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Alone

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Two weeks, alone. No schedule. No socials. No TV. Wake when I want to wake. Sleep when I want to sleep. Eat when and if I feel like it. Talk to myself. Talk to the dog, the plants, the house. Be silent, ‘cause I can do that, too. Zero in person face-to-face contact with another human being, just me and my dog and a serotonin dump that I’ve never experienced before in my entire life. No amount of drugs or alcohol ever made me feel this chill. Mornings are brighter. Nights less frightening. Time flows effortlessly, one moment into the next, and I with it, like a leaf on a stream. Moving through life is easier, is better, when you just surrender. Just be. Butterflies of all colors and sizes flit here and there, sometimes circling my head, taunting me with their beauty. A juvenile red tailed hawk has taken up residence in the trees surrounding the house. He swooped in low just as the sun was put to bed, stared at me curiously and then flew away. I sobbed. I am more myself than...
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Coming Home

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I have mastered silence. I can sit quietly with nothing but my thoughts for hours. Hell, all day. And the next day, and into the days that follow. It’s comforting, the repose. Sometimes I come back to myself in such a way that makes me sob. To be able to sit with yourself and simply, Be…is extraordinary. I recently read something that elicited such a moment. Something I’ve known for a very long time, but gets lost in the sauce when I let my attention stray too much into the swirling vortex of shit spewing from algorithmic goblins trying to inject fear into every waking moment via the hypnotic handheld scrying mirror that no one can seem to put down. But I digress. Bringing it back to center. “Out of everything the Universe could have become, it became something capable of wondering what consciousness is.” That’s me. That’s you. And we are all It, and therefore we are inseparable and yet, utterly divided. While stars burn, galaxies collide and atoms dance, humanity is losing the ...
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Light

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Everyone breaks. Breaking is nothing. Breaking is familiar. Breaking is easy. There’s a familiar saying—we are all broken, that’s how the light gets in. I have been broken, shattered, splattered, crushed and broken again, and again, and again. And every time, on my knees, I cried, begged and beseeched a god I was raised to believe was somewhere out there, outside of myself, out of reach, far away and separate, to find me and fix me. I kept breaking—my mental health was free falling at terminal velocity. I was living the darkest, most hellacious existence imaginable. If the light was gonna get in, I was plenty broken. But the light couldn’t get in. The light was already there, inside me, waiting to shine. Maybe the reason we break so easily is not to have light enter through the cracks, but instead, to have a way for our light within to break free—to BE free. The separation myth, is exactly that—a myth, a lie. You are inextricably connected with Source and infinite existence. Y...
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Out of Spite

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“I DID IT TO SPITE YOU!” My ex husband screamed that right in my face with enough detestation that my soul recoiled. And then he wanted to fuck. Have you ever been spote? spited? The thing he did to spite me was get career ending drunk on a layover in Las Vegas. It literally made national news—for three days, morning, noon and night—while he was holed up in prison. And somehow it was MY fault. You see, before he left for Vegas, I rebuffed his offensive drunken advances when he climbed into bed at two in the morning, and his reaction was to threaten me with words that smacked of divorce. The next morning, I had some words of my own. I guess he didn’t like what I had to say, and I was subsequently spote. Spited. These are the actions of a narcissist. Never taking responsibility, never apologizing, placing blame, always the victim. Hmmm, I wonder who he blamed when he stepped on top of a running bush hog, slipped (and whoops!) cut off his own foot. True story, and one for the ...
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Sleep Tight

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I injured myself. Sleeping. Pretty sure my brain is supposed to keep me safe by paralyzing me during REM. I think I’m willful enough to fight it though, because this is becoming a common occurrence. 😳 I mean, really, what the hell? Rare is the morning I wake up feeling well rested and daisy fresh. Instead, I feel like I’ve been in hand-to-hand combat with a hungry bear, or a disturbingly buff kangaroo. Pretty sure I’m giving ‘em hell, because the jaw clenching frequently triggers the midnight migraine that wakes me with the pain of a thousand hangovers. And I don’t drink. Also, the covers often force me into a straight jacket, which is not panic inducing at all. I would set up a video monitoring system to view my nocturnal unrest, but I have no interest in meeting my sleep paralysis demon face to face. Is this my new normal? Or just another delightful, transient, post menopausal nightmare? Pun intended. Be well, friends. Sleep tight. #sleepproblems #sleepparalysisdemon ...
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Rest Now

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The deep clarity that settles when you understand that you spent most of your life in survival mode, is harsh, and heartbreaking. It’s okay to rest now. Day after day, year after year, your mind and body have been working nonstop to feel safe. Fight or flight is an ancient mechanism meant to give us a burst of adrenaline in a life threatening situation, not to live life stuck with that throttle wide open. I asked myself recently, why am I so fucking tired all the time? I’m sure being post menopausal has something to do with it, but then I read an article about coming out of years of being in survival mode, about healing from past traumas and I cried. “You will need rest. You’re not lazy, your body is just trying to catch up on the calm it hasn’t received in years.” So, if you resonate with this, give yourself some grace. Rest. Nap. Eat slowly, it’s okay. Take long showers, because you can. Go non verbal for a day, or two, or ten. All of the things you couldn’t do when you felt ...
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Who is THAT in the Mirror?

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I, am…becoming a bridge troll, which feels like a step down from swamp witch, but they’re definitely living in the same neighborhood. This is out of my control, apparently. Estrogen is supposed to drop and stabilize at my age. Pretty sure mine has flatlined. Here’s the real. Let me bitch. I’m getting shorter. My ears are getting bigger. I only have one eyebrow left and she’s sparse. Chin whiskers grow faster than Alabama kudzu. My pits smell like I rub them with the ass of a striped polecat, no matter what I do. My legs have their own agenda some nights and want to go river dancing while I’m trying to fall asleep. I routinely wake myself up snoring. I’m always exhausted, no doubt due to my nightly involuntary thrashing and gasping like a fish out of water while I’m “sleeping.” I’m propelled to the bathroom every morning by walking farts. I forget what I’m saying, as I’m saying it. And of course there’s the mood swings, headaches, joint pain, heart palpitations, anxiety,...
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