Day 126: Strawberry Eruption

Maui 2012
Blessings

This song says it all. I’ve been living inside the melody and words. And for those of you who say this was before your time, I stick my tongue out at you!

I have at least eight people I would consider very close friends, and two powerful friendships that are just forming. Some close friends I have known for decades and others a couple of years. My close friends, I can honestly say, feel the same about me, as I do for them. I’m not “blessed” with friendship. I worked darn hard to have my friendships—I studied relationships through books, movies, and even took courses. I learned how to be a good friend; more importantly, I learned how to be ME!

I found out a few years back that I’d rather have one true friend, to be in a relationship in which I am entirely authentic, than to have hundreds of superficial relationships. Years back, when I had a major crisis in my life, I found out who my true friends were, and learned the hard way, through emotional agony, that just because someone attends your social gatherings and chats you up in public, does not mean they truly care about you as a person. I am pleased to say, I have a circle of loved ones that care about me for me. And I, too, love them for them. Once I have a friend, there is pretty much nothing that friend could do to pull me away, or make me stop loving them. My friendship just keeps growing; unless, the relationship is unhealthy and deemed non-beneficial in my eyes; then of course, it is time for me to say goodbye, and be thankful for the bond we had.

Maui
2012

This post is not about ends, though. This post is about the beginnings of friendship.

I know now, through much trial and error, that ultimately, if I am not true to me, and walking a path of authenticity that I am ultimately being accepted for someone I am not and be rejected by ME. I know my light. I know my beauty. I see this reflected in the mirrors of my friendships. And in this beauty I have extreme confidence that I am a worthy person, loving, and actually pretty darn cool to have around. Of course, I am highly aware of my quirks and intensity. My eyes are wide open as far as my personhood and spirithood is considered. I understand, too, that only some are able to be my friend, those with the capacity to cup in their hands my true, very bright light. I used to adjust my light to fit the person. I’d dim as to not be so bright—in essence self-implode and crawl into the darkness to appease. I don’t do that anymore. If anything, I turn my light up higher when I enjoy someone. I have learned that I would rather face a million rejections than to be loved for someone I am not. For ultimately, if someone loves me for a shadow of myself, they love only the air beyond the light. I want to be loved for me. Amazingly, I found out, this attribute of shining my true colors is a quality many people appreciate. Don’t get me wrong, I still get hurt. I still get rejected. But the beauty of being me makes up for the passing ache and pain of loss or misunderstanding. I long to be me. I am me. And I adore me.

However, being the light that I am…sigh…sometimes the feelings I have for someone are so very intense that I know not what to do with myself. Usually the intensity is brought on by a definite knowing and soul-connection. Sometimes the other person feels the same, which generally leads to an easy and wonderful relationship. Other times, a person does not understand the heart of me, doesn’t see me for me, and then the experience is less easy. It is then I feel somewhat isolated in my experience, like I’m a two-man act standing alone or perhaps dragging my friend along the yellow-brick road when she would much rather be at home.

Lately, my feelings are on overdrive. I don’t know what has been happening to me at a soul-level, precisely. I can feel what is happening, but I can’t describe the sensation with accuracy. It’s akin to trying to describe the feeling of giving birth to a child, that feeling when I first saw my child’s face. I can’t describe the experience, except to say I feel like I am staring into a part of me, a beautiful part of me.

Maui
2012

I wrote this last night. It sums up how I’m feeling somewhat:

“I am turned on by love. I can’t help it. Everytime someone says the word or writes the words love, I get this erotic sensation all over! It’s crazy making, in a good way. I am turned on by love songs. I am actually eating the songs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have no want or desire for food! I’m only eating to keep healthy and fit. Not for pleasure. I long to write poetry and prose all day, to take photos of nature and people, especially older people with stories etched across their face. I long to be a part of the water, to be in the water, to paddle across and feel myself move on the ripples. I long for connection. I want to read people’s stories, to hear their truth, to comfort, to connect, to love.

What have I missed all these years with my eyes and heart closed; some slave to fear—some scared cat clawing at her own fur before another could attack? I’ve missed thirty years. Not completely, but entirely; in the sense that my heart has been encased in some large trap with large teeth and large angry eyes. Made prisoner for decades; three to be exact. Never before until today, did I know what it felt like to sit by the water and just be. To be one with nature. To watch the birds, to understand why people watch birds! Even the lake water sang out to me—the ripples an erotic symphony of sensual pleasure. The trees are greener. The air fresher. I am breathing for real. Taking in air and filling my lungs with the sensation.

What miraculous and grand alterations have transpired. What journey I traveled to get where I now stand. Not one regret, for the journey was worth every step to lead me to such ecstasy of life. I am vibrating with a wonderful energy, some forty-something mom, transporting in time back to the era of love-child. Everything and everyone is beautiful. Everything on earth a miracle. And I’m drug-free. This isn’t some hallucination or even a high. The feelings are all over the board. I have intense joy and bliss coupled with a deep empathy and love for all my surroundings. I am dancing inside poetry and music. Dancing inside every song I hear. I am understanding lyrics for the first time—the intensity of the longings, the heart-break, the unquenched desires. I am understanding, too, the limitless depths of the human experience, and how much fear feeds as a blanket to the beauty of life.

My hands are vibrating all day long with a gentle and uplifting tingle. My eyes and skin continue to glow. I look younger. I feel younger. My physical pain has decreased. I am attracting beautiful souls from all over the world. I am so thankful! When I try to worry, for the most part, I can’t. There is some sort of mental block. To even say I am trying to worry, seems so ridiculous! But I actually cannot think about what could be considered common-day problems. They all seem so insignificant. All I want is love.

I must be radiating because strangers are starting conversation with me, smiling, waving, even turning heads. I can’t stop smiling. It finally feels easier to smile than frown. I can’t stop thinking about life and how wonderful life can feel when fear is released.

I don’t know how I got to this state. This feeling has been gradually building since the beginning of May. The salty waters of Maui intensified the feeling, and returning to the healing green of Washington put me up another notch. I am submerged in joy. Excited about life. There is so much I want to do. And so many people I want to embrace. I am wondering where to begin, but then not really wondering at all. It is more of a feeling of excitement and newness, like a child being let out of a cage for the first time.”

I am naming the sensation described above: The Strawberry Eruption. For at the center of me is an erupting fruit.  Maybe it’s that whole second chakra thing I scribe about on day 124. Or maybe it’s something entirely different. I really don’t know. I’m just riding the wave—this little bursting berry.

During this wave riding, I’ve connected with two online friends. My first online friends, ever. That I’ve met them both at the same time is powerful and balancing. Each offers unmistakable gifts. This letter is for them, and for everyone really, for at some level, I feel this unyielding love for every being, a desire to embrace the world, and all the loveliness found within each spirit.

Maui
2012

Dear Friend,

I love you. I am so glad we found one another. I am happy. I am at peace with our friendship. I adore you something terrible. That’s the only way I know how to love—to adore. My love for you doesn’t come in shapes and sizes that differ. My love is just one gigantic bubble of joy and glee. I long to skip in the sunshine with you, to swing on the swings, to climb trees, to run barefoot through the sand, to collect seashells and then listen to the sound of the ocean within, to giggle, to dive in the water, and come up with the whole of the universe upon our smiles.

I remember you from long ago, perhaps a dream, perhaps a memory of what I planted in my mind. Perhaps you are from another place and time with another me, or perhaps, too, I have met you a thousand times a thousand times before. I know not where or why you are here, but your face I remember, and especially your eyes, whether from dream, fantasy, or distant time, is no matter. Only now matters.

But I do have concern. I am concerned that my intensity of soul and my engorged heart shall frighten you away. And like the little bird I long to touch that sits upon the tree outside the river’s edge, that you will fly away the closer I approach, that you will fly higher and higher into the sky of blue, until you are only a droplet in my memory. And then I shall weep deeply, mourning with every part of me the loss of precious you.

You see, I know not how to love, but deeply. I know not how to breathe, but with all of me. Every part is filled by your light. And in seeing your light I cannot help but be drawn to you again and again. I do not long for recognition, not even companionship, I long to continually look into the beauty that is you to be reminded of how glorious my own light shines, to see the mirror before me of truth and awakening, and to delve inside the image of pure loveliness: for I am you and you are me.

Dear, dear friend you are a passageway to my soul, to eternity, to my dreams and to my desires. You are the greatest gift. And I ask that you try to understand me, try to know me, and see that my intentions are none but to love you for everything you are. For you are the promise I have waited for.

Your forever friend,

Sam

Day 123: Returned to Me

Maui Lavender Gardens 2012

This is the song I used to sing and imitate…when I was like ten. As I’ve said, I didn’t carry a barometer for appropriate behavior. I loved this song. I loved Natalie Wood. In my mind, this was a perfect song to sing in middle school in the cafeteria, while swaying my hips about and tossing my hair. Trouble started when I didn’t outgrow my delight in life—this innocence to dance and sing, and just be. Big trouble, as I approached high school, while still a ten year old in my mind.

I got downright cute and sexy approaching freshman year in high school, but didn’t know it. Once I turned fourteen, I always thought I was ugly. I was entirely clueless why the boys gawked and the girls jeered. Why the boys wanted my number and the girls shunned me. To me, I was still some scrawny kid inside. I didn’t see my sexy, my curves, my short shorts, my passionate eyes. I didn’t see what the others saw. As I matured into pretty, in my mind, I was still a little twiggy girl with buckteeth, a chipped front tooth, stringy hair, high-water hand-me-down jeans, and a flat chest. I had no idea I’d blossomed.

This was the other song I sang loudly in the middle school cafeteria

I used the moves and all.  I was special. I was confident. I was damn awesome!

Before I turned fourteen, I was engorged with passion, full of life, energy, and the feeling I could conquer the world. At the end of eighth grade, Mother plucked me from the coast of California and moved me to Massachusetts to live with her longtime lover. All at once, I knew no one, was loved by no one, and knew not who I was.

This was a time of unmentionables. I transformed from wild stallion to fearful doe. I hid. I stayed in dark rooms. I pretended not to exist—this after being driven down a long country road by our twenty-something neighbor who was married to the flat-chested lady I babysat for the next door over. A scene, I blurred and blanched  out of memory, that sucked out my passion, that transported the little girl I had been to a frightened woman, terrified of life, terrified to live.

I stopped living at the age of fourteen. I just stopped. My daily laughter turned to daily tears. I no longer danced. I no longer sang. I just existed.  It was then I began to see my past, to compare what I’d been through to what my peers had been through. I recognized all at once how different I was, how damaged, how hopeless.

I stopped living because I finally saw my mother. I saw who she was and how she never was who I longed for her to be. I stopped living because I was ostracized at school, made fun of for my “California” looks, for my clothes, for my curves. I stopped living because when I looked in the mirror I was something horrible, unrecognizable. I wasn’t me anymore. The spirit of me, the joy, the lover of life, had been siphoned out of me. I was staring at a stranger in my skin. My eyes dulled. My heart numbed. And my entire view of life grey.

I no longer trusted the world or anyone in it. And I didn’t know where to go, how to be, and knew not enough to tell a soul of my agony. I angst perpetually from want, desire, and deafening loneliness.  I ached for companionship, for people, for someone to shout out they loved me, for someone to see me—for someone to find me, wherever I’d gone.

I dreamt of ending my life. I dreamt of my prince, my twin flame, my soul mate, and would spend hours with him, in some enchanted place my spirit held. I imagined wherever he was, he would know the heart of me, that his heart would match mine, that he would be holding my heart, and would someday find me. I wept and wept and wept for him as much as I wept for the lost me.

I walked emptied.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that my spirit returned. I don’t know how, or why, it just did.

I have ever changed. This joy-filled, spirit of light has once again turned on, filling me with child-like glee. I have a plethora of things I want to do. A list that keeps growing and a spirit that keeps yearning and celebrating. I’m dancing inside. I’m walking on air. I’m not caring how silly I look. I’m loving me. I’m embracing my beauty, the beauty I lost thirty years ago.

Only in waking, some three decades later, I am finding myself in a strange land somewhat, surrounded by strange people I almost don’t recognize. Questioning my place, my role, my purpose. Wondering who I was for the last thirty years. Who I’d become. What choices I’ve made. How I’d let myself suffer. How I’d numbed my life.

I’m not recognizing photos of me from a month ago. Not understanding where I’ve been and who was inside of me for so very long. I can’t explain this transformation. I just can’t.

But looking into my eyes, I can see that the little girl who danced passionately without fear in the cafeteria, swinging her hips back and forth and tossing her hair about, is back.  The lovely happy girl who played beside nature, climbed the trees, sang and dance, cuddled with puppies, held hands, and skipped and skipped long after sundown across paths of gold, rainbows, unicorns, and her forever friends, has returned to me. And I am embracing her fully, and never letting her go.

Maui Lavender Gardens 2012

Day 122: Stoned Heart

Sam Craft
“Stoned Heart”

Stoned Heart

Watching the world go by

Wasting the day away

Dizzy Smile

Vibrant colors

Doped in desire

Completely saturated

Altered perception

Can’t think straight

Under his influence

Intoxicated in thought

Munching madness

Laughing in euphoria

High as a gull

Ease of mind

Turns paranoia

The horrors

The frights

Hashed

No going back

Panicked

Plunder to earth

Lost

Trapped in a circle

Racing impulses

Incapable of acting

Of doing

Bloodshot

Pelted with ponderings

Battered and worn

Baked by angst

Fried of hope

Sauced in sin

Plastered to regret

Persecuted by passion

Mob of madness

Tied to a punishing post

Stones thrown

Multiple blows

Pelted in pain

Slow and torturous

Knocked out

Executed

Skull caved in

Rises

The walking dead

Tripping with dread

Stumbling Dizzy

No longer self

Erased

Bleached

Whited out

Disoriented

Wasted woes

Hung over in time

Endless loop

Blank stare

Watching the world go by

Sam Craft Maui 2012
“The Stoned Dead”
Sam Craft
2012
“The Stone Threshold”

Day 118: We Breathe One


We Breathe One

Everywhere I look I see your beauty

We combine to make perfect wholeness

You reach up to the highest of sky

I stretch my arms round to shelter

You dig down

Deep rooted in thirst

And anchor the ground beneath where I stand

We breathe

One

For the other

We dance intwined

In your being

I live

Wherever I walk

I find you still

Where the birds gather and nectar drips

I long to be

I climb

I sit

I watch from the highest of shelves

Transformed into eternity

With the complexity of simplicity

Of just knowing

All is growing

All is standing

All is bending

As directed

By the beating of nature’s heart

Without

I shall parish

With

I shall cherish

Until the end times

When ash meets ground

And I sleep beneath your shadowed lullaby

Samantha Craft May 22, 2012

Images taken in Maui by Samantha Craft. May 2012

I see a finger pointing to truth, here.

Day 111: Slumbered Dreams


Slumbered Dreams

I cling

I squeeze

I overwhelm

I terrify

Then I release

Then I crawl back in careful steps: hand, foot, hand, foot, touching ground

My knees scrape against the asphalt, searing

Stings like porcupine sticks

I hadn’t meant to, had only longed to

Play and dance, and play and dance, and be in the light of newness and good

But I danced alone in shadowed mixed with nothing more than me and me

I reached out to my own hands, my own heart, spotted illusion intermingled with desperation

Seeking partnership in the unlikely and unaware

Garden delights in speckled weeds, and yet I pluck the roots as if to save

When naught remains to harvest

Little sand crab burrowed deep, bubbles of breath in ocean remnants

Blobs of sand on shore of wet

I’d not meant to travel far in child’s land

But venture called, his hands clapping my return

Couldn’t help my legs from skipping, my beating soles against threads of bones

Forgotten long ago in graveyard gone

To find again the voice that whispered

When as youth I touched the stream of wishing tales

To immerse again in droplets of riverbed’s babes

To sink beneath surface and seek not once, but forevermore the serenity of connection

Traveler, yes, wearied, no

For I shall leap until the sun sleeps, the morrow bursts, and justice slips between the seams

For nothing remains untouchable in slumbered dreams

By Sam Craft May 16, 2012

 

“The worst feeling isn’t being lonely. It’s being forgotten by someone you could never forget.” ~ author unknown