Category Archives: Inspiration

Darker than the darkness

Silence woke me today.  The darkness became even darker and jolted me from my sleep. I looked outward, pillow in my peripheral, still and silent.  Afraid to move.

The feeling of oppression lingers.  Heaviness that labors my breathing lays atop my chest.  It feels like my heart is barely beating at times, then it begins thumping wildly. It’s about to burst.  I can hear it pounding in my ear drums.  I can feel it’s frightened rhythm banging on my brain.

There’s a shadow in the pitch black and it stares at me. I feel it and wonder when she’ll leave me as I lay petrified there, in shock.

I recognize her essence, lonely-dark and angry.  She’s fearful, lost, and worthless.  Broken without bandage.

Her eyes, they never open, though they’ve seen it all.  All terrifying, awful-dark. Like a black hole absorbing light.

She’s trapped within her memories. Too afraid to peer past the lids of her eyes. Afraid to make any more.

So much evil from out there has entered her. Her hatred can’t be contained.  She doesn’t want to hurt anyone but unfathomable cruelty left ugly stains on her, inside of her tiny soul.

She’s confused and locked inside that space. Desperate for freedom but unfamiliar with it. She wonders if what she is used to might be safer than the new place.

I’d like to tell her what sunshine feels like when it rests upon her shoulders but I can’t explain her out of there. She’s hiding for a reason.  We’re all liars who can’t be trusted. We’re dangerous and she’s afraid.

We need to stay away from her so she can learn to break the shadows that swallowed her. They’ve been chewing her up but she’s one to savor.  There’s no gulping her down as she keeps changing flavors.  She won’t give up her fight.

I could never leave her there, but over time she’s needed less of me.  As I grew she used my energy. She stepped back and further away. Wishing me the best as the distance grew between us.  I’ll never say goodbye.  I refuse to chase her away.

Her presence still alarms me as she appears inside these desperate nights.  But, now her visits are brief and haunting, meant to remind me of things inside of me that I left behind and despise.

She’s going to be hiding in that corner, in my shadow as I walk away.  But, I’ve outgrown the need for her company, and she sees her future in what I have become while she’s visiting from that other plane.  Her view of me now may be the only reason that I never did give up.

I’m sad when I see her over there. I’m afraid I’ll let her in. But she doesn’t claw at my feet anymore or beg for me to hold her.  She doesn’t cry when I won’t pick her up and allow her to cling to my skin.

I think she’s here tonight so I’ll remember.  A warning. A memory.  A ghost that lives beside me.

Beside me, outside of me, resides with me, alongside of me.  No longer inside of me where she doesn’t belong.

That shadow, darker than black, that used to rush toward me.  She stands still now sending me forceful feelings but no longer impresses, only refreshes the stalwart soul we share.

I still want her to open her eyes so that I can see the gray and green in them, but history and this story would change completely if she did. We like how it is here now.

Even with her lingering there, longing, lonely, and lost.  We like it here, with her sightless gaze upon me, wordless.  She’s too sleepy for those but her exhaustion never applied to her emotions.  They are effortlessly expressed between the two of us.

She’s quiet.  My aura silenced her.  My eyes closed as I felt hers opening.  We smile together as I rock us both to sleep using the hope that we divide.

There she goes.  Here I am. Neither of us know where we are headed.  Only one of us knows where we’ve been.  Both glean necessary strength from the other in weakness.  Both living parallel and separate lives.  Completely connected.  Absolutely independent.

Now, I slip back into the space between awake and asleep where I am able to clearly see every part of me.  I wish I could hold a pen in this place. I wish I could remember all I see before I fall in too far.  But the feelings I gather while visiting there, they leave a lasting mark.

The dark little me in the corner and I, we’ll meet again, another day. She always sensed she was needed though she never knew by whom. Now she realizes clearly, though, as she falls back to sleep, here, in her room.

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Daytime moon

I sometimes feel like the daytime moon, out of place but brilliant in the big blue sky.

Causing wonder and curiosity in those who notice me. Rare and unusual. Deeply marred with scars.

They’re used to seeing me in darkness, mournful and weeping, brooding. Or perhaps I’ve been lighting their way.

There I am, hung above, always present, though sometimes unseen.

There I am dented and dusty, damaged and ignored, but shining on anyway.

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Protect and serve, any way you can

Anyone who has know me for awhile,  especially my childhood friends, will tell you of my protective nature.   I have always been drawn to fight for people outnumbered and outgunned.

It started when I was very small,  fighting little boys on the pre-k playground who were being brutish little bullies.  

By the time I was 8 my aspirations hit the big time.   My dream was to be a Marine.   I was devastated when someone told me that women couldn’t fight on the front line.

Next I decided to be rich somehow so I could drive around big cities on a bus,  collecting homeless people and bringing them to apartment complexes I’d paid for, supplying them with clothing,  groceries,  and resources so they would be able to recover from whatever ailed them,  gain employment,  and get back on their feet.

The world hasn’t made me any less protective.   I remember being in a rehab facility a few years ago,  taking on the “cool chicks” who’d been picking on an awesome little lady who felt alone and outnumbered, until I arrived.

I feel like I was born with it.   Circumstance has only made it stronger and looking back through the history of my family this trait may be genetic after all.

I have a great uncle,  Uncle Lloyd,  who made the brave decision to martyr himself on a battleship.   He and a few others locked themselves behind a door to seal the sinking ship so the others up top could survive.  My father himself fought as a Marine during the Vietnam War.   Enlisted as a minor teenager,  sent overseas when he had just turned 18.   Marine Corps,  Hard Core.  Semper Fi.

So many men in my family have been active in the military.  My grandpa fought in WWII,  cousins,  uncles,  heroes.   But,  the women have been spectacular pillars of strength,  as well.

My Grandmother attended a private college during a time when most married women had babies and fed men for a living.   Nothing wrong with homemaking,  I’ve been doing it for almost ten years,  but that example carried through our family’s history,  making education a thing of importance to the young women I’m related to.  The other grandma went in the other direction,  beautiful,  fiery,  smart.   She raised 7 children on a farm,  working from dusk until dawn selflessly to keep her loved ones happy and safe.

Then there’s my Mama.   The Mama eagle.   She worked hard every day.  I never saw that woman give up.  She did the most difficult thing a mother can do.  She turned me away so I could save my own life.   She set boundaries and rules while I was going wild.  I broke them.  There were consequences.  They led me to feel the full gravity of the pain I was causing myself and my loved ones, which is the only reason I found long lasting and absolute recovery at such a young age. 

She died fighting.  A prolonged and painful battle.  Cancer.  But,  she smiled,  she laughed,  she held me,  she held my children,  she won if you ask me.  She didn’t let that disease beat her at all.   It’s what killed her, that’s true, but it didn’t beat her for even a second.

Protection,  strength,  bravery.   Lofty ideals to some.   They aren’t just applicable to mutants in movies.  They are attainable to anyone who makes the right choice despite the consequence coming their way.   Choose.  You are what you want to be.  People like me will help you become it.   Find us on the internet,  in a friendly smile,  a kind gesture. 

Most importantly,  pick yourself up along with all of the others you assist.   Helping others doesnt hurt if you don’t let it.  Choose who you are and be that person and one day you’ll look at your idols and see that you’re becoming them and that you yourself, have become an inspiration to someone else. 

No excuses,  no justifications, nor self preservation, ego or pride will take you as far as integrity does.  Decency doesn’t hurt either.  Love and kindness are always good.  Just be who you want to be. 

It’s hard to be new.  It’s difficult at first,  but you can do it,  I did.  I set myself free.   And,  I have a gut feeling that it’s my duty to help you do the same.

Call me pretentious and ostentatious or grandiose if you’d like,  but I don’t care anymore.   When I was a little girl trauma trapped me in a lonely dark place and I WISH I could’ve gotten on the internet and found words like these.   I’m 32 and the internet was new when I was in middle school.   Encyclopedia’s didn’t give out information like this and loneliness is what was killing me,  slowly.   So,  slowly. I wasn’t brave enough to ask for help to benefit myself back then, though I’d fight for you until it killed me.

I made it to freedom before the darkness took over.  I was given innocent’s to defend and a purpose to fulfill. Not everyone is this lucky. 

So take my words with you,  wrap them around your heart like armor, because you are not alone.  I can’t physically shield everyone I feel called to.  I’ve learned some don’t deserve my protection, as well.  Ive also learned that many do, but can’t have it without drowning me too. So,  if all I can give are my words,  please take them.  They’re free. They’re free of agenda,  cruel intentions,  or any desire for reward.  Just take them.  They’re yours now.  Be safe.  Be free.  Be happy.  You deserve it.

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Chaos and Calm

At night, when the television volume is set at 2, when earlier in the day it was barely audible at 25, I begin to wonder which noises are missing.  How many words had I ignored from people I neglected to hear?  How many songs had floated over me and landed atop the ears of my neighbors instead of on mine?  What was the deafening white noise made of?  My mind was made to dissect things.  I want to know.

Where did it all go?  Where did they go?  Had they needed me?  Had I failed them?

Had my whispers ridden the wind to follow someone home and hit their ears at a time when they required companionship?  Did they assist someone, hold their hand to help them rise out of loneliness?  Had this all happened without me knowing?

Did my eyelash fly away and travel to a toe?  A toe that began to itch as a dagger flew overhead.

Had my tear joined a river?  Had it caused a distant dam to break?  Did it flood a hidden village in the distance?

Had a hair come loose from my head?  Had it flitted off and acted as a binding in a nest of an eagle that would grow and inspire a poet’s words? Words to change a man?  A man who would change history?

I’ve come to know some things in my life.  Things that are fact to me now.  Things I’m certain of.  One such thing is this, everything means something.

Absolutely everything has an effect.

Sitting in this musing, wondering where the noise has gone, I find within my soul the sudden urge to scream into this darkness.  I want to yell loudly.  Something good.  Something great.  Something powerful.

I feel the need to create some positive chaos by shouting out into this quiet night, disturbing the peace.  It’s in my nature.

Tranquility leaves me stagnant and mossy if I linger too long inside solace.  I need to breathe it in sometimes, that’s true, but I know I can’t stay.  My reality has always moved hastily and loudly, in jolts and rushes, forward and back. Peacefulness is only a place to visit briefly.

Comfort for me lies in a riot, a rally for change.  Naturally, that is where I’ve been found. That’s where I feel my spirit is most powerful, accepted, and strengthened.  I am not as familiar with chirping crickets and cool night mists and floating fog.

I prefer red/green/yellow shining off of streets, the smell of hot highways, the buzz and hum of power lines and people.

But, here in the silence another part of me wakes.  One I don’t know by name yet.  An introduction is being made.  She finds refreshment in this place and I’m realizing I am becoming whole again, comfortable anywhere, as chaos and calm coexist in me now.

Words from a boy

I just asked my oldest son if he knew I kissed his cheek and whispered “I love you” into his ears while he slept every night.  His reply made me cry for the tenth time today.  He told me that often in his dreams,  someone he’s talking to will whisper those words to him, in my voice,  and then carry on the works of his imagination without regard to the comment I’ve implanted in his slumbering subconcious.  He recalled it instantly,  genuinely,  with amazement.  He responded as if a great mystery now made sense. 
I guess my work is done.  All I have ever wanted for my children is that they KNOW,  with certainty,  that my love will never fail or flee.  He knows.  I’m sure his brother and sister know as well.  I can’t stop smiling and looking at their sleeping faces with awe.
I have had a rough mother’s day.  I miss my mother greatly,  though her strength lives within me.  I want her,  especially now.
Now that I have found some of the memories, hidden away. Not hers, but his.
I found a movie stub for “Juno” and a familiar phone number and name on a scrap of paper I have saved for nearly ten years.  They brought back too many memories for me to keep from rolling forth from my eyes. 
I saw how my motherhood began and compared it to it’s current state.  I have to say,  I’ve become one of the best.  But,  I’m only human,  still seeking approval,  validation,  and praise.  No,  I don’t need it,  but it would feel nice.
I’m never lonely,  always dripping in hugs and snuggles,  but I’m aching to be held by someone bigger than me.  Cradled,  protected,  cherished.  I haven’t had that in such a long time. 
That’s the biggest problem with being a tough chick. No one seems to realize that you desperately need the reassurance of a soothing embrace. I’ve often shuddered as many have tried to hold me, force me into a place of warmth. Help is uncomfortable for those who are unfamiliar with it, especially those who have fought long and painful darkness, years unending, to become self sufficient, knowing that needing someone often causes more pain when they fail.
I can metaphorically say God is holding me,  because he is,  but it’s not the same.
But,  I’ll be patient this time.  I’ll wait.  I can now.  I’m not the lost little girl I once was.
I’m a woman,  with abilities and assets that shant be wasted,  unappreciated, unloved anymore.
I can’t be hasty.  I need to be free again.  Freedom can be lonely when looking back at what’s been lost.  I’m not going that way,  though.  So,  eyes forward for now as I’ve managed to turn another house into a home,  lifting furniture like a beast and working all day,  into the night,  to create comfort in a time of disturbance. 
I fill my lonely spot with memories today,  ones I won’t insult with the terrible taste of tears.  I’ll feel the joy fill me without the thoughts of how it could’ve been, because it isn’t,  it just isn’t.
Happy mom’s day, beautiful creators.  Let my son’s words reassure you.  No act of love,  ignored or small,  goes unnoticed or to waste. Every bit lives inside of them,  even if you never know it.  So keep loving them like only YOU can,  Momma.  They need it.

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Back-stepping

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I saw this on the internet today at Stuffmomnevertoldyou.com. Needless to say it destroyed my faith in humanity for a moment.  This is insanity and a strong wind is blowing in. You know I’ll be riding it like a kite with a key attached, ready to Ben Franklin those who catch my tail into a revolutionary idea that isn’t revolutionary at all. 
I thought we had gotten past this nonsense decades ago and the people who agree with this train of thought should be ashamed of themselves. The implications of such idiocy are damaging to both genders and, in my humble opinion, these ideas are a result of lethargy and laziness. To call them lackadaisical would be a great kindness as these authority figures and institutions have obviously quit on our kids. It’s much easier to put a sweater atop temptation than to teach a boy to become a gentleman but, that doesn’t make it right now does it?
These policies that are plaguing campuses and institutions across America only solidify the outdated and archaic ideas we’ve been fighting to be free from for a century, and the fact that girls are being punished with these rules while boys everywhere are free to enjoy their educations, being made a priority above females once again, makes me so *explitive* angry I could *explitive* vomit. 
These rules don’t just apply on educational campuses.  I was told I couldn’t bare my shoulders in a rehab facility a few years ago because it would distract the “men” there, depriving them of the opportunity to focus on their recovery. What the hell did you say?! 
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We were all adults for God’s sake. I had no idea my body turned men into helpless, mindless jellyfish who are incapable of processing and supressing their physical urges and prioritizing their own thought processes when I walk into the room.  Go me! Apparently there is some sort of magical power, some type of witchcraft in this collarbone that I don’t dare uncover for fear of upsetting these delicate creatures.  Under this logic I could rule the world, amirite?  I could walk into the U.N. naked and take ownership of a country. I’d melt their faces off like they had just opened the Arc in that awesome Indiana Jones movie or some such ridiculousness.  I don’t want a country, you’re all safe.  For now. 
This train of thought follows far too closely to the one that tells a chick she deserved to be raped because she had asked for it by wearing a short skirt, and I won’t accept it. I will NOT accept that nonsense.  Not ever.
I wouldn’t say I’m a feminist. Or a democrat. Or a republican. Or a kitty cat.  I try to avoid affiliations of any sort as my mind changes so frequently but, when it comes to insight and foresight, feminists and the other brave women and men who’ve chosen to speak up about this issue seem to have far more sense than anyone imposing these rules and I hope they keep screaming that sense at these idiots until they’re forced to see the truth.  Let’s face it. Sometimes we have to get loud and act crazy before the children pay attention and anyone who believes that these rules are righteous has the brain capacity and intelligence of a toddler and shouldn’t even be allowed to babysit, let alone control masses of blossoming intellectuals and future world leaders.
I have a daughter and two sons, all under the age of ten.  WAY under.  My boys already know that no means no, stops means stop NOW, and that if they can’t focus when a pretty girl enters the room, well, they’re just plain screwed.  I PROMISE you, and I mean PROMISE, that if my daughter comes home from school, sweating under a borrowed t-shirt, MAMA will be stomping into school in her highest heels and leggings with a photo of Audrey Hepburn wearing short shorts on my skin tight t-shirt.  That gorgeous woman is the epitimy of class.  Jackie friggin’ O wore tight pants under that pillbox hat. 
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These styles aren’t some new hyper-sexual attack on the “delicate male psyche”.  Seriously dudes, you’re better than this.  As always, we find ourselves spinning in the revolving doors of fashion, returning to the styles of the 50’s and 60’s.  No one told the pink ladies to cover their asses in Grease.  I realize it was only a movie set in that time period, but you catch my meaning I’m sure.

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Women learned to own their own bodies with the clothing they chose sometime in the 60’s and, I for one, will not let anyone take that from me, or my daughter. And here we have a timeline. 

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It seems that these folks may actually be trying to force us back into the 50’s.  I for one have not heard great things about women’s rights in that decade, so, no. No thanks, pal. I’m staying right here in the 21st cenury where I live free thanks to the women who fought tooth and nail to change the rules for my sisters and I.  These rules are the things that are alive in the wrong century.  Kill them and take them out of their confused and misguided misery, please.  They are as out of place as the male enhancement ads in my email inbox.  Seriously, I don’t need help getting an erection. 
I live in the sweltering south currently.  I WILL be scantily dressed from time to time because it’s HOT.  And holy hell is it HUMID.  I will wear what I’m comfortable in, tastefully, because I’m a lady.  A classy broad who knows her worth, her rights, and is proud of her body and it’s capabilities and true purpose.  Everything under my clothes belongs to ME and I’ll cover it in whatever I please. I refuse to teach my daughter that she should cover up because the boys can’t handle it. I WILL teach my boys to be respectful and well disciplined, though. And I’ll teach them all to love and respect themselves enough not to have all of their bits and pieces waving about in the wind for everyone to see because, honestly,  a gift that has no mystery and needs no unwrapping just isn’t as special as one that has been kept a surprise. That is my Minnesota modesty. I understand some may view it differently and I will defend their rights, even if they oppose mine. Women and men, mostly women, suffered and fought to give me the right to choose. I won’t waste their sacrafice. Seems the sensible thing to do, to me. 
When I was young I didn’t wear short shorts. Hell, I didn’t own a short skirt until I was married because I always thought of my body as being very personal. I viewed it as a great gift for someone to be able to see it in it’s entirety.  I wanted to keep it to myself like some dark and sacred secret that I would only reveal to someone who proved they really deserved it.  My body is treasure.  Everything it contains is pure gold. It’s special and unique and it belongs to me until I allow someone that has earned my trust to see it all in it’s most vulnerable and raw state.  Also, it’s as cold as the Antarctic tundra in Minnesota so pants were a safe choice. 
My parents didn’t leave it up to a school or even a preacher to tell me how to dress.  THEY didn’t even tell me how to dress. They taught me to wear what I was comfortable in so I’d have the confidence to succeed.  As the years have passed my tastes have changed. So have my clothes because my attire is MY choice. That’s just my experience and I understand many disagree.
And the notion that the media and new generation are to blame is ridiculous.  When I was in school, almost 20 years ago, boys fully expected me to throw sex at them like parade candy WHILE I was wearing the long pants and sweatshirts every day. Do we really think it takes a bare shoulder to get a teenage boy horny?  They rub against a desk in the right way and have to walk out of class hiding their groins behind books. We can’t blame girls for these pubescent anatomical malfunctions. Even grown men, if deprived of female company for more than a few weeks seem to struggle to contain themselves when estrogen presents itself.  The good ones have no difficulty being respectful and concentrating on what’s important, though.  Where do you think they learned that skill? 
The systems of authority have gotten lazy.  The focus, the emphasis, the blame, it’s in the wrong place because ADULTS are either overwhelmed, ignorant, or simply giving up.  I refuse to give up on my children.  Yours either.  It takes a village.  But the idiots are in charge and we’re all in trouble if we don’t sit them down and silence them because children are impressionable and the messages that are being sent are dangerous, cruel, and represent misogynistic attitudes as acceptable for humans with penises and the widespread oppression of anyone without one. Nonsense, shenanigans, tomfoolery. Hot steaming bulls***.  Stop it.

Dream land release

I release all of my anger in dreams now. Just as I was beginning to boil over, my subconscious found a hidden outlet.  Containing it all in this body would be impossible, and stuffing it inside to hide has always ended poorly.  But, in my dreams I’ve found myself free to say what I feel and unleash hellfire on those who truly deserve it.  Dreams.  They have always felt real to me so in my second reality, this slumber land in which it is safe to be reactionary without denting my moral compass, I’ve found a suitable and nearly tangible realm to let loose the fervent and fiery pieces of myself that don’t agree with my character in consciousness.
I see the ones who’ve wronged me, old and new, in front of me.  I see the ones I’ve wronged, alive or dead.  In this place I’m able to touch, feel, and confabulate with the ghosts, angels, and demons that steal away slices of my solace.  I wake satisfied and stronger than I was when I lay my head to rest. 
This substitute solidifies the ideas I’ve always had about the mind and personalized reality.  Inside my skull the world becomes real.  Inside this brain my own world exists.  It’s complicated, complex, and nearly impossible to understand what your world looks like in comparison to mine.  The colors I see are different than yours.  Sensations of every sort vary.
If my mind needs release, an outlet will be found, and I have found the intense and appropriate channel to isolate my indignation and remain true to my belief in a peaceful and tolerant, decent and dignified, reaction to the hostile and cruel existence that I have so often been forced to face.
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