I recognize this as a very odd post. This second chakra awakening, passion, or transition—whatever words are chosen to attempt to decipher what is occurring for me at a soul and cellular level, is directly related to reclaiming the spirit in me that was lost in my youth. My sensitive nature, depth of soul, and ability to take in extreme amounts, coupled with the circumstances of my childhood, led me to lock a large portion of my self away.
This portion locked away, was largely the part which knew I was beautifull, knew I was worthy, and knew I was desirable. When very young, I learned how not to live, how not to show joy, how to in effect dislike myself and my body in order to survive.
In knowing this now, with a profound awakening on multiple levels, I am holding a cup in either hand. To the right of me is the hope of this now found passion. To the left, balancing my position, are the memories. I am seeing how each feeds the other. The erupting passion on one side, the imploding self on the other. The flame and the joust.
Here I place the cups before you. Experience as you’d like. For we each stand with two cups. All equally balanced in beauty.
Embracing Me
One of the reasons I am taking photos of myself lately is to embrace the beauty that is me. I never have seen me before. Seen how very lovely inside and out I am. This is part of my growth process. My hair is usually unbrushed and I wear no makeup, say lip gloss. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s fresh. I love it.
Breaking Free Maui 2012
Flame
Naked
He beckons
The depths of me
Fingers dripped in sweet
Honey-suckle nectar
Lips moist
Dew upon the fields of sunrise
Strawberry mist
Pours through
A damp fire of longing
Reclaims pleasure
Lighting the avenue of discontent
With fierce flames of gentle dragon
Until
Devoured by desire
I taste
The phantom of celestial union
Kissing ghosts
Where we once breathed
Beauty Maui 2012
Switching the MOOD back to LOVE here. One of my FAVORITES…. This video WILL make you smile. I promise…and this is where I am today…in this state of mind. 🙂
There wasn’t any reason to hide, at least not at first. But I crawled inside my tiny closet anyhow, me and my red plastic piggybank. Inside the squared-space that was layered in frilly dresses and the smell of cedar sticks, I would hold tight to my piggy and pretend.
At first I could imagine Father was back; and not just once or twice, but all the time. In my thoughts he’d hold me tight, bounce me up and down on his knee; and then he’d stand up, grab hold of my hands, and twirl me so fast I’d fly up off my feet. And we’d laugh, giggle so hard the tears would pearl at the corner of our matching oval eyes, his with the amber light, mine with the deep ebony.
Inside the dark of the cramped space, I’d travel back to my silver-haired nana’s adobe-style house, the one with the red-clay roof tiles and the white stucco face, that sat on a steep hill on Washington Street, a one mile hike up from the barking sea lions basking on the rocks at Fisherman’s Warf in Monterey. I’d breathe in and remember a time before, a time before I understood how homes, and heads, and hearts could break.
There in my memories, my petite nana scooped me up effortlessly and dotted me in tangerine-orange kisses, while my smiling Aunt Rose Marie squished and rearranged my cheeks. And stout Nano, after leaning over and flashing his bald spot, winked and pulled on my earlobe, offering out a kindly, “We love you, Little Sam.”
Father was there, too, moving in his own cautious way, inching forward and offering everyone his one-arm embrace. I’d tried to make him different in pretending, make him hug me tight and kiss my cheeks, but the truth always had a way of winning out.
I’d see us all napkin-bibbed at our seafood feast, so that it seemed with the salty air we were all fisherman sailing the ocean waves. As we cracked open crab legs and peeled tiger-shrimp, Nano stitched together grand fisherman tales in an Italian accent as thick and refreshing as homespun ice-cream. Afterwards, with bellies filled, we all helped with the dishes, me with my very own floral dishtowel, and my wide smile still swathed in pizza sauce.
Nano took his leave soon, snuck out to the back porch with a big platter of scraps. Two minutes later, when Nano reentered the house with a lick-cleaned plate, looking more satisfied than he let on, he muttered, “Damn cats. I hate cats,” and then held onto his belly, gave me a wink, and chuckled.
Sometime after seven, when all the plates were stacked neatly back in cupboards, the plastic tablecloth wiped clean, and the eight-track tape of Italian music drifting through the room, we gathered round the table for a game of penny poker. Holding the cards proved somewhat cumbersome, but somehow I managed to win every single hand, and in doing so compiled a stack of pennies: ten-high and ten-long.
“One hundred pennies; look how great you did,” Aunt Rose Marie would laugh.
I smiled with eyes of pride, and then reached down and yanked at my stockings. It was possible, I found out, to stack the pennies the height of my mug of hot chocolate before they tumbled down. Nana leaned over and braced herself against the edge of the table, saying softly to my father, “You need to bring her more often. We miss her. And we miss you.” Then she looked over at me. “We have a surprise.”
My dark-haired aunt came forward carrying a plastic piggybank loaded with coins. Though it was only a smidgen bigger than the palm of my little hand, I was amazed. For the next several minutes everyone watched, as I cradled the plastic piggy.
“Now you save that. It’s not to open. Put it in a special spot.” Nana turned from me, pulled down her silver-framed glasses, and eyed her son. “You’ll bring her again soon, won’t you?”
Father nodded and stood up to retrieve my small wool coat from the back of my chair. “Yes, I’ll bring her soon,” he answered, as I slid into my coat, holding my piggy tighter.
Mother would arrive long after supper, all done up—the fair Audrey Hepburn—her curves hugged by a linen suit of strawberry-milkshake. “Hello, Beautiful,” she would say, fussing over my blue-silk hair ribbons. I would gaze up at Mother, then, with my deep brown eyes and tug on my braid. I savored the word beautiful much like I did Nana’s hard taffy candies which left my tongue all purple and sweet.
(Teacher says: Music I posted in comment section is a must to play while reading.)
This is Violet in the Morning. My little Labradoodle. I also call her Spastic Colon, but I thought the title Spastic Colon in the Morning might give you the wrong idea. I am carrying her in my arms in this photo. That is my scarf. And, yes, those are her very sad eyes. This is my first time taking a camera on a walk since I moved to Washington. Violet was initially very excited to walk. She showed me this by jumping up and down about three feet off the ground and wrestling with her leash. But once we were outside the front door, she didn’t seem too happy. She was tugging, and pulling, and shivering. I thought she must be cold and said, “You’re a dog. Toughen up!” And I giggled. Because giggling in the morning is fun.
This is my tree. I call him Fred or Sheldon. I can’t decide. He doesn’t care, because trees will go by any name, as long as you hug them.
When I passed this tree Violet was still shaking. A few blocks later and she was pulling back on her leash. Being the logical gal I am, I thought to myself, “Hmmmm. Maybe she senses danger. Like a mountain lion or wild leash-free dog.” I was still a bit clueless and exaggerating events in my mind.
About the time I reached this stump, I leaned down and soothed Violet with gentle pats, and reassured her she had a fur coat to keep her warm and that there was no pending danger.
This crow was watching us outside the lama barn. We kept walking, Violet shivering and tugging, and me clicking away happily.
Flowers by my home
Early Morning Mist. Can’t beat this calming scene.
One of my favorite properties. They have outdoor weddings here sometimes.
About the time I captured these ducks flying overhead, and was thinking I wish I had an audio recorder to capture all the bird sounds, I realized poor Violet wasn’t cold or scared. In fact, she was having a doggy seizure! This wasn’t her first. So I scooped her up and held her. And I continued the walk with her in my arms.
I have a friend who I promised to carry in my thoughts today. So as I carried my doggy, I imagined I was carrying the person’s burdens. This worked for quite sometime.
This scene caught my eye. The two friends, the dog being held, but then I noticed the broken leg. Made me wonder a bit about things.
Me wondering about life.
Fake seagull in ivy
Neighbor’s yard
Fish atop a mailbox
Hidden School Bus
Old Bus Stop
Here comes the sun
I had to keep setting Violet down because my neck and back were aching something terrible. She was sweet. Just sat there and smiled up at me.
Interestingly, this was the least violent seizure she has had.
Here are photos of my favorite part of the walk. To me, this is one of the loveliest places in the whole world. I carried Violet most of the way. First down the hill and then back up, sometimes in a cradled position and sometimes like a baby slung over my shoulder. She shivered. But with every step I took with her, she calmed more down. I kept my friend in my mind. It was a very enlightening experience. Especially considering my sensory issues of having dog breath in my face and my physical issues of having difficulty lifting things. I was quite happy and pleased with the way the walk turned out. I reflected on the way life is—how we never know what to expect—and that sometimes it is best to just make the best of things. And so we walked on.
Do you see that little blue light? I like that very much.
Green, green, green!
Love this
What a lovely tree
Pure Bliss
Looking up and smiling
My favorite road
A little red
More of my favorite road
And then comes the water
Just heavenly
More lovely nature
See how small the people are and how tall the trees are?
Swings! Lisa, do you see the swings?
Violet felt better after I carried her for about forty-five minutes.
And I leave you with my favorite trees. I call them the Humping Trees. Can you see why? I love when nature makes me giggle.
There once was a big brown bear that lived in a lush green forest. This was a lovely place of songbird, of fresh streams of salmon, and strong trees hosting hives of dripping yummy honey. There was so much beauty about. But the bear spent his days worried. He worried about the streams, and the trees, and even the yummy honey. He worried about the best passage way in which to enter the stream, the best of the trees to scratch, and the best technique in which to acquire the honey. He worried the stream would run dry, the trees would die, and the honey would disappear. He worried so much that soon he couldn’t even hear the streams, see the trees, or even taste the honey. This made him worry more, until in bear’s eyes everything vanished and in place of beauty only barren land remained.
With everything seemingly gone, the bear grew sadder. His roars shook the foundation. His paws beat at his fury chest. And his big sad eyes, they searched everywhere.
In his sadness, one tree was birthed. It grew tall and strong in the middle of the barren land—a tree with a strange green fruit.
The bear touched the tree in curiosity, patting the bark and peering up at the abundance of fruit. What interesting fruit he thought. He shrugged and moaned, and reached up to pull off a fruit. But his strength was so strong that the fruit instantly burst, sending out green goop in every direction. He watched as the inner seed of the fruit rolled away, and could swear he heard the seed weeping. Again he tried to take the fruit. This time he pulled the fruit with light hand, and the fruit remained whole, but as soon as he sliced the fruit open the seed spilled out, rolled away, and he could swear he heard the seed weeping. Next, he pulled another fruit and stomped on it to release the green inside. The green remained splattered at foot, but bear swore as seed rolled away, he heard seed weeping. At last, with patience, the bear opened fruit gently and lapped up the inside, tasting the sweetness. He was pleased. Except bear was certain that the seed of the fruit rolled away weeping.
Finally the bear took another fruit down, and before doing anything he asked: “Why do you weep so little friend? Were you not made to be eaten and be relished?”
The little green fruit answered: “Yes. It is true. I was made to be eaten and to be relished. But you have forgotten the soul of me. You take what is needed. You fret over how to have your needs met. But you forget that I am more than the sweetness. Inside of me is a seed that much like you is in search of home. Yet, I am continually opened, enjoyed, and then left to roll away unnoticed.”
Bear thought. He thought very hard. He tugged on the fur of his chin and then his deep brown eyes lit up. This time bear opened the fruit slowly, with gentle claw, and before he did anything else he lifted the seed out of the fruit and buried seed in fertile ground. This time the seed giggled and began to grow.
“Oh, thank you, kind Bear,” seed whispered at his side.
With that the bear was at last able to enjoy the fruit. A smile crossed his face. And with smile the sun returned, the forest reappeared, the streams came back, and the honey dripped down. And the one tall fruit tree vanished.
Bear was very thankful. As the bear smiled, he remembered his friend the seed. And with that small thought, a small green fruit sapling appeared at bear’s side.
“Hello, friend,” bear whispered, smiling with honey on his paws.
“Hello, friend,” sapling whispered back.
“You are growing!” Bear sang.
“Oh, yes. I am growing,” sapling said with a smile.
Bear roared in glee admiring all of the beauty around him.
Bear licked his paw and smiled. “Oh, dear friend,” bear said. “Thank you for teaching me happiness is far beyond the solving.”
Sapling whispered in return, “Thank you dear Bear for knowing my longing to be placed in fertile ground. So many have fed upon my sweetness and never had the heart to hear my weeping and know my longing. Because you have known sadness, you saw my truth and I grew. And now because I know happiness, I shall see your truth, and you shall grow.”
With those happy words, the honey dripped from the sky, and bear and sapling sang with the songbirds and danced together in the clear running stream.
Everyday Asperger's 