GLAD I GREW UP WITHOUT A PHONE IN MY HAND (reblog)

I would have missed days dreaming in the hayloft of grandpa’s barn, baking pies with grandma and romping through summer meadows full of flowers and butterflies. And you?

The lovely thing is tomorrow i am moving out to the country, across the street from a farm housing goats, chickens, a few barn cats and i wonder how my writing will shift? That and my piano and paints… i am sure some things on my blog will shift… so excited!! 😁🎶

— Read on namingmyvoice.wordpress.com/2018/06/21/glad-i-grew-up-without-a-phone-in-my-hand/

personal musings unleashed

who is responsible? for me… and there is no blame to lay… early the birds chirp. have you ever heard a grumpy bird? not me… and there is no shame today… all ready to plan my day… all these baby steps, these horrid thoughts shed…

(woah, guilt, back off, this is space to spread cheer… your not welcome here…)

my greatest joy to date are all the wonderful people i met at the homeless shelter… witness women struggle and that was the place all my depression and anxiety was shed… found spiritual friends, our souls, a union… our lives, a chorus sung, entwined around a root cause… all else is ignorant complaints surrounding insecurities… playing arrogant games, leveling up our status on the backs of others… who we rise to shout down… how do we think we are better to shine as a star rather than a fellow man? this me, has gleaned wisdom, to spread my cheer…

i no longer look outward but inward and there peace resides and all the world’s negativity slides… i become the stairs to climb and reach my hand down… help my sister find her contentment… buried beside her self… she cries… the bird dead… he shivers… quietly i revive each… not in revolution but in finding solutions and working towards a common goal… no angry bird survives. no angry person thrives…

you breed strife in anger… let the melody ring… freedom is a just cause… a mind at peace is priceless… so sisters join hands and the homeless find a home in my heart.

close.

rather distant
we no longer speak
God and i broke up

last night
silence spoke for me
tears to cleanse

the past futile
my arms too short
to reach wrongs

committed by closeness
pain hurts when joined
by love. peace and joy…

being. entwined.

All of life is not misery. It just feels of late, a cloud hovers. Suicide blaring red letters across the skies, as if to tempt the coward.

For me, WordPress was never about publishing a book. The issue of publishing a book are the words forever etched into time. I rebel against such a thought. I strive to be free of this world. Why would i lock up my soul to mere pages? My desire exists beyond the confines of any mind.

So WordPress becomes an outlet to release my crazy thoughts. A cathartic exercise. Skimming the surface, I fear going deeper. What lurks there most would tremble, be repulsed, or worse, not understand. I feel lonely enough with these thoughts, without comments overheard. To those who don’t believe hell exists, welcome.

My gift is to burn my poems. Send them as ash to the Creator, in hopes they bring fresh beginnings. This present life has enough sorrow without my permanently adding to the drear and desperation so many witness and feel. Second-hand emotions are lethal.

My prayer is future generations will be afforded a pleasant, happy life. Absent of mine.

All of life is not misery. This too shall recover. A new skin revealed, to dress the wounds. A phoenix rises on the horizon.

new page up… the year is 2018

Emotions get the best of me. I try and walk the straight and narrow. I dump all caution to the wind and wonder why I struggle in this muck I bring upon myself. I may never learn.

I am in an in-between stage. Is this puberty? My writing does not seem to improve with age but I get a few comments, now and then, telling me to keep going. Do not give up! Your star is hanging low and if you reach a little higher you might just grab and tame the light. They tell me to keep it in my pocket for dark days… for they will come.

I fight this feeling to let go. I am sure you have read plenty of posts where I was ready to hang up this blog. Then I realize you never get everything you want (except from my husband and kids…oh! they spoil me) along the way but you will get what you need. Right? I think someone else said this and the tune is humming in the back of my mind. A good reminder that it takes mental stamina, endless loneliness, determined effort and possibly a bit of luck. Although, not sure about the luck. But being in the right place at the right time might just give me the boost I need to believe in my self. Again. After all, I was cheered on to write in my youth by the person who kept me hidden for my own good. Unfortunately, I am a sponge, easily squeezed of life.

I think it would have been better for me had she let me go. Find heart ache. I never experienced true heart ache, married to the first guy who ever paid attention to me. Living a fairy tale dream of a man on a white horse, destined to save me from hell’s eternity. Thirty years this July. And no it has not been a cake walk. The past few years have been most difficult dealing with a depressed and anxious teenager on the brink of suicide.

All this changed when a stranger saw something inside my heart that was seeping out in trickles, through words strung like pearls. I reached out, secretly, but I could not give what this person needed and we both abandoned ship, feeling used… I am a bleeding romantic. My life is lived 90% in my dreams. Not so much the other person. Unfortunately, I am easily netted and cannot shake the ties that bind my feelings to a blank screen that feeds me nothing.

So I go forward today. All hope enclosed within. I will try and keep writing, no matter the pain it brings. The tears produced. The sweat induced. This sorrow I will carry in my heart as people enter my life and exit through my pores, leaving behind an essence I try and capture for future days. Days when loneliness is too much to bear and I whisper into the wind, waiting for someone to hear.

Part of my being is to be completely understanding even if I am left pained. Self-inflicted wounds are a familiar feeling. I easily act upon my fragile heart. This is a side of me I rarely, if ever before today, have confessed. I assume it makes people comfortable. It leaves me wounded. I can rage like a trapped bear. Other times I whimper like a captured mouse in a exercise wheel. Run through my thoughts, unending. Getting no where, fast!

I will never change this piece of me. It is what makes me the most proud. To say I have sat with the hurting and have tried to bring a smile to their face. For this I will never apologize to myself. For this I will pass away and glow for future people to know that it is not things we possess but the essence of others. I venture forward, in hopes I can become a star, guiding paths with wisdom and grace.

To future hearts.

Happy writing, J

depression (couldn’t save the world.)

Yeah! It is sunny outside the window.

pull the blinds
shut the door
don’t need your happy -stuff
round here any more

saw the news
felt nothing
it is how i thought
i could
crumpled in a ball
rope hanging high
with no strength to pull
a trigger or knot

No! It is dark inside this thought.

(All around me. News. Shut off the talking heads… what the hell does any body know, any how. This guilty feeling.

Go ahead, enjoy your day… wrapped up in dreary and no relief in sight.)

growing up

Were you allowed to express yourself growing up? Or were your passionate explorations squelched?

Arts were a forbidden country for me. A taboo. Superstitions of poverty and starvation, my becoming promiscuous, rang from my mother’s mouth. Dad silently agreed. When i turned 18 i told them i was going to college. When they did not listen, i screamed “they couldn’t keep me imprisoned.” Dad reacted otherwise. His anger boiled over. I submitted and got married and had children. Then grew up. I became bold and started writing. Bought paints and danced on paper. Looked through a camera lens to find moments worth holding.

My heart reopened as a bee flew past. He promised fruit in my life if i would spread open my wings.

I fly away to dream.

relief.

Time, a trusted friend, teaches those mourning, to question and speak out loud. Over and over, Time welcomes Guilt, Anger, and Despair.

Yet, suicide survivors cannot begin to understand… how will peace ever exist in this chaos? Just one word, thought or picture, sends us in a spiral. Those days become wrapped in Sorrow. Then Relief appears. Days saunter on and we learn progress takes small steps.

Our eyes lift and grow wide… a visit. Time, our best friend. Patiently, Time sits, listens for a while. I let Time’s silence be silent, until i can hold it in no longer! I pray to release chains… memories have become a prison. My wishes, a disease. Confusion sets in.

Time please forgive and pardon this aching soul. I beg Relief to visit. A stranger far too long.

💜j