What’s the point?
On the Yoga mat, my belly twisted over my thigh bone, my thigh bone burning like hell, my hands held in a prayer, shaking, sweating. My breath so loud the whole room can hear it: in, out, in, out.
Another rejection letter. Thank you very much for your time and effort; however, we regret to inform you…
Facebook. 489 friends. Less than her. More than him. Status updates crafted like flash fiction, all those tiny stories dipped in half-truths. Trolling through pictures of diamond rings, baby bumps, straight white teeth, girls who can’t possibly be that pretty. Instagram. Twitter. Tinder. Text messages.
An inbox full of tens of thousands of electronic messages. How my fingertips touch keyboards instead of skin. How I type instead of talk.
The last five years — well, almost anyway. Four years, eight months, and an odd number of days....
There is real beauty in someone that doesn’t need to be surrounded by people or entertained, to be content. I have chosen to find this magic in myself and others because it is tangible and real; it sparkles in the eyes of someone who has sat by the ocean, looked far out to sea and contemplated the whole of existence. It lingers in the eyes of someone who has looked up at the stars and discovered that we are never really alone; because we are all connected.
In all his years, I'd never heard him sing that song. So there we sat, day after day, hand in hand, heart to heart, and together we sang My Sweet Lord over and over as we both silently wept. I felt as if my pummeled heart might explode with uncontainable sadness and unfathomable joy.
I can see my reflection in others better than ever now, so I am more careful.
I am careful with my heart and what I give.
Because my heart and I, we work together now.
I understand that I don't have to give it all away to be loved.
I understand that it is mine and that it is my beautiful gift to share, not give away.
I don't have to give anything away.
How much more beautiful and delicious is something when it is shared?
I understand to not get lost in the giving.
I understand that a wisdom as simple as this doesn't come easily to some, and it sure as hell didn't come easily to me.
I understand that space is necessary.
I understand about the beauty in silence and in being alone.
I understand that when you have given so much and you can't find your breath and there is nothing left but tears
It's time to leave.
Flow is following the natural cycles of your body, of nature and the cosmos. Flow is the antithesis of today's patriarchal society where if you're not productive you're deadweight. Well, the joke's on you, industrial age, because nature had it right all along. When people follow their natural cycles, creativity and productivity flourish and miracles happen.
I have learned that there is no secret to happiness. There is no list or magical formula. There is just a state of being alive, with your eyes as open as your heart. It is a feeling if you simply let yourself feel.
Happiness pulses through your veins; it’s just a matter of whether you can hear it between heartbeats. Can you hear it in your dreams? Your very soul coos you to sleep using a lullaby deep within your core.
Did you know it wakes when you sleep?
You can choose to hate the rain or dance in it. You can choose to stare at the broken pieces of yourself or enjoy the challenge of putting the puzzle pieces together.
You can choose to speak ill, but do not expect sugar on your tongue. Only when you speak with positivity laced between breaths will you become drunk with joy.
There is no secret to happiness. It is always within you and ready to erupt into laughter if you...
You look at yourself, and realize that while you were busy entrusting the Universe with your happiness, the Universe, in all its wisdom, had been busy setting up these tests to make sure you can actually implement all that you've been observing along the way, and not just being theoretically wise, but practically so as well. Cosmic pop quiz -- that's what these are. Exciting? Sure. Challenging? You bet. Fun? Well, not always. Necessary? That's for you to find out. My personal compass points to the word 'absolutely' on that one.
Keep turning people into poems. Keep inhaling him and keep pressing his face into your memory so you won't ever have to be without it. Keep letting your body guide him. Keep arching your back so that he has a better view of your... heart.
There is an image that returns to haunt me every now and then. I am on a dock, alone, and off in the distance is a party boat. I can hear people laughing, music playing, champagne glasses tinkling. I have been left behind and no one cares.
Things break, darlin'. Daybreak. Waves break. Wind breaks. Break-ups. Breakdowns. Bones break. You can break a horse. A record. A promise. A home. A heart. It's what we do with the pieces that matters. This is what is beautiful. The mosaic is the masterpiece.
Reconnecting with the activities that light you up will fan the flames of your Spark and bring it back to life. Make a list of all those things you love to do, or used to do, or dreamed of doing. Do a collage in your journal or on a piece of watercolor paper of images and words that bring you joy.
My eyes have witnessed the devastating effects a community's willful abandonment; and my eyes were made to witness this in the name of 'family, love and religion'. These eyes of mine have been silent observers through years of shame, self-loathing and self-inflicted guilt and self-destruction. They have been here always silently watching… never judging…
What holds true for purses does not hold true for snow globes. I will 'not' encase myself like a vacuum-packed piece of meat or, be still my shivering soul, bury my core beneath perpetual showers of ice.
Of course, I had intended to send it, but I didn’t know the address. I had never been to his apartment. That part I chalked up to emotional and physical child abuse; he didn't want me to know where he lived. It didn't excuse the fighting and the melodramatic mind games, but I accepted it for what it was: a relationship with meaning that made little sense.
I need to turn if all off,
for a little while.
in this inky madness,
find my roots again.
Between who I am
and what I was.
There are tears
in this black whole,
tears deeper than the ocean.
they want to break free,
now and without constraints.
My words are enough.
I am enough.
To find the grace in a word, see the screaming colors of a page, and feel the passionate vibrations evoked by the act of connecting head to heart, heart to hands, hands to paper, is to write with my whole self.
We've done such a thorough job in our culture of equating money with the worth of a person that when you tell someone openly about your modest financial status, they tend to do you the favor of being embarrassed for you, because clearly you forgot to be.
If they would have looked behind them as they walked away, they would have seen the way the sky began to vibrate, grow, belch out a treacherous gleam of hot light that sent searing into the eyes of every man and woman and child.
Look forward on what is to come. Bless it all -- not with saccharine gratitude, but the kind of raw and holy blessing that honors the blood and guts and gore and heat and sex and hard work and giving up and giving in and the howl of loss and burning down and rising again.