Silence (an unfinished poem)

This one isn't quite finished; but I like it. What do you think? Do you see or hear anything in these words? This one isn't meant to rhyme, but I hear a certain cadence I can't get to flow all the way through. I describe what silence sounds like to me. 

Silence is the loudest.

It trickles and chimes.

Collides and explodes.

At night.

And the day.

While watching a show.

Enjoy the Silence

Silence increases.

Then decreases.

Having a mind of its own.

Headphones and music do nothing to quell.

Frenzied crickets.

Crashing glass.

Imagine the atoms splitting and screaming.

And air making music all while it falls.

~~

Dark Lights

A large truck with double headlights followed me home tonight.

Two or three years ago my Ex, replaced my headlights with brighter ones. No complaint on my part as I could see more road and appreciated the gesture. However, driving after sundown is a hit or miss situation of which drivers my bright lights will offend. The flickering of their headlights as they approach and pass me is a clear indication.

"There is nothing I can do," I say to them with my mind. I'm sure all consider me a rude driver, and this embarrasses me. Tonight is the first time a driver turned around and followed me with high beams deliberately. For several residential blocks along Broadway, we traveled the same direction. At last the driver turned off the road just before the capital building. But, I saw the hesitation at the stop sign.

Headlights in the Dark

Thinking to myself, "Well, I guess they finally decided I've learned my lesson, they've gone their merry way." I did look back to get a better look - it appeared white or gray in color. This was when I began thinking of all the ways human interactions go wrong. Of all the encounters I've had with strangers that could have ended badly.  Typical fears crossed my mind: rape, murder, injury... I was reminded of the dangers of the world. I'm a woman, and all sorts of things go along with that. I shrug it off and continue towards my neighborhood. 

Turning on the main road towards home, guess who is driving up the way. *sigh* At the sight of my beautiful bright lights, the large truck with double headlights slows down and almost comes to a complete stop. Then hastily makes a turn - onto my street. Great.

I suppose I could have (should have) driven to the gas station and create distance, but instead turned and was now following it. The truck slowed down, then picked up speed, and slowed down again and quickly parked in an open space along my block just a few houses away from mine.

Safety protocols indicate NOT to drive home. Safety protocols also suggest making eye contact with your potential threat. So I did. I drove past and parked at home (I have a healing kitten to look after). I got out of my truck and made sure the large truck with the double high beam headlights saw me seeing it.

It's not the first time I've had to do that. Strangely the first time it happened, while walking Mick, on a snowy night - it too, was a white or gray truck. I'll admit to hiding behind a tree until I gathered my courage to cross the street, make eye contact and quickly walk back to my apartment.  

Not everything is dangerous to all. 

Yet, some dangers are unique to some.

Stay safe my friends. 

What if, I know

I no longer think, “What if?”

- I am not good enough

- I fail

- I can’t

- ______

I think, “I know.”

- I am good enough

- I won’t fail

- I can

- ______

Significant, this shift is.

Imagine, if you will. The window shades are open, and the light flows in. Early morning rain freshens the air. Hair untied. Relaxed. Full breaths. These are my days now. Don’t be jealous. It’s a little eerie. 

"A Little Brain Twist" via Imgur

Growth presented unexpectedly.

Streaming Water

This year, like this time last, words were not typed on the daily, as the participating group expects. I’ve learned a few things about my writing habits. Typically, I produce work when it is unexpected - my best work. The excitement around NaNoWriMo in November is infectious, and I’m happy to join others around the world. But, I wonder why I just don’t write to write it down.

Perhaps I write because I forget memories. Maybe, this is not meant to be read by others. When I think of writers, the classical ones, their lives are rich with thought and expression. They experience turmoil and deep connection (or, disconnect) with life and living. They draw from it and keep on until all sides of their stories burning within are exposed.

I’ve done the thing. Thought upon thoughts emersed by scattered ideas. Only to make known a small percentage of what burns within. It’s water through my fingers. I see water, I feel the water, but I cannot hold the water. I cannot reshape it. I lose sight and am confused by the rapid, fragmented string of words.

         

I regret all that I did for love. Things never done before and likely will never do again. He hindered, caused me to doubt my uniqueness and power, needed me small at his side. He is a tornado. Exciting and destructive. In the middle of his roar and thunder, there is a single pocket of bright, beautiful calm. He’s the loneliest person I’ve ever known. He’ll break you so that he isn’t alone.

I’m torn between him leaving and disappearing across state lines, deep into international waters never to be heard or seen from again, or seek justice and impose the punishment he’s earned. I don’t know which is better or worse to know or not know where he is all of the time. I’m in danger of his explosive and quiet violence, either way.

A lesson I learned long before he crossed my path is that love, pain, anger, and everything else is felt until it is not. No timetable exists. No end in sight until you reach it. And, there is no escaping. There is only living through it. Embracing the scars as evidence of life.

**

A performance against domestic violence. 

        

Patience, Just a Little

Of all the virtues patience is the bee's knees. Stitch after stitch I pull the yarn through. Sometimes I even undo. Row after row the crocheted yarn grows. Crochet is like riding a bike, in that you don't entirely forget what you learned. When I started up again, about a month or so ago, I had difficulty holding the needle. My fingers were clumsy and yard easily tangled. I bought two small rolls of yarn. One pink and one grey. Those mini projects turned into a square, a rectangle, and a wheel.

Patience is the only word on my mind while I crochet. Calmly. During my pre-teen years and early 20's, I had little patience to finish a project. I felt that if I couldn't get it right the first time it meant I wasn't good at it. So...why bother doing it. I wore a self-defeating mindset back then. Well, most of my life. Up until a few years ago, patience wasn't a virtue I spent time on.

I learned the value of patience during my work with Mick. A shelter dog assigned to me to foster, train, and learn from. Everyone that knows me here knows about Mick. I really cannot stop talking about him. I try to hold back (I really do). But, ... I'm proud of him. I'm proud of me. 

"Patience" performed by Guns N' Roses

My Maddness

Image Source

Most appropriate, this image, for this moment that I'm suddenly unable to write all that is in my head. Every November, it's the same.

I'm at the starting line with all the other participants around the world. The starter gun is in the air.

I'm excited. Then, after the shot - the ringing bell, the air horns... silence. Silence in my head. The space filled with lines, phrases, gets all choked up. They won't come out. They won't be seen. They just refuse to participate. It's an anxious-ridden time for me and so many others.

This time of the year, we're all working on something at the same time, together but apart. Apart but together. Our daily goals met or not met, our motivation keeps going or gives out. 

This is NaNoWriMo, people.

Crisp

Photo Credit: (c)deyanira.

The snow hasn't fallen yet - not really.  A few weeks ago the skies teased us with a taste of an early Winter, but it soon morphed into lovely Fall days.  Leave are everywhere. It's colorful along all the neighborhood streets. When parking along a curb, I can hear the crunch of the dry leaves which is as satisfying as a potato chip.

Untitled Cross-Over

My favorite poem of all time has just eight lines. It is filled with expectation, grief, and anxiety. I memorized it immediately and connected to the illustration. I thought about it again. Recited the lines--well, four of them and it made me think.

We don't get what we want. EVER. We get the result of what we do. ALWAYS.

Sometimes, we want a thing so badly we do whatever we think it takes to get it. The cost is irrelevant because all we see and experience is the void we desperately work to fill. It is a kind of downfall, I think now. To try so hard to be someone we aren't. To try so hard to attract the people with think we are supposed to be surrounded by. To [work] so hard not to see ourselves for who we are: hurt, broken, healing, healed, unsure, able, confident, scared...

We are our worst enemy.We are our worst critic.We are the only ones that can really hurt us.

I am struggling to understand how he is more damaged than me. How his pain runs deeper than mine. How, despite the similarities in circumstances, he is struggling to find peace within himself. I refuse to accept he is beyond growth and healing.

Do you hear that? Compassion. Still.

-- (c)deyanira.

"What a Day" written by Shel Silverstein // image found on Pinterest

--

// "Oh, What a Day" originally posted, here. 

--

Dear Reader, 

I meant to tell you about today. I can't articulate; it's all just a bunch of confusing emotions. I hope you found this cross-post thought-provoking. It's from the other blog, the one that is all about Him. Anyway, these words are fitting today. 

-dv-

Beat Your Own Drum

I can't get the words out of my head. They've been rattling around all day it seems. This song appears in the movie The Greatest Showman. I haven't seen it yet (to the dismay of friends). When Kesha stopped making music, it was because she was caught in an abusive relationship. She made an attempt to leave, and he held her career hostage.  She was mishandled and mistreated by a man she once trusted. 

Her music now speaks of growth, transformation, survival, acceptance, and new inner joy and peace. Coming forward to the public and placing herself on center stage is more than just brave. It's a love and respect for herself and what she's endured. The best lessons we learn are from witnessing vulnerability of others.

At the center of that vulnerability, we find our greatest strength.  

Don't shy away, dear reader. Don't hide. 

"I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I'm meant to be, this is me
Look out 'cause here I come
And I'm marching on the beat I drum
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me"

// "This is Me" by Kesha

Jelly Fish

Surrounded by two dogs, four chickens, one cat, three horses, and a hidden mouse, I sit in silence. Well, almost. My "thumbs up" curated playlist with a variety of musicians and sounds lulls the animals to sleep.

The dark cloud overhead is moving away despite the nested nightmares. Of us arguing, of me seeing the real you, of you in the kitchen cooking. She lays on the couch in stockings clicking away on an iPhone watching us. Faced with my knowledge of the truth you continue to fry bacon. Why are you in the kitchen? Why the hell am I there? And, can she please put on some pants. Does she even know all those you hide? You'll hurt her too. You know that better than I. Your cruelty has no limit, in what way did I insult offend you to receive what I did from you?

"Twin Flame" (2017) 

This dream is about accepting what I've known throughout. You too easily gave her up early on. You too easily agreed with my requests. You too easily said Yes to me. My mistake and only mistake is to trust you. If only I could take all that time back. All the energy and wasted emotion. I could then erase the tears and finally, finally scream. 

It weighs on me still, the nothing you turned out to be. An encrusted shell you surround yourself with glistens in the moonlight. The sun turned enemy shows off the zirconias and not the diamonds you pretend to hold. She's too young to know the difference. And, suddenly I understand the appeal. The need you have to not be seen. She doesn't know you like I do. A part of me hopes she never will. 

#SurvivedHim



// *By the Horns* by Julia Stone

Write it Out

Syndrome

Take a look at this list. I typed "constantly changing" into the search field in hopes of finding something on a person's need to continually change aesthetics. It's comprehensive, this list is. It covers all the necessary things we're interested in our lives: ourselves and others. 

Photo Credit: (c)deyanria.

I never did find what I meant to: an answer to my constant need to continue to change this website.  Template after template, fonts, color schemes, and other tweaks. Too much self-editing. 

Giving too much and not enough - story of my life. I give people more than they need. Holding back seems, well, it's forced. I wasn't taught to be selective. I wasn't taught self-preservation. I was given examples of how to hide one's true self. It's much more work to do that than it is to give what I think you need. At least, that's how I see it: pretending. 

Don't get me wrong playing pretends was my favorite game as a kid. So much imagination goes into that. You never know how the story is gonna' go until you're right there making the decisions and bouncing ideas off each other. Remember how fun that was?

If you're still wondering about the title of this post...read the first search query. I read that as syndrome not synonym. For a quarter of a split second, I found what I was looking for. Yep. I did click on it. If you're laughing, worry not. You laugh with me not at me. 

// This late night post may not make sense tomorrow morning.

Sorry about that. 

Dreams and Snow Fall

The day began on the sidewalk. Standing under the powdered snow canopy of a mature tree I saw 3 deer poke their heads out from behind tall bushes. They eyed me but were far more interested in the small dog heading their way. The human handler almost made the mistake of following his dog. Glad he slowed down and waited for the deer to make their move. It's best not to frighten them by walking right into them.

Photo Credit: (c)deyanira.

Somewhere in the middle of the morning's deer sighting and rescue from leaving my keys hanging off the key rack, I found my smile. I can only laugh at myself for having to stand at the driveway for twenty minutes. I'm in good spirits these days waking from dreams never before had.

Not to everyone, but for some, remembered dreams illustrate parallels of waking life. I've written about mine before. Not just descriptions but discussing the odd connections and surprising insight. Food has made a reappearance. Nourishment. 

A typical food dream, for me, is walking the halls of grocery stores taking stock of the abundance of cheeses, fruit, and bags of potato chips. I don't eat any of it. I can't access it. At the register, the cart filled with food is left behind. I walk across parking lots empty-handed.  A common interpretation of the appearance of food is that consuming it is to nourish oneself. If you can't eat in your dream, you are unable to "take care" of yourself in the waking world. There is something in your life that you are unable to nourish, like your heart, mind, soul, body. 

Five days ago, I awoke having dreamed of stuffing so much food in my mouth that I couldn't chew! But, that didn't stop me from eating and eating and eating. First time ever. This is a big deal. This aligns perfectly with the state of things in my waking world. There is a sense of stability. Of groundedness. Direction. Calm. This is no coincidence, people. 

On this Wednesday, #WindowWednesday in some internet circles, I submit a photo taken within the last week. Nothing but raindrops to wash away all the burdens. There are enough drops for everyone. 

This day ends with a strange sense of accomplishment. 

Fear Not

We can't be afraid of what we hold inside. Our minds. Our hearts. We carry all that is the Universe. The past. The future. The every day. The light. The dark. You are the culmination of every person that lived and died before you. You are the catalyst of the next generation of people that will carry you all through their lives. We never really die - just cease to exist. 

I wrote a bad poem, as bad poems go.  Won't be the last and certainly not the first. I'm good at 'em. They take time. They're not easy. Challenging as they are, I love to write 'em.

Rain falls.
Leaves fell.
Snow floats to the ground.
I think I may, I think I might run down these halls.
Holding secrets I'll never tell.

You seek me. But, I hide in a place that can't be found.

~ⓒdeyanira.

--

This Hubble Telescope image is known as the Galaxy Cluster Abell 370. It's quickly become a favorite because of the tail-like or snake-like star field in the center. If you can, zoom in and take a look. It's fascinating. 

You can download this photo, here. Also, on the same page, read about the BUFFALO program. This is helping Hubble capture an even wider range. 

Galaxy Cluster Abell 370
September 13, 2018
copyright 

The Leaves are Turning

I read today. At the hair salon. Under the heat-helmet contraption. Why is this worthy of a post, or merit delivery into your inbox, you ask? Well, I focused. Read every word without distraction. The ADHD-like and hyper-depressive mood swings I've experienced, since this time last year, are dissipating. Finally. Relief. Balance. Calm. 

Artist Unknown

My fingers are crossed. This week has the potential for bright productivity. More appropriate interactions with others. And, remember those interactions clearly, like what I said and who I said it to.

A girl can dream. So, I do.

I'd like to share, my kitten King Leonidas George Muffin, but we call him Roman for short, the First, is behaving oddly. He's low energy. A bit droopy. He drapes himself across my lap or my chest. If I move, he doesn't. This is the most noticeable change.  Months past, he'd jump and run away. He waits, instead lets me pick him up without protest. I have no explanation. Initially, I could say the foster cats affected his behavior. I could even go as far as Roman feeling a bit left out or pushed aside by the temporary arrangement.

I enjoy the extra cuddle time, but not if he's suffering from lethargy.  A visit to the fur-baby doctor is around the corner. 

Roman, circa 2017
(c)deyanira.

An Evening Post

As weeks go, this one was especially exhausting. The season is turning. Fall has made its presence known with a chill in the air.  It's also been a week of changes - dramatic ones, it turns out. When you get used to someone or something. When you rely on it/them so heavily, you feel the void from the inside out. There is an eery silence at home. Things are back to normal, and it seems lonely, suddenly. Headaches surfaced again. Thoughts are jumbled, too.

Image Credit: Unknown

Roman, is out from hiding. Picasso visits more often. Ninja doesn't walk cautiously around corners expecting to encounter a swatting paw belonging to Kallee. The energy of Toulouse is missing. I didn't realize I'd spent so much time watching him play and keeping Kallee a safe distance away from the other animals. I vacuumed. I kinda' miss the disarray the foster cats made everything. I mean EVERYTHING - everywhere.

I lost a little succulent plant not too long ago. I had a plan for it. Planticide occurred here.  

The suspects are known, the details a bit fuzzy, but the scene - well, planting soil splattered with a clear pattern. It was a strategic attack. I'd like to point the finger to the obvious suspect: Toulouse the kitten, but my money is on Kallee. She is where she wants to be, and she doesn't give a sh*t. Toulouse is adopted, two days now. Kallee is set up and ready to go. She just needs to meet the right human in the right circumstances for her. She's a special feline. Knows what she wants. Doesn't share. And, a reliable awkward snuggler. Wanna' see her? 

The end is here. Abruptly. 

A Tweet

It appears I tweeted rather sternly, the other day.

Old Words

I woke up to read old words.

In the quiet of the night, under a dark sky, and far from twinkling stars, I open up an old journal. In 2009, I published my first online blog post, titled Random's Sunday. What it meant, I don't know. The sun was bright on that day. I sat in my backyard with my three pups, Tibby, Lokie, and little Peanut while they laid sunning themselves alongside the pool. The citrus trees in full bloom of Orange and Lime filled the air of sour and sweet. Southern California is a magical place - even more so is the sun above Palm Springs. 

I don't remember why I chose the online forum over trusted private paper journals. I recall a sense of urgency that handwritten notes no longer satisfied. At the time, I struggled financially along with everyone one else feeling the adverse effects of the explosive burst of the housing bubble crisis. A year in I was filled with a quiet frenzy. A paralyzed state. All I could do to survive is move about mechanically. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Etc.

"Peanut, Tibby, Lokie" circa '08-'09
Photo Credit: ©deyanira.

In between, I'd eat some days, feed my dogs the other days. Made sure to have enough gas in my Volkswagen to get me to work a week at a time. Them there were dark days under a bright sun. My mechanical approach to life soon rusted and cracked. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Etc.

Ten years later, I still write while you sleep.

"The Hobbit Writing" GIF

The Seasons

Tonight I'm reminded of Exposé's Seasons Change. I'd forgotten how much of a love song it is. It's sweet and innocent, this video. Three friends, together helping the other move on - forward w/their lives.

Things are different. Maybe, that's why these lyrics ring in my ear. It's early fall, and the air is not yet crisp. Last year was the coldest I've experienced here. I'm looking forward to this year's snowfall, bulky sweaters, boots, and potato leek soup. Winter cooking churns out the best meals. It's hearty. Much more satisfying than summer meals. Fall is a bit of both Winter and Summer, a strange blend. At least in my kitchen. Salads - fruit and vegetable, warm sandwiches, cold beer, but no icy drinks. 

🎶♯♭🎝

// Remember 1987? No! This music video will take you back. Enjoy.

"Some dreams are in the night time

And some seem like yesterday

But leaves turn brown and fade

Ships sail away

You long to say a thousand words

But seasons change

It feels like it's forever

No reason for emptiness

But time just runs away

No more day by day

You dream again it seems in vain

When seasons change

I want you

I want to feel you by my side

I need you

Don't you know I need you baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I'll sacrifice tomorrow

Just to have you here today

For ever seems so far away

There's time for love and for play

You dream about today

Feeling slips away

The winds that blow they go away

And seasons change

I want you

Don't hide your feelings from inside

I need you

I've got to have your love now baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I want you

I want to feel you by my side

I need you

I've got to have your love now baby

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

I'll sacrifice tomorrow

Just to have you here today

Just to have you here today

Seasons change feelings change

It's been so long since I found you

Yet it seems like yesterday

Seasons change people change

Change the season"

Songwriters: Lewis A Martinee

Seasons Change lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Exposed

I said the thing, used the word, invoked His name. It sounded foreign. Unknown. Distant and valueless. It would hurt him to know. He values admiration. Expects adoration. Is insulted to receive any other kind of attention. A year ago - how do I explain? A few days ago I was asked why I missed a significant fundraising event last Fall. 

"I experienced a concussion," I calmly said. 

I made a mental note of just how calmly I said it and then immediately felt awkward because I had no follow-up to that. As expected by most everyone I've said it too (which aren't many), the person gave me a surprised look and showed immediate concern. I knew not what to say without shedding more fragments of that past life with a dangerous man I was lucky to have gotten away from. 

"It's OK. I'm alright," I said in a knee-jerk reaction.

We do that, it turns out, to make you feel better, or less guilty, or not sorry about our circumstances. All it does is diminish an experience that deserves acknowledgment. I hate I did that, but there was no way to walk it back without getting into the details.

I said it calmly and conversationally to another person. That's growth. It has to be.

domestic-violence-awareness

Night Writer (pronounced Knight Rider)

The Starry Night
Vincent van Gogh 1889

Sleepless nights are nothing new. They've plagued me since childhood. At slumber parties, I typically was the last one to fall asleep. How did I know, you ask? Because the conversations would slowly come to an end amid snores and heavy breathing from a bunch of kids. At home, I'd lay awake in darkness. Not allowed to read or write into the early morning hours, I'd entertain myself by imagining all sorts of things, places, people, books I'd read, and movies I'd seen. As you can believe, and possibly even experience yourself - mornings were challenging to welcome.

Usually.

As an adult, mornings are not rough to greet, even on a few hours of sleep. There comes the point in the quite and still night when the mind awakens (in a state of delirium - I'm sure of it). There is no way anything productive could come out of that state. Yet, it was during those early hours in the cool of the night, under stars, and a bright moon did I write through salty tears. I used to keep a collection of everything I wrote in a box. All colors, and scraps of paper, cursive, print, pen, pencil, or crayon. 

The Scream
Edvard Munch, 1893 

I remember, the need to be surrounded by them - the words. Once Father brought a computer into the house I'd print them. Add clip art. Center the lines of text. Tape the pages on the walls of my bedroom. Before that, once I was sure what the poem is, or phrases or lines were, I'd rewrite them on a clean page and draw around them. 

If it wasn't the words - it was the nightmares keeping me awake. Well, the resistance to be in the position in which they'd happen - asleep, that is.

Dark dreams are the otherside of my tumultuous relationship with the night. Not able to recall with certainty my age, but I'm sure as a teenager and mid to late 20's sleep was disturbed regularly. That is, I'd fall asleep and wake up periodically (every hour) throughout the night with memories of broken images and strange feelings. 

At half past 4:00 in the morning. Not sure how to end this post. I'll describe the moment. A foster kitten rests on the bed.  Downton Abby plays in the background. Curtains drawn closed. Chickens sleeping in their coop. 

In Color

I've craved the feeling of painting while at home. My weekly visits to my favorite pottery store aren't enough lately. Several years ago I bought a few of those adult coloring books that are supposed to reduce anxiety and increase concentration. They frustrated me. I was impatient. Didn't even like the metallic color pencils I purchased for the sake of the tin they came in. 

Photo Credi (c)deyanira.

I've changed this past year. Part of me is calm. Part of me is erratic. Part of me still cares. But, most of me is looking for colors I've never seen before. Colors he'll never know or understand. It's these days I've turned to that which once caused me strife. See what I've done now? Added color to pages designed to entice and draw us in. 

I've listened to my heart through music and stumbled through the lyrical maze. Each time, the pain that once pulsated through my pores and streamed down my cheeks is harder to find.

I've turned to colors to amend my mood, give me perspective and a better life. Cheesy? Maybe. True? Definitely. Coloring these black and white pages and adding my color to them makes me happy. Happy, like a child. Happy, like I used to be - that innocent, kind of cheer. Do you remember that feeling? It was the sense of the present. Of being fully immersed in your mind and creation. Remember?

R & R : A Quest for Life

🐾 | Rescue. | Rehabilitate. |  🐾

Get up and go. When it comes to saving lives, there is only one way to do it. Not sure how to begin to describe the events of today. A call came in. A call we’d been waiting weeks for. There was no time to prepare for the swell of scared little bodies we were about to encounter. In no time did the group rally to gather the necessary supplies. Trucks heading down the street in the direction of hope. 

Hope for the small lives that are about to change. Significantly. The group unloaded their gear and began to embrace those in need. One by one they were secured into their lifesaving vessels. Hot. Dehydrated. Matted. Hungry. In pain. Freighted. Each one of them experiencing their moment of rescue in their unique way. Some welcomed the new gentle touch. Others were not able to accept it yet. 

We see so many in need. We packed up the trucks and looked around. It seems the fight is to change a never-ending tidal wave of recklessness and despair. People are lonely. People are frightened. People lack a connection with each other. 

A gap exists where it shouldn’t, and we can only think of a handful of ways to fill it and make us feel whole again. Sometimes, the presence of another is just enough to tip the balance back to level. Sometimes, all we need is just one or two to keep us engaged. Sometimes, some of us can’t get enough and are unable to stop that we insist on filling the already filled gap with more and more.

Paw + Hand Cut Out www.mountainmetalarts.com

Twenty-one dogs were rescued today. Twenty-one dogs will eat a full meal, drink clean water, curl up on a soft blanket. Twenty-one dogs are in the care of a group of people dedicated to their wellbeing. Twenty-one dogs don’t know what tomorrow awaits them. What they will grow to learn, every minute that passes is to trust and experience a pain-free life.

It’s easy when you know what you are doing. It’s easy to interact with so many lives in a day and leave them in much better shape than when you met them. It’s also easy to mess up. To become inundated with the enormous responsibility of keeping and maintaining a healthy and fruitful life. 

We depend so much on each other. Dog. Human. Human. Dog. We’ve evolved to walk the same path, experience the same losses, and enjoy companionship. There is no denying it. Don’t even try it.

*~*

If you'd like to help, please visit Lewis & Clark Humane Society's donate page 

Right for You

“When the time is right you’ll know,” they say.

Right for what?

For whom?

As we look to our futures through the windows of our cars, corner offices, and living rooms. We are alone. No two experiences are alike. In a place full of people, all looking through the same pane of glass at the world outside, the experience is not the same. Perceptions are unique. Feelings over the observed landscape are unique. It’s the feeling that changes us. It’s the feeling that pulls us apart and divides us. It’s the feeling that brings us together.

Look around you. Are you with friends? Family? Maybe strangers at a coffee shop or library? The number of people you are surrounded by at any given time is the number of similarities and differences you’ll engage (should you choose to).

We all face challenges, course correcting moments and life-altering decisions. Our reasons* may be the same as the person next to us, but it is the motivation* behind what we do (or don’t do) that is unique.

When is the right time to follow your gut? Instinct? When is the right time to pay attention to your “spider senses?” The answer is every time it surfaces. Every time your body tells you the persons you are surrounded by is deceiving you, is dangerous, is unfaithful, and untrustworthy. Agreement or compliance from others is not a sign they will protect you, have your best interest, or even come to your aide.

It’s an overwhelming thought to consider we are alone walking alongside a loved one, a friend, or a confidant. Each choice we make is for our very own reasons. Even when others make the same decision you do, the motivation is different. There are pressures to comply, conform, and make others happy. There is pressure not to disappoint or appear insensitive or inconsiderate.

Image Source: TED How to Make Choices

Sometimes, going against the grain, moving against the current, is taking care of yourself for yourself and no one else. It’s best not to wait. It’s best not to put it off. It’s best to consider your feelings before others. It’s a form of selfishness that keeps you from self-destructing by losing yourself to the demands of others.


// *Do you agree with WikiDiff's comparison and contrast of reason and motivation?

The Photo Feed

Edited photo by (c)deyanira.

Twenty years ago, I thumbed through photo albums. Slowly turning each page, caressing the photos stuck to the pages. Memories flood the mind. Photos were taken deliberately. Photos were planned. Pictures were special. 

Today, photos feel different - the collection of them. The digital space we take advantage of through our camera phones and editing apps have created an overabundance of photographic opportunity and creativity. I love it! And, I'm frustrated with it.

Original photo by (c)deyanira.

 

Too many. I have too many digital photos. We all do. We've become hoarders of digital media. Multiple copies of 'em. At least, I do. There is always the back up of the original photo. There is the backup of the filtered Instagram photo, Prisma app, Snapseed app, and other editing apps. If shared on social media sites, there is now that many copies on more than one server. 

Not much joy, do I take in scrolling through my personal digital photo feed. Does anyone else feel that? How good are you at finding photos from years ago? Do you have a copy of your digital images in the cloud and your computer?

This sunflower resides in Montana. Lut up by a beautiful bright sun. You wouldn't know it by the original image. The cleaned up photo is more true to what I saw and wanted to capture when I pulled out my phone.  It took Google Photos to automatically edit to digitally produce what I saw on that day. 

How do you manage your digital collection? Care to share your filing structure? 

Insignificant, Chest Wounds

An open gaping wound,

throbs at my chest.

If you could only see it,

darkness in the cavity,

the illuminated torn edges of flesh.

If you can feel it,

despite the biting cold surrounding it,

warm red drips from my fingertips. 

The wound is insignificance. 

Self Destruct by NekroXIII
(modified image found on Pinterest)

You + Me = Us

Sometimes, inspiration takes us down a different path than the one we set out on.

I recently wrote an article on the topic of volunteerism. I am not sure, yet, if I delivered the piece that was expected; I wrote the only way I know how. I expressed our human need to take part in something more significant and outside of ourselves. 

Sometimes, we don't know where it comes from.

We are so far removed from our historical reference points. We just know - some of us are driven from a seemingly outside force. But, it's not from the outside. Our internal sensors are calibrated to look for others that are like us. To take care of other beings. To cultivate, generate, and protect. 

Sometimes, we deny ourselves.

Love, respect, and decency. We are deserving of them, our very existence mandates it. Yes, we deny ourselves the basic of needs by our very own hands. We harm ourselves by setting us apart from everyone else. 

Photo Credit: NailedUPSC

May the Fourth be with You (and Me, too)

This past 4th of July I felt genuine happiness to be alive.  I felt whole - more whole than I have in years. I'm light on baggage, it seems. 2018 turned out to be better than the year before. So much so, I now breathe easy at the thoughts of future endeavors. I am not typically this calm. Never been less anxious about the outcome. I know not what to attribute this to.

In the past, my writings dealt with the perception of floating or not being anchored. I didn't have a sense of purpose after my 'great depression' of 2008-2010 - give or take a year or two. I've amped up my writing and increased the volume (so to speak) by making them more public. Poetry became the most useful outlet to get through the worst of it. As my depression eases and I experience more and more days of genuine happiness, I write less poetry and more prose. 

In the past 10-months, I have written more meaningful pieces with well thought out ideas and focus on the topics. It feels empowering. It feels energizing. The written word is more sacred than ever before. 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/hippie/2475835909

Best Laid Plans

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Nothing is ever what it seems, and nothing ever turns out exactly as you expect. Variables exist we know not of until it's too late. I sit in front of a messy desk with folders, papers, and a half-filled coffee mug in need of a refill. Laundry is a go, but a few dishes remain in the sink. It's brisk out, and my pups and cats are resting while I listen to one of my favorite playlists.  

Despite the disarray, disjointed productivity and interruptions, it's still a good day. I'm alive. I'm safe. We never know where we are until we get there. In between the places, we find ourselves there is always an opportunity to end up somewhere else.  

Photographer: Masayasu SAKUMA
(found here)

In celebration of where I am and where I could have ended up. I will tell you stories about myself. Each post will contain a little nugget about me. A tiny kernel that glitters in the sun like flakes of diamond dust. The title of the weblog illustrates my greatest hang-up and toughest climb. Expressing precisely what I mean, think, fear, love, and wonder about in ways in which you will understand.

T.T.F.N.