What is a Chakra?

“If you want to awaken all of humanity, then awaken all of yourself. If you want to eliminate the suffering in the world, then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself. Truly, the greatest gift you have to give is that of your own self-transformation.”  ~Lao Tzu~

A chakra is a swirling pool of energy that is blocked by the emotional and physical muck of our lives. We have seven chakras that start at the base of our spine and continue through the crown of the head. Each of these swirling pools of energy flows into the next one. The energy flows in both directions. Each chakra pool can only be as clean and clear as the pool below it. 

The root chakra is our sense of security and is blocked by fears - LAM

The sacral chakra is our center of creativity and is blocked by guilt - VAM

The solar plexus chakra is our sense of self and is blocked by shame - RAM

The heart chakra is where our Love originates and is blocked by grief - YAM

The throat chakra is our ability to communicate with ourselves & others and is blocked by lies - HAM

The third eye chakra is our sense of connection to self, others and the universe and is blocked by the illusion that we are separate from each other - SHAM

The crown chakra is our gateway to the cosmic universe and it is blocked when we have forgotten that we are God - OM

"Maya told Braham that they will play a wonderful game, but Brahma has to do what she says, and Brahma agreed. Maya first told Braham to create the whole universe, the stars, moons, and the planets. Brahma created earth with animals, plants, oceans, air, and everything. Maya then said 'How beautiful is this world of illusion you created, now I want you to create a kind of animal that is so intelligent and aware that is can appreciate your creation' so Brahma created humans.

Brahma was getting excited and wanted to know when the game would start. Maya said right now…Maya cut Brahma up into tiny little pieces. She put a little piece of Brahma into every human and said, 'Now the game begins! I am going to make you forget what you are, and you are going to try to find yourself!' 

So this is why the universe exists. It is out of playfulness, because Brahma wanted to have fun. So the game of life is Brahma trying to remember who he is. Brahma is inside of each one of us. Each one of us is part of the divine." ~Sita LivDeep~

Meditate With Me

 

“Where you are in deep Communion, in deep conversation, or even in deep silence, but just in the presence of the divine - that is meditation. In that state of Union, what happens is that you are drawing that light, that energy, not just into you soul but also from your soul and the rays extend out into the body also. It is like the warmth of the sun. You can feel that energy, not just on a superficial level on your skin, but you can feel your body absorbing that warmth and that energy within itself. It actually is a process of healing! The primary advice given to persons with a physical illness is to practice meditation and to be mindful of every thought and action. These practices help to connect the person back to the divine energy source which is the primary aspect of their being.” 

~Sister Jayanti~

Stop Pointing the Finger

"If there is something in your life that you don’t like, first you have to be aware that it’s the result of something that you do. It’s the result of a choice that you made. The only way to change your life is to change your choices, to change your actions." – don Miguel Ruiz

We have to stop pointing the finger at other people and start pointing it at our own hearts. We are responsible for our lives. (If we are adults, I do believe that children with all of the vulnerability that comes with being dependent upon others are not responsible for their own suffering)

It is time to wake up! To look around. To take an inventory of our lives. To change the things that we do not like and to embrace the things that we love.

Dominoes

Can I go a year, Can I go a day.

I would like to stop updating this.

 

2024 My 60 y/o Friend to Ovarian Cancer

2023 My 50 y/o Cousin to Heroin OD (P)

2023 My Grandma to Heart Perforation (M)

2022 My Step-Grandma to Cancer (P)

2021 My 70 y/o SoulMother to Covid  

2019 My 35 y/o Cousin to Alcohol OD (M)

2016 My Sweet Puppy Love

2015 My Grandma to Dementia (P)

2015 My Grandpa to Cancer (M)

2014 My 57 y/o Uncle to Alcoholism (M)

2011 My Step-Grandma to Brain Cancer (M)

2011 My 50 y/o SoulMother to Bladder Cancer

2010 My Grandpa to Dementia (P)

2009 My 29 y/o first Husband to Suicide

2004 My 52 y/o Aunt to Cancer/Heroin OD (P)

2003 My 50 y/o Uncle to Alcohol OD (P)

2002 My Great-Grandma to Old Age (P)

2000 My Step-Grandpa to Lung Cancer (M)

2000 My Step-Grandpa to Emphysema (P)

1994 My 42 y/o Aunt to AIDS/Heroin OD (P)

1993 My Teacher to Suicide (during class)

1982 My Great-Grandma to Old Age (M)

Like dominoes you fall through my mind; one loss connected to the next and to the next. 

Tumbling through my mind; I cannot remember one of you without thinking of all of you. 

I miss you. I love you. 

You appear to me in my dreams; talk to me - kiss me - hold me. 

I remember your eyes, your smile, your laughter, and your tears. 

I know that when my time comes that I’ll be blessed with more spirit guides than most. 

When I go, I will not go alone.

Smokey Mirrors

“It is true. I am God. But you are also God. We are the same, you and I. We are images of light. We are God.“

~ don Miguel Ruiz~

Disordered Eating

When I start to sing I hear my own voice ringing out bright and beautiful; then I hear her voice in my head: "You sound like a screeching cat when you sing." I was thirteen years old when she said that; we were standing in the kitchen and I had just started singing a song that I loved.

MOTHER:

My mother is 5'1 and I am 5'2.

My entire life my mother has gone into the bathroom by herself and then closed the door and came out to tell me that she weighs 104 pounds. Then I must go in and weigh myself in front of her... 112, 118, 122, 127, 135, 140, 152. It doesn't matter what I weigh the response is always the same, "whoa - that's a-lot!"

However, with my always fluctuating weight, if I would come down a few pounds from the previous weigh-in then she would say, "you better come out here and eat something and prove to me that you are not anorexic".

FATHER:

What is the funniest joke in the whole world to my dad? A fat joke. Especially a fat joke about a woman.

"Fatty Fatty Two-By-Four, Ass So Wide Can't Get in the Door" 

My mom, myself, my aunts, and any friends that my mom or myself brought home. He would call all of us fat, to our face, and then laugh when we would get upset.

He would say awful things about the women that he saw on television. He would make rude fat jokes about women loudly in my ear when we were in public, and I think those women would hear him, and I would tell him to SHUT UP. And he would laugh and tell me to learn to take a joke. 

He tried doing the Fat-Jokes on my step-daughter. She was 12 when he called her Thunder Thighs. That was the only time I ever seriously stood up to him and said you CANNOT do that or we will leave and not ever come back.

SELF:

My first memory of using food to soothe me was when I was five years old. I had a 12 ounce Star Wars glass and I filled it with sugar and kool-aid mix. I remember sitting in the stairwell and slowly spooning it into my mouth.

My next memory is from the same time frame. We had neighbors who lived in the house next to our apartments. They went on vacation and I climbed in through the kitchen window. I opened a box of chocolate cake mix and sat on their kitchen counter and ate the whole thing with my fingers.

My next memories are a bit later and over a larger time frame; I would say 5-14 years old. Some weekends I would get to stay at my grandma's house. For breakfast she would make me sourdough toast and put butter and homemade strawberry jam on it. I would eat slowly while she was still in the kitchen then she would go to take a shower and I would sneakily, with my heart racing, make two more slices of toast with twice as much butter and jam on it. I didn't want her to think that I was "greedy" or a "pig" so I would eat it and clean up the mess before she was out of the shower. If I ate too much at home I was called a greedy pig and I was told to "save some for someone else".

During the same time frame I would also spend some weekends at my aunt's house. And she always had two to four boxes of cocoa pebbles and I would eat them all; sometimes on the first morning so then I would have to eat another cereal that I didn't like as much the second morning. At home I was only allowed one small bowl of wheaties.

I was always a skinny kid and always kind of hungry. Then high school and puberty. In high school I would throw away my packed lunch that was "healthy" which was usually a sandwich, 8 ounces of chips, and a piece of fruit. And I would buy the gooeyest-cheesyest-greasyest slice of pizza and soggy fries from the cafeteria. I was bullied from junior high school on so I never ate in the cafeteria. I was either sitting outside alone or sitting in my boyfriend's car. 

Then driving and fast food came into the picture. A cheeseburger at McDonald's was .35 cents. I ate a lot of those. And candy from the convenience store. And soda. I always had soda in my life. There is a picture of me as a baby being held with a glass soda bottle up to my mouth like a baby-bottle. We used to always have a 2 liter bottle of coke in the fridge. I honestly do not think that I ever consumed a single glass of water until I was 19, my boyfriend at the time was into health and was always telling me to "chug this" water and to stop drinking so much soda. 

When I was 17 years old I had an abusive boyfriend. We would eat four or five chicken little sandwiches at KFC while sitting in his truck then something would happen (or nothing would happen) and he would scream and yell about it and then he would hit me. Afterwards we would make up by going to his house and grating a pound of tillamook cheddar cheese and melting it on flour tortillas.

When I was 18 I started dating a divorcee. I on average weighed 120 pounds at that time. He was still in love with his ex-wife and would always talk about her beauty, thinness, and how she was a ballerina. And how he wished they were still together and would never be able to love again because of her. The first time I vomited after eating was when him and I were at McDonald's. As soon as we finished our meal I got up and went to the disgusting bathroom, stuck my finger down my throat and puked. It splashed back into my face. I didn't think about it. I didn't plan it. I didn't consider what I was doing. I just did it. I didn't know anyone else who did that and that was before the internet and social media. I thought it was just me.

I occasionally vomited after that. Not regularly. I started taking laxatives regularly. The laxatives made my bowels move so fast that I would take my multi-vitamin in the morning and less than an hour later I would pass it out, undigested.

I stopped vomiting in college. Not because I realized how wrong it was or because I got healthy. I stopped vomiting because it was bursting blood vessels in my forehead that looked like acne. So I just took more laxatives instead.

I was sexually assaulted and had an abortion at the age of 21. Then had what I now think of as a nervous breakdown. I saw a therapist who diagnosed me with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She gave me Zoloft and that made me feel so much worse. I stopped taking it suddenly without help and I stopped seeing her, I just didn't show up for our last appointment and never returned her calls.

I went to taco bell every single night at about 10pm, after having barely eaten all day, and I would eat 5 crunchy tacos - a nacho - a gordita - and anything else that sounded good. I would need 10 packets of hot sauce. Sometimes I would go through the drive through twice. I gained 35 pounds in just a few months and completely trashed my gallbladder. I weighed 155 pounds on the day of the surgery to remove my gallbladder which was my highest weight.

When I had my gallbladder removed I was given no dietary guidelines. I tried to resume eating as normal but EVERYTHING made me sick. I pooped my pants. I had no idea what was going on. So I went to see an herbalist who explained that the gallbladder digests fat so I needed to eat less fat. And to detox my liver. She gave me herbs and I started learning about food; a little. 

Everything I ate was still processed but it had no fat. I found a book called the three day detox. It is a three day juice fast that includes a daily enema. 

After that I ate very little (1000 calories a day and less than 10 grams of fat) and I had at least one enema a day and I would frequently fast for 3 days. I lost 50 pounds in 8 months. I was 105 pounds and I had 4% body fat. I stopped getting my period.

Then I married an alcoholic. I was depressed and anxious and lonely and sad and hurt. I was also ashamed of myself for having married the "wrong guy". I would starve myself for the first half of every day trying to make up for the night before. But then when evening would hit I would have a big dinner. Then a trip to Burger King for a whopper and fries. Then a trip to Dairy Queen for an XL large cherry cheesecake blizzard with extra cheesecake. I kept having enemas and taking laxatives. When I got a divorced I weighed 140 pounds.

Two months after the divorce and I was back down to 115 pounds. I ate a 10 oz salad for lunch, lettuce/chicken/salsa. And a hot pocket for dinner. I would share the hot pocket with my dog. I would also drink a pot of coffee and 3-4 energy drinks and a 6 pack of coke every day. All while smoking a pack of cigarettes every day. I also continued to have enemas.

Then a new relationship. A healthy one. A good guy. But yes, he did come with his own complications and drama. I continued to have enemas but convinced him and myself that they were healthy. I started changing my relationship with food again. I became a vegan. I ate a lot of bread and processed meat alternatives. And I went back up to 140 pounds.

Then, finally, everything changed for me. For Good. I started getting mentally healthier. I was married to a good man who loved me. Seriously loved me! I was seeing a therapist. Finally, I was correctly diagnosed with PTSD. Catherine was a gentle spiritual woman who saw my fear of prescription meds and instead of pressuring me suggested St John's Wort, Codependents Anonymous and Yoga. I loved all three and saw immediate results in the way I felt. 

The St John's Wort literally turned off the inner critic in my mind and allowed me to BE without judgement. Codependents Anonymous allowed me to see the unhealthy toxic relationships in my life that were triggering me to act-out with food. And Yoga, which I had been occasionally practicing since freshman year at college, became a life-line and a bridge between my body, mind, and spirit.

I learned the difference between processed foods and whole foods. I cut out processed foods and sugar. I stopped having enemas and taking laxatives. I started running. I read so many nutrition books (not diet books). I studied hard. I looked at myself. I looked at the compulsive nature of my actions. There is no difference between an eating disorder and an addiction. I also think it is like a lot of other self-harm behaviors. The pain and guilt that I felt after eating far too much food was a huge distraction (and relief) from the pain and the guilt that I felt just from being me. I had to learn to love myself. I had to stop punishing myself and I had to let go of the toxic people in my life who continued to put me down and make me not like myself. 

I have been a healthy weight and had a healthy relationship with food for eight years. I weigh 125 pounds. Currently, what works for me, is eating 3 meals a day and, in general, not snacking. I don't eat dairy or gluten or sugar. I find all three of those foods trigger me. Physically and Psychologically. They give me tummy aches but make me want to eat more or them. As does processed foods. I follow the 90% rule...

90% Whole Unprocessed Foods - 90% Plants - 90% Organic

Why not 100%? Because when the "rules" get that strict, I also find it to be triggering. 

In my opinion, the only way out of an eating disorder is to deal with the issues, deal with the past, the low self-esteem, the trauma, the abuse. Therapy helps. Learning about nutrition really helps. But most importantly surrounding yourself with healthy loving people helps. Love Heals. And being true to your values. And loving yourself. It has taken me a long time to get myself to a point where I can say I LOVE YOU TANYA and truly mean it. Please love yourself. 

Abortion is Healthcare

I had an abortion when I was 21. I don't usually tell anyone about that. I am not ashamed. I am simply sad. And I feel it to the core of my being.

I did not want an abortion, I wanted a baby. I had always wanted babies. Many. It was in my plan. Unfortunately, my long-term partner did not want a child. He was seven years older than me and had been married and had a child. He had his heart broken when he divorced and had sworn never to re-marry or have more children. I think he secretly also swore never to love again, which is why he always kept me at arm's distance even though he did love me.

But, given my childhood, loving someone who pretended not to love me felt normal. I was scared to death when I found out that I was pregnant. But I was also excited. I was six weeks along and had gone to the doctor thinking that I had an ulcer. I was shocked to find out that I was pregnant. Literally shocked; I started chanting the word "What" then fell to the ground and turned ghostly white. This was not what I expected. 

I told my boyfriend and the first words out of his mouth were, "What are your thoughts on abortion?" I immediately had him drive me to the bookstore and purchased the book What to Expect When You are Expecting. I thought he would come around. Because I knew deep down that he loved me. And I knew what his values were. He was a good guy, he was just scared.

But, for six weeks he rode me. Daily. Grinding me into the ground, "You and that baby will starve to death on ramen before I help you." We had stopped living together. I cried myself to sleep every single night alone in my bed. Actually, it wasn't a bed. I was sleeping on a stack of blankets because I couldn't afford a bed. I was dirt poor. I was working for $5.25 an hour at a convenience store. My boyfriend was rich, literally rich, and he just watched me suffer.

I got a terrible cold and didn't take anything for it and it seemed to last forever. I quit smoking, cold turkey, the day that I found out. I was having terrible withdrawal symptoms but couldn't do anything for it. It was winter and I had been diagnosed with Major Chronic Depression, which was always far worse for me in the long dark winter months. So, to put it mildly, I was a mess.

My boyfriend's younger brother, who was my age, was an addict. Hardcore. He was looking at prison time for hitting an old man in the side of the head with his skateboard. He started showing up and talking to me, nicely. He said that if his brother wasn't going to do the right thing then he would. It felt really good to be treated kindly. Even if he always stank of alcohol while he talked to me.

One night, immediately after a huge blowup with my boyfriend where he broke up with me and said that he no longer wanted to talk to me, I went to his brother's house. I was inconsolable. We had sex. I went completely numb and limp and I cried silently. Immediately afterwards his brother said that he had plans for later that night. He got up and got ready to leave. I quietly left and drove myself home. I had hit Rock Bottom. 

The next day I found an abortion clinic. And I made the appointment for the following week. I kept to myself for that week. Broken Hearted and Barely Alive. 

I went to bed the night before my appointment. I laid awake for hours. I wasn't thinking at all, I was just lying there in physical pain. My heart and soul were completely broken. I had just dozed off... 

I was later told by my roommate that there had been loud knocking on the door. It was my boyfriend's brother. My roommate just let him in and went back to bed. 

He came into my bedroom. He was drunk and high and stunk. He took off his clothes and laid down next to me. All I said was, "NO. I can't. It will hurt the baby." And I said this over and over again as he climbed on top of me and tried to take my clothes off. I struggled against him. This lasted for about 10 minutes. He shouted "Fuck!" and then he jumped up and put one hand around my throat while he masturbated in my face. 

When he was done he rolled off of me. I just laid there and I think that he thought he was going to sleep. I began pushing him to get up,  I lied to him and told him that his brother was coming over and that we had plans to talk. I begged him to leave. "Please, you have to go before he gets here." Finally he stood up and headed for the door. As he was leaving he looked back at me and said, "I love you."

As soon as he was gone I ran to the bathroom and vomited. I laid on the bathroom floor. I spent the rest of the night locked in the bathroom. And in the morning I made the three hour drive to Portland for my appointment. That was the closest clinic to my home.

When I got to the clinic I had to verify my identity with an armed security guard and he had to buzz me in through a metal door that had a glass window. The window had a sign on it saying that it was bulletproof.

The women at the clinic were very kind to me. They explained to me ALL of my options and they answered all of my questions.

I am to be the first person seen today. But, I’m not the only one there early. I look around the waiting room and it occurs to me that I am the only woman there alone. All of the women have men with them. But, I think that I am not really alone. No, for a few more precious moments I have my baby with me, in me, a part of me.

My memory magically transplants me from the internal hysteria of the waiting room to the blind numb fear in the tiny back closet of a changing room. I’m sitting on an army cot.They give me a basket for my clothes and a gown to put on. My clothes seem to melt and fall into the basket.  Somehow I manage to tie the knots on the gown. Now I sit again.

My hands on my stomach, holding my baby for the last time. Holding my stomach as if I were nine months pregnant and waiting for the doctor to arrive and deliver my baby. Deliver me. 

Blackness, again a magical transportation of my body into another room. I am lying on the table. There is a girl sitting next to me. She is explaining that they will only be giving me nitrous because I have to drive myself home and the valium would last too long.

No memory.   NITROUS.

A doctor. What happened first? Talking. The feeling of de JA vu. I know everything she is going to say before she says it. Giving me more nitrous, she asks about my schooling and blah, blah, blah.  She’s holding my hand.

I think?

Or, did I just grab her hand. Grabbing and gripping her hand in pain. The sound of a vacuum.  Roaring so loud in my ears.  

WOOSHING

WOOSHING

NITROUS

Sucking. All I can hear is bloody sucking. So much pain. So unreal. Wet Sucking. I can hardly breathe. Are they stabbing me with knives? Are they tearing my uterus out of me? I’m being ripped apart. What are they doing?

Oh God Stop!

Tearing my baby apart. Tearing my soul out my cunt. Darkness. Bright beautiful flashes of a beautiful baby boy, Vincent. I see a daughter, Kiara. Voices again. Why am I hearing everything twice? “Almost done.” Heard twice or was it heard once and remembered once? Picture in my mind of my beautiful mutilated baby. Bloody arm, face, leg – all in a clear plastic garbage bag.

No memory.  Only absolute darkness.

I find myself hunched over and walking into the “recovery” room. As if I could ever recover from this. Still high. Still dying. I lay on a gurney next to a window. There is a heating pad placed on my now empty uterus.  

Finally, I cry.  

Sob. 

Shake.

And I apologize for crying to anyone who will listen. I lay their trembling and staring out the window. I look at the tall buildings of Portland. So different from my home. Look at those tall buildings. 

The city.  

“I will never forget how the world looks at this moment.”

Unexpectedly I call for the nurse. I ask her if I am bleeding because I feel wet all over but I can’t seem to pull myself up to look. She lifts the sheet and says “a little” and leaves.

Now, after staring, crying, praying, resting and trying to stop the pain. I ask for help getting up.  I can go when I’m ready. When did they tell me that? I think I’m ready.

I’m led to the bathroom, still hunched over from the pain. I’m staring at the two girls who have been added to the room. One looks how I feel, and the other one looks like she just had her hair cut and isn’t quite sure if she likes it.

“Don’t flush the swabs - they will clog the toilet.”  

“What?”

“Make sure you use a pad, not a tampon.”

“What?”

I’m in the bathroom now trying to figure out why I can no longer understand anything.

I look down.

My white gown is solid red from the waist down. Did that happen after I asked the nurse if I was bleeding?

Did she lie to keep me calm? Or is this really only a little bit of blood to her?

I’m trying to dress when the door opens.

“oops - sorry”

I smile “oh that’s o.K.”

Now I am gone. When did I leave the clinic? How did I get out of the building? How did I manage to find my car? My key?  I have a yellow pouch of pills in my hand. Advil? 800mg?

I also have a pocket full of big bulky pads. The kind I haven’t worn since I was in middle school. 

My time warp has again transplanted me somewhere new. I’m sitting in my car.

I will tell everyone I miscarried. I don’t need to tell anyone the truth. They won’t understand.  

They will think I’m bad.

OW!!

It still hurts so badly.  

Three hour drive home. Home to the world of no abortions. Home to the world of my judgmental family, my distant friends, and my boyfriend who wanted this. But I won’t tell him  I won’t let him think he won. My decision. My choice. Not his.

I will deal with this alone. Because now, I am alone.

I was two that became one.

I thank God that I had the choice and that I made the choice that I did. I'm grateful that I could have a safe and legal abortion. I could not imagine having to go through what I did while also having to procure an illegal abortion. Because I would have had an abortion either way. If I had to drive to Mexico or go to a stranger's dirty basement it wouldn't have mattered because I would have made the same choice. Nothing could have stopped me.

Abortion is Healthcare. Abortion is private. Abortion decisions should be made between a woman and her doctor. Women across this country should not have to tell their private stories. But we do. Because, unfortunately, the private is political. And, the only way that we can secure the right of all women to make their own medical decisions with only their doctor is by telling our stories. And by voting. And by being an activist for other women. #metoo

Miss Beautiful Tulip

This is my Farewell to you, 

My Beautiful Tulip.

Who would I be, 

If we had never met?

Would I even be,

If you hadn't of been?

Patient - Kind - Sympathetic

Loving - Wise - Understanding

You were everything I needed.

Never Judgmental.

Never Angry.

You were the woman in my life,

my mentor - my mother.

You could listen to me for hours,

And talk for even longer.

Sitting outside on your porch,

The minutes turning into hours...

The hours turning into days...

The days turning into years.

You Knew Me - the real me.

And you loved me.

You offered me advice and guidance,

And wiped my tears when I didn't follow it.

You told me that the saddest thing you ever saw,

Was my lip trembling while I cried.

You said it broke your heart.

And when I was sad,

You would make me

Warm Oatmeal and Pour

Cold Milk on top.

You were my friend,

And I was yours.

You told me all of your secrets, 

Your dreams and your fears,

And I kept them dear.

Feeling honored by your trust and respect.

Thank you.

I love you.

I will miss you. Forever.

Interplanetary

 

Where am I? 

Where am I!

The veil of darkness lifting,

Moonlight penetrating my pupils.

My vision tunnels,

I sit up.

Breathing labored, looking around

Seeing only darkness.

Remnants of dreams lingering,

Where am I?

I look straight ahead,

Door open to the night’s 

Cacophony of sounds….

Frogs, dogs, wind through aspens.

But I see only my dreamscape,

My desert memories.

Otherworldly splashes of colored sand.

Where am I!

My heart beats faster, 

Am I safely nestled into my bed

Or

Am I sleeping in my van,

On the side of the road

Behind a rock as big as a house

Hiding from rangers and rednecks

Boondocking on public lands.

Where am I?

The wind whips red sand into the van,

I sit up further, straining my neck and my gaze.

Staring at the full moon rising in my windshield.

The coyotes howl and the wind shakes the van,

Where am I!

Home in my Bed, sleeping with grizzlies outside my open door?

Or,

Home in my Van, sleeping with tarantulas outside my open door?

The wind howls - my husband snores.

I lay my head back on my pillow,

Where am I.

I am here and I am there.

I am nowhere.

I am everywhere.

No Contact

“TAKE HEED TO YOURSELVES: IF SOMEONE  TRESPASS AGAINST THEE, REBUKE THEM; AND IF THEY REPENT, FORGIVE THEM”

Luke 17:3

Trespass: to do wrong, to cause injury

Rebuke: to inform another of their wrongdoing

Repent: to admit fault, apologize, and make amends

Forgive: conscious and deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment towards someone who has harmed you

Side By Side

 

It is Easy to pray for someone that you are in alignment with. It is easy to pray for someone whom you view as good. It is easy to pray for them to have good health, happiness, joy, prosperity, and peace. You genuinely want them to thrive.

It is Hard to pray for someone that has views that are the complete opposite of everything that you hold dear. It is hard to pray for someone that you consider to be bad or evil. It is hard to pray for them to have good health, happiness, joy, prosperity, and peace when that person's actions have taken away your good health or happiness or joy or prosperity or peace.

In order to grow. In order to cultivate kindness. In order to cultivate compassion. You must pray for those whom you hate. Pray for them in an unselfish way. Do not pray that they "wake up and see the light". Do not pray that they suddenly change who are they and become the person that you want them to be. Simply pray for them. Simply try to open your heart. Simply wish them to have good health, happiness, joy, prosperity, and peace because they are a human being and living on this planet with you.

It will be hard. It will hurt. It will make you angry. It will make you sad. But sit with that and ask yourself, "Why does this person have the power to make me hurt? Why does this person have the power to make me feel angry or sad?"

Ask yourself... If you hate someone because you feel that they are hateful doesn't your hate make you hateful as well? Hate is Hate. Do not become hate. Become unconditional love.

Do not be kind to someone simply because they are kind to you. Be kind to someone because the nature of your being is kindness.

Do not let people change your core. Be Love. Be Light. Be Kindness. Be Compassion.

I pray that BOTH of the men in this picture have good health, happiness, joy, prosperity and peace. I pray that BOTH of the men in this picture spend this evening sharing a delicious with meal with all of the people that they love most in this world. Namaste

“In this world

Hate never yet dispelled hate

Only love dispels hate

This is the law

Ancient and inexhaustible

You too shall pass away

Knowing this, how can you quarrel”

~Buddha~

Your Flesh Becomes My Flesh

When I dream, I dream in color

Slow walks, tiny kisses

At first I could only see you sick,

As the years passed you came back to life

While I slept.

Thank you for teaching me,

unconditional love and trust.

Thank you for teaching me,

about life and death.

Thank you for teaching me,

how to open myself to this world

and to this life.

Thank you for teaching me,

how to grieve.

Letting go of you, piece by piece 

Step by step

Scattered across this country

Sabino Creek - Monte Sano - Death Valley

Your earthly remains are now gone.

Yet your soul forever lives in mine.

Disconsolate

"Ernest Hemingway once wrote, 'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.' I agree with the second part." ~Seven~

Blessed Art Thou Amongst Women

"August said, 'Listen to me now, Lily. I'm going to tell you something I want you always to remember, all right?' Her face had grown serious. Intent. Her eyes did not blink. 

'All right,' I said, and I felt some electric slide down my spine. 

'Our Mother Mary is not some magical being out there somewhere, like a fairy godmother. She's not the statue in the parlor. She's something inside of you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?' 

'Our Mother Mary is inside me,' I repeated, not sure that I did. 

'You have to find a mother inside yourself. WE ALL DO. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.'" ~Sue Monk Kidd~

New Life

 

Melting

 

Look past the pain and find the beauty that is life.

Why are my eyes more beautiful after I weep?

“People suffer at the thought of being without parents, without food, or without worth. Yet in losing much is gained. And, in gaining much is lost.” ~Lao Tzu~

Fitful Sleep

 

Horrendous. Atrocious. Demonic. 

War! Invasion! Attack!

Changing the words does not change reality.

Cruelty. Insanity. Criminal.

You cannot rationalize with an irrational person.

Bloodshed. Bombings. Destruction.

The possibility of ending all life on earth, on the table.

Unprecedented. Unknown. Undeniable.

Mind grasping at straws in the darkness,

to wrap around the unwrappable.

Is this a dream, or reality.

Murder. Violence. Death.

Gruesome. Grisly. Ghastly.

Destroy the Destroyer before all is Destroyed.

Sagebrush

The peace that you seek is the peace that you will find, stepping into the unknown. Unable to visualize an alternative reality, believing that all that you have seen is normal. Not even knowing what to hope for, having never gleaned serenity in this life. Trusting, that what comes next has to be better than what has come before. Crashing, rock bottom. Rise again, and again. Keep rising. The only way to fail is to stay down. Up! Up, I say! Get up! The command comes from a voice far away, and within. Are you talking to me? Rise again. Leave all the you have known in the bottomless abyss, step forward into the light. Don’t look back… Step by Step. Piece by Piece. Bit by Bit. Let go of your past. Take the burden off, remove your pack. Open it. Look inside. Pull out each item. Hold it. Love it, no matter how much it hurt you. Make friends with everything inside. Go slowly. Be real. Cry, scream, yell… destroy it. And leave it behind. Discard it on the path. Leave no trace of it within you. Keep going. Keep walking, every step leaving another piece behind. Set down your burdens. Empty your pack. Throw the pack into the canyon, hurl it! Carry no more. The only thing you need from this moment forward is all the love and happiness and peace that your hands and heart can hold. Rejoice! 

Pause

 

Pause to Notice Which Way The Wind is Coming From

Healing With Self-Care

"As I often tell my students, the two most important phrases in therapy, as in yoga, are 'Notice that' and 'What happens next?' Once you start approaching your body with curiosity rather than with fear, everything shifts.”  ~Bessel van der Kolk~

“Everybody wants to change the world, but most people can’t even change themselves.” 

~Tolstoy~

Try to heal, try to change:

1. Prayer

2. Meditation 

3. Therapy 

4. Acupuncture 

5. EMDR (release trauma)

6. 12 Step

7. Massage 

8. Journal 

9. Read

10. Create

11. Hypnosis (reprogram)

12. Go To Nature, Every Day

13. Yoga

14. Eat Only Organic Whole Foods, Mostly Plants

15. Exercise 

16. Cultivate Friendships

17. Surrender

18. Prioritize Sleep

19. No Intoxicants

20. Remove Toxic Relationships 

21. Be of Service

22. Get a Good Doctor 

23. Do Not Consume Violent Images/Music

24. Meaningful Work

25. Forgiveness Practice 

26. Sing

27. Dance

28. Find Your Purpose, Follow It

29. Pranayama (breath work)

30. Affirmations 

31. Participate in Community 

32. Grieve Your Losses

33. Communicate Kindly & Honestly, Always

34. “No.” Is A Complete Sentence

35. Establish Boundaries 

“And this above all else, To Thine Own Self Be True!”

 ~Shakespeare~

Shade of the Tree

"Where are you my smallest child??? Have you run to the cool of the shade of the trees? In the park where the air is so fresh and cool that you feel the need to inhale deeply..........walk slowly through that park as the asphalt begins just over there......... I miss you! I love you! K-Mommy”

Lying, face down in the sweet green grass 

Breaths coming in gasps 

she is dying. 

she has fled the confines of her bed, her prison. 

she has shed the robe that had bound her too tightly. 

and, now, here she lies. 

naked and bare 

exposed to the earth. 

voices from another time shouting.... "no" "rise" "keep fighting" "stay with us" 

she raises her single index finger,

as if to say "give me a minute" 

knowing that a minute is all she has.  

she whispers. "be quiet and I will describe death to you" 

her eyes dilate

and the intense light feels dark. 

the earth is humming. 

and she hums with it. 

in tune 

in the moment she wonders if she has ever been this alive before? 

at one with the earth and at peace with herself. 

she dies.

Simplify

 

Dust in My Eyes

“I am not what I think I am, and I am not what you think I am. I am what I think you think I am.”

 ~Charles Horton Cooley~

The Buddha said there are three types of people. The first is born with their eyes fully open, they are the rarest. Most are born with their eyes fully caked in mud. They will never awaken. But a few are born with merely dust in their eyes; needing only to find the tools and the teacher to help them remove this dust and to awaken. How do we find the tools and the teacher? The guru? When most of us have been buried in the debris of our parents and the chaos of others, ancestral demons handed down generation after generation, trained from birth by society to consume or be consumed. How do we let go? Let go of not only our past but our material possessions as well; the things that bind us to this earth and remove us from the reality of our true selves - our true natures! Who were you before you were born? Where did you come from? Who would you be if owned nothing? Had nothing? Hoarded nothing? When you know this, and you do not question the reality of your divinity - then, and only then, the dust begins to move. And who will you be after you die? And where do you go? The cosmic universe is merely an ocean and we are merely waves. Neither lasting forever nor never existing. Divinity. Impermanence.

UNIVERSAL COSMIC BLISS! 

Are you talking to me?

Trust It

“I used to feel impatient with the old me: why was she wasting time? why was she with that man? at that appointment? forgetting to say the most important thing? why wasn’t she wiser, more productive, happier? But lately, I’ve begun to feel a tenderness for her; a welling up of tears in the back of my throat when I remember her. I think: she’s doing the best that she can. She survived! And she is still trying so hard! 

We are so many selves. It’s not just the long-ago child within us who needs tenderness and inclusion, but the person we were last year, the person that we wanted to be yesterday, the one we tried to become in one new job or in one winter. Or in one love affair or in one house that even now when we close our eyes we can smell the rooms of. What brings together these ever shifting selves of infinite reactions and returning is this: there is always one true inner voice. Trust it.” ~Gloria Steinem~

“Between stimulus and response lies a space. In that space lie our freedom and power to choose a response. In our response lies our growth and our happiness.” ~Victor Frankl~

2/11/77

“We grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves.” ~Mary Lamberton Becker~

“A woman wins by giving herself and other women permission: to eat, to be sexual, to age, to wear a boiler suit or a paste tiara or a Balenciaga gown or a secondhand opera cloak or combat boots, to cover-up or to go practically naked; to do whatever she chooses in following her own aesthetic. A woman wins when she feels that what each woman does with her own body is her own business.” ~Gloria Steinem~

This is Me.

This is 45.

I am in Love…

With myself,

With my life,

With the mystery,

With the mountains,

With the deserts,

With the seas,

With the grizzly,

With the rattlesnake,

With the shark,

With Shiva,

With my husband,

With my children,

With my family,

With my friends,

With you,

And, with everyone.

Ten Commandments

God, Please Help Me Today,

To Cultivate Life

To Be Generous 

To Be Loving

To Speak My Truth 

To Own Nothing 

To Be Healthy 

To Be Content 

To Know Myself 

To Cultivate Compassion 

And To Remain Awake and Aware

Born A Woman

“Tears are tears, suffering is suffering, and our feelings are to be trusted.” 

~Gloria Steinem~

Was I Four

Or Was I Three

Was it the 

Wee Bear

Or Was it just

Them Two

I know.

I remember.

I’ve always known.

I’ve always remembered.

I saw the 

Fear in their eyes

When they asked,

Do you Remember 

The Wee Bear?

Yes, haha.

Laughing instead of Crying 

The silent tears still

Falling

Innocence Destroyed

Trust Annihilated

Growth Stunted

Entire Future Changed

Irreversibly Irrevocably Inevitability 

Ancestral Demons

Handed down

Generation after Generation 

The only one who could have

Saved me

Then, and Then again

And Again 

Blinded in her Childish Allegiance 

To Them

And not to Me

Her Body housed me,

Grew me

Gifted me, Life.

Her soul stayed closed to me,

Never let me in

Her heart an Iron Door

Forever Locked

Apologies Amends Acknowledgement 

Accountability!

 

Never to come.

They gave me their Demons,

All Three of Them

Through Misdeeds and Misactions

Now my battle concludes.

Eradication Exorcism Ejection 

Rejecting Shame.

The Shame

Was never mine 

To own

Never belonging to me

Placed on Me

Placed on Woman 

With open hands

I give back

The shame that

You Earned

the body keeps score*

My dad was 22 years old when he met my mother. She was 15 years old. My dad and his older brother Joe, who was 23, said that they went to the playground to look for “dates”. First Joe asked my mother out and she said yes but he didn’t show up for the date. So then my dad asked her out. A year later my mother’s parents drove them to Reno to get married and my mom dropped out of school in the 9th grade. A year after that, when my mother was 17 and my father was 24, they had me.

To My Parents:

I already know how this conversation will go. You’ll ask why I’m so serious, so angry, why I can’t let go of the past. You’ll ask if I have a therapist, why I blame everything on you, and when I’ll take responsibility for my own life. Then you’ll insist you did nothing wrong but also say you’ve learned from your mistakes—contradictory, but I’m the only one who notices. 

You’ll say you’re too old to discuss this, that Joe is dead, and that we shouldn’t speak ill of him. You’ll minimize my childhood, compare it to yours  and say that yours was worse but not actually tell me about it. You’ll demand that I respect and honor my parents like; you do yours. 

You’ll tell me that I am making it up, for attention.

Or perhaps, even though you have told the story a hundred times including in the company of my husband, because it is such a “fun” story, you will actually deny it. It wouldn’t be the first time that you have denied something that at one time or another was common knowledge and a funny joke to tell people about. But here is the deal; it is not funny. It has never been funny. It will never be funny. People who were not a part of our messed up family drama only laughed because they were uncomfortable. They only laughed because they didn’t want to make anyone feel bad. Or they laughed because they thought it should be funny to them even though they never felt that it was funny. That is how it was for me. Every time I heard the story told or was asked if I had any memory of the actual event I would feel sick to my stomach. My heart would sink and shrink inside of me. And my mind would go numb. It still does.

 But I would laugh for you. 

I was somewhere between the ages of three and five years old and we were living in that little apartment. Mom was around 20 years old and working at Kmart. Dad and Joe were 27-29 years old and neither of them were employed, other than side hustles of breaking and entering, stealing prescription pads from doctors, and petty theft from local businesses. They were both heroine addicts and taking pain meds and whatever other drugs they could get their hands on. All three of you drank and you all smoked tobacco and weed. Yes, that is the environment that I spent my precious toddler years. There was no daycare or safe space, Mom left for work and Joe and Dad were charged with “babysitting” me. 

A question comes up here, when Mom kicked Dad and Joe out, because they wouldn’t quit using heroine and actually stuck the needle in Mom’s arm when she demanded that they showed her what the big deal was. (she didn't like it, she said)

And Mom kept working but as she put it “became very depressed” who watched me then? Did anyone watch me? Or was I simply left alone to fend for myself? I do remember being alone. Alone in my room. Alone in the stairwell (and eating cups of sugar). Alone and running around outside. Alone and going into the neighbors houses while they were at work (and eating cake).

But to the point, the question! The story that has spawned yet another attempt on my part for clarity and answers. I’ll tell it from Mom’s perspective, since that is the way that I remember and hear it in my head, the hilarious story to be told at family get-togethers and when I would bring a boyfriend home to meet the parents.  

“I was headed to bed and Wes was still in the living room watching t.v. when I walked by Tanya’s room and the door was open a crack so I looked in and their was Joe peeing all over her, the bed, and her stuffed animals! He got so drunk he thought it was the bathroom (insert laughter here). Well I went right out and got Wes so that he could go in there and get his brother.” 

(end story) (laugh again)

How could you, Dear Mother, seeing a man peeing on your small child in her bed, then walk away to get someone else to stop him? How could you, Dear Father, not get angry at your brother for peeing on your child? Who cleaned up the mess? Who washed my sheets and bedding? When did you wash it? In the morning or did you stay up late and wash them right then? Who washed me? Was I given a shower or a bath? (or neither) Did you wash my stuffed animals or did you throw them away. Did you talk to me about it afterwards? Did you tell me what happened? (It’s ok sweetie your Uncle just peed all over you while you were sleeping.) Was I awake while he was peeing on me or did you have to wake me up to clean the mess. Or if I didn’t wake up did you just let me sleep in his pee until morning? Why did you think it was funny? 

And, here we go...

Why does this story get brought up along with the “Wee Wee” Bear? Why was my stuffed animal named “Wee Wee”? Why did Dad and Joe call me “MaMa”? Why did they talk to me with in that voice. Why did they move that bear up my body? Why did they have me lift my shirt up? Why did they do this at night while I went to sleep. Why do you think that I remember the tones of your voice being sexual and “naughty”? Just like boobs on t.v. were “naughty”. Why do you think that all this bothers me so much? Why do you think it keeps me up at night? Why do you think I can’t help but wonder what happened? Why do you think that it makes me nauseous? Why do you think that it makes my heart ache? Why do you think that it makes my jaw ache? Why do you think that it scares me? Why do you think that it makes me sad? Why do you think that I can’t let it go?

And why was my damn stuffed bear called “Wee Wee” Bear?

“Kiss the Wee Wee Bear!”

(sounds like a good cover story, she said she kissed a Wee Wee or that was just her stuffed animal)

I have memories of the Wee Wee bear and them touching me with it and wiggling it up my body and saying the word “MaMa" as if it were a dirty word. Of them getting me to lift my shirt and show my dad and uncle my chest while I was in the bed and they were both there. 

Throughout my teenage and adult years both Dad and Joe both asked me so many times, with weird looks on their faces, “Do you remember the Wee Wee bear?” Yes, I would say and fake laugh. Then I would end the conversation by changing it or leaving the room. I never wanted to talk to them about it and I always felt a huge surge of anger when they would ask. And, hurt.

1995:  

I had asked my mom but I was very vague in what I was asking and she just sort of quickly laughed it off and left the room, I clearly remember it as we were in her bedroom standing by her dresser and she just walked out. I was 18 at the time and had been having panic attacks after having an abusive boyfriend. The panic attacks made me think about the bear. But after she left the room I remember I just stood and stared at the floor. 

2002:

I never told anyone about my memories until I met E, my first husband. We were standing on his front porch and it was very late and he’d been drinking and he told me about how his older cousin had molested him when he was 12 years old. He told me that he had started drinking shortly after that. I shared my memories with him and it felt safe. He believed me. He cared. After E and I got married we both decided to work on our issues so I participated in a 12 week support group for incest survivors. I went to every single session but one and grew deeply during the experience, but I did not go to the last group meeting. We were all supposed to share our story and then we would say good-bye. I neither wanted to share my story nor say good-bye so I just didn’t go. However at the end of it I decided that I would confront both of my parents at the same time and finally get the answers to my questions.

2003: 

I planned to confront both of you, but the morning I was going to, Joe died. I drove to Bend and stayed at my in-law’s house on Friday night and was going to ask my parents on Saturday afternoon. On Saturday morning my mom called and said that my uncle had died during the night. He had gone out drinking for his 50th birthday, drank too much, went home and passed out, threw up in his mouth, and choked to death on it. My grandma was there and was the one who found him and performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. We were all devastated.

2006:

I finally worked up the courage to ask, again. My mom showed up at the house that night and I started to change my mind about asking her. She had trained me well to be fearful of her. Her rage and insults are unrelenting when she doesn't like something that I have said or done. But I was sitting on the couch and she was starting towards the door to leave and I asked her: Mom? Did Dad and Joe touch me when we lived in the apartments? She replied, “What?”. And I said, “I have these memories about the two of them touching me and I’m just trying to figure things out. And I was wondering what you remember?”

BOOM! I literally felt the earth shake.

“YOU DIRTLY LITTLE SLUT! MAKING UP SEX FANTASIES ABOUT YOUR DAD AND YOUR UNCLE! AND YOUR UNCLE IS DEAD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD SAY ANYTHING BAD ABOUT HIM, HE’S DEAD! AND YOUR DAD! YOU FUCKING LITTLE WHORE! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU! YOU’RE CRAZY! YOU NEED TO GET THERAPY TO FIGURE OUT WHAT FUCKED UP THING IS GOING ON IN YOUR HEAD! YOU’VE SEEN TOO MANY FUCKING MOVIES! YOU DISGUST ME! YOUR DAD IS GOING TO BE SO DISAPPOINTED WHEN I TELL HIM! YOU’RE SICK! SICK IN THE HEAD!”

All that I could say in return was, “please don’t tell dad that I asked.”

She walked out the door and slammed it hard. About an hour later she called to let me know that she had told my dad and that they were both very disappointed in me and that I need help.

We Are All God’s Creatures

“Rather than God bless America, or whatever country you happen to reside in, Allah save our people, or Krishna bless those who believe in you, there is a simple GOD BLESS HUMANITY! Let me do all that I can to treat everyone, without exception, with goodness and kindness, as all of those whom we revere as spiritual masters have taught us by the example.” ~Wayne Dyer~

~I Honor The Place In You Where We Are All One~

“All things share the same breath: the beast, the tree, the human… What are people without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, people would die from a great loneliness of spirit.” ~Chief Seattle~