Sunday, June 26, 2011


I once had a conversation with a man who said he didn't feel like a man, and then stated all the reasons for his feeling that way.  The reasons he gave had to do with another person, a woman he lived with, and he felt absolutely right about her being the cause of how he felt.  I knew the woman he spoke of, and while she may have had her quirks, she was not the cause of his feeling less than a man.  That particular feeling/belief came long before she entered his picture.

After listening to him for awhile I said, "But you are a man.  I don't see the problem."  I did see the problem, but I desired that simple statement to sift through his consciousness for awhile.  I watched the simple truth of it dawn within him, and then I asked, "What makes a man?  What is your personal definition of "man"?  For it is certain I am sitting here having a conversation with one."  That opened the door in his mind to possibilities and viewpoints he hadn't considered, and from that point on I witnessed him relax in himself as a man.

I have witnessed a break down in communication time and time again over personal definitions, and more importantly, because of the attachment of self identity to those definitions.  Add to that what we consider good and bad, and yeah, we've got quite the tangle.  Personally, when I look up a word in the dictionary, and I do all the time, I don't attach good or bad to the definition given.  In fact, the concept of good and bad doesn't even enter into my thought.  It's simply a definition.  And I certainly don't attach it to myself!

Here's an example of a communication breakdown because of a difference in definitions...

Most of my conversations with a person close to me, let's call her Martha, break down because of what she thinks I am saying when I speak to her.  She has quite a bit of resentment in her, and it is completely understandable why it exists.  Given the same circumstances, and walking through the same conditions, I would probably feel the same way.  Here's the definition of resentment isn't the same as hers, and for sure, I don't see it as evil or bad having it in my kingdom.  I also don't see it as attached to my identity.  Do I like it when it's present within me?  No, it just tells me I haven't completely let go of something I gave, in whatever form it was given, because I thought it wasn't appreciated, or worse, even noticed.  As soon as I let go of the gift, viola!, no more resentment gnawing at my insides.  It is more important to me to have the festering of resentment gone from me than it is to be shown appreciation.  And now that I know what the deal is with resentment, before giving anything, I check to make sure my giving is going to be done free and clear of any outcome I may desire.  If there is even the slightest possibility that resentment may occur, I don't give until I know I can fully release the gift.  Period.  But that's me.

Now, Martha's definition of resentment is quite different.  If I said something like, "It's resentment that is making you unhappy," she thinks I just said she's evil.  Nowhere in that statement did I attach resentment to her personally.  Nowhere in my thought when saying it did I attach resentment to her identity, because, simply, I don't see her that way.  But more importantly, resentment isn't a person...its a feeling.  We aren't our feelings.  Feelings are fluid, they come and go...kinda like happiness.  Yet Martha cannot find acceptance that there might be resentment within her because of what that would mean about her by her own definition.  She thinks I just attacked her person, and believing and feeling she was just attacked, she goes to defend herself by attacking in kind.  At that point is when I get off the wheel.  Yet there she is, feeling hurt with her absolute conviction that after all she's given, this is what she gets...

So yeah, an unnecessary breakdown in one to blame.  Only mistaken. 

Which leads me to another point.  Where did we originally get our definitions about anything, but most especially regarding ourselves?  Throughout my own personal journey, I found many of the definitions I had regarding myself, and my world in general, were placed there by others.  It took some work to disentangle myself from what belonged to someone else that I happened to take on.  Some I chose to keep because I discovered they jived with what I truly felt, but most of them I dropped completely, and redefined myself.  I found the easiest way to do that was to go first to the simple facts, which is the truth.  First - I AM.  I exist.  No question or argument at all about that.  It's a fact.  Next - I'm female.  Anything I attach to myself after those two facts is on me, and my own definitions for what constitutes being me, and what I feel being a female is all about.  Both are constantly evolving and aren't attached to any one thing, inside or outside me.  I've found its better not to attach myself to any one definition, and just allow my life and expression to speak for itself.  I ask myself, what do I desire to experience, or what am I experiencing, and what or how do I desire to express myself within it?  Somewhere in between is where I find a happy medium.  But I never lose sight of the fact that behind all of it, my definitions, feelings, thoughts, etc., is the simple fact that I am.  In the end, that's all that matters, everything else is just art :).

I am the presence
that notices
what I feel and think

I am the presence
never changing
behind all
that I express

I am the artist
playing with
all the colors
of life

I am the force behind
each brush stroke
I add to the canvas
of this life given me

I am the student learning
from the Master Creator
who held a vision unseen
and painted it into seen


Friday, June 24, 2011

No Disaster ( I said bravely )

Heard this in a movie I watched recently.  It kinda says it all for me today...

I'm definitely
the loss
and lost

One Art

By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something everyday.  Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
next to last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you ( the joking voice, a gesture
I love ) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like ( Write it! ) like disaster.


Thursday, June 23, 2011

Found My Shoes

I came back here
to find my shoes
I searched every nook
and cranny
I looked under
the couch
the bed
sorted through
and just when
I was about
to give up
I looked down
through blurry
and found them
they were
already on
my feet

Accept the Invitation

Say yes to love
no matter the form
when it comes
to its soft voice
for its not
what you think
it will look like
not in the shape
you anticipate
let go of
"supposed to"
love will
never conform
It will simply
invite you along
and it will
feel like
a new song
being sung
while in
your slippers


Wednesday, June 22, 2011

I WILL Go To My Room, Dammit!

What is it about bumps showing up in the road right before making a move, or a new change in life,  to slow ya down, or freak ya out while in the process of doing it?  My daughter and I both are coming up against them.  For me personally, several days ago I noticed a bit of radiator fluid leaking from my SUV, and I thought it had to do with a bad clamp on one of the hoses.  So yesterday, I took it in to be checked out by my mechanic, and also to have him look at why my air conditioning wasn't working.  I plan on taking my cat, Saki, with me, and got to thinking there is no way in hell I'm driving with a hot Saki cat, cooped up in a carrier in the front seat under an open window with hot air blowing her fur all around.  She's an indoor cat, always has been, and the thought of her extremely annoyed, hot, windblown look got me cracking up, then got me scared.  I feared she'd never, ever forgive me.

The mechanic checked the radiator leak first, and it wasn't the clamp on a it's a leak in the radiator itself, and he gave me two options.  I could replace the radiator for almost 400 bucks, or since it was a very small leak, I could fill it with Stop Leak, and hopefully that would seal it for awhile.  He even suggested coarse ground black pepper to help seal it.  I asked him if he was joking on that last one, and he put up his hand in the boy scout sign for "scout's honor."  Who knew?  I felt my heart drop to my gut, and just wanted to cry, because I don't have that kind of money to get a new radiator and make a move clear across country.  He told me to think about it while he looked at what was causing my air conditioner not to work.                

So I got quiet, and tried to settle my ass down, and then the mechanic and I got to talking about the state of the economy, poverty, religion...ya know, the usual things mechanics and their customers talk about.  ( I've actually known this man for many years :).  He finally found the problem, and it was a valve leak, a ten dollar part, that could be easily repaired.  The expensive part was the freon, so the repair ended up costing me more than I wanted to spend on my budget.  But bless my mechanic for being a good family friend, because even though he didn't say it, I knew he gave me a deal by the look in his eye when he told me the cost.  I tried to dig the real price out of him, but he wouldn't budge, so I thanked him profusely, then drove home to figure out what I wanted to do about the radiator problem.

By the time I get home I was feeling cranky, and walked into the house to a cranky daughter, and a cranky mother, which got me feeling even more cranky.  I don't have a room to shut them out, or to shut me in, so I headed outside to sit on the porch in the 107 degree weather.  Okay, it was cooler than that in the shade, but not by much.  I sat there for awhile stewing in the hot air, trying not to cry while I wondered what to do, feeling the squeeze of funds running low, when I got a call from my two friends who I'm moving in with if I can just get there.  The same two friends who have prepared a room for me, painted it yellow, ( after calling and asking me what color I'd like :), then took it upon themselves to paint the ceiling sky blue, with puffy white clouds, to give me a sense of spaciousness and light after living in a dark, drab house.  They even talked about getting glow in the dark stars to tack on the ceiling for nighttime :D.  They called at one point and asked if Saki likes to play in water, in which I told them she does, so they set up a mini fountain for her entertainment, along with a desk for my computer, and a fish tank with a lonely little fish who lost his mate recently, which I'm sure will keep Saki entertained as well! 

I told them the bad news and they brushed it off, and told me to do the stop leak stuff, because the father of one of the guys loves Fords, and loves fixing them, so I can get it fixed by him when I got there.  I brought up the what if scenario of breaking down while on my way there, and they were like, "Meh, we'll get the father and come get you."  Then they said, "Cindy, this is gonna happen, don't worry."  Finally, my ass was settled, and we all three talked for another hour, while they sat on the porch watching a storm, and I sat on a porch in the heat, all of us dreaming and talking about our plans.

After I hung up the phone, I felt a new resolve rise up in me... by gawd I WILL go to my room!  There's nothin' gonna stop me from steppin' into and claiming it, and then I realized what that sounded like and bust out laughing.  But its so gonna happen.  This morning, I checked gas prices, and every day they keep dipping lower, making my trip cheaper, so it all works.

My daughter brought her horse, Chic, to the house several days ago, and has been keeping her in the back yard, ( long story ), so I decided to hang out with the mare this morning while watching the sunrise.  I scratched her all over, and she followed me around wherever I moved, blocking Acacia, a sweet old golden retriever, from getting a scratch of her own.  It turned to play, and after I went to fill up their water, Chic came over and laid her head on my shoulder, drew me in with her nose, and I swear, gave me a hug.  I hugged her back, and something in me knew....

...its all gonna be okay :).  


Monday, June 20, 2011

Much Ado About Goodness

As my daughter and I prepare to move, we've been making it a point to spend some time together before each of us heads into a new chapter of our lives.  We have an easy way with each other, and good humor and laughter is always present when we hang out.  There have been moments this past week that I will carry with me for the rest of my days.  To say I am grateful to her for giving to me of her time would be an understatement.  Over the years, I've had people tell me, after witnessing or hearing about my relationship with my daughter, "You're a good mother," like they need to come up with some reason why she gives to me, or shows me her love.  I am always a little shocked by this statement, because I don't view it as something I did to deserve her love...I see the gift of her loving act as a blessing outside anything I did or am.  It's about her, not me.  I have a full recognition that she doesn't have to give me her time, her love, or anything else if she doesn't want to.  The fact that she makes that choice freely to go there with me means a great deal to me, and with the recognition of it, I feel grateful.

I have found, in observing folks over the years, that mankind has an obsession with being, and therefore appearing good.  Along with it is also the need to protect that appearance.  I did too, until I came across this statement right here:  "Why do you call me good?  Jesus answered.  No one is good -- except God alone."  (Mark 10:18)  I remember my reaction to that statement was one of confusion.  In fact, my brain did a big ERT.  What the hell did He mean by that?  Wasn't He like the epitome of good?  Try as I might, I couldn't understand it, but I felt like it was important for me to see, so I tucked it into the back of my mind and heart to be processed while I went about other things, bringing it out now and then to meditate on and ponder.  Finally, my eyes were opened, and understanding dawned.  Labeling a person as good, is the exact same thing as labeling them as bad.  Both are a judgment, because both are an opinion that is made subjective from the perception of the beholder.  What's good or bad to one person isn't necessarily good or bad to all.   We all have our definitions of what constitutes good and bad.

Once I understood what Jesus meant by His statement, I can't even describe to you how freeing it felt.  It also opened the door in my mind to understanding what "righteousness" as opposed to "self righteousness" was all about.  Here's the trouble we get into when we are concerned with being "a good person."   A few weeks ago I mentioned a friend of mine being thrown out of her house, and left homeless, with nothing but the clothes on her back, and a few dollars.  ( I finally heard from her, and she found a place to stay, and is doing as well as can be expected.  She still doesn't have what rightfully belongs to her).  The two men who ousted her believed they had good reason to do so.  They kept all her belongings, including her purse and ID's, and her beloved animals.  I encountered them a few times after all this happened, once while they were rifling through all her belongings, and without fail, they went into a litany of justifications for doing what they did, mainly making her out to be "the bad person," and ending with..."I'm a good person." Hrmm....

Here's my viewpoint on what transpired:

These two men do have good within them.  I see it there, just as I see it within every human being I encounter.  They are human, bound to make mistakes, and this one was a doozy.  First, if they wanted her out, there was nothing wrong with that.  If they had kept it that simple, and not judged even their desire to want her gone, and what that meant about them by definition, things probably would have turned out a whole lot different.  But instead, they needed to find a reason for their simple desire.  From my perception, in the very moment they found a reason to evict a gentle, soft spoken 60 year old woman from a place she felt safe to be in, they lost any and all signs of their own humanity, and therefore did not see all.  They didn't see another human being standing before them.  What they saw instead was a battle between good vs. evil.  An eye for an eye.  And they absolutely needed to make her out as the bad person, and got busy after the act to bring others to their "side" to justify their deed, and I'm sure, to be able to sleep at night.  They needed to be 100% right about their act, (which is the definition of self righteousness), and saw only how she had wronged them...being the good people that they are.  In their mind, they were the victims, and put their entire focus on themselves and how they had been victimized, then acted accordingly.  What's wrong with this picture?

Victims victimized.  Well, a victim mentality victimized.  For who was the true victim in this case?

Here's the thing....even if what they said was true, that she did indeed do what they said she did, they could have gone about the entire episode in a much more humane way.  Without losing sight of her humanity, and their own, they could have chosen to do what's right and good, instead of trying to be right and good.  I may be wrong about this, but there is not one place I have found within the Bible where God says man himself is evil, or good for that matter.  Instead, there is a whole bunch of mentions about man doing evil or good.  And that means we choose good or evil, not that we are either one.

Regardless, in dropping the concern over whether I'm a good or bad person, or appear as one, I discovered it was easier to do what's right by another human being.  I found it actually freed me to practice the ability to step back and consider someone else other than myself.  It brought me an acceptance, and a recognition of my own humanity, and all that that entails, and others.  Do I have moments where I don't behave very well toward another?  You betchya.  But that doesn't make me, by definition, a good or bad person.  It's just means I behaved badly.  I am not my behavior.  I choose my behavior.  Sometimes, I've got it wrong.

Here is the most important thing that dropping the concern over whether I'm a good or bad person gave to me;  it freed the love within me.  There is a great deal of folks who compare love when there is no comparison.  The spirit of Love is behind ALL love, no matter how, or where it is expressed.  Expressing love, in whatever form, doesn't make a person a good person.  As soon as we drop the concern about being good or bad, we also drop the pretense that we are loving, and that frees us to love in actuality.  Loving doesn't make me a "good" person.  It only makes me a human being who is choosing to express and give it.  I don't have to give it, just like my daughter doesn't have to.  She just does.  And the recognition of that is truly the most awesome thing ever.

Yesterday, Father's Day, was the anniversary of when someone I loved dearly sought to end my life 3 years ago.  He was another person obsessed with being, or appearing to be a good person.  That obsession, that need, is the very thing I see that led to that day.  He wanted to silence me over his own bad behavior to save his good image.  In his mind, he was the victim, and made sure to try to save and protect his "good" image from someone who he thought was going to take it from him.  I just wanted him to treat me right, do right by me, see me as a human being.  The very same as I see my friend wanted who was evicted from her home.  He could only see himself, and his need to protect his lie, because others might find out he wasn't such a good person after all...God forbid.  If he had dropped the concern, dropped the act of appearing good all together, and did the right thing, even he would have been so much happier.  He truly had good within him...he just wasn't choosing it.

Years ago, a wise woman once told me, "Cindy, feelings aren't good, and feelings aren't bad, they just are."  In the same way, we humans aren't good, and we aren't bad, we're just everyone else.


Sunday, June 19, 2011


In Spirit
there is no such thing
as subterfuge

reveals Itself
in It's own time 
in It's own way 

Love is Divine
patient, tolerant
tender and kind

All Three
are One
and the same

You thought
I was after something
when in Truth
I was allowing you
to give
something only you
had the power
to give

For it was you
who inserted it

It was never my place
to speak for you
only give to you
an opportunity

I did tell you

I would see you free
How did you think
it was to be achieved?

The Truth will
set you free
yet you must be willing
to first free yourself
through your spoken word 

What does the Truth
free you from?
Were you not
held blackmailed, enslaved
by your own deception?
Your own omission?

Did you not
seek to control
every avenue
to your heart?

Love came to you
and sought to free you
you mocked Love
loyal to a lie
instead of Truth

It is your own relationship
with Love and Truth
that is at issue
not your relationship
with anyone else

You will not know
The Spirit
of Love
of Truth
until you allow
it's release
it's full expression
through you

The only thing damming
It's outward flow
from you  
is you
and all the reasons
you come up with
not to speak Truth
not to let Love flow
through your own heart

How can it return
unless you free it?

There was never
any reason
for all the subterfuge
I never was
and never will be
your enemy
the enemy was the lie

The message
was, and still is
drop the act
and you will know
and be joyfully


Saturday, June 18, 2011

The View

 All my branches
         are aspects of me
                  if your only focus
                                   is on one
                                             you miss seeing
                               and experiencing
                                              all the others
                                                                I am more
                                                                  than a
                                                              one, or two
                                                     dimensional view
                                                        in fact
                                         what you choose
                                  to see in me
                         comes from you
                                           do you see
                      the whole, complete?
        do you add in
the trunk
the foundation
the roots?
Or do you
cling only
to the surface?
How you
see me
tells me
where you live
      in your own tree

Friday, June 17, 2011

The Quiet Place In Between

I am the gateway
between two generations
into a new
way of being

I am the embrace
of winter and spring
dancing, for a time
until spring dances alone
and finds her new partner
in summer

I am the bridge
between old and new
sunset and sunrise

I am the moon
giving soft light
in the place between
until the hope of you
dawns into being


Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Since my daughter arrived home a couple of weeks ago, activity in this house has stepped up.  Since she made the decision to get out of the Navy, she and her husband also decided to move to Texas.  They plan on leaving in less than two weeks.  Needless to say, things have been kind of busy around here.  If all goes well, I am also planning to move to another state very soon.  My mother is stronger, and able to drive herself where she needs to go, and if she needs help, my brother now lives in the valley not far away.  He arrived in AZ a few days after my daughter did.

The river flows...and I'm flowing along with it.  I've done a lot of thinking this past week, and will be switching gears a bit.  My thought and plans are leaning heavily toward abundance, and I have some ideas I'd like to share.  Until then, I've been writing a lot of poetry lately, and I'll be sharing some of them here in the next couple of blog posts. 

It is my hope that all of you are staying cool, sipping iced tea, or lemonade, and having the start of a very fun summer :).

When looking for images to go with this post, I found these two I couldn't help but share.  They are sooo me...yep, I'm that geeky.


Tuesday, June 7, 2011


We don't try to organize it
we don't try to figure it out
we don't try to put it in a box
with any sort of label
We certainly don't fight
or argue over it
We don't try to claim it
as just ours alone
We don't go around saying,
"I'm the only one who knows
the deal about air."
How crazy would that be?
Its just air, we breathe it
even though we can't see it
We don't have groups of people
taking sides, one side
claiming they don't believe
the other claiming they do
both sides very busy
trying to cram their belief
about air
down the other side's throat
Again, how crazy would that be?
is just hanging around
being air
What we believe
or don't believe
has no impact on it
It just IS, impersonal
No respecter of persons
Air doesn't care
about all the hullabaloo
going on regarding it
I would even say,
although I may be wrong,
that air doesn't even know
there's a big tadoo 
It's just floatin' along being air
giving of itself, freely
we all pretty much agree
in unity
air is air
and we're all fine with that


Saturday, June 4, 2011

As The Tank Turns

Thursday evening, a friend of mine posted a picture on Facebook of his fresh water fish tank.  Underneath the photo he wrote:  "The fresh water planted tank."  Little did we know what would spring from his innocent sharing...most of it occurring this morning.  The following is our conversation on Facebook, and how "As The Tank Turns" was born.  It introduces the dramatic story of Murk, the psychic, black market algae dealer.  I thought I'd share it with you, because we sure had some fun with it, as you will see.  My mother got involved when she heard me laughing, and added her two cents, and then another friend of mine chimed in.  Feel free to add to the story if you wish in the comments section.  I'm thinking of starting a weekly Story Telling Time day here, or on FB, beginning with an innocent enough looking photo, to get our creative juices going, and having a bit of fun.  Let me know what you think.  Enjoy!

            Cynthia:  beautiful :)
            Ben:   Tanks. Hehehe.
            Ben:   You know it's funny...There are tons of fish in that tank. I guess they didn't want their picture taken that day. LOL        
            Cynthia:  lurking fish...there's a story in there somewhere...
            Ben:    They all had appointments at the back of the tank. :P
            Cynthia:   ‎...with a shady dealer named Murk...(your turn :)
            Ben:   Murk was selling black market's the new designer drug that's swept the nation's fish tanks.
            Cynthia:   No one knew what Murk looked like, so capturing him was a problem...
            Ben:   The fish search all the back alleys of the tank, between the blades of swaying grass, and in every crack in the driftwood. Still, the mysterious Murk was seemingly nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Beatrice, the Neon Tetra spotted something moving beneath the sand...
            Cynthia:   Beatrice called to the others, flashing her neon signal silently...
            Ben:   The fish gathered around Beatrice. "What is it?" said Simon, the snail. Beatrice said nothing and continued to stare intently at the sand below. Taking note of the alarmed look in Beatrice's eyes, Simon looked down at the tiny patch of sand as well...          
            Cynthia:  ‎...and slimed himself.         
            Ben:  (I just spit water on my computer screen)
            Ben:  There, sticking out of the sand was a single eye that twinkled dimly...
            Cynthia:   ‎..., ( this just added from my mother)...and Simon moved to dot the eye, but Beatrice held him back, motioning him to wait.
            Ben:   ‎(LOL) Instead, Beatrice carefully dotted the eye. Then a booming voice came from beneath the sand, and the entire tank shook...
            Cynthia:   The fish scattered to hide, although Beatrice didn't do so well hiding when she was scared, because her neon scales flashed like a strobe light. And Simon, poor Simon, stood stuck in his own slime as the creature rose from the depth of the sand...
            Ben:   It was Murk, a huge flounder! Simon slimed himself again whilst making a half-assed attempt to retreat into his shell. Murk's face was strange. His eyes were both set deeply into the same side of his was his mouth. He floated around to expose his face to the terrified crowd of fish, and said.....
            Cynthia:   Fee Fie Fo Fum! I detect the presence of nasty scum!
            Ben:   Beatrice scoffed, "What's this jive turkey talkin' 'bout?" Simon slipped his siphon out from behind his half closed, slime encrusted shell and said, "Don't anger him, Beatrice! He could swallow you whole." Murk interrupted the quarrel by clearing his throat...
            Cynthia:  ‎.., a sound like carp bones rattling, shifted around in the throat before being swallowed, Simon thought. Before he could stop himself, Simon wondered what his shell would sound like going down....
            ‎ Ben:  "Like a slime covered shell going down my throat, you silly snail!" cried Murk. What the fish didn't know was that Murk is a psychic flounder. He had heard all of their thoughts about him. He knew that Merve, the Giant Danio, had been thin...king impure homosexual thoughts about him. This made Murk slightly uncomfortable, yet oddly excited at the same time. Murk shook of his doubts about his own sexual (and species) preferences. Simon gasped in awe at Murk's amazing psychic abilities. He's never met a psychic algae dealing flounder before....           
            Cynthia:   In fact, Simon couldn't recall meeting any flounder before...psychic, algae dealing, or otherwise. He wondered what it would be like to work for somefish like Murk, but didn't think he could get past the gross bumps that covered his slug whenever he looked upon Murk's face. Then he remembered Murk could read his mind...
            Top:   Then in one foul swoop, Murky swallowed Simon up whole
            Cynthia:  Beatrice cried, "Why'd u do dat, you foo?!"
            Ben:    Murk hacked and spat, realizing he'd forgotten about his allergy to shellfish...
            Cynthia:  "Simon, baby snell, lover!" Beatrice cried
            Top:  .. meanwhile Simon, doomed to darkness inside Murks stomach, with nothing but the the last yelp he managed to let out just before being swallowed running through his head. He waits for Murk to speak in a way that his mouth is open enough for him to jolt out. . .
            Cynthia:   Not knowing of Murks allergic reaction to his shell, he begins to notice large red bumps beginning to grow large around him in Murks stomach. He looks up, and realizes the red, angry bumps are growing on the interior of Murk's throat as well...closing the only passage way out...            o
            Ben:   Meanwhile, all the fish outside Murk's gullet float with their mouths agape, horrified at the sight of their friend being swallowed whole. "You spit him out this very instant, you stupid ass muthaf*&^ah!" cried Beatrice. She noticed an unsettled look on Murk's face. Back inside Murk's swelling innards, Simon begns to run out of air...and options....
            Ben:  (Music swells to a crescendo)
            Ben:   ‎(Those of us on the outside of the tank still have no idea where the fish have gone, and what's been taking place in the murky depths of the tank)
            Cynthia:   Tune in next time for the continuing saga of: "As The Tank Turns"

Fun!  Now its your turn....if I have any readers that is...haha!    

Friday, June 3, 2011


so your driving
along the road
like its Sunday
slow, easy going
minding your own
singing to music
only you can hear
enjoying the sights
when along comes
a tailgater

You have options:

you can teach
them a lesson
slow down more
or slam on the brakes
a lesson in
who really owns
the road

or you can allow
the pressure they bring
to cause you to speed up
still worrying
about what they are doing
behind you

both ways take
you out of
the nice groove
you had going

or you can sacrifice
the road to them
seeing that we
all share it
and allow them to
go around
which is what
they really want
and you do too

for when you
sacrifice the road
give them room
to go on by
and they leave
you in their dust
they are gone
from your life

they were strangers
after all
appearing on radar
as just a blip
on your screen
and it is only
your engaging them
that keeps them around

now that they are gone
you can relax
once again
sing out loud
while enjoying




Wednesday, June 1, 2011

The Strange, Strange World of Writers

Writers are a strange breed.  I remember when I realized writing was indeed my thing.  Oddly enough, it wasn't the act of writing that gave me a clue, which is funny to me, because there I was writing on a daily basis for years, trying to figure out what my passion is in life, my calling, and I was actually doing it!  Hello!  I was like Ziggy over there looking for butterflies.

No, it didn't finally kick in until I read an article on the quirky ways of writers.  The light bulb turned on over my head as I saw myself in all of what I read, able to identify with the writers portrayed there in all their strangeness.  I never saw it as a calling, or something to actually lean toward in life, having everything in my life orbit around it, which, pretty much, was already happening.  I simply looked at it as something I loved to do, with it working initially as a kind of reflecting pool, a tool used for therapy that helped me find my breath and my way back to center.  ( Come to find out, that's what any passion for something does ).  And it really wasn't so much about writing as it was about me trying to put to expression what I saw and felt and thought.  Like the inside was wanting out, and writing was the path used for it.

From there to here, putting what I write out there for other eyeballs to see, has been a long, neurotic, drawn out process that really could have been made so much simpler, but it is what it was, and I'll leave it at that.

First of all writers are keen observers.  This can be a good thing and annoying at the same time.  I think I was born observing.  One of my first memories is of when I was three years old, and I had my nose in the grass, because I discovered another world there under the surface.  As a teenager, I remember going to the mall or airport for the express purpose of sitting on a bench or chair to observe the people around me.  Hell, anywhere I was I found myself observing everything.

That said, writers can sit for hours doing a very good imitation of staring.  While it may appear to others we are staring out in space, or at a wall, or a computer screen, or an empty page, we are actually listening, interpreting, writing in our head, watching scenes in our head, etc.  We are very, very busy, and are not ignoring our family, the cat, the dog, the dishes, or anything...on purpose.  We are busy....please hold.  I've received countless complaints for not doing anything, or paying attention, during one of my sit and stare modes, and no matter how many times I tell the other person, "Shhh!  I am just can't see it," they don't really get it at all.  How can they?  They aren't writers.

Once the words start flowing out of us...well, there we are in the zone, writing, writing, writing.  Our loved ones, our friends, the cat, the dog, walk by, vie for our attention, but we aren't ignoring them...we are writing.  It...must...come...out.  And starts out looking something like the picture below.

But once we get going, it's like we're on crack.  ( No, I've never used that stuff, but have witnessed folks on it, and it ain't pretty ).  We may, at times, stand up and pace around, go outside, come right back in, write a little more, stand up...oh, but wait, an idea strikes...write while standing, reread what we just wrote, obsess over it a bit, then keep it or delete it, move get the picture.  While in writing mode we are the least observant people in the entire world.  Anyone could walk in and rob the place right out from under us and we wouldn't notice.  Meanwhile, the cat and dog, our people, have given up trying to communicate with us, and figure we'll get around to them at some point.  Which we do...may take a few days, but we will get back to them....

When we do come out of our writer's crack attack, we find we've gotten a little bit behind on things.  So we make lists, and post them all around to help us remember we do have a life to live, and showers to take, and connection with it and others is important.  We do good with that for awhile until the next attack comes on, ( could be hours or days, we really just don't know ), and then there we are... staring again.  Meanwhile, off in the distance can be heard the collective moan of our family and friends. 

Writers tend to have index cards, little notebooks, and pens at the ready in every area they find themselves, including the car.  But anything will do in a pinch...napkins, envelopes, receipts, the palms of our hands.  Locating those bits of ideas is another story all together.

And don't get me started on writer's block.  I think the people and pets in our lives would rather put up with our semi-absence while we're in our strange fits of writing, than experience our withdrawal symptoms.  If they thought we were neurotic before, now it's taken on a whole different color.  Without our passion of choice we are totally lost, and freaked out.  We may even start twitching...

All this is before the thought of publishing arrives.  When just the mere thought hits we become afflicted with a deep insecurity we didn't even know existed within us, doubting all that we felt confident we knew, because now when we take a look at what we just wrote, we are reading it through our supposed readers eyes, who have all suddenly put on hideous masks to scare us.  Once we publish, our bewildered family and friends, and animals look at us cowering in the corner, trembling in fear, waiting for the first crack of the whip that will put it all to an end.  We've completely forgotten the reason we write has nothing to do with publishing, but simply because we must.

Of course I'm exaggerating, ( sorta ), but that's just another thing about writers that can be good and annoying at the same time.  No one seems to have an issue with painters who, in truth, are painting the illusion of depth on a flat surface.  We just do it with words to get an idea across.  Drawing words with contrast on a flat surface.

While searching for images to go along with what I'm writing today, I came across the one below.  In light of a recent conversation I had with an online friend, which inspired this post, this image struck me...because while all this I just wrote may seem dramatic, this is in fact what I am doing...sitting quietly, writing...hoping my words make a difference.  I think that's what its all about for writers who seek publication.  It's not really about being recognized, its about connecting.  While it may appear we are self involved and absorbed, ( and neurotic :), we know that deep within us is a desire to make a difference somehow, and something inside us is saying we can.  I don't think we'd do it otherwise.  Yes, we love writing, but speaking just for myself, I wouldn't publish if I didn't feel there was something from the inside of me pushing me to do so.  There are so many writers I know of who speak about this very thing.  We'd rather not go there, put ourselves, and our words out there.  We have to make ourselves do it.  I think that says something...I think it says something important.