Music Get me out of this Funk

Only way to survive the insanity is to turn up the volume. Dance! See you on the other side of the Moon…

“Little Red Corvette” Prince
“She’s Strange” Cameo
“She Works Hard for Her Money” Donna Summer
“Whip It” Devo
“Nasty Girl” Vanity 6
“Maniac” Michael Sembello
“Love is a Stranger” Eurythmics
“Sunglasses at Night” Corey Hart
“She Blinded Me with Science” Thomas Dolby
“Love is a Battlefield” Pat Benator

If these songs can’t dissipate the fog? What gives?

Training to walk 18 miles for American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) on June 16, 2018 in Philadelphia PA. Brotherly love John!

Breakfast Visit

1/28/2018 9:28am Breakfast Visit

contemplate the day

listen! cardinal’s wise counsel

grateful, feathered friend

What luck! Or is it fate? My garden has been vacant and overgrown; absent of all song. Behold! answered prayers this morning. Was this what i have been hoping all along? A visit from wise counsel, dressed in feathered cloak?

I pour another cup, relish the peace he brings. I dream as he spreads his wings. “Leave a feather for me?” my only song. I will need to journey out and see…

Confessions

1/26/2018. 7:23 am. The world is still dark. I am feeling the same. My inner world needs a spark. A match to strike this fear.

This, whatever this is, is my thinking out loud and inviting you in to my space, wherever that is…

Hurry! Look over here… Here! Right here and right now, movement is happening. I peer into the roaming molecules, all bumping in to each other. No “excuse me” or “beg your pardons” just blatant “get the xxxx out of my way or else!”.

Then continue “Heck, see how important i am. i am the queen of this world after all and you need to be ruled. Right?”

“Wrong!”

“Go ahead. Talk back. Be visible!” i tell myself.

Laying, lifeless, in the core of my soul, is an orange dot. An identified solar system rotates, bowing to this dot because it radiates warmth. But the surrounding air is so cold… this dot burns out.

This! Whatever this dot is, is attempting to pull me through a black hole. Deeper still, i stumble. I fall.

“Captain! all planets and stars identified!” A pause in time ensues. “How would you like to proceed?”

jeanne 🧡🕊🎶🎶🎶

Deliberate

No man lives in a bubble and even on my island, all the bubbles are vacant.

Thank you to Lynette Davis and her blog post, Perseverance: My Word for 2018 I set off to figure out my Word for 2018.  I have done this exercise in the past, but the stress level of 2018 weighed too heavily to figure out or worry what ultimately this year was going to be defined as.

Then, after today’s conversation with Manuel, at Emotions of Life, I figured out my 2018 word: DELIBERATE.

2018 word of the year Deliberate

Originally, after a three-hour meditative morning, I had decided that REGENERATE would serve me well.  After all, the past six or seven years have been a regenerative process that needed to come to a close some time soon. So, why not dedicate this year to finish that process?

Until I realized it is even more important to be deliberate in everything I do.  This illumination dawned on me as most relevant.  So I changed regenerate into deliberate then set off to find a song that speaks directly to this deliberate mind set?  I choose David Gilmour “There’s No Way Out of Here”.

This is the exact opposite of how I feel though, so why would I choose such a song?

  1. I love the sadness of this song.  I am perpetually sad so it fits in with my demeanor. Oh! except when I am riding on a high!
  2. Reverse psychology works!  “What? I can’t get out of here? Watch me!”
  3. I wanted a song I could listen to over and over.
  4. I needed a song others could listen to over and over.
  5. I have not listened to this song for years, so it felt new.

So? Will you choose a word for this year to meditate upon? One way to go about this is to head over to Word Art and start mindstorming words that speak to you.

Choose words that address your emotions. Pick a favorite color, action words that fit in with your personality, or find descriptive words of your favorite place to be. My chosen words in my Word Art are:

  1. dreamscapes
  2. necessity
  3. smile
  4. tides
  5. orange
  6. conch
  7. rock
  8. spiral
  9. adventure
  10. courage
  11. crusade
  12. refuge
  13. regenerate
  14. metamorphosis
  15. creation
  16. moss
  17. compose
  18. David Gilmour
  19. There’s No Way Out of Here
  20. atmosphere
  21. wings
  22. flame
  23. deliberate

If you do this, please let me know!  I want to read yours!! 🙂

 

just a few words…

For such a quiet person, I write a lot.

This simple sentence is me in a nutshell. Although i don a cracked exterior, which has let in too much world. Now i exist as warped. A walking, wounded soldier, who has witnessed too much pain. In turn, i turned crass. I am working on that aspect of me, but in reality, reality has sunken in from the first funeral i attended as a child, unable to look at the lifeless figure of a person i adored, until the moment i snuck a letter into my brother’s cold hand.

He clenched that letter as if his life depended on it. I believe he did one last loving thing for me. There was no removing those words i sent him off with. They now reside in each breath i take. Forever dust in the wind. And each snowflake, a kaleidoscope of memories shared.

I don’t recall what i wrote in my anguish. That letter held a lifetime of our experiences in less than 50 words. Writing it set me free from my heart. At least for the moment.

Today, reading a blurb on infp personality, i realized how little my brother and i talked, yet we understood each other so well. Often our eyes would connect and both of us would burst with laughter. Mostly at my dad’s expense which he never took to, too kindly. I recall one such incident in a restaurant in Madison WI, on our way to visit his parents. We both considered ourselves safe, being in public, amongst watching eyes, but boy were we wrong. He kicked us both under the table.

Silence can be a relationship killer. So is violence. My dad treated us both with that kind of discipline, which was learned from his father. Which was learned somewhere else, along the generational lines. Then a few days later it would be a trip to the soda station where they bottled his favorite drink, since he gave up beer from his Army days. It was always confusing to consider my father. What exactly was he expecting of us?

It killed my dad to know my brother committed suicide. It never dawned on him to consider why. It broke him but never encouraged him to change. He died set in his ways. I never left my dad a letter. Nor did I cry. I had nothing to give him. And only one tear was shed for my mother.

It is just the way life was growing up and it never changed for as long as our family was together. We were together but never aware of each other. It certainly made it easy to say goodbye.

Thursday Doors – January 11, 2018

Thursday Doors January-11-2018

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

img_3049
House of Blues Entrance (Gospel Brunch)

The house was hopping
Souls set free
The world woken
The Lord spoken to me.
These toes were tappin’
chairs set aside
no sittin’ lookin’ pretty
church is alive…

I would go to church everyday if the Lord spoke to me as He clearly had the house rocking in Orlando…  The Brotherhood sung us to heaven and God’s glory shone like the lighthouse these men are.  To live their lives for others a gift to humanity and they brought joyful sounds along with them to Orlando.

Enter the gates and bring a joyful sound.
Praise the creation as a soul unbound.
No earthly worries allowed here,
just lay them at the Lord’s feet.

A long time ago, 1992, I  was invited to a co-worker’s church.  I accepted.  I brought my then two year old daughter along and I sat in the farthest pew from the front.  I certainly felt unworthy to be in the crowd of rollicking, holy rollers, speaking in the Lord’s temple.  I was fallen to the soil in a heap of ash, barely breathing, wanting all breath to cease.  But there was an existing spark, buried, and my co-worker recognized and ignited it…  well, sort of.

Toward the end of the service people were invited to the alter to be blessed by the Word and she encouraged me to go forward.  I took my daughter with me.  The Deacons prophesied over us Psalm 91.  For those not familiar with the Bible, Psalm 91 concerns angels and their watch over His children.

At the time, I was unfamiliar with the verse and left church feeling no different.  About a year later we moved to New York City, my husband obtaining a postdoctoral fellowship with Prof. Danishevsky at Sloan-Kettering Memorial Hospital as a cancer researcher.  The Lord knew I needed plenty of help raising a toddler in New York City.  He sent His angels to surround my daughter as I navigated the city streets with a two year old who refused to hold my hand.  She had two near-death experiences, but an unseen hand saved her from perishing.

New York City was a wake up call.  I am quite naive about the earth’s perils.  The world is a dangerous place to exist.  New York City turned me into an angelic mother.  I declared there would be no more messing around.  I had to become serious in the plight of motherhood.

Now, where are the angels I need for this last daughter?  Send them, quickly!!!

thinker and willow

Photo: Hands in the Garden

Willow sway -no other tree,
hiding secrets -you and me.

Gently gliding, dancing free,
inviting patrons to listen…

feel the breeze.

I love other blogger’s posts that take me back in time. Personal time.

When my Anna was born, we planted a willow in the backyard to commemorate her future. It was a twig, no more than a 1/2″ circumference and about 3 feet tall. It grew quickly, soaking up the swampy spot in the yard. In less than six years, it stood over 15 feet tall and 3 feet around. It was a magical playground. Summer picnics and stories, shared with stuffed toys and imaginary friends, were abundant.

Being a soft-wood tree makes it easy prey to storms. One fateful summer, her willow was blown over. Everything inside me was invested in that tree… and in her. Lost to the wind… My dreams for my daughter were broken.

It was prophetic, that summer storm, but I was too busy to hear.

Tragedy has struck more times than I dare count. Grief is my dearest friend. Hope is but a splash of dew that fails to quench desire. Joy is bittersweet.

Even this week has been countless disasters; small and large. Seems silly. To think storms break us, but they do. Even the small storms are difficult to overcome.

Who knows the future? The only way we stop mistakes is to consider the past. Resilience, like the willow, comes from making our roots deep.

So, as the hummingbird who sits through the storm, head down, in prayer, I face the world which threatens me daily, knowing love overcomes all.

may my faith always be
at the end of the day

like a hummingbird…returning
to its favorite flower.

–Sanober Khan, Turquoise Silence

Teeth. Dig In.

Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing. Dali

Plans change. We say one thing and do another. Does that make us hypocrites? Liars? We strive and fail. Damned fools? Or simply tired?

Today, there are no planned adventures until after 2pm (US Eastern Time), where upon we will venture out to St. Petersburg to visit the largest collection of Salvador Dali’s art, outside of Spain.

I don’t do drugs. I am drugs. Dali

Yesterday was a visit to see my Aunt Jeani, Uncle Don, and first, second and now third cousins, in Venice FL. We have not seen each other in 43 years. Last time we visited my cousin Stevie was 12, Tammi 6. My aunt and uncle struck oil in the 1960’s, on their farm in Illinois, and the family took off for California, finally settling in Florida, where they set-up a halfway house for homeless and drug abusers. My aunt and uncle have saved countless people from themselves. And now Tammi is ordained and carries on the halfway home. Some of the patients end back on the street, but those who are determined, find new life, and a reason to live. We had lots to celebrate over a wonderful meal.

What is our life calling? To save ourselves or find life’s oft hidden truths saving others?

Visiting often means reminiscing. My cousin Tammy told us as kids her and Stevie and Sherry would fill buckets full of shark teeth at Venice’s beaches. With hugs and kisses goodbye, after a too short of a visit, our family headed to Caspersan Beach to search for shark teeth.

Our arrival greeted us with a painted shoreline lined with eager seekers. Not a gold rush but a rush to unearth something that is now rarer to find. A storied shark tooth. Every one with me gave up rather quickly, except my oldest daughter.

There was no guarantee her or I would find a tooth. In all those grains of sand, time passes, and often hope of fulfillment. The picture above is my determination paying off.

I wrestled with my husband, son and youngest daughter wanting to leave. But i stuck it out, digging my feet in deeper. It was the turning over that brought up the tooth.

Each of us is worn ragged. Thoughts lodged in crags. The rocks jutting into and between the lines of our existence. Who wins out in the end?

I have no scars to prove yesterday happened. I possess a tooth and a prayer to survive.

Happy writing, J🦈Still Life Fish with Red Bowl Dali<<<<
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