If by pursuing your story you are inflicting real harm on yourself or others, it is a false value. If you are pursuing a story solely to bring pleasure to yourself or others, it's false. To the contrary, a story that solely avoids pain or protects others from pain is false too. The rest is yours to figure out.
My prose became confused and awkward, peppered with finicky phrases and stilted sentences that didn’t taste quite right on my tongue. It was uncomfortable. They fell out of my mouth before I could catch them. I just sat there and watched as they splattered onto the page...
Life is Sexy. Art is sexy. Relationships are sexy. Friendships are sexy. Food is sexy. Nature is sexy. Big cities are sexy. My cat giving himself a bath is sexy. The examples are infinite. Anything can be sexy, with the right attitude. Sexy is as Sexy does.
As we move forward, we change and live life from different perspectives. It can be helpful to have signposts or indicators of specific changes and know that it is okay to morph into lifestyles that may not be popular with the majority.
Why not refuse to compromise and just stand up for who you are? Or take responsibility for your own well-being and walk away from fights you can't win? What's so difficult about taking ownership of your decisions, owning your contribution to the consequences of them? Hello? If you want respect, you've got to respect yourself -- flaws and all. You want to be loved, you love yourself. You want to know your worth? Prove it, to yourself. Give yourself a purpose. Be your own champion. Be honest.
When it feels like my life is being ripped apart at the seams, the Universe is fast at work tearing my unwanted life to tatters so I can stitch together the life I have always dreamed of. I now know that if I am not listening to the voice that is hollering within and echoing off the chambers of my heart, then the Universe will turn up the heat in my kitchen till I can no longer stand the heat.
You have lost love, and it hurts; but you will find greater love, and it will be worth the wait. Your heart is open, and it scares you to death -- let it. Welcome those feelings, invite them to sit down and stay awhile; look fear in the eyes and tell it that you are going to love anyway. Please love anyway.
The storm knows
that I still need to ask questions,
even though I've had hints
that there are other ways
of reaching truths.
She knows I still have so many,
and they arise often,
so I tell them to the howling wind,
What we think has a profound impact on the way we feel, and the way we feel influences how we behave; conversely, the actions we take, whether conscious or unconscious, have the power to shift the way we feel, thus provoking certain thoughts -- or any which way you want to look at it.
I have learned what I need to do is sing them a lullaby once in a while. Invite them over for dinner. Or even make love to them. Give them a peace offering to keep them sedated enough so that I can go on with my life unperturbed instead of lying awake all night thinking of one hundred and one ways to kill them.
By Paula Swenson
I’m so far from perfect, I can’t even see it from here.
And that’s a good thing.
Perfection, at least the way our human brains try to define it, is an illusion.
On the other hand, everything is perfect exactly as it occurs.
This paradox is at the heart of our human story.
I’m a recovering perfectionist, raised by perfectionist parents. A child born to love weeds, wildflowers, broken shells and fragmented souls, asked to strive for perfection.
I tried, hard. Or a part of me did.
Yet, somehow, the child who sat for hours watching speckled bugs climb the tall grasses and tiny fish schooling in the shallows making random patterns of sun and shadow, the little girl who picked wildflowers, weeds and garden flowers together into messy bouquets, was never far beneath the surface.
My most precious treasures are still bits of sea glass and...
By Tahnee Lazarus
I remember one morning, whilst taking my usual route to work, something started to feel amiss; even the energy around felt different.
I suddenly began to feel a slight melancholy. I was gently alerted to memories of old, which seemed to unsettle me because this time it made me take a second, maybe more, and it caused me to begin to think.
I remembered my late granny, and I felt this huge weight of loss settle. I was bombarded with special memories of her sitting on our couch, in her very specific corner where the sun shone every day. It streamed onto her and warmed her already warm soul.
I would go sit with her and she would tickle my palm, and hand out special pearls of wisdom to me. I sat and listened, but I would always notice how different our hands were. Hers were speckled with sun spots and wrinkles. There was a story etched into these...
"Voodoo is the religion of adaptation," he said. And it was like something stopping me in my tracks. This. Oh yes, this. The way of survival, a capacity to not resist movement, but shapeshift and adapt to change. This.
Crisis can be good. Midlife crisis, personal crisis, or even existential crisis in the middle of the ocean… can be good, if you do something about it. If it forces you to change, to move, to gasp for life.
It seems I have always pushed the boundaries to what I can and can't do and parenting has been no different. The need to strive, to push, to rise, dictates every decision, every act -- until I find myself falling short of a bar that was set way above human capabilities.
I remain passionate and loving, still in the pursuit of all things personally meaningful to me, conscious enough to know not to give up, conscious enough to know that even when I doubt the things I know, I also know enough to go ahead and get started.
The sun is high now, tripping on the bodies lined up along the shore, and the shore is there for those bodies, a shoulder for them to forget about whatever winter brought, and I am there because winter brought me down to the goddamn core, and the core burns even the tannest of souls.
Serve, but serve love as the main course. Serve it to those who are hungry, those who have been flying to and from the hive at the master's beck and call so long they've forgotten that they are the ones creating the riches!
Take a seat. Close your eyes and imagine how much you will regret if you keep living your life exactly the same way you are right now. How do these thoughts make you feel? Is your body tense? Does your mind feel imprisoned? Feel it as clearly as you can. And then ask yourself: is it time to toss your broken record?
So the next man you will love... differently. Perhaps the love you felt with your ex was like bubbly champagne and the next guy will be that deep velvety red with a lovely oak finish. There is no less or more but just... different.
I sit there and hold myself, often literally. I reach out and touch my hand on the mirror, on my reflection, and I tell myself, "You're safe, you're okay, I'm not leaving you, you've got this, I'm with you, I'm here."
Watch out for the good things coming your way. Watch out for opportunities springing into your path. Say Hello to people who are awesome like you, who may cross your path to join you for those special moments. Enjoy, enjoy enjoy the spring in your step, as you skip with flowers and butterflies in your hands towards your epic life.
I wasn't entirely surprised when my child joined us at that bewitching hour, the alchemy of dark turning to light. The alchemy of my darkest hour in my deepest mystery, when my own beating heart washed up onto dry land. When my tiny merman made his brave voyage from his watery nest, onto this side of consciousness. When my body died another death -- from girl to woman; from woman to mother -- and rose from the ash like a phoenix to claim its righteous place as a giver of life.
She knows this threat, this danger, is coming, and she needs to keep my body ready and alert for this. Sort of like waiting for a hurricane to come that you've heard about on the news. Because if it came and I wasn't ready, I'd be fucked. If the threat came -- the one that is seemingly going to hit any second -- and I wasn't prepared to deal with it or to attack back or to hold on to my protective armor that this part holds up for me, then I'd be screwed.
Metta is the Pali word for loving-kindness or friendliness. It literally means fat with friendship. Along with karuna (compassion), mudita (sympathetic joy), and upekkha (equanimity), it's considered one of the brahmaviharas (divine abodes) in Buddhism. In my experience, it's one of the most rapid routes to exquisite happiness that there is.
Certain things hurt, it's true. If someone deliberately hurts you by actions or nasty words, it stings. But still other people are not the problem. Ultimately your own reaction to their words and actions is what leads you to freedom or a dead end.
By Brittany Connors
“You know you have bear in you too,”he said.“And otterand wolfand eagle and fox.”But I didn’t hear him.I shifted one more timefeet stumblingever the newborn foal that I was.I’d shiver at the sunand twitch from actionand cloak myself in a shadowor the nightor someone else’s luminescent lightjust to get out of the way of it all.When my voice came out, it was a rasp –wind creaking through battered trees,and if I left footprintsanywhereyou were soon to find me quicklysweeping them uppreserving the ground the way it wasbefore I came along.He said it again.Later in life.Then later again:“You know you have bear in you too,And otterand wolfand eagle and fox.”Luckily little foal had chance to grow.My life wasn’t over yet.Yes.I had bear in me too.And otter.And wolf.And eagle and fox.And me, among...
Forgive myself for fucking up? Forgive myself for doing things that caused, or cause, myself pain and greater sorrow or heartbreak or turmoil or struggle? Forgive myself for neglecting my needs and depriving myself of things I enjoy? Forgive myself for failing, for saying or doing the wrong thing? Forgive myself for being selfish or being mean? Forgive myself for having qualities I hate about myself? Forgive myself for having patterns that Piss. Me. Off.?
When I cautiously shared the pain in my heart with a group of my trusted religious friends, one of them fled to the opposite side of the room for the rest of the evening. My vulnerability was standing naked center stage. Had I done enough to try and save my marriage? What if I had worked just a little bit harder, or settled for just a little bit more of what I was being given?
I need to feel independent from you, and most importantly, I need to feel myself. I need to go on dates with Vitality, and have naked morning cuddles with Energy. I need to write poetry with Freedom and sing rap songs with Life.
Oh, hell, yes. I want to look back and see a juicy, balls-to-the-wall, no-stone-unturned, bittersweet, handmade life. I want to say, "Yes," when I'm on my deathbed. I want to see that, "hell, yes" sketched onto my face as I shuttle through the coming years. I want to write that yes, nothing-but-yes, across an azure sky.