Tag Archives: Writing

A Kittery Tale: Khajiit Finds a Furever Home with Jenny and Seneca aka, Khajiit turns Rock Star

Okay, okay… A random cat finds you, you think it may be lost and you give it the freedom   to return to “home”,only “home” is now your house and she gets all prego… whaddaydo?

Watch life begin, of course.

The last 12 weeks have been brutal… for me.  Separations; mom wanting space, bigger poops in the litter box, everyone eating me out of house and home but ultimately jealousy.  Let me tell you about my late affection.

Little Rascal (now known as Khajiit) is one of the two calico’s from my tiny fur tribe.  She was the last one to offer me her sweetness.  When she finally gave forth, it was precious beyond words… but our beginnings were not so kosher.

In my observation Itty Bitty and Khajiit were in cat-hoots.  They like a bit of that bite and claw action.  If someone was biting at my toes, it was that Lil Rascal Khajiit. In the beginning there was minimal holding and reluctance to kiss; week 11 when Peanut Buddy (now Otto) left, the tides shifted. Lil Miss shifted from “battle bro” to “cuddle now.”  I had no complaints.  She jumped on the kissy train and settled down a bit.

Of course this begs the question of sibling dynamics, even in the animal world.  Catland was now fully saturated with females and one male, Big Boy .  Big Boy calmed down at least five fold without Peanut Buddy offering some male petition. Khajiit was in second place when it came to strength, size and agility without harassing Momma.  The Game was on.

Khajiit seemed to desire some self definition right away; she was a middle baby and despite her distinction in the looks department, her evasive nature made her hard to pin down or in human terms “force love upon”.   She seemed astute and willing to sit on the sidelines in order to form her own opinions.  I regret to say that more than once she was at the mercy of my clumsy nature around fast moving objects (namely my clumsy ass feet).  I definitely stepped on her tail more than once but always apologized and gave love afterward.   At one point I asked myself why it was always her that was at the mercy of my lack of grace…. obviously she came to grips with it because when she decided to love, it was super obvious.

All of sudden she wants to cuddle, FIRST!  Everyone else is running around like an idiot and she is like “Nah, I’m gonna grab that sweet warm spot behind the shaggy fat persons legs.”  History is made!  But Her Story is just beginning.

Jenny and Seneca wanted a kittery.  They NEEDed a kittery; my house is like a cat drug den… who will fall victim?  After Otto left, I let them all know ‘Some one is waiting for you,  and they can’t wait to show you a whole new world.”  Before Jenny came over to meet and greet, I told them “It’s equal opportunity, but I have my feelings.”   For some reason I knew LIL would make her mark in the introductory love department, and she did not disappoint.

Jenny came over for a meet and greet with a nature so gentle, I am sure all of them were surprised.    That nature is just what Lil needed if only to give them a run for their money.   Jenny wants to toilet train and walk on a leash and that is exactly the kind of world exposure newly named Khajiit needs.  A whole new world of love and adventure. Independence and dependence with the perfect balance of personality.

Khajiit is currently causing a riff of jealousy with her kin; within 48 hours of being in her new home she was given the opportunity to star in a music video from SunnyDale High, Seneca’s rad Wyoming band that thematically follows Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  Khajiit is going to be a hit.

You should definitely check out her acting debut with a great soundtrack by Seneca’s band.  Also you should definitely check out Sunnydale High when they play WARPED Tour this summer in Denver, if you do, you should tell them  “Khajiit sent you.”

May all my kitteries rock and find their love-home dreams come true.

Check out Khajiit’s debut and Sunnydale High’s music at this adorable link.

May the Meows be with you, Lord Kittery knows we all could use it right now.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Results of Unfollowing People On FB for a Month.

Well, it’s been a month and a few days since I cleared out my FB feed.  What did I learn?  What happened?

I think this will be a short post because most of it has been covered in the previous posts aligned with this topic.

Ultimately, I got VERY bored with the platform.  I used it as a resource above all and curbed my interaction by over 90%.

That is a big jump.  I no longer had a feed to scroll unless I went to my friend groups, and I only went to my friend groups out of curiosity (mainly about local happenings.)

I continued to get notifications, and any late comers to the game were silenced for 30 days.  Those silenced parties just started cropping up in my feed yesterday.  Namely companies that advertise through FB.  For me, namely, craft beer breweries I am a fan of.  Without thinking, I saw these posts crop up, and silenced them for another 30 days.

Honestly I am not “missing” anything, per se.   I love passing along info.  If a person has a question and I feel like I have a viable answer, it is a pleasure to share.  However, all in all, I only contacted people or posted if I thought some one may benefit somehow from that post.

I feel a need to remind my audience that I do not have FB messenger or FB app on my phone.  If I want to post there, away from home, I have to go to the mobile web page and I am limited in options.  I also need to remind readers that I am able to access FB more often than a person with a “normal job.”  I work from home, or rather home is work, but WIFI is pretty consistent and FB is an easy distraction from mundane domestic duty.

Did I miss it?  No, not really.  At times I noticed myself pressing the refresh button that leads to my own echo chamber and then I was like “Oh yeah, I boycotted this like I would a Walmart.”  I still drive by, I still have opinions, but…. I have no plans on going inside and interacting with anyone in there for the sake of boredom and randomness.”

Honestly, I think that is cool.  To me, it proves I wasn’t as addicted or reliant on it as I thought I was.  I gave myself the power of choice, and the challenge of abstaining.   I do suspect I will fade away and that doesn’t worry me so much.

Today I dug through my senior year book, and I didn’t have a shit ton of signature/ messages, but the ones I did have, reasserted the best parts of me that sustain to this day.  A majority of these messages were not short.   Most of them had connecting themes when it comes to talent; kindness, weirdness, good feelings and impact.  I am still ALL of those things and I didn’t believe it back then.  I always assumed people were blowing smoke up my ass because they, themselves, did not want to be rejected.

I don’t need Facebook to be my daily Yearbook.  I enjoy these throw back features to see what I was saying and doing xxx years ago, but I don’t have to have it to survive.  The thing that makes me feel like I am dying is isolation with no solutions.  In fact, since I have taken the leap of disassociating with my live feed I’ve made a new friend/workout partner; started spending multiple hours during the week to build workouts for M,W, F, AND connected IN REAL LIFE with people who are actually in my geographic sphere.

I feel accomplished.  I see how this type of process can fold over into other situations that may need conscious regulation.  If you feel like you would appreciate slowly pulling away from the intoxicant that is Facebook, hit me up, or read my other posts on how I experimented with the idea.   It really is a challenge of “out of sight, out of mind.”  A break like that allows you to question yourself what you want to use the platform for, and what you expect out of your engagement.

If you want naught, why fruitlessly search and conjure up partially fulfilling illusion?  All I’ve ever wanted is “real life friends who are true and honest.”  I’ve had them in spurts, and maybe it’s time I give those real life connections a chance again.

My hope is that you find this useful, and if you want more info contact me, I love sharing intel.  ❤

A Tender Balance

Living with my grandma and  taking care of her is far different then I imagined.

I was idyllic in my imagination.

My grandma and I would be like some warped intergenerational version of Thelma and Lois; but then once she couldn’t drive any more, those dreams blew out the imaginary roofless automobile we were traveling in.

I honestly did not factor in some realities; like her legs and eyes and teeth.  Her direct words “They just don’t work anymore.”

I could argue, I tried. But it was useless, people will make their own decisions, as long as they can, and fuck you for thinking otherwise.

I had a break through today in my patience.

I differently, and honestly embraced her condition.  In the way that I embraced my parents once I wasn’t under the rules of their roof.  “I’m gonna be, me, and you just keep being you.”  And it’s like it was always that way, but unspoken… these days sometimes we both need a vocal reminder.

By embracing it, I was able to stay calm, though I was distraught about other matters.  Things undoubtedly her fault, but unintentionally.  Things that are undeniably my fault, and part of the learning process.

I slipped into a part of myself that was sarcastic, but not mean.  But my own tenderness and lack of humor has made interpreting lightness in mood and gesture hard to decipher.

I want to share more of her with you… but lately I am feeling protective.  I don’t want to sell her out.

Tonight’s situation is me folding laundry, and she complains about being lazy and useless.  And I tell her she has earned the break.  She asks what she can do, and I say,  “talk to me.”  She says “You want me to fold laundry?”  I say “No.  What? Do I gotta do everything around here?”  She says “I can fold the laundry but it won’t be very good.”  I say, “I’ve got the laundry, how about you share some of those 50 plus years of experience with me, while I fold it right the first time?”  She rolls her eyes and we continue to talk about the topic of conjoined twins that I brought up a few hours earlier.

We dance, and balance ourselves on fine lines, especially when it comes to love; tolerance, patience and purpose.  May you always find a pleasant balance.

Conversation With Death

I sat in the far dark corner of that nameless pub that sits along a busy road in that average town in the corner of a state some people call “Home.”  This wasn’t my usual pop in.  Today had a purpose.  This drink in my hand had meaning and I had an appointment.   Rather, an interview with none other than Death, itself.

I had called it here to have a sincere conversation about the current state of affairs in transactions and avoidance.  I wanted to probe deep, in hopes I might find out something about myself along the way.  I’m not sure why, but I assumed Death would be tardy, but as  Death would have it, he showed up right on time.   I noted my own pessimistic attitude, and a desire to wish the worst on my guest.   Immediately I knew It was just as perceptive, as it was punctual.

Like a cool breeze wrapped in a dark, but sensuous cloud, It slipped into the booth in front of me.  Admittedly, I was caught off guard; caught in the reverie of some other time and place playing chess with the present future.   I could see that Death was amused.  It enjoys a surprise entrance, and I hadn’t given It that in a long, long time… a life time ago, actually.

I could feel It’s inquisition.  And as perceptive as it is, It took a moment to realize I wasn’t calling to set appointments for It to “take me” or anyone, for that matter.  I wasn’t “wishing for It.”  I sensed that Death rarely had true “casual conversations.”   It, is aware that It exists to serve a need at times unspoken; but this wasn’t my business today.

I needed to settle a minute.  I needed to acclimate to Deaths’ temperature as It sat across from me in this two sided booth.   I’m not sure why I had any expectations as to how this would go, or how it would appear.

It heard me.  In my head, It heard me and responded.  The sense of it was… straight forward.  It was incredibly normal sounding.  Like I said, I don’t know what I subconsciously expected, but this was just so… normal feeling.  Not like demonic voices, or screeching.  It was just a normal, calm voice asking why I set this meet and greet.

I could hear my own panicked response.  I didn’t want to sound panicked, in my own head, telepathically talking to Death; but I did.  I didn’t know my mind could stutter or sound so nervous.  Death caught wind of my insecurities and quickly stepped in.

“This is a casual appointment.  No need to be nervous.”

I immediately imagined a black t-shirt with a Grim Reaper silhouette saying those words in a cartoon bubble… I wonder if …

I cut myself off, because of course Death can hear this and see this image in my mind, and I don’t want It making any money off of my ideas…. I know It has a large market share, and I know It doesn’t need my help.

“I keep wanting to anthropomorphize you into a ‘him’ “ I think, “And I don’t want to do that because you seem to be so much more than that, but modern conversation has us all hung up on gender, and sometimes, even I get dragged down that nasty alleyway.”

I physically feel the entity that Death is, nod.  Do you even know what that feels like?  It’s like some one kicked on the AC really quick, turned it off and then turned it on again for slightly longer, and then turned it off.  Death, as a physical manifestation is like gusts of air, shifting of drafts, faint and sometimes pungent whiffs… and thoughts, some really rational sounding thoughts.

I get the smell of a cigarette.  Like a freshly lit cigarette.  In my minds eye, I see this shadowy entity settle back, and light one, waiting to see why it’s presence was summoned.  I sense amusement at my attempt to mentally articulate gestures of relation, and the attempt to anthropomorphize.

” I don’t want to die right now.  I’m sure you know that…. and I really don’t want to be here right now… I mean I don’t want to be in this world as is, not specifically this meeting.  You seem to have your hand in a lot of pots right now…. just casually stirring and occasionally straining off the debris on top…. all the while maintaining your ordinary routine.  Your routine since the beginning of time…”

Geez, why am I here again.  Surely It can hear all of this mental chatter, It’s probably use to sifting through all of that…. how can I articulate and inquire Death? How can I get to the point and move on?

The smell of cigarettes get’s stronger, as if Death knows that I wish I had a pack of smokes right now.  As if Death is taunting me with the most accessible of vices as an easy escape route… I take another drink of my seltzer water with lemon.  I contemplate whether or not the bartender thinks I am a waste of space in this near vacant hole-in-the-wall.  I can’t help but inhale deeply as I take in the last dregs of my water and suckle a piece of lemon flavored ice as I attempt to settle my nerves.

“I need to know why you whisper to me.”

I know it isn’t a question or a statement.  I know it may not be answered, but it is the only thing I can think of under this unseen pressure.

“I need to know why you visit me, and motion to me in regard to yourself.  I need to know why… I am worth your time and knowledge.”

The air shifts again.  It feels less like a draft, and more like a warm breeze blowing through an open window on a spring day… It smells, of… lilacs.  Not a threatening thing upon this breeze.  I feel a sudden sense of comfort in all of my senses.  I no longer feel edgy or insecure.   This breeze, this scent is so familiar.

Not long after this realization, I again sense smoke, but more the smoke of a large fire… a structure ablaze; the muscles that had relaxed, immediately tense back up.  I feel “on call”, some one has a need to be filled.  I have a sense I can meet that need, but I feel an overwhelming confusion.

“How can I fight a fire, when I am not a fire fighter?”

My mind becomes immediately obsessed.

“Where is the fire?”

“Who needs me?”

“How can I help?”

My mind races, I imagine scenarios.  I recall all of my rescue skills…

I dig deeper into that smell, and feeling…. The fire is close, it also smells of lilac.

I realize that I am the fire, sitting in the dark corner, of that nameless bar on that busy street in that average town in the corner of a state, some call “Home”, and I panic.

“Am I on fire?  Is there a fire around me?”

I somehow steady my unsteady breath, and realize, I am still in this saturated booth, water glass with dying ice and a filmy specter across from me.  It knows what I am feeling and experiencing, and it’s laughter smells like a cross between buttered popcorn and Lucky Charms cereal.   Sort of earthy, but sinfully delectable.

This interview isn’t going at all, as planned; but then again I didn’t plan.  I didn’t think Death would show up, and I definitely didn’t think that Death had so many smells.

“What is this even about?”  I ask this with a mentally forthright force.  “I feel like you are playing with me. I admit to being slightly amused, but most of this just feels like a circus show.  You know, I want to know, what you know.”

Ahh! Finally I was finding a point of reference.  Death is just so illusive and intimidating.   Maybe he is like my tattooed cousin; if you don’t know him, he is perhaps a scary person… but once you know him, he is a jolly teddy bear.

I was satisfied in that thought…  telling Death it was just a misunderstood Teddy Bear, but Death wasn’t here to make me feel better; It knew I wanted some truth, so the air became a mixture of swift and still, hot and cold.  The ozone was permeated with the smell of burning garbage and perfect baked cinnamon rolls.  My heart rate went up as my body temperature went down.  I was perfectly uncomfortable, a uncomfortably perfect.  I wanted to throw up while feeling perfect ecstasy. I wanted to escape as well as sit still… I felt on the edge of ready and run.  My body, mind and heart were over taken with a simultaneous pain and pleasure that I have never known.

It was a whirlwind that seemed to last forever, until It stopped. And when It stopped, It was gone.

In that moment I knew death.  I had taken It in, full force, in every possible way.  And it seemed unjust and totally right, all at the same time.

We didn’t have a long conversation.   Death rarely needs words to get It’s point across… It is so poignant with it’s delivery.  It never acts in vein, at least of It’s own accord.  It’s with us from the moment we start living, and wonders why we treat It like a stranger when It does show up.  We know all the signs It is there, if we choose to knowledge It.

It, isn’t impressed that Stephen King demonized It.

Death in and of itself isn’t bad, and It’s always punctual even if we think It is too late or too early.  Your perception of It, depends on your relationship to It and your observation of It… but It, is malleable, and what It is for you, is not always what It is to someone else.

It is, what It is.  An end to a new beginning.  Sometimes new chapters are scary, but they are necessary for the story to continue, until the story is done.  Either way, Death will meet you wherever you are, unless you opt out.  But that is another story.

 

 

Mom 1

I never gave the idea credence before.  But maybe, just maybe; if you lose your mom at a young enough age… you eventually give up.

I was a “jump through the hoops and excel” kind of kid… until I didn’t have to be.  There was no one keeping me accountable but me (and I have a short attention span.)

A “Mom” is a built in safe guard.  She is programmed to question, in depth.  She is most often built to have massive amounts of care and compassion.   She begs her progeny to question themselves and her.

Without her, you don’t know what you are missing; you only know that something isn’t there… it’s easy to fault ones self with this knowing.  For of course we are all prone to put some blame on ourselves, how ever unjust.

So we make up our Mothers in our mind.  Idealizing their attributes and sweetness… our commonalities and dissonance.  Romanticizing potentials, in hopes of reclamation.

It rarely works, however.

We assign surrogates, and stand-ins.  We idolize the relationships our friends have with their mothers.  We fantasize being pulled into the fold, and embraced with ultimate unconditional love.

It is a temporary mental satiation.

In reality, no one digs or questions as deep as a true blood mother would.  It’s not out of the realm of reality to say that the Motherless feel cheated.  Like being born without a blue print and having no regard for architecture.

Haphazard living, not fearing death… that is what it feels to be Motherless.

That is how it feels to be self determined to not harbor safety for life to grow and expand within oneself.

A slow self brutalization, justified by loss; supported by circumstance.

I am an expert.

I’ve asked “What Would Jesus Do?” more often than I have even grazed the idea “What would my Mom Think or Feel?”  I’ve conditioned myself to neither care, nor ask.  I’ve trained myself out of guilt through time multiplied by repetition.

I feel closer to the idea of Jesus, than I do to the woman who held me in her womb and spent four years with my snarky childishness.

It’s a topic no one wants to question or address, and I am malleable and follow comforts of conversation; only slyly slipping in context when the weather of conversation is suitable.  We all suffer from this malady in some way, and I willingly perpetuate it.

Oh insufferable HUMAN!  That is me.

The holidays dredge this emotional sludge up, from the recess of my heart… I will listen, and follow, but it’s always sort of brutal.

 

 

 

Eventually I Am Going to Pop

Have you ever felt that extreme pressure in your ears at high altitude and taken advantage of the fact you know how to pop your own ears… and/or listened to lil baby have to deal with the same problem with no remedy… on an airplane, tens of thousands of miles above Earth, in a tin can, with no ear plugs and a hardened heart?

I mean, what is a little pressure?

Funny enough, it can burst your ear drums.

I feel like an imbalanced ear canal.  I feel as though, if I could just breath, or hold my breathe while closing my anal sphincter just a certain way, I could “pop” away the uncomfortable that is permeating my reality.

Other bodily descriptions that come to me, is “finally, fully connecting to my heart chakra”,  “finding my voice” and “everything finally popping into view.”

I do sense I will feel and hear an actual “popping” sound when all of this aligns.  Part of me is afraid that the totality of the grossness it is to be human, will surface at or shortly thereafter.

Do you ever have unfounded fears of “being discovered for who you REALLY are”?  I do.  I have dreams that I’ve committed vehicular manslaughter, and hid from the charges, much like that Head Nun on American Horror Story.  I internally battle with the fact that I battle myself in ways that are directly tied to World Wars.  I know where my heart is today, but my heart hasn’t always been right, or clean.

I suspect, that when I pop, it will be like a black hole, or a supernova inside of me.  It’s going to destroy what I know, and how I have been.  I always hope for the best when it comes to destruction… but nothing is totally fail safe.

When the dust settles, or disappears; I do expect some peace.  I do expect that there will be some proverbial moment of respite from  the discomfort.

Just like that intense agitation that develops before we plug our nose, close our eyes and readjust to the levity we are currently inhabiting.  One may look afool in that situation… but the relief after that couple of seconds, feels like we saved our own life or sanity.  It’s how we acclimate to what is uncomfortable.

As humanity feels this collective pressure, we wonder where we will pop.  And will we pop by gentle coercion and adaptation, or, will we bust our own ear drums?

Factions of humanity do not want to listen.   Their only answer to to drown out the reason by screaming, acting to infantile to see the greater resource of adaptability before them.  Waiting on a mother or father to relieve the pressure for them.

You are the Mother, the Father, the Baby, the Pressure, the Release.  ALL of it.   Stop screaming.  Use the tools to relieve the pressure.  Adapt to the Levity of What Is.  Comfort one another through this time of massive discomfort.  Strip way the layers that keep your heart hardened encased in a shell, looking to depart through discard and disregard.

We are each a crab in a shell. Retreating at will and resistance, or surprise circumstance.

We are stronger and more resilient than we give ourselves credit for.

We are about to POP.

Pop out. Pop in. Explode, Expel.  It’s going to be beautiful and messy.

Myocardial Abscess: Abscess on the Heart

Myocardial abscess is a suppurative (pus-containing) infection of the myocardium, endocardium, native or prosthetic valves or perivalvular structures, or the cardiac conduction system. In this serious and life-threatening disease, early recognition and institution of appropriate medical and surgical therapy is necessary for patient survival.
In the past, most cases of myocardial abscess were discovered at autopsy. The very first report, published in 1933, was an autopsy report by Cossio and colleagues that involved the finding of a pneumococcal abscess in the region of infarcted myocardial tissue as a complication of bronchopneumonia. [1] Several more such cases were reported later, suggesting that myocardial abscess often occurs in the setting of septicemia and abscesses in other locations. Myocardial abscess can now be detected antemortem using various noninvasive diagnostic modalities.   –Emedicine

As I break myself apart in the construct of layers, I experience physical maladies; driving my attention to what most would go to a doctor to assess and diagnose, and treat.  I have experienced many physical pains that have gone undiagnosed by the construct of Western medicine.  And each feeling expresses itself until it disappears.  Whether or not it is really gone, or that I have adapted to its presence and therefore has become ignored or in-note worthy is of no real consequence.

I am playing this game in a different way and it really isn’t for anyone else to decide how  I play it, so long as I do not impede on others in the process.  So this body, and this mind are but a small experiment in the greater whole.  Take what you want and leave the rest.

Everyone is interested in “hacks.”  “Life Hacks”, specifically.  And we appreciate those easy, resourceful, hopefully time saving tid bits that can help stream line a complicated life.

The first life hack, is uncomplicated things.  Things are only as complicated as we make them.  When one is able to remove their own controllable complications, everything runs a bit more smooth.  If each person uncomplicated themselves, we would have a nicely oiled and function social engine.  Sadly, people convince themselves that they love and thrive off of drama or complication, and it one worn out battery can compromise the whole function of one machine.  One rusty gear can muck up the timing of all the other parts.

The next Life Hack is “figuring out your function.”  You can’t be everything to everyone, all of time; BUT you can figure out how to best function being you in the present.  The present is ever changing, and so are you.  Give yourself the permission to be adaptable. Remember, you learned to be YOU in many situations and steps, amongst various people.

Say your name is “Joe”.  Joe is a grandson, a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, a boy, a student, a child, an athlete, a human, a science nerd, a lover of animals, a boy scout, a volunteer… etc.

The Essence of Joe shows up no matter the role.  The essence of Joe is Life and Creation.  Joe makes choices to honor that in himself and other, or to simply not do that.  Each time Joe decides not to honor Creation and Life in himself and others, he corrodes himself and thereby creates kinks or malfunctions in the over all function.

Our world is systematically gunked up by bad decisions leading to faulty action… and it builds up over time as a spiritual Myocardial Abscess.

I would assess that if your heart doesn’t hurt to some degree, these days, then you probably don’t have one.

It feels like a hand on your heart.  Not like your own hand, and not like being fondled.  It feels like some one else laying their hand on your heart in a meaningful way, but there is also this pressure and it feels like passion or like urgency.

It doesn’t go away.

Maybe you are like, “Oh, Madge, you should just go get a breast exam.”

Because that makes sense right?  Because going to get a diagnosis can change your own personal direction… but if you heal without looking inside, on all the levels, what have you really accomplished?

This too shall pass.  You also will pass. But how will you handle the discomfort in the mean time? Will you dig into it, or leave the healing to some one else?  Will you explore its greater relevance or leave it to circumstance?  Will you take responsibility for any of  it?  Will you seek more than a remedy?

I am feeling my heart abscess from the inside out.  I am feeling the pressure of Creation upon my chest.  I am asked to look at the pockets of puss I have accumulated over time, that are now looking to bust free from their calcified chambers.  Those secret pockets of disdain, buried deeply beneath the friendly façade.  The core of this human condition.

I’ve felt this infection course through my veins like a cancer settling in each organ waiting to be acknowledged and eradicated by my complete presence.  I’ve been asked to look at the various ways dysfunction and disease can manifest, even in healthy, almost carefree situations.  I am drawn to see the bigger picture of these manifestations.

Some people are under the belief system that people are a cancer or a parasite on the Earth; it could be easy to reach this conclusion with a negative mindset.  Some people believe that we are going to destroy ourselves and the Earth… this too is easy to conclude when looking at the negativity prevalently showcased in our media.

When we look upon humanity as a cancer, or a parasite, we demonize the function of the whole.  We wonder why the world is the way it is, without taking accountability for ourselves.  We see the misdeeds and degradation as something outside ourselves as we daily indulge in our own poisons of mind and body and spirit.  We justify it, because our body is our own to do with as we wish.  We do not view ourselves as temples.  We grapple with our own self worth and settle in the ditches amongst the trash by choice.  We are fed and reinforced by this state of unworthiness.  In turn we train our children to disregard themselves even more than we do by example.

The cycle continues.  Occasionally one of these abscess’ will expel themselves on their own.  Pushing out their own infection and leaving it in the open for all to see.  And we will turn in disgust, unable to see that this purge is necessary for healing to occur; that all of the bad must be extracted, so that new healthy growth can prevail.

If the infection isn’t totally removed, it’s likely to reoccur.  Remission is a false safety, when old habits die hard.  By choice we re-infect ourselves.

May Creation lay a heavy hand on your heart, so that you may purge all that holds you back, or down.  May your heart be cleared and made anew for healthy growth.