Journaling That Doesn’t Suck 09/27/2016

Went for a slow walk yesterday around the fake lake. It wasn’t exercise as much as knowing I have to get out and begin moving, to start putting one foot in front of the other. It doesn’t have to be pretty or accomplish any other goal than moving forward steadily.

Didn’t listen to any music to distract myself or try to elicit a cheap emotional release. Just walked and BE’d.

Said “hi” to a lot of friendly people getting their exercise on. Smiled at their dogs.

A little stormy weather was coming in from the west. Looking east, though it was around 9 a.m., the line of dark clouds not quite eclipsing the brightness of the sky in that direction gave it the illusion of a sunset.

What is your impression of the picture above? Is it a sunrise or a sunset and how does one tell without being there? Impression and “feels” mostly. I dunno. Perhaps if I looked it up there would be a more sciency explanation like more particulates in the air at dusk…but at any rate, my first impression upon looking east was that it surely looked like a sunset at 9 a.m.

Insert the obvious life metaphor. Although I’m pretty sure that’s entirely my problem right there. I assume what’s so goddam obvious to me and speaks for itself SHOULD be apparent to everyone.

But it’s not. Some days (like all of them lately) it seems like the whole world is upside down in delusion, insisting the sun is setting and it’s time to sleep  when I KNOW it’s a sunrise and it’s time to get busy with the day.

How do I know?

Because the sun rises in the east and I know which direction east is.

So was your initial impression of the above photo a sunrise or a sunset? Arguing about which one is truth is pointless without being there. It’s absolute fucking madness to be there in person, day after day, the sun rising and setting in the same place as it always has, and STILL insisting a sunrise is a sunset because it just feels right…or you prefer it to be so.

Do what you want, World. I’m done engaging anyone and anything that trades the truth for a lie and would rather live in delusion than the most basic self evident truths.

I’m hoping last night was a collective turning point and that a majority of us have a clear sense of direction and know the difference between east and west, day and night, and will act accordingly.

I’m getting busy in the day while it is still today. Who’s with me?

Journaling That Doesn’t Suck 09/24/2016

Are you strong enough?

God I feel like hell tonight
The tears of rage I cannot lie
I’d be the last to help you understand

Are you strong enough to be my man
My man

Nothing’s true, and nothing’s right
So let me be alone tonight
‘Cause you can’t change the way I am

Are you strong enough to be my man

Lie to me, I promise I’ll believe
Lie to me, but please don’t leave

I have a face I cannot show
I make the rules up as I go
Just try and love me if you can

Are you strong enough to be my man
My man
Are you strong enough (to be my man)
Are you strong enough (to be my man)
Are you strong enough
My man

When I’ve shown you
That I just don’t care
When I’m throwing punches in the air
When I’m broken down and I can’t stand

Would you be man enough to be my man

Lie to me, I promise I’ll believe
Lie to me, but please don’t leave –

Sheryl Crow

Journaling That Doesn’t Suck 09/19/2016

The majority of my revelations seem to be rooted in the absurdity of life and human nature. It’s the things that don’t line up but are trying REALLY hard to maintain the appearance of rightness that jump out at me and simply will not let go. I was my own case in point this morning. It was as I finally settled on this pic that was the least unflattering of the dozen or so I tried to get that my multiple layers of vanity burst out laughing at me…the one who spends so much of her existence judging the vanities and absurdities of the world.

 

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All is vanity, says the Preacher.

JTDS 9/2/2016

Today I AM Angry

So, so sad and angry. I finally went to therapy for the first time yesterday. It was only an initial consultation. I did all the talking, just trying to put as much of the backstory out there as possible to give her an idea of where I’m coming from and out of and struggling to move into. The one question she did ask me towards the end of the session, “Are you angry with God or feel like He’s abandoned you?” My answer was a swift and resounding, “No…not at all.” Though the dismantling of every single life box where I’d sought security and certainty for myself has undone me in every way, I am convinced it is God Themself who drew me to and through this excruciating process. And the more undone I’ve become, the more connected and at peace I find myself with Whatever God There Is and the more sense Jesus makes.

Conversely, as time and distance start to do their thing (healing/resetting) I’m finding myself feeling safe to release it all. I’ve been holding back for the safety of others; my family, innocent and unaffected friends, but especially those who directly persecuted and murdered me and my family. As much as I hated what was being done to us and as messed up as I was, I knew that to fight back would mean devastation for ALL and would bring entire families down with me. I couldn’t do that. So I absorbed as much as I could. I threw myself on the bomb. A messy solution that disgusted many, but the only one I felt there was.

But I’m not in that place anymore. I fully accepted and took up that cross and died on it. Now I’m being resurrected. The torturous march towards death is now a rambling exploration out in the wilds, teeming with life and possibility. The process of years and years of absorbing and suppressing toxicity and being blown apart beyond recognition is in reverse now. As I flesh back together piece by piece, toxicity and death are released.

Having a safe place/objective person without agenda who will let me tell my story and give me the needed support in making sense of it is vital in recovering significant pieces of myself. A lot of toxicity being released today, the day after. I suspect there will be many more “day-after” releases to come with subsequent sessions.

So today, I AM angry and sad…and it is good and healthy and safe that I AM. It is reality. And Whatever God There Is – IS – by definition, reality.

JTDS 8/27/2016

Holy crap. I just listened to Libby. Really listened and considered what she was saying and why. Then I did the same with myself. I saw what we both want.

BOOM! A vision for the next year(s) and a giddy excitement over what is possible.

This book, who gave it to me, and the timing of it all is blowing my mind. Goodbye naive girl. Hello wild woman. 20160826_141601

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Journaling That Doesn’t Suck – 8/24/2016

Good advice. Not everybody has profound personal spiritual experiences. No one can experience what I experience and vice versa. Ultimately, whatever experience we do or don’t have is between the individual and whatever God there is alone. Whatever we can say or paint or sing or write about transient and transcendent spiritual experiences comes down to art. Our God talk will never = truth that we should impose on anyone else. Yup, ignostic I definitely am.

Note to self –

  1. Never shit on someone else’s art.
  2. Be a prolific artist yourself. If anyone else relates, appreciates and finds value in it, that’s extra gravy. Maybe you’ll inspire a few artists to beautify the world. Maybe those few will multiply exponentially. I’ll find out on the other side, but that’s not my concern here and now. As long as I’m drawing breath on this side, pay attention, be inspired, and express freely and honestly, with or without an audience.

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Journaling That Doesn’t Suck – 8/23/2016

 

Been getting outside to exercise lately, which is a very good thing. Tennessee is pretty, Y’all, and as of this morning blessedly not as hot and muggy as balls. Last week I went wogging in the rain, and the theme turned out to be not-at-all-subtle nature metaphors.

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So very beautiful. So very dead. Freshly so. This butterfly was absolutely perfect lying motionless on its back. I dunno…I find a serene supreme beauty in that brief window immediately following death before decay. I spoke a blessing to Butterfly, “Well done” and thanked it for allowing me the privilege of being witness to such sacred sad beauty. There’s a lot of butterflies in this world. A lot of humans too. This one and I shared a moment in time and space in the universe.

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I don’t know how far apart these trees are. I’ve always been terrible at judging distance beyond inches. Should I work on that? Anyhoo, can’t see it in this picture but there was a GIANT spider web suspended between the two, and I only saw it because of a few glistening water droplets that were attached. Had it been sunny, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Madame Spider was nowhere to be seen, staying dry I’m sure. Mighty impressive handiwork though. Classic web, very symmetrical. Just the kind of thing that would be a NIGHTMARE to walk into. I walked by these same trees this morning and noticed the web was gone. Perhaps the gardeners plowed through. On closer inspection I saw a fresh solitary strand connecting the two trees. Looks like Madame Spider is starting over. How can she even DO that? What is that, 12 feet? 6? 30? Like I said, I have no sense of distance, but what spacial acuity Madame Spider has! Way to spider, Spider. And trust me, I don’t want to touch your web any more than you want me to bumble into it and destroy it. I’ll be checking in daily to see how you’re hangin. I shall go forth and appreciate how comparatively little I have to do to catch my dinner.

P.S. Look at the leaves already dropping. I’m going to be living someplace that has a legit autumn season!!!

There’s something so affirming hanging out in nature (even if only a well manicured walking trail around an artificial lake). Observing the fish being fish, the birds being birds and bugs being bugs simply acting out of what they ARE, somehow frees me to just BE and embrace my humanness, no matter if clan and culture scream and spit that I’m doing the human thing all wrong. Nope. At least for today, I’m winning at being human just by paying attention. Rinse and repeat tomorrow and the next day.

 

 

Journaling That Doesn’t Suck

I’ve always been a writer, but I didn’t realize it until 4 years ago when I broke and began blogging out of necessity to live. I quite literally felt like I would die if I didn’t express myself, even at the great risk of exposing myself to further judgment and hurt…and boy did it.

I’ve journaled non-religiously (because I wanted to and it felt good, not out of a sense of obligation that I was “supposed to”) throughout my adult professional religious life. I’ve got a few journals spanning the last 20 years wherein I poured out my heart and soul to myself and whatever God there is as I understood Them at the time…and the evolution of my voice reflects as much. The earlier years are formal full paragraphs and I bothered with punctuation and proper grammar and such. What’s funniest and most cringe worthy to me now reading the me of yesteryear is the repressed and stilted language I used, addressing God as “Lord” and heavily salted with all kinds of christianeze platitudes and catch phrases to express my most intimate thoughts and feelings.

LAWD, that poor damaged child, speaking to appease and avoid condemnation of the church biddies even in my own head, prayers and private journals. Stiff and stagnant as those early journal entries may be, I can still see the nuggets of revelation and inspiration that inspired me to write at all, and I was diligent about dating them and revealing some context of what was going on in life at the time.

Then there were the years where my entries were all about figuring out how to do church, thinking there was some magic formula of reading and studying and praying just right that would make it all come together. Gah…I can’t even handle looking at that now. All I want to do is reach into those pages and pull my tortured soul out of that toxic wasteland into sunlight and freedom. I look at the date of every hopeful entry where I was doing my darndest to pull myself up by my bootstraps, stay positive, do and say all the right things, and like watching a horror movie, I see the monster around the corner who’s about to devour the unsuspecting damsel. It doesn’t matter how loudly I scream, “No! Don’t go in there!”…she does…and it’s a bloody, gory mess.

My voice definitely evolved over time, or…devolved, actually, as everything I’d been led to believe and think crumbled away bit by bit until the final crash and ultimate deconstruction. The last few years, if I journaled at all, it was mostly short phrases and ideas, sometimes even just a word. Toward the end, that word was “FUCK.” When you’re a mangled bloody mess, it just works and brings a certain level of comfort and release when you can find precious little of either anywhere else.

Blogging had become my journaling…sort of. More like journaling on steroids. I do absolutely love the medium to talk about the things that are important to me, but it takes me hours and hours to get one out, usually using more words than most care to read. I can’t Tweet to save my life. The challenge to say something meaningful and witty in 140 characters or less….ha, ha, ha…NO.

I’m going to use my natural wordiness and passion for story telling to write a book, sooner than later, but on the way and as part of that process, I’m going to resume journaling and share them here on the Cage-Free blog – jotting down random things for no other reason than I notice them and want to document and save for posterity as blocks I might use to build something substantial down the road. That’s not work for me but 100% pleasure and how I make sense of and recognize the sacred in life 24/7. It ain’t preaching or trying to convince anyone of anything. It’s simply what I see as I go.

You (whoever you are) are so very welcome to see too…or not. Take or leave whatever you will, my blatherings are offered freely and without condition or expectation of what anyone else will do or think about them.

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Now to figure out what I want to do with these. Part of me wants to burn them and release that poor repressed caged girl once and for all. The communal BBQ right outside is calling to me.