We are literally a perpetual prayer. We're continually sending requests, in all sorts of directions, consciously, unconsciously, through verbal expressions, energies and vibrations. We ask. We receive. And in receiving, we see who we believe ourselves to be.
Despite the startling clarity of hindsight, I possess not one ounce of regret, because for the first time in a long time, I listened to the quiet, strong voice of instinct and allowed myself to be taken for the ride.
No more, I say. I do not want to live my life clinging to what is already gone and left behind. I do not want to live my life wanting to have any body other than my own. I do not want to live my life judging and hating my own skin, my curves, my lines, and yes, my white hair.
We can choose to heal ourselves
and those shadows we have disowned.
Remember that we have all emotions,
ways and moods,
there is no separation.
We are all a diverse whole.
Every time I judge another,
look down from up on high,
all I really see down there
is a part of me I left behind.
I am cracked but not broken. I am bruised and just now allowing my bruises to be seen. As one heals, I witness another forming. The colors are reminiscent of a sunset -- yellows, pinks and purples. They are beautiful, a sunset on my soul. The peace, the irony.
How can mankind feel so entitled? Shouldn't something so beautiful have control over its own being? I can feel the crumpled petals brush past my skin as I watch him slowly suck at my youth. I can feel him invading my territory as his rough hands sweep past my long hair.
They see a journey, an adventure, an experience in learning. They also see the other paths in the distance, leading off in all directions, as others work hard to build their path towards the sun; a shining beacon, lighting a way filled with wondrous possibilities.
My hero is Chris DeRose, founder of Last Chance for Animals, who in a true stealth rescue operation, broke into a university laboratory and saved the dogs, cats who had been cut open, loosely stitched back together, keeping their organs from slipping out of their bodies while the grateful creatures -- in one case, a beagle -- licked his face.
For us, at that time, in that place, that was the decision to make. Was it the wrong one? No. Because going through that, losing that love, moving forward alone -- all of that pain, really -- forged us into who we are now. And who we are now is perfect. It's so much closer to the whole self that is waiting down the road.
Improvement by addition is focused on doing more of what does work: producing a faster car, creating a more powerful speaker, building a stronger table. Improvement by subtraction is focused on doing less of what doesn't work: eliminating mistakes, reducing complexity, and stripping away the inessential.
Once she gained your trust with such surface-level stories, she would carry on to describe the time she graced my skin and held me tight when my voice quivered as I gave my father's memorial speech at the funeral home -- the way my heart broke with every word I muttered, but her stitching never faltered.
I will stumble along the way, relinquish and revamp, but not without the commitment to face that which fears and pains me the most. I welcome the looming gargoyle that is thirty. I embrace it, and forgive the twenties for lurking, often paralyzed and intimidated, in its impending shadow.
What story will I tell? What will I do with all the other things that I consider unforgivable... my fear is screaming at me, my ego is demanding I stop this nonsense and go buy some shoes, go eat, go self-medicate somehow but stop these feelings. I know I cannot do that, and I know I am not yet brave or strong enough to start this work, but what I am is willing.
Sometimes we have a chance
to encounter angelic demons
that play around with heartbeats.
They exist within and without us,
and bring a state of peaceful confusion
that leaves you when acknowledging
its presence with your unworthy fascinations.
The gift of painting a world with words is one I never take for granted. It creates a beautiful place for me to abide, to comprehend circumstances, to grow in wisdom. It powers my spine to speak the Truth as I see it without distraction. If you read my words, you have to hear my voice, and you have to see (at least a little bit) my heart.
It's not like I thought any of this would be simple, but honestly, who knew just how hard it could be at times? Hey, I'm an artist, man! Just say No to real jobs! The truth is, I didn't know what to expect in my role as a mother because I simply wasn't looking.
According to Louise Hay, the breasts represent mothering, nurturing and nourishment. Imagine how we miss the boat if we're mad at our breasts for not looking a certain way, or if we lose them by or to dis-ease.
So I pause. I breathe. Feeling a bit like a relay runner in a race that never ends, and my only break comes when I reach the next point, hand off the baton, slow to a stop and look behind me at the distance I have come. I appreciate the work, the determination. I feel pride.
This is not an easy belief to hold, for at the moment they tell you your loved one's earthly vessel is failing the soul it's been entrusted to hold, you cannot help but respond with "Well, fix it, do the surgery, that operation to transplant the organs, the stem cells. Do the radiation and the chemo; give the pills and medications and homeopathic remedies. Keep them here for me because I am not ready to let them go."
I continue on, forging a path that no one has taken, nor would have thought possible considering my obstacles. Yet I am indebted to the hardship, which has challenged me to see the possibilities rather than the walls.
Excessive openness and trusting easily has been my modus operandi, and it has cost me dearly on more than one occasion. In my self-proclaimed naiveté, I tend to see what's redeeming about others and to emphasize that while glossing over the other not-so-appealing red flags that I see.
Mother Nature and the Universe sneaked in some words to help map and bleed our neural plasma, and we started whispering things like, "Reach out and touch her." Now we are programmed to reach out and reach back, ramble and spit all the mess our misfiring experiment comes up with.
The hollow places inside of you that you've been trying to cram with the impermanent things of this world are magnified. Turned into chasms, a deep well you are terrified to peek into for fear of what you may find in the darkness.
The winter will come and you will wake up one day and tell yourself that you are not in love anymore. You will slow it down, scale it, fight with every fiber of your being to not be the one left alone. To not be the one who stays when it's time to leave and you are determined to not love him anymore.
Is it okay to just be a fucking bitch sometimes? Can I sleep in, eat a whole pepperoni pizza with a bottle of wine while cheering on the prison fights in Orange is the New Black? Let's throw a Kit Kat bar in there too. Because they're fucking awesome. Can I just walk around and really try to own every single part of me? The good, the bad and the ugly? Am I allowed to express and just really truly feel the power of what it is to be a woman and a human being without judgement from myself or others? I say Yes, dammit!
By Lakshmi Raman
Ever since I could remember, I’ve been obsessed with love, with the idea of being loved and cherished. I knocked on many doors, some open, some half-open and some closed shut.
None of these doors gave me the love I desired.
My heart was broken, walked over, punched and shattered. I was done and wanted to close my heart. Love isn’t for me, I thought.
A profound healing begins when you sit on the floor, hands together, and begin to pray. You just surrender, to something bigger and greater than you.
I silently prayed for a love that would fill me up, for a relationship that would nourish and nurture me.
My job: to listen to the inner voice that spoke with so much love.
I began journaling and talking to this higher power. I began tapping into that inner goddess within me.
I slowly began to heal. I was feeling more connected with everyone...
I am currently embarked on a self-forgiveness journey that I thought I had completed, yet I am discovering depths, cellular, depths of pain, judgment, anger, hurt, sadness, sorrow that I have held on to at a deeper level until right now, when my back is scraped raw from sliding up and down the wall of resistance and fear.
By Aniel Love
Love, in my humble opinion, is zero point energy, neutral energy, and is used for experiential creation. Neutral energy accepts a polarity gradient charge, between and including the negative and positive polarity range, thus creating a desired experience.
Hypothetically, source consciousness (whatever that is) of duality architecture conveyed to us:
“A duality experience has been created for you. A tool that you can use in whatever way you wish in this environment has been provided. The tool is called love and is neutral (zero point) energy. It will respond to your desire.
You can use this love (zero point energy) to either create a negative or positive experience — extreme fear or ecstatic bliss — or any experience between the two.
I will not interfere with your choice in how you charge and use this neutral energy. This is your...
The parent/child relationship moves to another level beyond teacher/student. For when one is giving birth to something new that has never before existed, it is beyond just learning a system of knowledge that already exists.
I am awakening me
with all there is.
Happy Birthday to Me.
I am powerful and vulnerable.
I am hot and cold.
I am summer and winter.
I am like the rising tides
and the sparkling moon.
I am night and day.
I am all there is.
To a person observing a seed, growth might look like a disaster, with all its breaking apart and turning inside out -- signaling the death of the seed. Those who know growth intimately, however, see this as the brilliant wisdom of life.
Over time and with understanding, I have relaxed into it. I have stopped trying to force it. It has become a gentler and softer experience. It is no longer about perfecting anything, but just doing it and letting it be whatever it is in the moment.
You do not have to defend the truths you believe, or explain your desire for knowledge to anyone else's satisfaction but your own. You do not have to allow anyone to label you according to their own limited judgment. Let those hideous things fall right off, and move on.
There are rocks in places. There are clouds and crags and vicious beasts. There is decay, rebirth and decay again. There are long sandy beaches and the chill of the ocean in the morning. There are forests and rivers and tiny seasonal flowers. There are trails, wilderness, desert, warmth and cold. And there will always be that sunrise I know we both shall watch, your hand tightly in mine.
If we try to exile life to a private island,
we will drown in the wine of angels.
There's a reason we have yet to reach heaven.
We don't know how to handle permanent loveliness.
We clench our bodies for fear
they will be stolen in the night.
We don't know how to harness
our own power and just might
kill ourselves if left in charge
of our own brains,
or if our brains were left in charge of us.
What is a rebel? Someone who refuses to conform to established standards of conduct. Someone who resists authority, control or tradition. Someone who rejects status quo sometimes to the point of being thought of as weird or an outcast. Someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action. Someone who says, "This (insert word: job, relationship, societal beliefs/constructs, etc) isn't working anymore and has got to go." A person who is innovative, insightful, and not afraid of ridding the dead in life. Sounds like a raven to me.
This should go without saying, but wild man lovin' is best done by a wild woman. Get outside together. Sleep all tangled up beneath the stars. Bask in the moonlight. Furthermore, talk about the moon, bring her right into your relationship because she informs so much of the way it shifts and changes.
Society continues to punish them. Many women who are released from prison are sincerely sorry for what they have done. They know they cannot change those circumstances. Even though they know they cannot change the past, they want to give back to others in an attempt at redemption. They want to find a way to help others so that they do not make the same mistakes that they did. They yearn to be productive citizens. As a society, we do not make this easy.
I will hum these achingly warm and compassionate phrases to you when the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. Bring me your dissonant melodies and I will show you how these tense suspensions resolve and how the cadences of sadness will eventually modulate to a brighter, major key.
And now here I am by the table, writing, and feeling exactly like a hero, because I woke up just to write. A hero who will never leave her journey or go back to that struggle of feeling or trying to fill the morning emptiness because the mornings are hers to write and the sky is listening with great pleasure.
When we begin to practice self-love in our lives, we slowly become aware of how we talk to ourselves, and rather than being judgmental, we can bring both kindness and compassion into that internal dialogue.
I often find myself answering a plethora of mundane questions as soon as my sexual orientation is revealed to someone. Given that I'm not blessed with the patient grace required to answer this unvaried line of questioning, I will instead offer you the deepest wisdom I can summon from the heart of a woman in love with another woman.
'What is your background?' was a common thing people would ask me if they were of Indian descent. They would tell me that my last name was of Punjab heritage and they always said I should go to my homeland. I convinced myself that I didn't need him, but his absence stretched long and wide. The feeling of abandonment and the relationship to rejection were sewn into my side, stamped on my forehead, and burned into my heart.
Seven weeks ago, I tried to squat 405 pounds and failed. Last week, I succeeded. I can tell you without hesitation that I am better today than I was seven weeks ago. No debate. No ego. No fluff. Black and white proof. Perhaps more importantly, I know who I am and who I am not.
I believe it is only here that we can experience true peace and beauty. When we practice the art of doing nothing, we release the pressure we place on ourselves and everything in our lives. And more importantly, we also begin to allow life to work its true magic.
Actually, these moments are not beautiful: it's too easy to be caught in the path of razor-sharp ice needles, and they crack so quietly you never know if they're about to fall until you're crushed and killed -- a bleeding mass that will be quickly swept up because no one wants to ruin the plush cream carpets either.
There are smiles in the sky, songs in the trees, and asteroids in the garden if only you are weird, wild, mad and wise enough to open your blinded eyes, to uncork your tightly sealed ears so that, at last, you are immersed in awe. So that, now, in this instant and forever after, you shimmer so brightly with droplets of joy that it is your face, too, that is reflected in the moon.