Three days. Three motivations. Day 3.

This is my final post in response to A Guy Called Bloke and if you follow the above link, you will receive double motivation. πŸ˜‰βœŒπŸΌ

Ok. So, I am sitting at Hash Imports, waiting for my Jag. The garage door bit off a chunk of the trunk (aka boot for Englanders) and the damaged plith is being put back on the car’s booty!!! Hurrah πŸ˜„! They tell me it should take an hour. (Long story how this happened which i am not going to explain.)

Regarding English and its many forms, and reasons why it is difficult to learn, even for English-born speakers, here is a handy How to Understand English Words. Since i will be moving to Boston soon, this The Wicked Good Guide to Boston English or Ten Words to Know in Boston will come in handy for other reasons. BTW I love me some chowdah. Which i made over the weekend with Lake Erie caught walleye. So yum πŸ˜‹!

Since i will be walking, biking or taking public transport in Boston, what will happen to my Jag? Hurt feelings much? But that’s what the country side is for… motoring in my Jag to the ocean and mountain vistas!!! Cannot wait. 😝 β›° 🌊


And this…

because of this ❀️✌🏼🎢🎢🎢 J

Three days. Three motivations. Day 2.

A Guy called Bloke nominated me to share my motivations and I happily oblige, feeling motivated to share my inner thoughts. Why not? πŸ˜œπŸ’•βœŒπŸΌ

Glad you bother to read my posts at all! What, with all your responsibilities, who am i to take up your time?

This is the path unfolding before me. A red carpet spread to the ends of the earth, piled high with rocks and sand and twigs and leaves. Accompanied by the fragrance of flowers and promise of new Days. While Nights wander aimlessly toward silence and i reside peacefully as billions of stars awaken.

Oh! This too! Or better yet, make some of your own art! Grab a brush, paint, and go! 🎨 β˜”οΈπŸŒ΅πŸŒΌπŸ„πŸπŸ‚πŸΎ JπŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Three days. Three motivations. Day 1.

Introducing A Guy Called Bloke’s newest poem… and I kindly thank Rory, the guy or the bloke behind the words penned so swell, for nominating me to share some motivation for the next three days. Aka, the hum in my drum can become your purr with a considering stir.

I am happy to oblige Sir Rory. But i am not responsible for any side affects my words may have upon my readers. So my advice: Read responsibly.

i am motivated knowing other people get it. it being me. and me not showing fear but courage. today i exist deeply. i am the silence.

I nominate any blogger, who has time and courage, to participate.

My Monhegan

I am currently working on a painting My Monhegan, an island off the coast of Maine. Monhegan is a place that encompasses 95% of my spiritual thought while a mere 3 days and 2 nights were physically spent there. It amazes how much an impact the place had on me. A healing calm took me over and i only have to slip on those hiking shoes to feel the embrace around my soul.

At least the ones i have conquered.

In the meantime, while rushing from one idea to the next, for the past three days, i realized something important. I don’t hear the rattling noises in my mind. At least not as often as i use to and only when invited in. The loudness has abated with a new found courage. I have tamed the angry heart that broke and mended the fabric tears. The tears in my eyes have dried.

The scared child that cowered in the corner has found light. She has grown since last spoken to. The sex fiend has retreated and allowed a wholeness to take place. I convinced her sex is nothing compared to spiritual ecstasy. A spiritual relationship, with someone who can read my mind and play off my every mood, move and energy, is enticing. I have a few girlfriends like this. I have yet to make a pact with such a guy friend. I have a few in mind, but they don’t seem to understand the concept as i had envisioned they would. Such a collaboration is still open to anyone. Even long distance. I am open and my heart twirls in excitement to find such a guy. If such a person exists. 🀨

As if a light switch was flicked on and off, on and off, the hurt, which once overcame me, has now been overcome. The chaos inside has relented and been subdued.

I win! I won!
I run! I swim!
I fly away…

My Feathered Heart

Jeanne’s GoodReads Review Please feel free to add me to your Goodreads’s friend’s list. πŸ˜πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆ

My Feathered Heart (original poem)

My review of The Feathered Heart by Mark Turcotte.

I once found a teeny-tiny downy woodpecker feather. At most, the feather measured one inch (2.54 cm) in length. My guess as to the year found would be 2010. I had since lost the treasure to find it again while packing up our house to move. Today’s date 3/11/2018.

The feather, seen above in the bookmark constructed, is grey/black with five incomplete white spots. The spots are not complete circles as the white color lies on the fringe. As such, it mimics my teetering heart, lying on the edge of an invisible border erected by thoughts. It is my feathered heart that led me to find Mark Turcotte and his book of poems, The Feathered Heart.His book will be returned to as often as needed. To remedy my soul with feeling words erected as fences. (I found a used copy, to be delivered just in time for my birthday, through Amazon 😁.)

My wayward feet travel searching for answers. The silences weave protection. The war i battle is not within but from outside the curtained window. I learn to dress in velvet’s hope.

Attending the Opera

β€” Read on Fabric on the Daily Post

What are we willing to give up? What would i find behind your curtain as i swing it aside? Have you, will you, consider letting me know?

I wait. Anticipate. Is this a game eagerly played by two? Or only i?

Am i setting myself up for your opera. Life over as fast as it started. Slow. Drawn out misery. Ending with a cry of freedom!

A peek behind the madness of death exists behind every curtain. It matters not your fabric woven. The rapacious appetite for breath carries us along.

I do not plan to go anywhere. Neither behind your curtain. Or stand before it. I want to be your covering. Shield you from peering eyes.

Shed Appearances

Church is poetry.
Poetry is life.
A life well lived.

Nothing remains
at the end
of every truth
a handful of stars shine -die.
The same person -born
changes appearance
new thoughts and old
intermingle within our DNA.

There is always something worth fighting for. Some times those things are greater than ourselves. Other times, it is ourselves we fight for. When we are able to simultaneously fight for all these things, we triumph.

Personally. Collectively. Battles.

Currently I am reading a very short book Sacred Geometry and set out to notice shapes and patterns in my photographs. Actively identify the photo’s composition, that was not purposely planned out, retracing my whimsical approach to life, intentionally finding what was pleasing to the eye.

This flower sums up life. Do you recognize the flower able to bloom wherever it finds footing? Often called grounding, it is connecting with ourselves, whereby one is able to calm the soul. Learning to thrive in a foreign land set against you, name the battles.

Notice the petals, some tattered, are not symmetrical. The space is full and empty. The rocks worn smooth from salty waters, leave stained memories. Immersed into the green, jagged leaves, symmetry unfolds. Layered upon each other, they peek from behind, nourishing each other with their varied position in time.

Odd. Count the petals. Twenty-three. One petal missing, to make it an even 24, or is this space purposely left open, as a fill-in-the-blank? This question remains unanswered, teaching us to be grounded while going along, while the tears flow.


Please read to the end, even if you are not in the mood to be cheery!!!! I truly care for you…

🌟 Possibilities exist in every shiny thought.

Never allow yourself to be squared in to a corner without a circle. Be adVenturous! Find a star and start running.

Even if it takes a lifetime to catch your star, realize you will have lived a full life chasing it.

Don’t pay attention to your neighbor’s faults. Work on your own. Once you realize no one is perfect, you will find inner peace exists.

Turn the other cheek. Forgive. Love. Move on. If your enemies follow you, hooray. And if they disappear, too bad they missed out living life along with you. Hopefully, and i sincerely mean this, i pray everyone can discover and name their own star to chase.

Just never stop chasing your star once you find and name it! 🌟 J

(I do not write this lightly. I have been depressed and suicidal. It has taken 50 years to reach my pinnacle. I have swam through snake infested waters, mosquito-riddled forests and felt unloved by the very people who should have helped me in life. I get the pessimist. I was one. Life seems to be turning for the good and i rejoice that i endured and can speak hope today. If you turn from this post because your hurting, reach out. There are people who care! I pray you find your star!)

What’s Your Favorite? (reblog)

What’s Your Favorite
β€” Read on #WYF Revenge of EveColor. A favorite color.

I increasingly notice shades and hues now that I started dabbling in paint. Even as a photographer, i was not in tune with the varying light and dark of the world, as now. I am at a peak heightened state to my existence and have never felt so alive, or as noticing of each small death, as today.

So what is my favorite color? I have asked a few people that and they choose calming colors, as i once did. At the conception of my son, an orange ball of hope swelled inside and burst onto the scene of the world at his birth. He was close to being born at the back of a NYC taxi cab and made his appearance at the hospital before the doctor arrived. Life has not had to wait for him since… he forges his own paths in all circumstances.

The color orange in life is energizing. So appropriate that my color has changed as i was asleep for so long. I am eternally grateful for the sun and the birth of my son. For the vibrancy and hope they bring to my life.

In all circumstances, Luke has been my rock. When my world trembled in 2008 it was no different. He tirelessly carried me when my legs broke from under the weight of grief.

He is every mom’s hope to have in a son. He is my sunrise and sunset and all that exists in between. He is orange.

He is currently studying for his Ph.D. in Material Science, focusing on batteries at The Ohio State, Columbus, OH. Environmentally conscious, his goal is to develop stable eco-sources of power. He rocks my world and i hope he can bring his dreams to fruition.

And as a mom, what ever girl finds herself in the gleam of his eye, please realize even the stars adore your beauty and grace. πŸŒŽπŸŒπŸŒβ˜€οΈ

Happy Writing, J (i have always wanted to write a fitting tribute and he is so deserving of accolades, being as humble as he is. πŸ’™πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ)