Dreamscape: All Things Change, So Why Shouldn’t I? {Poetry}


A child of the 60’s, a teen in the 70’s, I lived in the pseudo world of the white picket fence, where addictions and mental instability were hidden, shamed and ignored.

On the good side, it led me straight into the arms of the occult, spirituality and sex, drugs and rock and roll. On the so-called bad side, I ran with the wolves. I have done things, seen things, and lived through things that were considered unfathomable, but I embraced an alternative lifestyle and have never, ever looked back in regret.

I have always tended to and loved my garden, but instead of pulling the weeds, I let them mingle with the flowers because I am an artist at heart, and to me, there is something deeply intriguing about imperfection. Yet I noticed at a young age what kind of damage is done when the perception of a weed-free plot of dirt is interrupted.

People talk and talk and talk about things they don’t understand. Accusations, insults and a flurry of ignorant, hurtful babble. I know in my heart life has so much more to offer. I have witnessed their turmoil and righteousness in self-induced pain and I wished, I prayed, that they could find a little happiness. And I learned early on, hurt people hurt people, but that isn’t an excuse for poor behavior.

Somehow, I got lucky — addiction opened my eyes, dirty little secrets opened my heart, and every now and then I am reminded of where I have come from.

I bleed for the ones who still dwell in mud. I see their angst and the tears and their longing to be hugged, but until they are ready to step out of their misery, it will never change. I know it isn’t easy, but it can be done. And because I love my family, I care about my family, I have chosen an arm’s-length approach.



A riot in my head.
Too many people talking, forever talking with nothing to say.
They blacken the scenery with frivolous noise and I wonder…
I observe…
I judge the judgeless and it is futile.
In my mind, things are different — I think that is always the case.
I don’t care about drama,
I care about
the trees, yet that is somewhat dramatic.
I don’t care about politics,
I care about integrity and the time and place
for an obligation to simple morality.
Yet morality is lost, eaten away by greed and power.
I don’t care about the church,
I care about
Godspeed, good riddance and peace.
I am often accused of detachment
and hypocrisy, yet all things change
so why shouldn’t I?
I have no space in my heart for the absolute,
it is too final,
too narrow and stuck, and my heart is too big.
I dream of color, multi-faceted connections and
all the people talking.
I wish they had something to say.
The abyss is reality for so many and
an illusion for the enlightened soul.
Where do you stand?
I am in the middle — one foot on terra firma, one in water,
yet still water runs so very deep
I am drowning.
Dreamscape — a riot in my head.
Chaos in the making… just open the door.
Robotic reactions.
Uncensored words.
The only salvation is: I don’t care that
I care.


Debbie Lynn is a mother, grandmother, artist, writer, dancer, yogi, seeker of the soul, rock climber, rock collector, and has been known to run with scissors. She realized at a very young age that the outer reality was a far cry from her inner truth, and meeting her inner wisdom head on always turned into a challenge. The wonderment, curiosity and hypocrisy of life led to exploration and a cumulative documentation (art and journaling) of what she lovingly calls ‘the purge’. It is her way of ridding any negative energy from the daily grind. She says, “In essence, it is a way to start fresh and cleanse the soul.” Debbie has had numerous articles published in Elephant Journal, The Edge Magazine, Sail Magazine, Cruising Outpost, and is now a featured columnist at The Tattooed Buddha . Her daily posts can be found on Facebook.


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