemed to be the opposite of what I had been raised to believe. 

   

  Love is free, unattached, without agendas, no rules, expectations, free will, things I had never experienced before.

   

  I am still new at this relationship.  A love affair with Self.  I am living free, like stepping out of Plato's Cave.  It is overwhelming to look back and wonder how I survived, and then forward to a million potentials!  It seems that nothing I used in the Cave is needed out here!  And I am clueless on how to be.

   

  The brightness, the joy, the peace, and oh the freedom to be me.  How exciting this all is, and yet there are times I miss the cave, for it was all I ever knew.  I get those feelings less and less, as each new part of me grows.  Soon it will all fade into a distant past….where only the good times will rise.

   

  Until then, I am daring to be daring as I get comfortable in this free space.  This space of Love.

  
  

  
  

  April 19, 2009

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