The life I have lived has not be any means been simple, uncomplicated or without the pain of heart breaks, lost friends, mistaken moments of choice or what I have found to be so dynamically important… the element of substantial honesty to one’s self. Honesty which has been stated to be the best policy in this work that is living. Why? I have found the true reason is not because the policy of happiness is reliant upon speaking truth yet because having the policy of speaking of action in it’s true state, emotion in it’s true state is the way of walking the path in a matter that allows us the opportunity to not have to choose a crossroad of additional complication. Truth is a heavy word with light appliance in this world we live in. Yet the weaving of tales is something that stems from defense of pain. Defense of perception, judgement, a need for being wanted and loved. Yet when those tales become a tool of offense for perception, judgement, a need for being wanted and love it becomes a endless stream of running negative that will wash onto the shores of our own reflection. Yet we see the consequence of how a tale becomes a word of gritty disdain and the tale becomes a lie. A lie is something that your first deny within yourself… you are calling objection to the court of you. Your moral dillema, your internal belief, your acceptance of self.
The Journey within is something I know is not unknown to the creative entity. We are always so intricately aware of how we feel and the the demise or surprise of the consequence. We are so aware of the element of feeling we can not run from it and when we try we must completely alter the state of mind and even then sometimes it is more blatant then the pupil of the eye. For the common sort, it can be willed, wished, or actively pushed away. Lost in angry slights of school shootings, murdered bodies pilling in lost ghettos of other homes of people whoto one day lose belief in hope. My point is clear and concise… to begin anything, to love anything, to believe in anything, you must first start with the person who must face you when you are nothing but their own company. That annoying entity that tags down roads you wish to erase with reminders that notify more often than twitter when it is ignored… the heart, the mind are the components that together make up the soul. The soul is given to the body. The body is a gift and should be nurtured, but to preach and reck the shop of person is not my intent…
I love myself and tell myself the truth to avoid another complicationof thought. Living is already a conjucted set of compromising and opposing options and ideals. If I allow myself to go off my meds of me, and loving me so much that I do not deny myself the choice of educated chooseability, then my reality becomes a nightmare on foot to negativity and negativity will kill me with fear and fear will make me vulnerable to the dangers denial. And if I lie to me than I will lie to you and then who am I but a fake version of some person who I don’t really want to be because I choose to deny who I really am and ifd I wanted to be this other version of me wouldn’t I just be but secretly I am not proud of that person. It is why I only bring her out when the faces who surround me cause me to see a amended reflection of me. That is when I realized a while ago it was not me who wanted to start a trial of stories but I needed to start a trial of non offensive understandings… I wanted to not hurt, not be something and that something that led me to choosing to lie to the world but really I was lying to myself, rationalizing the option not facing something and some days I forget what it was, but it was painful, that much I know because just facing the answer to the simplest question caused a churn of longing to be able to just decide. Yet at some point I had stopped decidinhg and I was feeding myself chemicals of trying to be the person I admired in front of me. The people with the things I didn’t have …. and at that moment I realized something in side of me didn’t like something in me about me and when I got tired of just believing that it would all just change… the miracle of people who loved me even on days i didn’t know me began me thinking… I think the day I first began believing was a day that really made me think of someone else because a thought came to my mind and the thought took me to a thought from being 9 and I was afraid and more quickly then any other decision I asked a question and that question changed me… the change was slow and deliberate because I was learning from books or my family but from friends and incidenrs. Yet the miracle of love is gripping and life altering so just think how you can relieve the perception of the world when you love yourself enough to be your own prescription. No scar or flaw can diminish the true beauty of body for the the beauty is left to the perception of the holder of that thought. How is your personal perception…. When it is srtrong and with eyes sighted by faith you are not able to be moved and when your belief in the world is something that really impresses you….you fall in a love so deep that it literally will send you on a roundtrip to the place you buried and sometimes it gets you angry and sometime it makes you sad… but it wasn’t the tale that caused you the fear that mutated into the diease of perception and then the cancer of dislike and pain… it was the feeling that wounded you. A feeling that kept and ignored….can change you…
I was lucky…. I was a survivor, cured but I struggled and fell into remission more times than I admit willingly. Yet I sometimes believe that being a survivor is about thriving in the living that before you could not. I have faith today that God loves me… I love me, and in not loving myself before they way I should… I am now able to love other people in a way they’re made to feel stronger because loving someone is loving the flaws and all.
It’s so many days it seems since I have been inspired or that I haven’t drifted off into a deep needed sleep instead of writing. Just as I was about to forget the power of emotional warfare I awoke from hours of sleep… I was sitting in the need to share, to declare to no one other than myself that I can do this. I can continue to write, if I just got into the ring with myself, and beat my fears ass. I am a solider I faith. Without it I would have given up on fairy tales, dreams and miracles, yet I still believe in them. I still believe in the power of art and the fact that with tears streaming down my puffed up cheeks, and with a complete disregard for the pain that a broken and bruised tooth has been bringing me… i felt inspired. One Tree Hill streaming from my Netflix and like always the depth of the writing causing me to believe that all of Hollywood is NOT gone and tainted… I began to feel something. Yet sleep took me again and then tonight I woke up and I hit the on demand button on the cable remote that so many days since Dexter aired the Finale had been left lonely and abandoned ,I traced a familiar path and found my most favorite TV blasphemous and driven character. Of course Showtime is his home. For Showtime is my cable network hero. I looked until my home grounds were found. Californication.. I never watched the X Files or anything else David Duchovny has ever done but this show is a kick ass blatant and transparent version of addicted truth. An artist is a pained and soulful character that merely has a host. I tuned in and caught up on the recent episodes and peered at the beautiful Megan Goode who in person is just as pretty and even sweeter than she seems. Met her down at the expensive but rightly so Fresh Mex Spot just about a five-minute walk from my house in the home of the Studios. Mr Hank Moody is a loner, deep lover and all in all crass, pot smoking, arrogant ladies man who can write his ass off. His battle within himself is nothing more than his true muse, the creative leech that has been hosting from his vibrant bones of physical anatomy and is a lush wishing for spirits and drugs to alter his state of brooding. The liason of thought and emotion to express and bravery… that is the artistic. To live and love every moment of the day… yourself, your life, your belief, your goal, your family. that is the personal truth I was looking for running from writing. I know exactly what I need and want to be happy. Just because I am not there doesn’t mean it’s not waiting for me….
On this earth I live, with others. Others that have legs, arms, eyes, families, beliefs and hearts. The conditions of life give and take to the purpose. Many before me and many after will look out windows and ask how, why and search lifetimes for answers. Today as I sat to read my rss feed, I was presented with this blog that will be left for you to read and share and somehow I became angry, and nostalgic and smitten with life. Rose berried cheeks and soul seeking eyes stared back at me from my mirror and I remembered something that many of us forget. We have power. The kind of power that allows us the ability to change, the ability to help, the ability to liberate our hearts from failure, just enough to risk it and do something. I am not sure about all of you out there but I want to make a difference. Maybe the difference won’t be as dynamic as Ms Sendler, or as beautiful, but it will help someone. It will be enough to say that I didn’t lose the war with whatever fear that came embedded in the risk.
Ms Sendler had the guts and the compassion to do something that many others would have labeled foolish and dangerous, she didn’t find those two things even complementary to who she was I believe. She also didn’t find those things comparable to what was right. I won’t give away what you will read below if you are not familiar with who she is… please read… and to you my friends, followers, family…. I don’t write because its fun to do, I write because it’s a force… it’s a unlabeled emotion and factor who I am. When I don’t write it doesn’t seem right.. I neglect my power. I can’t build a program, perform heart surgery…. Sometimes the risk in being made of the condition of warriors is simply not believing in your ability to fight alongside seasoned fighters.
A Lady To Remember.
The Beat of drums dying in the distance create the collage of illustrated thought. Moments of memories waving in between to short perfect movies scenes and life altering kisses that take our breaths away.
Your drum is not lost to a fading beat… it is still strong in its pulse, hitting the pavement of days with immediate and striking balance, igniting the fusion of sexy saxphone calls and serene keys of the pianos classic and notable emotional cords. The music of your soul knows no limitation of the land, bares no notice to the heated and desperate calls of negative. Your music is the soulful mixture of your desire, your faith, hope and belief in the miracles of love. The ripening of your mind only increases each year when you celebrate the anniversary of your birth. A collage of your journey.. triumphs, struggles, and movement. Today is not just about how you got here, whom the vessel was or the lineage left behind. Today is a collected memoir of thoughts and changes. We celebrate the core of your being, and the love that created the home for the soul that lives within..
A sister is a common oxymoronic entitlement of ownership bestowed by right of birth and the espionage of genetics. As the first-born of your inherited tribe you have been the pioneer, the liaison and the basis of cause. The path to tread and the vote to acquire. As the youngest I have lived in the well of your presence, yet have warmed and been soothed by the care of your parental knowledge. I have acquired the blessing and curse of leadership that at times have been nothing more than a pain in the side at my time of battle. Yet it has also been the healing to wounds that only a sister could heal. In our embrace we have found and learned the art of the un conditional form of living that is blind to resistance. We resist not to forgive. We resist not to love. An embedded army stands at my side, as you are a soldier for our happiness, even when we are the ones that cause you pain. You have been the nurturing alliance when the enemy is the our common exchange of blood, dna and bind that is tied to the presence of learning to go with the punches, rolling over then into complete triumph. The job of a big sister never dies, never lessens in its demands and never quits with few benefits and no place to mark complaint. Yet being the little sister gives me the experience to say… that had you not chopped down those trees and found those caves of passage.. I would not be able to write, not be able to be the rogue free spirit that I am. Without you taking on the pains of growing up first… I would not be able to come in pick up the slack. Your just being is a gift to our family. And as today will quickly become the past, moving so fast, today is God‘s way… of showing you the love that he feels so unconditionally just for you. A quick reminder that at the moment of your birth, the stars aligned, the room went silent, the light began to shine, and someone we both know well… said… “My baby girl, she is all mine” and that is eternal, beyond this life, not to be lost in death… it’s so powerful… love that it’s the only thing that doesn’t need the present as a gift.. for it outlast time.
To My Oldest Sister with Love….