The Circle

Come closer. I'll show you what I'm made of.

While you laugh behind my back and discard me like a piece of trash, I get stronger. I remember how they hated Jesus, first, for no good reason. It unnerves little people when you don't need them, when you don't worship them. I bet you want me to care, to care that you don't include me in your orbit. I want to say to you, oh nasty one, you can't handle my light. You're too dense, grotesque, and small. 

Not me.

What do I need any of you for when I've got Mary in my circle? Sometimes, she gives me that look when I step out of the circle to retrieve my sword. She quietly tells me to let it go. I insist I just need a bit more time.

So I grab hold of my sword that looks abandoned laying by an oak tree. Do you know how good it feels in my hands to be holding this sword, despite its heaviness? It's as though it was crafted just for me, for someone like me, for someone built like me. 

I drag it in my usual way across the lush green grass on top of a hill I still can't understand how I got here. I overlook the landscape. What I see out there is what resides within. Peaks and valleys. I'm more than okay with all of it. It's never boring. There's so much to observe, to experience, to feel, in this place. 

Do you think I need someone like you here? It's clear you don't need someone like me over there with the rest of you. Good. It's good. I'm good. You're good. But, not that good. 

You're such a stupid child, you and your boorish face. What did your husband ever see in you? You treat him like a dog and he stays silent and obedient. I often wonder when he's going to lose it on you. But maybe he enjoys being pushed around that way. 

I dream up all the ways I won't have to lift a finger for karma to do its job. I just have to keep being me, to keep being kind, to keep minding my own business, to keep creating and let others be whoever they are or want to be. I can step aside, a bit to the left or a bit to the right and get out of whatever shit's coming my way. You can't touch me. You can't hurt me with your words. Eventually, they'll all come back to haunt you, like they will for each of us. And I'll be smiling in my usual sweet way...because...I'm back in the circle...with Mary. 

Thank goodness for Her. She's going to replenish my Well so I never go without.

So Mote It Be. 

Empty Vessels

I'm the common denominator in this case...but, I'm also the good guy....through and through. I think of Jesus. Or any other person who was shoved in a corner because the world didn't understand them. Today, it's not about being misunderstood. People are too shallow for such a noble attempt. They're simply jealous and threatened and ultimately, they lack feeling, lack heart. 

They know what's right. They know what hurts. They know how to inflict pain. They know they're doing it. They know how it feels. But, their lower parts are much more powerful than they are. And these guys think they're making a point? Just more proof that slaves are running the show. Fools!

I'm going to shift perspective here. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm too deep for these folks, whose blood courses through my veins, too. They can't hold a flame to my name. They may not encourage bad behaviour but they do so by association. We are the company we keep and I have no time for small-minded, petty, unkind people who only care for their own, who only give to those who sing and dance to their tune out of some kind of misplaced obligation. I do not and will not accept any of these people into my orbit just because life is short. Yes, life is too short and that's an excellent reason why not to waste my time with them!

No hard feelings. They don't want any part of me and I don't want any part of them, either. Do you understand what this means? Not a single part of these people resonates with any part of me. Because they've mistaken the illusion for the real! They can't handle the essence that is me. They fill their mouths with gossip and cruelty but, they betray themselves each and every single time. Empty vessels. Please don't let me become an empty vessel, too. 

These days, I walk with my head up high. I sort things out in silence, on another plane, high above this one. They can't touch me there. Their influence is inconsequential but mine is not.

Mother

I grab my package of dried rose petals and head for the sancuary because there, I have access to water and the sound it makes when it hits the bottom. 

I light my lavender scented candle. I'm pleased to know I crafted this beauty. I handle it with care, the way all things ought to be handled. 

I love how the flames flicker and the warm light that emanates when I'm not relying on electricity. The ambiance, the atmosphere in this space is heavenly. 

I try to hang on for as long as possible. You can't fathom how hard I try to expand this single moment in time knowing this will pass. This moment will evaporate. It'll go up in smoke, just like a burning flame. 

What wishes will reach heaven? How many on the other hand, will dry up without a chance?

I take off my clothes. I'm excited to be reunited with water, with my emotions, with this cup I need to empty out before it can be filled again. 

I enter the vessel. I let out a sigh when I feel the heat of the water and find a comfortable position. It's true, the sacred can be found in every moment. I seem to find the sacred a little bit easier though, by water and candlelight.

Then, as the water fills up the tub, I take a handful of rose petals and place them on me and around me and let the water move them however it pleases, while I watch and listen.

The pops of pink and red against my skin are so beautiful. I suddenly feel different. I'm taken by surprise. I have power here. Sensuality is rising up from the depths of me. I see in a unique way.

I swear I can hear music. Well, it's the sound of a waterfall, really, against the backdrop of a noisy mind the heart is aching to get quiet. 

It does get quiet, finally. I pick up a few pieces of petals and feel them between my fingers. My body feels alive here. I'm alive here. 

Nothing can touch me here. I can't be defiled by man and his small brain. I can't be influenced by money. I can't be tempted by, what we will all eventually discover to be, illusion.

I let myself be moved by imagination with a capital 'i'. I need to spend more time here in this sacred space. Oh the things I can see, hear and feel when I'm communing with the elements...Oh my.

May Mother hear my prayers.

The Lucky Ones

They'll be talking about me in the future to family members I'll never meet, the way I talk about my siblings now to people who don't care.

They'll say things about me, how I used to do this or that thing but they'll fail to see how they missed the mark or didn't try hard enough to know me.

I speak of my ancestors now, wondering who they were. And, I've got living beings near and far, who are not in my life. Just like I can't blame them for not trying to know me, they can't blame me for not trying to know them either.

It's ironic, how I miss the dead - whom I've never met - but I don't make an effort to be with the living, who are right there.

The past and future unite in this kind of back and forth dialogue. It's hard not to be jaded. It's hard not to see the truth of things. If I had died when I was mugged, I could see my siblings, especially the older one, honouring me in the best possible way...

Everyone would admire how strong we were, how we appreciated one another in life, how he was a good brother and I was a good sister.

Or, he might say how he wished we'd had more time together, how he'd been a better brother, a better man, more attentive. You know how it goes...And life would go on in the usual way.

I'm not impressed. Maybe I'd feel differently if I'd had children. Though I may have had more resolve in my thinking.

It's always about me, me, me...We think we're good people because we take care of our children. Because we tend to our own. "Our own" isn't such a noble endeavour. It's our duty, actually. There's no sacrifice in that. 

It's like listening to a fortunate woman who's always wanted children, complaining how tired she is raising her child. I say fortunate because she doesn't need to work to make ends meet. Her husband supports them all. 

Her full-time job is raising her child. She's super lucky to be able to do that. Period.

Here To Feel

I thought that was it. When you walked away after we hugged. I knew what would come after. I knew a few weeks ago. Despite wanting the day to come, I also knew what that meant...another chapter closing.

I know life's made up of a series of endings. The ultimate end between partners when the curtain drops. Endings in between jobs when we're making plans. Endings between people in casual relationships. That three week vacation. Your wedding day. The birth of a child. And on and on it goes, ironically.

I was so sad and yet, so grateful. This bittersweet taste of longing, I know this too shall pass.

A thought popped into my head after you said the company was paying for lunch...I suddenly had a sinking feeling. I heard, "Oh, this is all it is. What's so special about this? Just something he's going to write off." Literally and metaphorically.

And that was that, as we gathered our things and made our way to the sidewalk on a glorious November day, heading back to the building, my home.

You're such a talker, the way you move without a care in the world. I was mostly quiet, walking by myself, aware you seemed not to want to walk next to me. I get it. I get it. I really do.

You give yourself away at times, like me. You'll mention her. I'll mention him. But, there are pockets, spaces, when mentioning them feels like a secret you want to keep to yourself out of fear you'll hurt the other person's feelings. Why do we do this? Are we being cruel? Protective? Who are we protecting? Them? You? Me? Who?

I know why I do it. It must be why you do it, too. 

Two days later, after two nights of a kind of suffering I can't really describe, I see a message in my inbox. I don't recall having placed an order for anything. 

Had you always had this gift for me? 

I should have called. But, I'm too shy, too self-conscious, too aware, too afraid of what it might feel like before the hang up. You know, that small space between moments when it's time to say good-bye. What if you closed the gap too quickly? What if your tone was one of indifference? That would have killed me.

Better a text then...it's easy, more dreamy, less direct, not so invasive, more gentle. We're both still in our lanes. No place for demands.

I hope you keep your word again though I dare not hold my breath. I know how long it took to keep your word this time - at least, 6 months!

Thank you. For helping me see. For helping me feel. That's why I'm here...to feel. 

His Shoes

It's just a turnover of younger and younger people. Why do I come here? They're stupid and naive. Some can articulate and discuss but their ideas aren't fully formed. So the moment they try to argue, you can see the holes...only because you remember yourself in those moments many years ago.

It's just the nature of things. To think you know everything and then to wake up one morning and know you actually don't know much of anything at all! Knowing and understanding are not the same thing. 

You can know something and not understand how you know it. And then you can understand something and know it to be true. Understanding is key and it requires engagement from ourselves. I think it involves different factors, which includes being in another person's shoes. 

Oh the things you can see when you imagine yourself as someone else. You can hear all the things they don't say. You can see where they fall short, how they beat themselves up, how dark and lonely they can be.

Sometimes, the ego shows up to suggest that if they only do a, b, or c, they'd be better off. The implication is that YOU or I would behave differently because we're smarter or know better. That isn't the definition of compassion though, is it?

Judgment, between you and I, should not take up any space. But, it does. It takes up too much space. It covers nations with clouds of angry fuel. Even the sun fails to penetrate through all of that.

Gosh, if we could only take up space with what is good, can you imagine the ripple effect? 

Traitors

I know I shouldn't wish for such things and my wavering over the years about whether to stay or go, has proven I'm more lost now than ever.

I don't think I've ever despised someone as much as I despise him. The part that really sucks is that I've never liked him. I thought he was a weasel and immature right from the start. But, I stayed with him because I felt he was the lesser of two evils. Overall, I know I made the right decision. Yet, I've paid in other ways with my sense of self-worth taking a dive, forced to battle someone else's issues and controlling, bordering on obsessive, behaviour. 

I know this moment can't be any other way than what it is now. I know it's just more fuel for me to get this show on the road! 

I remember hearing about some old man who got a rolex watch for time well served and thinking to myself, "He got a rolex watch after doing time in prison!" And in my gut of guts, I saw the horror of that reality - how easy it is to be thrown away in an upside down world when no one has anymore use for you. That what most people are striving for is retirement, speaks to the truth of what I'm trying to articulate here. To be retired is to be dead. It's not an accident that these two words are inextricably linked. 

Oh G*d, don't let this be me! I beg this of Thee! Every coach from life coaches to any role under the sun, one can play for money, is selling you what you have to be in order to be successful. The framework is founded on money. It isn't connected to anything higher than oneself. The goal is money. Success equals lots and lots of money. It sickens me. That's why the corporate world and those who make it their god - on so many levels - has joined the rat race. How can people not see this? Because money is their god.

Well, it isn't mine. 

I'm tired of working to build and materialize someone else's vision while I'm made to feel guilty for receiving a 'stable' income or while he gets paid the big bucks no matter whether he deems it a 'good' month versus a 'bad' one. I'm not entertaining his need for greed. That's his problem!

But you know what really sucks about working for someone for as long as I have? Discovering they don't have your back. Discovering you're really not part of a team at all despite their words to the contrary. Nothing but empty words...words that never lead to any real action. I'll never accept how he threw me under the bus, for undermining me in 'private' to a client - never. Clearly, I was meant to see this email he had tried to conceal from me. 

I'll have my say. He'll never use our weekly meetings to vent about his problems ever again. I'll make sure of it. I'm not his sounding board. I'm not his opportunity to be used as a scapegoat for his failings. 

What an insecure fool to give himself away so carelessly. 

Aloneness And Loneliness

What a breath of fresh air to carve out time for one's self, to spend alone, in nature or at a cafe, sitting by other people or not. The peace and tranquility that comes from allowing yourself to be bathed in that kind of feeling, and while music is playing ? Oh my, the whole world is right here in the palm of my hand.

That must be the difference between loneliness and aloneness. Aloneness can be a choice you make or something forced upon you, which might end up feeling like loneliness. I choose these moments. It's an inherent part of who I am. It's in my essence. Personality, on the other hand, makes it so that you think it's a lonely place to be. But, ego will always justify its own existence. It can't tolerate to be alone with itself. It concocts all manners of insecurity and self-deprecation. It doesn't want you to feel your own power without it. That's how FOMO sets in. It's a lie though. It's the big deceiver. 

In my aloneness, the entire universe fits within my mind's eye. We're one. There is no separation, no duality, no wanting. It's perfect. Yes, it's perfect. Here, I'm connected to everyone. The function of loneliness is to create despair. It's a downward spiral because its magnetic pull is strong. You end up believing what your mind is telling you - that you need this or that thing. That you're dumb if you don't do what others say. That you're a failure for not being what others want you to be. That you need to do this or that to be someone, to be loved, to matter.

Your ego tells lies. That can be its ultimate purpose sometimes. It doesn't want to be annihilated. Truth is, our ego can serve us only if we're aware of the dynamics at play. Otherwise, you're nothing but a slave to it. And we think we're free? No no. 

I'm the high priestess who whispers spells in the air that are carried by the wind to a place outside of what is seen. There, is right here. How can anyone feel lonely once you experience this profound beauty and love in the heart? Our heart is a gateway to the eternal. It's the only way out of the noise, distraction, illusion and deception. 

The only way...

Eternal Value

I need to surround myself with the right people. Yes, there are 'right' people for you and I. They do not include people who are only concerned and identified with how much money they earn per year. I don't know what it is, though I suppose it must be because I'm getting older and dare I say, wiser? We all know - or rather, some of us intimately experience - how happiness and wisdom don't go together. Sorrow and wisdom are companions. They always have been. 

I think of Gurdjieff and the 'terror of the situation' or the idea of 'sitting between two stools'. I see now. I see. It isn't pretty. When you've spent your whole life being told that life is one way when you can feel it in your being that it's actually something else entirely. Whoa! What a mind fu*k it is. Now I know what Jesus meant when he said to "leave your mother and father and follow me." 

Just because you're raised Catholic, just because you call yourself one doesn't make you a follower of the man. It makes you a follower of the Church. Jesus lived among the poor. Jesus lived in dirt. Those people who adorn their dwellings with gold or sell their goods in 'temples' are all fools. Fools right down to the core. There is no Jesus there. There can't be. It's antithetical.

What will be left of me when my body is discarded? Certainly, all the goods I've ever acquired on this earth will mean absolutely nothing. Do people get that? Do people really think we were put here to 'make money'? If my body returns to dust and my cup was filled with nothing but material things, what of me will be left to 'enter the next world'? Some of us call it heaven. Some of us don't believe in either a heaven or hell. But you see, it matters. It matters here what you think. It matters how those thoughts function in an upside down world. You take with you - whatever this 'you' is - all that was built in the invisible world. If you built nothing, then there's no substance from which to work. You'll be incinerated in the flame instead of being purified by it.

I see now how mediums connect with the dead. They connect with them alright, but they're 'dead'. It's dead matter. It's just the shell or fragments left behind of what once was alive. But, it's not them. They're reading the energy left behind, like a hologram in the air. The person who was is no longer here but beyond space and time - outside of time. Can you fathom that? What that means to be and exist outside of time?

We're too dense. We've forgotten ourselves. We let ourselves be distracted by illusion. We favour all that's material over the materialization of soul, which should be the aim, the only aim, the material world in service to this aim. We've made the material the aim and this is dangerous because we cannot, under such circumstances, attain freedom. 

It makes for a lonely path. Your ego will concoct every which way to get you off this path and back to the illusion that is all around. It will tell you you're being irrational. It will tell you how you need to belong, how no one will understand you, how you're stupid and childish.

You will have to rise above that which will ultimately die. The ego doesn't want to die. But, it has to. Before your body perishes. Only then will we have a chance to build something of value. Of eternal value...

Dust

People who have no family envy those who have large ones. And those with large ones, like me, prefer peace and quiet...and more one on one interactions or very small and intimate gatherings.

I scratch my head when people get a taste of their own medicine and can't tolerate it. Oh, I understand the taste is bad. And that would be the point. It's always the same old story. They have no problem dishing it out - being thoughtless, selfish and uncaring. But then you decide to protect yourself, to put yourself first like they manage to do everytime, and you're the bad guy for not allowing them to walk all over you?! No thank you.

Finally, I'm behaving and reacting the way I ought to. I'm letting people be. Let them. Be. That's the beauty about being a lone wolf. You understand who you want to spend your precious time with. You understand who wants to spend their precious time with you, too. And, I'm learning and seeing that it isn't a whole lot of people. Vice Versa.

I want to talk about existence, the moon and the stars. I want to talk about meaningful things - how a painting or song can move the soul. I want to discuss the nature of the world, who came before us, how this story ends for all of us. I want this soul that is me, to flourish, my intuition, to become sharp. I want the core of me to be strong, to know that 'there' IS the only home there is, while I'm here on earth.

I don't care about your house or pool or how you can retire tomorrow. I don't want to hear about your savings or how so and so, didn't figure it out, how he's a schlub for being a drinker or for having fu*ked up children, as a result. I don't want to hear from anyone who only opens their mouths when they have something negative to say about somebody else. I don't care for their useless judgment. I don't care for their  pettiness or bloody shallowness that aims to keep us all tied to this earth, as though this is all there is. 

Oh, let me be clear. That would be all there is for folks like these. That will not be me. I refuse. The eternal resides within, not out there. May my kindred brothers and sisters find each other in this dark world. May we do from what we see. May we do from what we hear. May we not become dust. 

The Lighthouse

I'm here, again. Winter is coming. I lay my hands over my satin robe, open the large wooden shutters and take a peak outside. I see the tops of trees as far as my eye can see. The lot below surrounding my home is large. I feel it's too big. I think I'd feel more secure in a smaller space. Though there are more places to hide, the massiveness of this current dwelling attracts too much attention.

I feel a gust of wind...then wonder who else is around. I remember. I remember. I'm here, alone...again. Why I insist on a large place like this, is intriguing to me. So many rooms, beds, fireplaces, rugs, windows, stones...walls. I sense magic everywhere. I feel encouraged, inspired, motivated. Motivated to do what, though? I'm not quite sure.

I stare above the horizon. I wait for dark. I wait for rain. I wait for strong winds. I wait for storm. I imagine a lighthouse in my mind's eye. I'm always longing for something other than what is...right here in front of me. I can't help it. Here, I can use whatever colours I please, whatever medium, in whatever style. Who's going to tell me it can't be done?

Magic is here. I sigh and close the shutters. I head for the door and walk down the corridor...a long hall way where flames burn on either side. Soon, I feel a sense of warmth. Right now, in this moment, I only feel cold. But soon, really soon, the light and dark will coexist as though they had always been friends. Then, my heart will soar.

Stay Loyal To Yourself

I want to write this down so I have the pleasure, gods willing, of looking back to see how it all got me here, and where I need to be.

I was completely blind sided by my employer when we sat down to have our weekly meeting. He prefaced how it was going to be a deep discussion. I thought, "Oh, what now?" He just got back from a two week trip. I took care of his establishment while he was away. I was not on vacation except for a couple of long weekends.

On the Tuesday of the second week, he had emailed to ask how things were going. If I hadn't sniffed a degree of insecurity, I may have responded. But this guy has let me down a hundred times (and counting), I had absolutely no desire to write back while I was working and he was on vacation! Seriously, get over yourself!

He proceeded to tell me how he didn't like some of my client - oh yeah, 'practice members' - email and text responses. That I was essentially not 'bubbly' enough. I myself used that word because he seemed unable to tell me how he wanted me to change. Then he asked, "Can you accommodate the capacity required?" Something like that. He also asked if I had anything to say as though I was in agreement with his assessment. 

I looked at him in disbelief. I shrugged my shoulders. Kind of like dealing with a narcissist who thinks they're all that but are completely incapable of seeing how utterly insecure they really are...to the core.

He betrayed himself when he said he wasn't listened to at home and that I must feel that way when he doesn't listen to me. I told him that I've repeatedly told him what I need from him to be content on the job and that any push back he gets from me is because he's overstepped his bounds. Yet, he still oversteps.

I told him I thought I was doing a great job and that I was surprised. It felt like he was writing me up, like he was giving me a pink slip. I don't know what stopped me from losing my cool. I mentioned how he does this to me, at least, once a year, how this stuff comes out of left field. I mean, just last week, we were fist bumping and now he's laying it on thick and oh so formally, like I had committed the worst crime despite the 99 things I do right...and really well. What an ass-hole!

In that moment, I disliked him so much, I don't believe I'll ever go back to respecting him. When he grabs my hand to show appreciation or buys me lunch to say thanks, all before he drops a bomb, are actions rooted in insincerity. They are meaningless gestures. He's insecure and needs to be in control. If this guy treats me like this one more time, I'm walking. 

I told him how emails are formal and texts are not. If he wants me to pour the molasses while still trying to maintain some kind of authority in my role, no problem. How dare he tell me just a month ago how I'm so amazing with people and then tell me the other day, I'm not that way with everyone? Well no, I have a unique role. I've known some people for over 10 years. Others, for a couple of months. What the fuck is this guy talking about? He needs a hobby.  

Numbers are down. Then it hit me...that's why he's throwing me under the bus. It's just he and I running this ship. He's just mad at himself for making an error in judgment that cost him money. This is the last time he does this to me. 

Last time he pulled shit like this on me, he was trying to get me to work on Saturdays (1.5hrs) so I can babysit his kids! He let that part slip. I asked what I was getting out of it. He said nothing, that it was a part of my salary. I said no...and then he mentioned how he'd had the forethought that he probably shouldn't have asked because he knew he was being deceitful. Fucker! And he's reprimanding me for doing my job?!

Is there room for improvement? You bet. Of course, I can be curt. Of course, I can feel stressed out on the job. I'm performing tasks I was never hired to do...all because he finds coaches who tell him he can make more money by doing x, y, and z. But, he also stresses me out more than the job ever could.

It's him. He makes me nervous. I see him near and I feel trapped. I feel micromanaged. I hate the language he uses with me, with others, like he's found the holy grail. No grail here, my friend. It's like he's in a fucking cult and he can't see it. If he thinks I'm going to keep bending down so he can keep being an ass-hole, he's mistaken.

May the gods listen. May I find my way out of there. May I find a place where I can better use my skills and talents, a place where I feel I'm truly contributing. Because this has grown stale and stifling. Coming up to 20 years will do that! 

Seven Of Swords

She's aware he doesn't feel all that much...for her. What does it matter what the reader said? What does it matter when you don't know for sure what someone thinks or feels? Unless they communicate it directly to you, none of it exists. 

He talks a lot about what a great man he is or how he'd been with many women in the past, like being a player was an accomplishment. She lifted her brow and then swallowed hard. She realized in that moment, he was living out some fantasy, like he was still a bachelor.

If they were both single and free to do what they wanted, she wouldn't have chosen him, after all. He's not her type. Never was. And, could never be. 

She'd only ever been with one man. The idea she could become just another notch on his belt, gave her a sinking feeling. Nothing like the pierce of disillusionment to wake you up...

Surely, if he had genuine feelings for her, she'd know it. There'd be no wondering or guessing or speculating. The truth is, he uses her to feel good about himself. He never really asks her about her, which leaves her feeling spent. Like, she's just a sounding board for him. 

It stings to know he feels nothing. She tells herself she's flattered he enjoys spending some time with her but then realizes it's just scraps he's giving. If he sees her out of context, she becomes a nobody again. Well, the nobody she always was but definitely, made clear if she ever thought otherwise.

Snakes

The drama some people carry with them and then bring to others...is maddening. My mother never fails to tell me, "Chi si metta con questa razza, diventera povera e pazza." Which translates to mean, "He who mingles with those people, shall become poor and crazy in spirit." My maternal grandfather made it a point to tell my mother and she then relayed it to me and continues to reiterate what I already know but for some reason, need reminding of.

I know why I stopped hanging out with my paternal relatives and why I only allow a couple of them to be a part of my life. One of them is absolutely all about herself, so narcissistic, so insecure, two-faced, uncaring, and soul-sucking. I show face when I need to but that's all it will ever be. I'll lay on the molasses at times but I swear it was me just being genuine. Oh my goodness...I get stabbed in the back for being so. I forget a snake is a snake is a snake. I forget people show us who they are. I must not have resolved childhood issues if I still feel this need to be close to someone who is completely incapable of putting the other first.

And don't get me started about mother hen. She's judgmental, cold, a bully, a brute...and heartless. She'll insist otherwise but if you look at her face, she's got a look of disgust on it...at all times. I can only imagine what she's thinking...and it can't be good!

There's no point trying to reason with these folks because they lack sense! That's the crutch of the story. That's what it is in a nutshell. You can try but you'll never win. They come out on top despite being at the bottom and you're left picking up the pieces of their bull-shit. 

Now, it's about keeping the peace...and at a distance, at arm's length...because otherwise, it's nothing but drama and more nonsense. I am more than all of this. That's why I took a different route long ago. 

Good riddance!

FOMO

You know life's taken a toll when you've been on a long break from social media and you're still experiencing FOMO in a big way.

I can't stand listening to cousins go on and on about their vacations. Seems like everyone has gone to, is coming back from or leaving for our homeland...well, our parents's homeland. My ancestors are my home, not the places they dwelled. 

I'm glad one of my cousins has turned me down to have coffee at least, three times. Oh my, how we've grown apart. I love these people. But, they're not my people. I shouldn't feel like a black sheep. Though, what would be the harm in it, really? 

I'm struck by their lack of depth. I thought once they had children of their own, they'd become wiser. It's just more of the same recycled matter. And on and on it goes...Their children inherit their shallowness, too.

I take after my mother who has more depth than she can travel to in this lifetime. She understands me. Maybe not fully...but, close enough. I get her, too. My mother - the dreamer, the poet. 

The people I've met over the years who've lingered in my sphere and I, in theirs...I'd change none of it. They helped me keep an open mind. They allowed me to grow and develop into a human being. What happened to these other guys? Why are they so stupid? So ignorant? Sure, they're smart on this plane, live successfully according to the structures created by others...but, they offer nothing in the way of real compassion or understanding.

I say, "Bon Voyage." 

In His Name

I see you among the birds and the trees.

Or standing by a wall drawing closer to someone who’s taken a handful of pills.

Sometimes, I see you hovering over addicts. You wait for them to look up knowing it could be the last time they look down, for good.

I see you in temples and synagogues.

And, communing with Buddha by the steps of a cathedral.

You’re never with the rich unless they’re rich of heart.

You’re not the man in their posters, the man they dress up to look like them.

You’re the man standing next to the woman deciding whether to abort. She looks up and that pleases you, while she brings her hands close together in humility.

Who is the man they think is on their side?

I tell them in my nightmares, “It’s not Him. That is not Him.”

It’s cold where they stand. 

It’s dark where they congregate. Even when the sun is shining bright.

I wonder often how your light is not able to penetrate the hearts of man.

You’re here with me as I write this.

You’re with my sick husband.

You’re with every trans person who struggles with injustice.

You’re with the beggars, the liars and the cheats. Because there’s a chance. There’s a chance they can turn their lives around.

And with the poorest of the poor, because they haven't forgotten they can always look up to find you right there.

You’re not with the hardened men and women who spew judgement and especially with those who do it in your name. You lay your hands instead over those who are powerless so that they may rise above the brutes of this world.

You tell them to turn the other cheek but to carry a sword in one hand. To be sweet and kind like sheep but to be fierce and bold like wolves. Because these are strange and difficult times and the world is upside down and people more than ever still do not know what they do. 

You tell them to leave forgiveness to you. You understand it’s impossible to forgive evil...in your name.

I see you on a winged horse coming down from stormy clouds.

I hear the words about love and neighbours. I wonder how people decided you meant that we only love the people we ‘like’.

You’re with a childless woman like me and not a pig like that man who spews filth about women like me...in your name.

You’re with a childless woman like me and not a pig like that man who defiles women like me...in your name.

You’re with a childless woman like me, like me, who whispers to pigs like them, “You’ll be sorry someday.”

You were with me when I drew my first picture.

You were with me when I witnessed how cruel children could be.

You were with me when I struggled with being human. You know I still struggle and here you are illuminating my mind because my heart is heavy.

How do you tolerate what people do in your name against those who just want to love and live a life on their own terms without the oppression of evildoers? How?

You remind me, “That’s not I over there, standing in a crowd of hatred and righteousness.” 

You remind me, “I’m here with you when tears roll down your face. I love you for helping me carry this cross for you are one of the peace-keepers of this world.”

He continues, “Not all will have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. And those who do shall feel burdened but let them not fret for I am with them.”

He knows I’m a sinner too and not quite so pure of heart.

He knows I secretly relish in the thought of their comeuppance. I imagine what their fall will look like right after their pride.

I imagine people dragging their bodies into the streets and spitting in their faces.

I imagine people throwing stones after they’re dead. Not while they’re alive. For that would make me a hypocrite. But, surely there are crimes and deeds worse than others?! Like the ones they commit in His name!

But, even I digress.

He insists, “You’re all brothers and sisters who've forgotten why you’re here. It is my eternal mission to remind you.”

.

Blessings In Disguise

It's so easy to offend someone. No. No. People are easily offended. That's exactly right. My fault is this incessant desire to be normal, to please, to play the game. But, you don't have to play games with the people you love and trust. No. No. You don't have to play games with the people who truly love and trust you. 

You're free to be exactly who you are. You don't feel a wall going up. Because this wall subconsciously goes up when you're not entirely comfortable. You can tell yourself you'll try harder, harder to be...comfortable. How stupid is that? Why not trust and observe that this wall going up is what needs to happen for you to realize some folks are not good for you?

I'm rattled when I open the door to certain family members. For years, I do fine. Then they reach out and I'm sucked right back to a time I do not miss or have any kind of nostalgia for. It doesn't matter that twenty years have passed. They are not 'my' people. I experience the same feelings of isolation and rejection as I did before. It dawns on me like a ton of bricks over the head that I do not need them. It's not that I don't belong. It's that they do not belong with me.

"Oh yesterday came suddenly..." I long for yesterday, too, but not in the way you might think. There's nothing I would change except for one thing. If I could go back to my younger self, I'd tell her to keep her head up high. To let people be. Let them talk. And to never ever throw her pearls before swine. 

While I've always gotten along with everyone, it never meant I wanted to walk their path. I'm a lone wolf. It can get lonely but I wouldn't want it any other way. Inviting certain people into your life just because they're blood, is not a good reason to keep them there. Drama follows some people as though their lives depended on it. This drama, inadvertently, becomes my plague. I can't have that. It's poison to my inner sanctity. So, stay away! And lucky for me, it doesn't take much to keep these little rascals at bay, either. I thank my angels for these little blessings in disguise. 

No One To Be

I love moments like these, when you have no where to go and no one to be. I can take off my masks - employee, wife, sister, cousin, friend, consumer - and the everything is okay one, too.

People grasp for moments like these. And, here I am. I recognize them. I am them. They are me. I'm sighing and I know why. If I examine this moment too much, I'll lose the magic of it. Is this what they mean by a perfect moment? Because I'm living it right now.

And just like that, it's gone. I'm still here but not all of me. Parts are at home thinking about this evening...a moment that hasn't arrived, that I haven't walked towards except in my mind, and this moment does not yet exist.

I want to come back here again and feel the whole of myself. In this moment, I encapsulate all things and these things encapsulate me. Do you know the drugs people have to take to have an experience like this?

Through the right approach, I want for nothing. I love this feeling that's rooted from deep within. I love how only I can get there. I love how I can access it anytime I wish to. I love how nothing or no one can destroy it. It's mine. It belongs to me. It's my ticket out of here. Or rather, out of there...

Because here, in this place, in my castle...I don't want to leave or part from it. It's so beautiful. The textures and colours, oh my. And the way the light shines through the curtains? You can't fathom such beauty. 

It wells me up as I sit on a chair no one makes anymore, in a dress I'll never wear even if I was invited to the most glamorous of events. But here, right here, I can feel the material against my skin. I love how I feel in it. The length touches the floor. My hair is black and braided in Targaryen style.

I know what they say about needing people. But, I don't need anyone here. You can't need anything or anyone when you're experiencing a perfect moment...

...unless your perfect moment requires an other?

7 of Swords - 10 of Swords - Magician

He failed to take a chance. He failed to act. Instead, he tippy toed out, like a thief in the night...

There's something so dishonorable about this combination. Why am I always so right about certain things and so wrong about others? I called it from the beginning. Some people are all talk. The way the ego oozes with self-importance and self-flattery turns me off to such an extent, anything that might redeem such person thereafter, is rendered useless.

I operate on a spiritual level. That's where all my work is done. I set things up to see...to see what I might mean to the other. Maybe it's unfair. I don't think so. You can't outwit the gut, instinct or intuition. People show me I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. 

If you live an unexamined life, you have no place in my world. And if you puff up your feathers over some perceived slight, you're a waste of my time, too. The lack of depth from which people live their lives, guised as some kind of meaningful existence when anything and everything they do, is rooted in superficiality, is a blatant and total disregard for all that is real and true in this world and beyond it.

So, go love your children and tell yourself, you're doing your part. Let me give you a hint - loving your children doesn't count. It is your duty! Loving them well? That's a different story...

He thinks he's the only one who's been hard done by. That he's the only one who knows how to be vengeful. That he's some god you should bow down to. He's an idiot like the rest of them.

That's the thing about actions...or a lack thereof...they will always speak louder than words.

Tiny Wounds

You can't feel great about yourself. I've been trying to put my finger on what bothered me so much about our brief interaction. 

I should have just sat there amused and surprised to see you in my neck of the woods as you crossed the street. Why am I always so sincere? Then again, why shouldn't I be someone I am? 

I realized I'm just that woman from the building. Endless chats about this or that with you still puts me in the "stranger" category. Let alone, acquaintance.

You looked nervous. I wondered when you were going to open your arms to give me a hug in your usual way. You never did. I felt a wall go up...though it could have been mine, too.

And you crossed the street, like your life depended on it. I should congratulate you for being such a loyal worker. I mean, why would you make time for me? Well, on the streets of Toronto, anyway? 

I would have made my way back sooner but my pride was stronger than any desire I might have had to speak with you in the safe zone.

I heard your voice but went back outside and around to avoid an encounter. You know I'm a woman of integrity. I chase no one. And desperation is not becoming...

I had a feeling you waited as long as you could. But, to me, you had already been too late. There's no way I was going to show my face.

A birdie told me you mentioned you'd seen me and that I had called out your name. Yeah, I know you waited as long as you could. I know you figured you weren't going to see me again that afternoon. And as far as you know, I thought it was your last day on our premises.

Now I understand what bothered me so much. It was a stench of ego and arrogance. It was ever so subtle but there, nonetheless. It came off as some kind of "dick rule". Who has time for nonsense like that?

Not me.

Lust For Love

You can't wait to get out of here. You can't stop telling me how much you hate coming back to this place. Doesn't it occur to you that might hurt me? Bruise me? I guess you really love it when I stroke your ego. That's all it ever was. Just you passing time getting your ego stroked. 

I didn't mean to inflate it. I was just being nice. And you were just being a guy doing what guys do best. You just want to know whether you've still got it. Yes, you've still got it. And, so do I.

Do you know the wisdom I can cultivate from the scraps you give? You have no idea. Emily was right. They were all right. You're just a little man who isn't interested in paying the price. Or, living an examined life. And since I'm worth more than all the gold in this world, I can see why or how you can't pay.

Plus, I was never for sale and you were only passing through. It's too bad you haven't managed to put your foot where your mouth is. That was my first and the only clue I needed that it's all been about you. 

How was it so easy for others I've known to jump ship when things got rough? All in the name of love? Unless it was never love to begin with...That you created children together only to leave the other for a shinier toy? For better or for worse? You couldn't have possibly understood the significance of that line. Because it's only ever about you and your happiness. Why would I insert myself in such a shallow arrangement?!

I was an idiot for being kind in my usual sweet way. It's okay, baby. Stay with your woman and your offspring. We both know you're just a guy among guys in a dirty world. And I'll still be worth more than all the gold in this world.

The Terror Of The Situation

I need something more than this. I need a way out. I woke up realizing I've been working for a cult with people who are just in it for the money. I can't stand the hypocrisy. The inflated egos. I know what brainwash looks like. There's a fine line between a Robbins seminar and pseudo-science approaches to health and well-being disguised as evidence-based. Just thinking about the way people throw their arms up in the air in so called bliss whether in church, an office or a spiritual retreat...is all bull-shit. It's just some wannabe leader trying to make a living by attracting people who want to be lead. But why these fuckers have to go so big, is beyond me. They must be greedy little bastards with god complexes. There's no other explanation. All of it cloaked in altruism. And when you take a closer look, you see how no one's home. You sense the blackness of their existence. How they're just running on auto-pilot...and that my dear friends, is the root of all evils. Going through the motions leading to death. The problem is that you're already dead! You're the walking dead believing you think for yourself, believing the choices you make are your own. But, they're not. Your lucky break - if you get one - occurs when you actually wake up to this horror. Let's hope it isn't too late...

The Quiet Lady

I realize how much I love being alone, despite being a city girl. Sure, there are times I prefer the company of a friend. But, most days, I'm perfectly fine to go to a cafe and dream up ways to live more quietly.

People think that silence is the absence of noise or sound. That's true to a point. I enjoy hearing the chirp and song of birds while a plane passes through. Or, the buzzing of cars and motorcycles. All of these things make up the sound that is my life. And in it all, I find quiet places and pockets, like doors, that open themselves up and invite me in. 

Maybe it was the comfort of music that helped me retain information during school exams. I couldn't study without music or a persistent and consistent cacophany of sound around me. 

Of course, I often imagine waking up by the water. But, it's in the city. Not, up north somewhere far away from all that's familiar to me here. 

I was mugged in my city...not because living in the city is a bad place to live. Where there are more people, there is a greater chance of crime, statistically and logically, speaking. But the thought of getting mugged in the suburbs? Where silence is a shadow in the dark? No thanks.

People haven't learned how to cultivate silence. They think they need to go somewhere to get it, to find it. It's always right here. Where ever you go, there you are. Forget FOMO. "We're all bozos on this bus."

I miss those motorcycle rides on the back of Rakesh's bike. And then listening to, "I'm A Dinosaur," by King Crimson. I want to reach that peak of fearlessness again without the shock of misfortune as an entryway...

Me In A Dream

The things I feel when I look at these trees, the way the leaves sparkle in the afternoon sun. The way they move as the wind passes through. I swear they're talking. I swear they're whispering the secrets of the universe. It's too bad I don't have the ears to hear. 

I know the birds are saying something, too. What are they saying? I could ask Barbatos but I daren't. My mind isn't anchored enough for such a task, an endeavour. 

I'd rather dream in this place as the angels and demons fight it all out. We can't fathom what takes place in the invisible world as we play our petty, insignificant games. As above, so below. 

It got me thinking....When things get so bad on this plane, it must be because of a war raging on the other side between the light and the dark. I used to think peace came from the elimination of evil. That was never true. It can't be true. They've always been two sides of the same coin. They exist simultaneously. There'd be nothing to strive for in a perfect world.

Here I am. Feet firmly planted. But this heart, this heart that is mine, floats between worlds. I'm shallow. I'm deep. I'm lost. I'm found again. 

I flutter in weakness on this plane when I try to belong. It wouldn't work between us...except when I'm shallow, too. When I play the game like talk of marble countertops and kitchen cabinets is super important. Or, how retirement is the goal. 

Then I'd grow weary when he wants to stay in that zone and gossip about how nasty and stupid people are. How he's got it all figured out. How living up north is so much better than living in the downtown core. How he's so great and such a good person.

I'll remember how death comes for all of us, how it's a fact, a mathematical certainty, how it can't be any other way...and how feelings are fleeting, how they can deceive in the moment when our lower parts are leading the way, unbeknownst to us. 

So, I stay in this little dream in the sky. I imagine how pockets of it are 'true' and beautiful...as I watch them slowly evaporate and become the air that carresses the leaves on the trees...

This intoxicating dream keeps me drunk with misplaced hope. It's okay. I enjoy being taken to far away places. This world of the living was made for people like me. But, since we are outnumbered, it's ruled by those who will remain forever asleep...

"The Art Of Principalities"

The other day, I asked why I'm here. And in a flash, I heard, "To feel." When I heard it, I nodded as if I was coming back to a memory I don't remember ever having. Yet, I knew it to be true.

There was both relief and disappointment in the knowing. Most of us run from our feelings. Well, the challenging ones, anyway. I thought I'd get another kind of answer, something more 'meaningful.' Like, "You're here to do something grand and majestic, something really important." Instead, I essentially got, "You're here to...love."

I guess that's beautiful? It's not that it's hard to love. It's not even that it's hard to love, intensely. It's that it's almost too easy. There are days I despise this world and all the people in it. And then I catch a glimpse of someone walking by, and my heart wells up. What the fu*k? 

Even for the greedy bastard. Let me preface, even for the one I deem to be a greedy bastard. I'm learning not to judge...for good or for bad. Either way, I could be wrong about such person. But, feelings are neither right or wrong, you see. So, this feeling - which is not pity - opens up my heart and I well up.

The act of welling up and pouring out is an act of love. I learned that we take on some of God's suffering by doing so. I've asked myself whether this process happens because I'm automatically putting myself in someone else's shoes. But when I observe more closely, I feel the feeling first and then I imagine what life is like for so and so. 

This direct, straight to the heart, trigger feels warm and watery...and fast acting. The sensation in the heart becomes expansive as though it's literally being massaged open. Kind of like a small mercy in the sense that it isn't being ripped open. And, it's painful. Not a physical pain...not like anything you might feel in your back or legs or head or any other part of the body. It's a throbbing, emotional and spiritual, discomfort.  Maybe like grief. Except with grief, we tend to reserve it for loved ones or heroes and not for strangers. Never for strangers.

This is different. And then you realize the stranger is you and you are the stranger, too. They're all my brothers and sisters. Even the ass-holes.

At the same time, I'll always champion the under dog. My heart belongs to the under dog, through and through.

I want to keep a record. A few months ago, maybe sooner than that, I woke up from a dream with the words, "The Art of Principalities." Principalities? What does that mean? While I was on the couch, I mentioned it to my husband. I had looked online as I normally do when words come to me I have no understanding of. There were references about princes and another about angels.

My husband has recently resumed study in magick. One morning, he left a print out for me about the hierarchy of angels. I folded the sheet and told myself to look at it once I was at the cafe. Well, the first to catch my eye was, "Principalities." I thought of Uriel and his scrolls/sacred books. The word "angel" means messenger...There are supposedly, 9 ranks of angels, Principalites being the third one, responsible for overseeing and influencing humanity from above.

Why...the 'art' of principalities ? I find that intriguing. Like Robert Pirsig's book, "The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance." Art and Maintenance don't seem to go together. One is warm and the other feels cool. Art and Angels might but 'art' implies there's another way to do something you may not have considered or a different approach you could adopt. A way to live life differently...with more beauty or something. And since angels are perfect and humans are not, maybe art in this sense means a kind of wisdom imparted by the angels to humans.

I don't know...something's happening. It's both a blessing and a burden when the veil begins to lift.

Angel Uriel

I find myself some mornings coming out of a dream where I've been reading, what I believe to be, sacred text. 

I hear the words come out of my mouth but I don't know or understand what I'm reading. Then it occurs to me that I'm reading a language I've never seen before. At the same time, it seems that I'm not seeing anything on the page at all, like the words been obscured or hidden behind a veil. Yet, the words roll off my tongue so easily and it dawns on me, to my surprise, that I can read 'this' or these words. I ask myself, "How?"

I recall times in the past when it felt like there were words scrambled in my mouth. Then I hear a voice as though it's trying to find a clear pathway to my ears. I find myself fighting, with all of my might, to descramble the words...Eventually, I blurt out the words. 

When I was suffering from anxiety, I fought to hear, "Mary's Well." And, "The Well will be replenished." I must have said the latter three times. The closer I got to hearing the words more clearly, the louder I uttered the statement. Kind of like when you yell out, "Bingo!" In any case, these messages changed my life. 

Then I recalled an oracle reading I'd received back in 2014...

The angel I see with you currently is Archangel Uriel.

Message: I am being shown that you have been receiving messages from the angels, including Uriel and sometimes this can come through as words or sentences in your head, and often you think that these are just your own thoughts/your own mind formulating these words/sentences, but Uriel wants to tell you that these are in fact messages from the angels, they have been trying to communicate with you clairaudiently. They want you to learn to trust and recognise this form of communication when it happens.

I am also hearing "be strong in the face of adversity" and "stand up for what you believe" and Uriel gives me the feeling that it's important that you stand up for what you believe to be true, your truth, even when you are surrounded by a group of people who disagree with what you are saying/feeling. Uriel encourages you to stand strong in these kinds of situations, and that he will be standing with you.

It's happening again...and these dreams are closer together. So, I've been thinking about Angel Uriel and what he represents. He carries a scroll or sacred book...a sword...and his name means, "Light Of God." 

I've needed clarity in my life, especially the last few months. It's felt desperate and frustrating. And extremely, sad and hopeless. 

My husband's been studying Magick again. I think our discussions around archangels, maybe, has spawned a new kind of awareness and desire around the kind of life I want for myself. I'm not sure what I believe anymore...but, thinking of Uriel and talking to him, is helping me see that life can and is...magical.

I think he hears me. I mean, I feel that he hears me. And, I haven't felt heard in...I don't know...a long, long time. 

Something's happening. I think he's showing me the way. He's showing me a path forward. 

I hope I don't fuck it up.

"Do What That Wilt Shall Be The Whole Of The Law"

When you see there's a possibility, you grab hold of it. You try to elongate or expand this potential, to bring it out so that it fills more than a singular point, but a larger perimeter, so that the walls come down and this point actually fills all that you see.

Then the moment someone tries to tear it down, you see that they can't because how can you tear down something that permeates everything and has no bounds? I am the only one who limits myself. So, I have to make this awareness count. It's got to mean something. I've got to bring this thought down and breathe life into it because this thought comes from all that is good and true. It holds promise. It holds that spark of life that is integral to my overall well-being as I navigate this thing called life. And,  I'm telling you, I'm not good at this thing called life. In fact, I'm really bad at it. I don't know how to move with that weighty feeling at my feet. 

I understand the need to anchor myself but it's got to stem from the right kind of thinking. Otherwise, these thoughts are just shackles keeping me in my place, rooted in fear. If I could take an axe to it, I would. I'd shred that feeling and that useless thought into smithereens and then burn them. Each useless thought is a granule belonging to the past, and that for some reason, still finds a way to operate in my present, preventing me from creating the person I want to become. It speaks nonsense and in someone else's voice, always in someone else's voice, which is how I know it doesn't come from me or belong to me and in no way, is a reflection of what I'm capable of. 

I need to make a vow not to let any being on this planet influence my sphere. It means that when certain words are directed at me, they are to slide off and not stick to my person, to this sacred space, to this atmosphere I have chosen to be mine and mine, alone. This place belongs to me and my muse, to my connection with that inner world which in turn is deeply connected to the quiet, magical world of all that is. I will this. I will it. I want this. I want it. I am this. I am it. I am.

I cannot in good conscience work for someone else ever again once this ship has sailed. I cannot. I won't. Let that be okay for others but it can no longer be my path. This world was set up for money makers, business men and charlatans. I am none of those things. I refuse to keep putting money in someone else's pockets while I slave away and they go off on vacation with their families. I don't belong in that space which is illusory and transient. If I could compartmentalize and tell myself this is what people do, this is just what life is all about, to suck it up, I could continue. But, I can't. It's all soul-sucking. And that would be true - soul-sucking and soul-crushing.  It's not how I want to work on myself anymore. It's time to pick up this sword and cut away these roots that are not serving me. They served me for a time. But, not anymore. I have outgrown this body.

I say this all as a chant, a chant back to myself, back to the higher that knows better than I. So that this I and this higher body become the same thing, become one, unaffected by the rattlers of this mortal world. Real change, the kind of change that lasts and transforms, comes from within. You'll never find it out there, unless 'out there' is 'in here'.

"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."

Eight of Cups

I see that you're gone. I pictured you taking a detour and off the road you went. I get it. I still wonder whether I alone operated in the quiet realm...you know, that place where things are left unsaid and you're not sure whether you were the only one living there in the time you knew the other. 

I swear, I could hear you in that space. It felt more real than the usual place we reside where people talk and talk and say nothing. Maybe your eyes gave you away. Though at times, I saw nothing at all in them. I know how man can flirt, how he can tarzan his way into your life and still leave so much to be desired. 

There was momentum for a little while. And I know how people can talk...and make promises they never intended to keep, just to be nice. I'm like that, too. Though, not with you. Not with you. 

Remember the unsolicited advice you gave? How easy it was for you to 'just' say it? Knowing full well, it wasn't your place to? I mean, what gives you the right? We're absolutely nothing to one another and yet, man feels this need to insert himself into anything and everything. 

You disappointed me in such a big way. I can't really explain it. It feels as if so much life was lived in that silence and yet, I can't prove it was real. And, you're off the hook. I'm the one living in dream...in illusion? Am I delusional? I can't be delusional. 

I'm the high priestess who sees and knows and remains silent. I'm the one who holds you to a higher standard, who keeps you in check, who maintains boundaries.

Matter

It's time to get moving. There's no time to waste. I wish someone had told me that when I was young. 

I did know that, though. I just felt helpless to do anything about this seeming paralysis...of the mind and therefore, an inability to move my body by putting one foot in front of the other...a moment at a time. 

Imagine what I could have been...today. 

I don't look for platitudes now. They can't provide any sort of comfort. There's no fooling me. Trust me, sometimes, I look to be fooled. Have you tried that? It's an impossible feat. How can you lie to yourself when you already know the truth?

Among the trees, I lay here. You should hear the bustling of the leaves when the wind picks up. I swear it sounds like they're conspiring to bring us all down. But then I remove my heavy minded cap and realize, they're just talking. When will I listen?

I was a fool again, hanging on to someone's every word. I put too much gravitas around his mouth. He was only ever talking and talking, saying nothing. Just empty words. I know their kind and recognize the sounds they make.

What do I do with all of this...feeling? I hear, "Keep writing. And, paint already!" I love and detest that place no one can touch. Maybe I'm not relating in the right way to this inner quiet place. It's a safe place filled with all the real stuff. Why wouldn't I find solace in that?

If I relate in the right way, there's nothing to fear. If I relate in my usual way, I'm just sad. I hate the lack of permamence about anything and everything. But moreso than this, how we never seem to transmute these experiences into...matter.

If my cup is filled with all that is transient now, what will be left of me at my moment of death? What will have materialized by then? Will there be anything of me? Guidalberto Bormolini explained it so well. I felt he was speaking with me directly. I know what he speaks of. It's a language spoken in a particular note that finds my heart's cord so easily, effortlessly. I hear it as truth.

Where he finds beauty and peace, I currently anticipate in fear. There's something in my being I need to overcome or accept or perhaps, transform. It's lonely here...on this planet among the living and the dead. I see things about people and this place and it just saddens me. 

I'm sad for my mother and father. I'm sad for my brothers. For aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. The horror of the situation lies in an impossibility to connect with people on this level. We won't have these conversations...ever, except in the most earthly and superficial way. 

I want to catch that glimpse in the eye...in the eye of the other, that tells me we understand eachother. I don't see it. Which means, there's nothing to build on, to cultivate, to bring to life. It only ever be a seed...and this reality, this horror, sits heavy on my heart. 

The Reading

Wishful thinking would be that you have a sudden realization to change directions quickly on the road and get back to me.

This is so silly, I know. And I'm older...so, for that reason, this stings. It stings not seeing you. There's nothing I can do about it. Nothing. I can't pick up the phone. I can't send you a note. Well, I can. But, I don't. Because it would be wrong. 

I should get off this road. Let that bus pick me up and take me back to the only road I've ever known. I can still make magic there. I don't need you. 

We've carved out our own paths. At a certain point, these paths crossed. That's all it has to be. No more and no less. I just hate and love the way you quit. That would be the truth - you changed your mind and quit this scene. Who could blame you? 

You quit for your love. Which means, I was just something that intrigued you while you looked out the window. You'll never penetrate that glass. We both know that. I know you tried in your own way. But, not hard enough. Not hard enough for...me.

I hate how another chapter closes. I only hope I have time to look back and see it was all for the best.

Round And Round It Goes

In one hundred years, there will all be new faces. Talk about the world starting with a clean slate every century, like clock work. What a relief. Because I don't know about you, except for a 'few' humans, we can be lame and obnoxious.

I detest lame and obnoxious because that's deemed normal these days. Average. I don't know how the universe tolerates us. Maybe for the large part, we go unnoticed because of our smallness. 

We say a lot and yet, say nothing. If anything, we demonstrate our faults and weaknesses...all those things we'll never rise above or overcome not because we can't but because we've decided not to. 

I can't stand some in their role. How the young compliment the young. How it's groundhog day to those who know you, who've served you time and time again...and still, you're a nobody in their eyes...unworthy of a proper hello. Please. They're going to get old and ugly, too. They just don't know it yet. And then, blink, there they are! Now I know why I stop frequenting some places in the neighbourhood. They lack real depth.

J.J. Muggs

I remember that night when we all sat together at the corner of Albany Avenue and Bloor St., eating dinner together. I can't recall what I ate but I know who was at the table.

It's now a cannabis shop. Before that, a cafe. We didn't have cell phones back then to memorialize a gathering. And we didn't think of taking cameras with us to record something so natural and daily...and uneventful. It's a snapshot in time...only in my mind.

We were young and free, filled with hope.

Now, it's nothing but nostalgia for a comfort long gone. A comfort I've come to realize in hindsight.

Where are you now? Still in the city watching the river? 

Across the street used to be a Second Cup. After that, PiCo. That has since gone out of business, too. But, for me, it will always be the Second Cup where you and I had a tea outside and I shared with you my dreams of Cobain, during a summer night.

Next door was where we'd build magick out of ourselves. But that grew weird, eventually.

I'll never forget those days or nights when we listened to grunge bands and gobbled up books about Metaphysics and Astral projection. 

And then in the blink of an eye, we grew up. 

I don't like who we are now. Just like the hippies who became family men. Or rather, business men. And the women, power hungry to become like men. Why would you want to climb that ladder?! Forge your own paths!

I hope I morph into someone I used to be proud of very soon. Oh wait a minute - I did! I am! Proud...

Thank goodness for my husband. After some heartache and heartbreak, I closed the door to you and the past. I never thought that there could ever be anyone in this world who gets me the way my husband does. 

We forged our own path and not completely in a traditional sense. Which, makes me smile. We still manage to do things our own way. Though, at times, I still struggle against my father's influence. May I grow up soon - in ways that matter. And not too fast - in ways that take me away from the beauty of this life!

And it is done.

The Lovers II

When I heard you say those words, I knew then I was in real trouble. If only I could put into words this feeling of disappointment on the one hand, and pure excitement on the other, you'd see how I'm experiencing both a blessing and a burden, simultaneously. 

I want that taste so badly. Before I'm old, tethered and fully gray.

We talk about saving like it's some kind of cliche. It isn't. It isn't. It just isn't. Too bad for me. No one's coming for me. You won't. You can't. And...well, you're just another man among men. I'm not just another woman among women. You have to understand that. I have to make you see. 

I think I may have...

Which saddens me to the core. These silly games we play to test the waters because being vulnerable is too high a price to pay.

You said that I just have to change something. The words rolled off your tongue like nothing. But, you're all fools. You think Happiness is King. That's the ultimate lie. The ultimate deception. Show me the grass is greener on the other side and still I won't budge...even though I might want to. Don't you get it? I push you away because you're wanted and I can't have that. 

I'm aware our time is winding down. I test you to see...to see something in you I believe is there. And then I remember again...you're just a man among many men.

What am I supposed to do with this? What can I do? But write and weave stories together with my dreams. I tune out the sound of voices in the cafe as I lose myself in the heart of my cappuccino.

When I look up and out, it's through that window again. The window in the bathroom made of stone. This castle is too big. And my personality too small to be noticed should something befall me. 

You're so grand. You could swallow me whole in no time.

Despite my quietness and inner stirrings, I have a power worth more than all the gold in the world. No one told me about this power. I stumbled upon it on the way down to the abyss many years ago.

I reach for it during times like these. As I take off my clothes and enter the tub. It's a ritual filled with magic and beauty. 

I take my mental wand and whisper words in the air...

I take my emotional wand and apply rose and pomegranate oil on my chest.

I position my body in the water out of respect to the gods, who can grant me my wish.

I do it with reverence, baby. I've been waiting for you through oceans of time. What took you so long? But then again, who are you? What are you? How dare you?

You created ripples in the water that is my life when I wasn't looking, when I had resigned myself to the ways of this life. I hate you for that. I really do.

I tried so hard to prevent this tsunami. You have to know I tried. And when the earth has shifted and the waters have settled, what will remain? Tell me. 

Will I be alone for another eternity with this dream? Or will you take me out of here?

The Lovers

I feel at a loss for words. Yet, they're right here, just layered and tangled up. How do I disentangle these invisible strings that are becoming ever more real?

I feel nourished in a way by a potentiality that itself cannot be entertained or fed in any way in reality.

That's okay, baby. In my alternate universe, I can do whatever I please.

You'll say all the things here you can't say over there. You'll touch me in all the ways here you can't over there. You'll treat me the way I've always dreamed to be treated here in all the ways I'm not over there.

Oh man, these feelings. Maybe I've given too many fucks to the wrong things, as Mark Manson would say. Maybe I haven't given the right fucks to the right things...

You know you're in a bad place when even here, I can't say what I want or need to say without falling apart into a thousand pieces. Who has the time to gather up all those pieces? God knows, if I don't collect myself, no one will. No one can.

I sense you here. How? Is it my imagination? Am I just a stupid little school girl? Who am I? What am I sensing? The unseen? Those words that go unsaid? What am I resisting? A potential outcome? Any outcome is painful. Any way this goes...is troubling.

But here, right here...is sweet suffering. The sweetness of it is what makes the suffering somewhat merciful. I'm not a dishonest woman here. I'm loyal and caring and loving. And no one gets hurt. 

Except me.

Elizabeth & Antonio

My landscape is changing again. 

I feel a tug towards my culture. Then when I get there, I remember why I turned away from it. 

What a strange feeling to experience over and over again. I sense the open air of the old world, the sacrifice and yet, profound joy to be able to put one foot in front of the other, despite the poverty. Even that couldn't quell the spirit of joy in the darkness.

I hear the women singing...in their malingering voices. They sound like screams in the night. And then I listen more closely...it's really a mish mash of all life's offerings and takings with a touch of thanks, nonetheless.

I'm the one who feels and understands. Yet, I am not one of them. 

When I hear the history, my heart wells up. It's a sorrowful kind of beauty and happiness that a part of me never ever allows to be more or less than that. I ask myself how sorrow can be happiness. I can't escape the feeling of loneliness in my mind's eye. I can't see beyond this sensation. It's only ever sadness...deep in the bones, sadness. Is this my sadness or is it theirs? Passed on from one generation to the next?

They looked happy, though. Maybe, it's the wrong word to be using here. They didn't have time to ask whether they were content. Today, we call it a luxury to be able to ask the question. I don't think that's true. They had a strength we haven't cultivated. Our luxury is a curse now. We don't allow ourselves to feel anything less than joy. We medicate and drown our sorrows. What a disservice we do to ourselves. The profound joy we get to feel is only ever equal to the profound sorrow we get to experience, too.

I miss a man I've never met. I miss a woman I've never met. There's no point crying over a past that never was. But, they were here. They lived and breathed. They did the best they could. I mean, if I could 'remember' them without having known them, imagine what honour it is to be remembered by those who participated in our lives?

I don't want them to be forgotten. In two hundred years, who will remember me? Recall me? The thought kills me. The finiteness of it all...on this plane, which has been reduced to things and more things. 

The High Priestess Continued

By candlelight and stone walls, I remove my clothes and enter the tub. I can see the moon in the window. It's small from here but its influence is nonetheless, strong and menacing.

I'm back at the front of the line, again, wondering how all of this will turn out knowing full well, it can only ever be the same outcome, over and over again.

I operate in that quiet space where people of this world dare not go, where I'm deemed odd and strange. It's this world and its people who are strange. The earth turns in its usual way. The majesty of this ritual is unfathomable.

I can see the stars, too. How is it possible that my eye can reach them? These burning balls of fire that go unnoticed. It should be a crime to fail to see the flowers and hear the birds or the towering trees all around. 

I think of you in this space even though I understand you don't belong. You can't belong here. I've filled in all the spaces I don't know about you to accommodate your presence. So yes, you're a dream that will evaporate like a cloud in due time.

I'm waiting for you to evaporate while I lay here and imagine the kind of painting I want to create of a nude woman against a somewhat chaotic backdrop, filled with pops of colour and sharp lines drawn with a palette knife.

Thank goodness for that palette knife which is reminiscent of my sword. I waver between being the high priestess who waits...forever. And, the lady of swords who just gets on with it. They both reside in dark places filled with infinite wisdom. I should be grateful.

Today, I am not. Today, I want. And yet, I won't let myself want too much even though I can have whatever my heart desires here.

I pour salts in the water and then take my basket of rose petals and gently toss in a handful. You can't imagine the power I wield when I'm in my sensuality. 

This sensuality is very much connected to vulnerability. If you can't be vulnerable in your imagination, you won't be vulnerable anywhere. I'm aware of this truth. And this inability to draw the heavens down. 

I dislike the density of this world. I dislike having to break down this density in my most sacred of spaces. It feels cruel. How upbringing and religion keep us in our place for fear of some unknown repercussion.

I let you in and the parts I can appreciate. You're charming. You're strong. You're sure. Your certainty and strength are commendable. I'm taken aback how much I value these qualities in you, how they express themselves through you. I like the colours that project around you, how they bounce and then settle. 

I wish I didn't like that so much.

The Look

I noticed the way you looked at me by the door when you finished playing your tape, the tape you've played numerous times before. I figure you're getting old, too, and can't recall telling the stories.

There all meaningless, really. I mean, when you think about it, it's just proof we're becoming our parents and that we have nothing interesting going on.

I cringe and then I see that look. I wake up from my sleep and feel alive again. Then I remember I'm older, too, and there's no where to play. The sandbox is gone. The corner store. The school by the park. It's all gone except for this valley in my mind.

I almost don't allow myself to go there. But, why shouldn't I? This place is filled with joy and love. It's my sanctuary. I can let whomever I want to come inside. 

So I imagine myself with sword in hand, dragging it across a field as I contemplate what to do next. You see, there's nothing to do except to rest my head against the lush green grass. 

Then I take my clothes off and rest my head again against the lush green grass. My sword is close by. I never part with it. 

It occurs to me how different I must look to you. You have to know I'm not like the others. You must know. Do you know?

I'll never be that woman, that typical and stereotypical woman who needs a man to prove to her she's wanted by showering her with expensive gifts. 

I'll never be that power hungry woman either who has to prove to others she's smart and worthy of all that money. Or who has to keep herself so busy in order to tell herself she has a purpose.

I was never that girl who made it an aim to be mother, either. Or to be a stay at home mom while my husband brought home the bacon...to put food on the table and for me to get my nails done...and hair....and eventually, botox for myself and my daughters. I also dreaded the thought I might have a son grow up to become a typical man. 

That look...tell me about that look. Are you a typical man when your wife's not looking? We're not children anymore, are we? It's their turn now to dream and choose. And to make mistakes and fall short.

It's time to do away with earth bound matters, those things that are dense and not capable of absorbing light.

I float in the clouds, sweetheart, right by heaven's door. There's nothing on this plane that can feed this longing.

Knight Of Swords

You and I sit together side by side at some social gathering. I know this is a dream though. It feels fuzzy, warm and surreal. I see oranges, yellows and reds. The tables are adorned with glasses and centerpieces, plates and cutlery.

There's an element of fluidity to this scene. You're new to me and I, to you. Yet, there's familiarity and we can't explain the why or how of it.

I feel so good and it feels so right, sitting next to you at this place of celebration. I'm called to another area in the room and I feel anxious about it because it pulls me away from time with you.

When I return to the table, I see you're no longer there. I imagine you've left me a note, something that would signal your affection for me or that proves you care for me.

In my mind's eye, it's a note written on a small piece of baby pink paper. But, I know men are not like women at all. There is no note. I figure you're not sentimental like that. Yet, a sinking feeling tells me you were never 'there' with me. It was only ever me...feeling...and guessing.

You're gone this time. For good. 

You're the knight of swords not circling back...

Fool

What a fool. He doesn't know me well enough and never will. The way he talks while his body betrays him with all of that machismo bouncing off the walls? He must think it's impressive. It isn't.

He's just a man. Just another man saying and doing what's already been said and done. There's nothing alluring about that. Or him and his money...and house in the suburbs. There's a reason I never married my father.

All that bravado disguised as self-confidence and a high self-esteem, is a mighty turn off. I'm not that woman. I'll never be that woman. I see through the banter. You can't lure me in with your words or gaze. You don't have what I need or what I want.

I already have it all, fool.

Stay in your corner of the world. Don't ask about me. Don't throw your wife under the bus. Or tell me what a great man and father you are. Or how you understand relationships. I won't let you feel good about yourself at my expense. N. E. V. E. R.

I'm the gold at the end of the rainbow. Your silly games don't interest me. There's a price to pay for the things we want. There's also a price to pay when you don't want to buy. You don't want to buy and I was never for sale.

So, come and visit. Hope to see me. Hope to speak with me. Hope to paint yourself in a manly light. I'm already gone like I was never there.

Thanks for giving me a head start.