To the Rian I could have been

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:day 2:

To the Rian I could have been,
There you are sweet girl, living your dreams. In your quaint little home, apron on preparing supper for your beloved husband who will be coming in the door any moment. Your two children at play over yonder, their sweet laughter bouncing off the walls and the smell of homemade cherry pie lingering in the air all around you.
Your book cover framed in the front room and your bags packed to go meet Oprah Winfrey to speak about your story and receive the honor of becoming a part of her prestigious book club. Your words you weave create your living and you know your story has helped aide in so many others to change for the better.
No longer beating the clock in the 9 to 5 you wake up early and create pretty little sentences over coffee and spend the rest of the day learning to garden and watching your children play. You have love that runs deep, a best friend, a partner, a lover to laugh and share in this beautiful life with. Someone to help catch this drift and dream new dreams and enjoy the one you are living.
Wouldn’t it be nice……
That’s not quite how it’s all worked out.
But… it’s ok.
Darling, we have been unlucky in love. We thought so much we had found it but it turned out we only had it for a little while but we were able to catch it just long enough to kiss it before it went away. That love we had brought into this world the most beautiful little soul. And within him in lies the very best of him and the very best you and he is the very best thing Rian, the very best thing in this whole wide world, your little boy. Trust me in that he takes the cake. His love and sharing life in being his momma is the ultimate and he has and will continue to teach you a love that is unearthly.
Yes, you do it alone. But you do it. I don’t know how some days but with each setting sun it all gets done. That picture perfect, Leave it to Beaver dream you dreamed may not have all the details. But baby, your picture still is pretty god damn perfect. You have that home you always wanted and its simple and oh so beautiful. Saturday mornings may not be spent with you hanging laundry out on the line and the love of your life mowing the lawn. Instead it’s spent with you behind the mower with your son at play in the yard. There is no garden, there is just simply not enough time quite yet to turn that purple thumb green. The laundry piles up most weeks but it’s clean and you have clothes.
We haven’t given up on love, my dear. We have tried and tried again and despite the cowboys who have rode away, each of them has left your heart so full. Each has taught you so much about life and love. Each, if even for a moment brought you so much happiness.
We haven’t written that book yet baby. But we will. You see we are in the midst of pleasing progress. Though there are days we feel as if we are moving like a tortoise through molasses, when we look how very far we’ve come, we can’t help but smile. You see, that book you wrote was good honey but the words in which we will lay down to rest after all we have seen and all we have experienced and all the shifts and shakes that make us into who we are today and who we may be tomorrow, they will be nothing short of extraordinary. That story we have dreamed of telling since we were that little bright eyed little girl, the ending made a surprising turn. The Story that begun with a spirit under the vexation of other’s addiction is now living an ending of a spirit free from resentment and regret. An ending is being written on forgiveness and acceptance and a lesson on love in its purest form, void of condition. A story not of ruin but of what can rise from those ruins. A story of transformation.
Life may not be the living embodiment of all our good intentions and dreams but those best of intentions baby, have weaved a pretty damn good life as it is.
That book will still one day be framed, that cherry pie can still be baked, that garden may be full of weeds but it’s perfect for dinosaur hunting and the sound of laughter still bounces off the walls around you and the love between you and your little boy fill up the spaces between them and as for the love of your life, there’s no doubt in my mind that he is on his way.
Our life didn’t go as planned but Rian, it’s totally ok.
It’s better than ok. It’s absolutely beautiful, messy, marvelous and at times hard but still yet very happy.
All my love,
The Rian who is.

Heart Recycle 101

I am participating in yet another online writing course. Below is an exert of the beginning questioner:

101

“Nostalgia is subtle but potent. There is a pressing dream of a past experience still living in your chest.”

Nostalgia, the tricky bastard.

The power in which our memories have to make the past seem better than it really was. The seduction in the selection in which it chooses to replay.

Its criminal, our cognizance and the way it takes pleasurable partisan of our perceptions.

My memories make a mockery of me at times.

The way I can close my eyes and still feel his presence here. I can feel my hand in his, the way my fingers felt as they ran through his thick, salt and peppered hair. The way he smelled, the safety of the sound of his heartbeat with my head upon his chest.

The night we danced to Otis Redding in my front room at 2am and the way his voice sounded when he said “I’ll love you, forever.”

His piercing brown eyes, how they melted me each and every time they stared into mine.

When I close my eyes I don’t feel the heartbreak. How it felt when with him, went so much of me.

I can’t feel the anger I held in his apathy. The daunting of his disregard.

I’ve closed off his coldness. I’ve erased the emotionally unavailable and the ego of him somehow.

I disremember all the disrespect.

It wasn’t perfect. My loneliness, a liar, placating me into believing it was.

My memories of my childhood are all too, placated perceptions.

To see only the beauty within the begotten of the chosen forgotten.

I can close my eyes and see my mother dancing, singing along to the Judd’s, throwing flour in the kitchen as we laugh and bake cookies. I can see her driving, smiling and laughing as she makes up her own words to the songs.

I can smell the scent of Vanilla Fields, Rave hairspray, and Doral cigarettes just as I did when I’d breathe in her when I was small and I’d hug her ever so tight.

I can hear the way she’d call me Pita, her raucous laughter, her silly, inappropriate jokes.

I don’t hear her screaming. I don’t see her toothless grin or her frail and failing body.

I have erased the embarrassment, the emptiness. I don’t account for the abandonment or the addiction.

I remember the beauty. I’ve buried the breakdowns.

In a sense, I guess, I have repressed the regrets.

Still yet, the sorrows don’t entirely suppress.

I have created a highlight reel in reverences, momentary phases that fade out the madness in attempts to long live the love that has been made. All the while craving the love I want so badly to come to me. But worrying that perhaps my faulty mind has fictitiously forecasted that as well in addition to romanticizing all the ever was.

Sunshine daydreams

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Now, wearied by the whiskey and contemptuous of the cigarettes I am periled of pubs, daunted by the dark.
I suspire for sunshine and desire the daydreams.
I crave charming chivalry and courting on carnival rides.
I fancy feelings in the great big wide open, free.
I beseech for bubblegum beauty and bright colored balloons to join me up in the marshmallow clouds with butterflies fluttering.
I want to eat my heart out on Strawberry milkshakes with two straws to share.
Picnic pleasures and passions, pure.
Guileless gravitation and enthralling enchantment.
Youthful yearning, innocent inclinations.
Candied kisses and sugared seduction.
Frolicking in fairytale.

Sweetness in the strange.

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Life is so wonderfully weird.

So sweetly strange and ceaselessly changing.

Lately, my life has made an about-face.

Change seems to be in cahoots with the constants and all I once held has hit the road.

Rather than become dissident in all the distortions I stand in “awe” of all this awesome ambiguity.

I marvel at the mutation, the metamorphosis.

Entwined in life’s evolutions I am without any expectation.

 

Life has changed before.

Once upon a time however I rode on the coattails of others to get me through my trials.

I’ve dumped the damsel in distress and am determined to design my dream my own.

No longer dependent I am inspired by my own independence.

Once hell bound on having help I am now stubborn in my sovereignty.

Masking the mundane I will milk the miracles

I am turning my can not’s into can do’s, doubts into dreams, the lost into lessons and the failed into freedoms.

Traveling light in whimsical wonder I wait for whistles, winks or waves to guide me wherever which way I am willed.

 

So done with the so-so I shun the notion of settling.

Slow and steady I stand strong in seducing only the surefire.

Satisfied by this supreme solidarity I am daring to dream.

 

 

Blessed not begotten

This clean canvas, the blank space, this vacant vagary, I stand ready to rebel against reverie to paint in presence with precise passions.

Passing on playing and pressing permanence

Enjoying the evanescence, ever after.

 

How wonderfully weird and whimsy this life is..

Its beauty often found in the breakdowns and delicious dualities.

The Colorblind Creator.

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I feel adrift, absent in an array of ashes of bridges burned.

Musing in misguided moments of melancholy madness of muddling in memory.

After so much has been lost, I am finding it nearly impossible to find anything at all.

I’m finding slipknots in the strings attached to everyone and everything.

Drifting in desire to find something new, to move on past these ruins.

Ignited in infatuation I burn only to burn out like a match.

As the glitter dust fades my mind is always changed.

My whole life has shed its skin of the past, the present and its future.

Like an empty canvas life has cleared the way for me to create and paint it however I choose, yet here I stand, brush in hand starring at the limitless colors, colorblind.

Ready and resilient I regress.

Inside the walls of my own skin no one gets to come in.

I invite them only to revoke the invitation.

Drawing myself out from inside I unfold yet only in the safety of solitude.

Time is alive and I stall by standing still.

A thousand lives I have lived, bringing me here to a place of listless lonely.

Longing for love but gazing upon the gone I am ready to leave it all behind.

Sweet and slow, in perfect timing I will plunge into progression.

For now, I pause in pleasing awe of the process.

Nomad in No mans land

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Recently, I ventured back onto the virtual vexing which is otherwise known as online dating.
I don’t know why. I suppose the lingering lonely got to me.
Lonesome is a tricky little bastard, it sneaks up on you in the shadowof tender nostalgia and before you know it you are perusing through people, seduction through strangers snapshots.
Reminiscent of online shopping; browsing bargains but here, placing your bet on human beings.
Perhaps my old soul just isn’t cut out for virtual veneration and technological trifling.
I can appreciate the way something appears, but find it ever so difficult to fancy anything without first knowing its feel.
It’s flattering, I suppose, the fawning of it all. But somehow, it is far from fulfilling. For me, it’s quite the opposite actually; it leaves me feeling even more empty.
Also, it kind of makes me feel like a judgmental asshole.
Cursory and capricious I make depthless decisions based on nothing but shallow superficiality of a swipe right or swipe left.
Entertainment for the ego, at best.

With plenty of fish in the sea, we cast our nets and what you catch, is sometimes scum.
Fish so ugly they’d make a freight train take the dirt road and heaping helpings of bad intentions.
Finding “The one” online is like trying to get fly shit off a pinhead with boxing gloves on.
Being peculiarly picky, sure doesn’t play aide in this endeavor either.
I find myself making the most outlandish assumptions based on a single photograph, username or word used.
Some give off the impression they have a person tied up in their basement putting lotion on its skin.
Some have the characteristics of a pedophile.
Some choose names that would knock a buzzard off a gut wagon. Like, 4smoking20, Vulvavictorious or Candyman.
Oh, yeah. With names like that I’m riveted to RSVP to that shit show.
Some lay it all right out for you like the self-proclaimed sociopathic dominant with an affinity for blood and adoration for Satan.
That was tender.
All of which has left me with a heaping helping of Fuck it, laying in the fetal positon watching care bears with my rosary beads.

To be fair, I have met a few good men.
Just… not the man for me.
And there’s where the conundrum happens, how in the hell do I know?
Chances aren’t really given, I write them off before it begins.
All the judgments I have served can be placed right back onto my plate.
Here I sit, eating crow.
Am I a catch?
Here I am in others nets flopping around like some kind of fancy selling tickets to my very own shit show.
I ain’t got no job, I ain’t got no plan.
And I tend to choose exactly what is all wrong for me, every time.
I am drawn to danger, a passerby of the kind and simple. In constant contradiction of what it is I say I desire to what it is I decide.
Women notoriously like the bad boys and I no different. Telling the eager gentlemen “Whoa, cowboy, watch the reins. This ain’t my first rodeo” then, I lasso the asshole and draw him right in, making sure he is fitting of a major mistake, I ride.
The good men aren’t gone, I just corral them away.
Left in the dust of douchelords I then, wish it was different.
So who’s the wacko? Them or me?
Am I hexed with horrible attraction?
Do I want love or am I too lusted over the exquisite pain of loving only the unattainable?
If wishes were fishes we’d all cast nets and if wishes were horses then beggars would ride yet, here my wishes are surfing the net in today’s dating culture of the next great lay and empty, easy words.

It’s a whacko world and all of us are a little whacked in our own little ways. I suppose the trick is finding the whacko who works well with your certain kind of crazy.

My crazy longs to be loved by a man who is both soft and strong with his days of promiscuousness far behind him. A man handsome and humble, wild but not wary, passionate not pompous, desired not damned and definitely not a door mat, a man who melts me not molds me. Stands beside me not in front of or behind me. A man of conviction not contempt. A man of respect not raunchy. A man of goals not glory.
I want the Zsa Zsa Zsu not the Zzzz’s
I want a love that’s without a roof and not contained by any ceilings.
I want butterflies not bumble bees.

I want it all and I’d like it delivered.

Blinded beauty

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We live in a world of insatiable senses. Tantalized by tastes, Thrilled by touch, stimulated by sounds, seduced by sight and summoned by smell.

My eyes do not believe all that it sees; my ears fall deaf upon the sounds, taunted by touch, an acquired taste distant of the disingenuous.

I want eyes that see beneath the surfaces, beaming towards the beautiful within it all, I wish to see souls, by-passing egoic exteriors. I wish to see behind the veil, the incandescent illusions.

I want to be touched by truth and tenderness. Moved beyond mediocrity, I want conscious caresses that captivate, to tickle through the fancy, skin to skin with secrets and the sacred.

I long for easy listening, sweet sounds that soothe and loud laughter, booming beauty that beats, tender truths, raw realisms, real rhythms and vibe in only good intentions.

I long to listen to hear, to understand, I’ll give the cat my tongue that speaks in judgment and opinion.

I want to taste true temptations, devour my dreams, savor simplicities, munch on musings, absorb ambiguity, bite the bold, chew on contentment, gorge the glory, nibble on niceties.

This world is wickedly wooing us away from the wonderful. Misguiding us to mold into the mundane, coercing us all to consume, controlling us to conformity, lessons learned of lust not love, the world has imprisoned us in individualistic ideals in insidious intent, our freedom falsely given for it is only found in our intrinsic connection to everyone and everything. Malnourishing our souls.

I’ve had my fill of fallacies, banquets of bullshit.

Set before me fairytales, so that in this fictitious fable I can in the very least, fore warningly fantasize.

Dive me into dreams of divinity, entice me into the enchantment. Lift the veil; lure me into the life and love I am meant for.

I wish to see what remains unseen.

Sweetly set my sights solely on the world within.

This world without, starves me, I crave all it cannot offer.

Without withholding, I wander to see with a heart wide open, gazing upon the grandeur of goodness and grace.

Show to me your soul, I’ll show you mine. Share with me your spirit, dine me with your dreams, Touch me with your tender heart, sing to me your song, invite me with intention to move with what moves you.

Take my hand and hold it into ambiguous adventure, let us be explorers of the ethereal and the exquisite.

I am exhausted in the inexcusable inconsistencies, the insanity.

Wake me in wild wonder.

Awake me in aww.

Blind me in the beauty beyond.

Spiraling

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Last night, I lost it.

One week after losing my job, I broke down. My pieces placated as confetti for the pity party I hosted for me, myself alone.

This monster of a mantra played on repeat in the back of my mind, this menacing monster went on for hours in maniacal monologue and malevolent memory.

Lost in this lyrical listing of all that’s lost I let the tears fall… in a whirlwind I was winding down this downward spiral the masochistic part of me had sentenced.

Then, the monologue was muted by my Sons cries.

I picked myself up, wiped the tears from my eyes, put my mommy face on, and went in to comfort him.

Sitting up in his bed, he looked at me and murmured “Momma” with his arms outstretched, reaching.

My heart melted, I mesmerized by the beauty of being his Mommy. My pleasing purpose still very much remains.

I picked him up and held him in my arms and rocked him awhile, “Mommies bed” he said. I took him into bed with me and as I lay next to him, tickling his sweet little face, I began to pray aloud.

Spirit, guide me.

Guide me towards the life he and I are meant for.

Guide me away from what it is or whoever it is we are not.

Spirit, share with me your love, peace and acceptance so that I may feel it and exude it back unto this world.

Spirit, calm my own.

Spirit, show me solace in all I have.

Take away what you must but train my heart to know that wherever he is, I am home.

Heaven help me, tonight and into the tomorrows….

My sons snores stopped my prayer. I lay looking at my sweet baby sleep, still within the spiral but no longer on the downward slope, I was coming back, as spirals always do, back into its own.

This morning, I sat and watched the snow falling down, blanketing the world around in white as I sipped my coffee and thought over last night’s spiraling, lost in thought I began to research the spirals significance though my father, a very spiritual man has taught me so much in their respect already.

Reflective of the universal pattern of growth and evolution the spiral is seen in spiritual practices as the goddess, the womb, a representation of life force energy and fertility. Spirals swirl through existence and are found throughout life in human physiology, plants, animals, minerals, and energy patterns of life and even in death.

The spiral is a sacred symbol of our evolving journey in life, a conduit to consciousness and acceptance of the ever turning and ever changing impermanence of life.

An example of the ever present, the all that is, all there ever will be and ever after.

Last night, my inner saboteur hexed the spiral with negative connotation, leading me to believe I was spiraling out of control.

Nonsense, there is no such thing…. Spiraling yes, in constant change; in growth and decay.

Life, merely shedding its skin, changing focus, shedding ego and sliding in towards enlightenment, ever expanding even through loss; life is ever evolving.

Surrendering to my spirals journey, for I know in time I will come back to a place of progress.

I have been high, I have been low. I have had moments I have shined, and moments I have felt dull. I have been loud and have been silent. Humbled and hardened, blooming and buried, I have had times in the sun and time in the rain… the rain required for growth I stand now in this torrential down pour knowing it will, in time, pass. Savoring this sweet spiraling, planning pleasing progress in this ever ebb and flow. So it comes, so it shall go.

X’s and O’s

Paint the world with your passion

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It took me thirty some odd years to know this.
Just recently, I grew to love it.
Those that don’t appreciate and adore your energy.. Are simply just not meant to be in your beautiful, radiant, vibrant world. Let them go.
Never ever ever water down your energy. Never conceal it. Never ever.
Be you in the rawest and most purest form always, every single minute of every single day.
Sing it. Shout it. Vibrate it out voluminously into the world around you.
Fall in love with yourself.
Burst at the seams with passion.
Passion is so important. Whatever yours is.. Spill it all over the damn place.
Feel. Speak. Love. Spill it all, all over everything and everyone.
This will attract those whose energies fuel your own.
This will attract the people and the moments that make this life so utterly divine.
Leave your mark on the world in permanent marker, not washable water colors.
Be you. Love you.
Because you, yes you, are fucking magnificent and incredibly beautiful.

Magical minds

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You see, your life is a reflection of your thoughts. Your circumstances are just that, circumstance. They are the result of your decisions and actions made one moment ago to ones made in the past. The beauty of life my friends, is that moment to moment you and you alone have the ability to change it. It is just a matter of changing your mind.
Easy come, darling. Easy go.
Think about it.. Think about what has been weighing ever so heavily on that mind of yours, think about what you believe is preventing you from joy.. Now, think back to what was bothering you last week, a year ago, allow your mind to wander back 10 years ago. . .
Do you see how trivial it is? It’s all temporary. Look at where you are today. You’re here, you made it. And you’ll make it again. All that energy and all that negative bullshit you put yourself through was a big old waste of fucking time. Just as it is now.
Look around you… This is life. This is the as-is-ness of it. Accept it. Smile. Accept that you are creating all the unhappiness yourself. You are creating your circumstance.
If you walk around with the mindset that “life sucks and then you die” guess what.. Life’s gonna bring you a big wallop of suckiness. What you give out, you get back.
So why not imagine yourself happy? Why not believe that people are all inherently good? Why not go with the flow? After all, what you resist, persists. Why not be willing and why not let go of our ideals of perfection?
Why not love the crap out of everyone and everything?
Why hold onto bitterness or anger?
Release what hurts your heart, release what hurts your soul.
Trying to hold onto anything in this life, people, places, things is like trying to swallow your own teeth.
You can’t hold onto to anything in this life.
Your actions are your only true belongings.
Permanence is ignorance.
So why darling, hold onto the preconceived notions of judgement, negativity, unhappiness, disappointment and merely trudging through life, trying to keep your head above water?
Enjoy! Squeeze every last drop from each delicious present moment. Choose happy. Choose positive thoughts. Train your mind to see the beauty in everything. It’s there.. I promise. Start looking.
Once you accept this… I promise you, your life will begin to change in the most soul shatteringly beautiful ways. It begins to unfold much like magic.