The memory of you

From the memory of you comes the meaning our exchange had in my life

You provided a way for me to see myself from a new angle

From beyond the shadow covering my vision of my forgotten self

You whispered to me in the dark and the cobwebs shuddered as you spoke

You made visible what was unseen

To deny your meaning in my life, is to deny a piece of myself and my history

Your spirit and mine tangled for a moment in time danced in the wild field

I could sense the moment you would fade from me

that moment approaching like a very distant ship in the dark waters of the atlantic

But, I remained the course, as you brought me something tangible as I was grasping for straws

and still the sound of your voice stirs something deep inside of me

Creativity’s Journey

From the belly of my being stirs excitement It sneaks up and rises like a wave ideas upon ideas flow like lava down a volcano, but they do not cool when they hit the air Seeds planted, they try to take root. The soil makes room for the seeds new found sense of life. Freedom whispers to me from beyond the glowing golden door. It feels heavy and I am afraid it’s weight might crush me. Breathe in and out, moving between the spaces, I reach a hand through a crack in the door. My hand dances for the rest of me, who is too afraid to move into the light.

What is a real Woman?

Am I a real Woman?

“Real women have curves.” You hear this from many different places. As “plus size” women do we try to over compensate by declaring ourselves better for having curves? Are we fighting against what has made us feel rejected for so long?

By saying real women have curves we are enacting the same “us, them” attitude that has gotten us into this mess in the first place.

Real women come in all shapes, sizes, sexual orientations, races, talents, likes, dislikes. In fact, I would really like to take out the word “Real” all together. It implies that the opposite is somehow fake in some way. I have many friends without curves and I’m pretty sure they are real and I’m pretty sure they are “real” women.

Am I being too serious? Can’t we joke? Yeah, I mean believe it or not I am a jokester. But, as a society we have taken appearance and telling people what is or is not good wayyyyyyy beyond where it needs to go. But this is a serious issue in society and people do end up with eating disorders as a result of societal judgements. What role could humor serve though? Could making this issue more lighthearted among friends relieve some of the tense energy around it? I would say…maybe…and know your crowd.

I joke around with my friends all of the time in fact. We joke about our bodies, and everything really. But, to make wide-spread judgements and campaigns about what a real woman is or is not isn’t too funny to me.

So don’t worry  anymore, get out there. Be a woman. Do your thing. Owning your “woman-ness” has nothing to do with curves or not.

Growth – a poem

A false sense of safety fills me as I peek out from the walls of my imaginary box.

For now, I will lay down in the corner of this space and wrap myself up in my warm comfort blanket.

Then, comes the time, that I will step forth out into the infinite unknown.

My breath will be taken for a minute, for my lungs only know expansion through a well defined space.

The familiar will become foreign and all sense of knowing will dissolve.

I will turn inward, then, to search for answers.

My heart will flutter as it scurries to make sense of what is happening.

I will try to crawl back into my box, but it will not fit and the sight of it will make me sick.

The feel of its cramped walls will make me scream as if it is suffocating me.

I will look around at everyone else in their boxes and feelings of envy will wash through me.

Look at how comfortable they are, sleeping so soundly.

Can I crawl in with you for a minute? Can I escape my new sense of uncertainty?

It feels good for a moment to have an escape and I welcome it.

But, as time passes, I recognize this is not my space, and I must leave in search of my own.

I hang on to something inside of me, a voice, a knowing that has always been there.

I hang on to the sound of unbridled childhood laughter.

I hang on to the sound of the ocean and the vantage point at the top of my favorite mountain.

I hang on to the wisdom of the great elephant and of my dream of the rhythmic river.

I hang on.

I hang on to cherish the mystery and to dance with the unknown.

I ask if the great mystery can be my new home.

I step out into widest deepest parts of myself and I take a deep breath.

I just keep breathing.

A Dance of Sorts…

You dance with me as your words flow from your heart.

We embrace in a way that is so profoundly familiar.

Your hand on mine through conversation.

I can sense you here and now at this moment because I know you.

Other people might never understand.

Maybe I don’t understand either.

Isn’t it nice sometimes to put aside reason and flow with the moment?

Although a definition is forming, you offer none to me.

Nor do I ask for any, as this might change the perfect moment.

In this time you are you, and I am me..and somewhere somehow our worlds are colliding in a dance.

We dance because there is a rhythm. We dance because there is life.

We dance because the music guides us to our place.

When the last note is played we realize the music plays on.

And then we start the dance all over again.

And your hand touches mine but still I have not seen you.


I breathed in and out.

My breath an expression of a thousand moments of intimacy exchanged between us.

Of a thousand moments within myself.

A relief passes over me and through me as if letting go…or hanging on.

You draw conclusions from what you see and from what you hear.

Which will make the most impact?

Will it be the silent moments in between words unsaid?

I worry about people’s thoughts of me still. (Sometimes)

Not that they will appear to know me through their first impressions…

but that they will fail to know me through their judgements.

Will we both miss out, then, on this experience like coming to a river and failing to feel the water between our toes?

Will you know my heart?

Will my soul speak to you in the moments that it speaks its truth?

Will my truth ring loudly in your ears?

What do you see beyond my outward manifestation?

Do you see me…Do you see who I am?

I am still here.

On Resistance…

You can resist what is, or shall I say you can try. 

With all of your might, fight that which exists in solid form.

It is there when you wake up, it is there when you sleep.

You can wrap it in brown paper and tuck it away in a trunk. 

You can give it away asking another to take it from you.

You can put a bow on it, so that it looks different.

Under the wrapping, under the bow, it is still what it is. 

You may even successfully put it away and “forget about it.” 

But sometimes when the wind blows, you are reminded of something, and you silently know it is that which you resist.

And it knows it is there. It is waiting there for you, ready for you to face it. 

And it seems the harder you try to resist it.

The more effort and strength you mount an attack against it, the stronger it seems to become. 

It becomes no stronger though, the strength of that which you resist is that thing plus your own resistance coming back at you.

Then, one day, you turn and face it. It hurts. 

It hurts so much deep within your soul, deep within your cells.

It dances and weaves it’s way through every part of your being.

You feel as if you might break into a million pieces.

This thing you now face is a part of you, and always has been.

The fear of acceptance flashes quickly. You sit with this fear, with this thing, with this resistance.

You realize if only you can understand this part of you, transforming that which you have resisted is possible.

You turn in the dark facing a mirror, and in the mirror it looks back at you and all the other pieces of yourself stare back from behind it, crying to be heard, to be seen again.

It is out of love for these other pieces, that you must love that which you fear the most.

Slowly with time you stop resisting.

But not like one who gives up hope.

You stop resisting with your heart and your mind open. 

You listen to this thing’s story. You feel what it is telling you. 

You sense within the fabric of your being that story for it comes in many ways. 

You draw it into your breath and for the first time in a very long time the pain subsides. 

Some realizations…for the morning.

Yellow Flower

I am writing a paper and am reflecting back on my life. I was doing this just this morning while sipping my coffee, sitting by the plants, watching the blue jays and letting the wind blow on my face. When, I thought of realizations…or quotes or something.

1. I am extremely sensitive. I feel the emotions of other people. I have binge ate many times just to dampen these feelings to a tolerable level. I am an open person, but I can also get tired interacting with so many people. I have had to create self-care techniques to combat this and learn to set boundaries. Not in a bad way, but a healthy way. So, I thought to myself, “Don’t be so open that yourself falls out.” I realized if I let myself open up so much, I have at times lost myself in the emotions of others. This is not healthy or helpful.

2. As a seeker of “information” I like to ponder things. I read and read and ask many questions. Which, of course, only leads to more questions. I realize I have to stop searching for the TRUTH and allow for the answers. This can really only happen when I am quiet enough to hear them. In addition, someone else’s answers are someone else’s answers. Can reading an inspiring quote offer a new insight? YES absolutely, but then stop and ask, “how does this fit into my life?” How do I personally feel about this. It can deepen the experience even more.

Just some morning ponderings!! Thanks! Good day!

I know my Clutter is there even when I try to pretend I don’t.



Memories? or just stuff…or both?

In what I would consider my “perfect” existence all of my things have a home, and I don’t have many of them. I live simply and the most important “things” to me consist of the moments shared with the ones I love. I cherish every memory, every smile, every hug. I keep them and hold them and make them part of me.

How can I remember ALL of these moments? How can I cherish them and not forget?

They say to look inward for answers. And I can say this is certainly a wise way to begin to find inner peace. However, what does our outer world say about our inner world?

This is a very interesting question for me to ponder this evening as I have spent the day cleaning, “sorting” and yes reliving memories. One box after another I questioned, “where did all this stuff come from?”

All kinds of emotions flowed through me today as I “cleaned” up my clutter. As I said, I like things to look nice. I love beautiful things and looking at home magazines to see how people decorate differently. No where in these magazines are piles of stuff. There are some that have more stuff than others, but there is a limit.

So, if I had to delve into the inner workings of myself after looking at my stuff, I would say many things. Here are a few.

1. I “hang on to things.” I do not part with things easily which might mean I have a problem letting go.

2. I feel bogged down by stuff and it makes me feel stuck sometimes. Yep, this is true. I do get overwhelmed easily. The more overwhelmed I get, the more I IGNORE the stuff. Then, the stuff becomes more stuff and I am swimming in a sea of stuff never to be found again. Do I do this with emotions too sometimes? Perhaps…

3. I cherish memories, and I think things are memories sometimes. Well, I can say, I LOVE finding something I haven’t see in years…I found an AIM chat I printed out from maybe 9th grade..HILARIOUS. I loved every second of it. If I didn’t save stuff, I would have forgotten how funny I was and how I am still having the same conversations I had years and years ago.

4. I like bath stuff…I think I went through a phase where I purchased beautiful smelling stuff to make myself feel better inside. WAIT, I bought STUFF in general to make myself feel better inside. oooo I am seeing a trend.

5. AVOIDANCE I have brought this up like 400 xs on this blog. Ya, that’s right it is a theme for me. I am doing it right now as I avoid typing a paper. Who doesn’t avoid stuff? I am trying more and more NOT to do this, because the stuff I avoid has a way of building and sneaking up on me in a not so pleasant way.

6. Guilt- I found myself feeling guilty that I had so much stuff and probably was wasting things I didn’t need. First of all I thought how beautiful nature is in and of itself, not piled high with stuff. Second of all, I wanted to make sure I donated anything I didn’t need. Third of all, why did I buy stuff I didn’t need in the first place? I am sure now, I could have used that money in much more meaningful way. It is hard for me to admit this on here. That’s interesting. I know I write about not feeling guilty and beating yourself up. However, instead of beating myself up, I would like to note that instead I can look at this as a learning lesson. I have really stopped buying excess things now, and I am working to simplify. So, in a way this is good. But, I still have a hard time letting go.

7. Sometimes I worry that if I get rid of something, it means getting rid of a person, or memory of someone. HOW DO YOU REMEMBER IF YOU DON’T HAVE PHOTOS/MOMENTOS etc.? I think maybe a good idea if to take a picture of the item and keep a scrapbook? I don’t know I am not an organizational specialist (BY ANY MEANS). I am really just throwing out ideas here.

8. I am of a creative mind. I see a use for almost anything. OOOOO maybe that string would go well in a mixed media painting? OR that key could make an interesting necklace… This, saving it in case I need it mentality has brought me to where I am now. I am sure if given all the time ever, I could find a use for every single thing.

9. I don’t like to be put into a box, or said another way, “I like to color outside the lines.” As much as I say I like simplicity and order, I am also uncomfortable with it. It makes me nervous in a way. Having to always keep things in their place is really hard for me because I can be a bit obsessive at times. So, I would rather go with the flow. Hmmmm interested change here. I really like things to be tidy and look good, and in theory I would like things to be organized, but having things in specific places feels daunting. I think I have just found the key to mind so to speak…but maybe more on this another day.

10. My purse usually has a few books in it, a pen, some paper. Maybe some other random things. Some perfume, or jewelry. What I sometimes lack is my credit card(because I left it in my coat pocket at home) or the check I owed so and so. BUT don’t worry I have the “Highly Sensitive Person’s Handbook” or “How to Heal from Surgery book” or some other light reading. So, my purse looks kinda like my room…filled with books and other musings…but maybe lacking any order? Well, what about chaos? There is an inherent order within is there not? Perhaps, I am going somewhere with all of this clutter and disorganization after all?

What I have learned about me and my clutter after typing this…

I like artwork. I like books. I like diving in and swimming in the ocean of life. I love my friends, I love my family. I cherish as my most prized possessions being, the times we have shared. I have a bit of a creative streak, that some would classify as disorganized. I light to get carried away by the moment. I doooo avoid things and then they become bigger, and then I get overwhelmed and then I avoid them more. ooops. I have to make a concerted effort not to do the above mentioned avoidance. I am both drawn to and dislike order. It scares me in some ways and entices me in others.

Sometimes, my clutter weighs me down…and I know it’s there calling my name to organize it. Even though, I am pretty sure it knows I will never be able to truly organize it. How do you organize, “random piece of paper, or this small momento that reminds me of 3rd grade?” But, at times, my clutter takes me on a trip. It reminds me of 3 hour long AIM conversations about the depths of teenage dating life, or the time I wrote a poem about lucky charms. It shows me how much my grandma loved me, or the pony I rode when I was 6. It shows me that my life has already been so deeply rich that although some days have been hard and painful, I have endless things and people to be deeply grateful for. So, you see clutter is not an easy fix. My clutter, my stuff has a story.




Trusting the River/the Path

I heard in the distance/deep within a whisper.
Calling to me, reminding me.
My path saved me.
When I could not see it/I felt it.
The path knew more than I knew, but it stayed present, because it was fixed.
I crawled on my knees in the dirt and I looked dirty.
I felt dirty. I felt weighted down, by the boulders and the bricks.
I wore them on my back, not just mine, but everyone else’s.
I would gladly take your boulders and your weight and put in on my back.
It was too hard for me to see you carry it.
But then, I took it, and you replaced it with a different brick, and I became heavier.
I sank into the mud. My mud and your mud swirled together and neither of us could breathe.
I still heard the whisper and i put my hand up out of the mud with all of my strength.
I grasped the path and I flopped myself onto it. No strength yet to do anything on it.
All I could do was lay on it/lay in it and let it guide me.
Like a river flowing I hung on to a raft any raft a long as it was mine.
It was hard because I had so many bricks and boulders with me.
I looked down in the river to see that there were other boulders and bricks lining the river bed.
These bricks seemed to be glistening, to be transformed somehow by the water.
What if I could let go of some of these bricks I thought?
My rocks, your rocks, what is the water needed them too?
Slowly, I began to let go of them. I placed them/or let them plop into the water.
I knew not how they would land, or if they would just be swept away.
But I let go of my need to know and control where they would go.
Knowing the river/my path would know what to do.
As time went on, the boulders and the river worked together to form an amazing waterfall.
Things were picking up speed now, and I felt lighter. I felt like things were falling into place.
Other people came to see their rocks in the water. To see the power of resiliency.
Suddenly, we all felt lighter. We didn’t know how much time had passed, just that at this moment we felt free.