Generous

Choose to be happy
With all that you have because
That is all you have.

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So Fracking Philosophical at 8 AM EST–Sorry

Christian or not, until we submit to the Power that created us, Universe or God (as long as we struggle against the nature of things?) we will only know strife and pain. If we submit to the higher power of God/Nature, we will become one with the everlasting.

Experience true peace and happiness.

To try and control that which we do not understand will bring inconsolable sadness and eternal, unquenchable desire.

It is futile to rail against the inevitable in pursuit of the inconsequential.

To misinterpret is human. To understand is divine.

We must embrace the overwhelming power of Creator and become Creature. It’s the difference between Heaven and Hell. And the difference between Languidness and Transcendence.

twilight

this was siesta key beach (sarasota, florida) when Lilli was only 4 or 5. i took this photo with a throw away camera. sometimes, those are the best shots.

she had just made a new friend on the beach, but the day was winding down. it’s always a thrill to meet someone new, but tragic knowing you only have a few minutes with them. you wish you’d known them the whole day. or your whole life.

as a kid, i remember the feeling of meeting someone so amazing and the panic of realizing, “I’ll never see this person again.” :/

6 haikus for temporary friendship


ran around today
endless chasing after play
at the end, it’s found


just made a new friend
but the sun is going down
twilight never end


the sun is tired
but my will and joy are up
time to rise and shine


the water sparkles
with new feelings of friendship
and tears fall from fear


don’t go, Sun. please, stay.
if you go, my friend will, too.
and I’m not ready.


nice to meet you, friend
let’s vow to always meet here
at least in our hearts

Les is More

More from Present Tense, Vol. 2


Les. His name is Les–in bright, white, shiny-stitched letters on a red oval just over the pocket. Dark gray uniform.
Mr. Les. Our elementary school janitor/maintenance man.

Les has a smiling face even when his lips may not be turned. His eyes are perpetually up/happy/sweet/youthful. Light blue, effervescent, smiling icicle eyes. Mr. Les takes our tickets at lunch. He takes our tickets and gives out winks and smiles.
He pinches the small carnival ticket between his thumb and the fleshy lower section of his curled up index finger. He does this with kindness, gentility and ease; as if he’s softly
offering his hand to a nervous dog.
His job does not diminish him in spirit or in body. He energetically does his tasks even
though his perfectly white hair reveals his age. And his pride does not grimace at the simplest/basest of tasks. He sprinkles magic janitor dust on vomit, pee and all manner of stains. Dutifully.
He is friendly to all. He is especially nice to me. I respect him. I have no reason not to. His humility and warmth are rare. He is decent. He is tender.
He is an uncommon man. Hero.
The air is crisp. The wind is swift. He carries me from the playground when I twist my ankle and can’t walk. He carries me all the way to the healthroom. I’m at least 100 lbs.

The air is warm. The wind is still. He puts his arm around me, pats my back, reassures me that I am loved and respected when a girl threatens my friends and me at recess. “We’re going to miss you around here when you leave.” Tears.


I love you, Mr. Les. I don’t know where you are, or if you’re even still here, but you were/are a good man. And you made this child happier. Thank you.

Piled

Tired, happy children
Piled on top of Pop.
Cuddled on his wrinkled clothes
Upon his lap they’d hop.

Relaxed and tousled jams,
Schlubby socks and drooping eyes.
From contented smiles and deep, sweet breaths
Happiness will rise.

Safe and sound for now,
However momentary.
We were once a family.
Photographic evidence unnecessary.

But helpful. 🙂


My dad and my two oldest siblings.

I’m No Angel

Print
Angel wings and halos
Aren’t always what they seem.
Perfect teeth and tits
Are nothing but a dream.

This body gave life.
This belly gave birth.
This face has laughed.
These hands do work.

My breasts have fed
A tiny baby girl.
This mind has created
a from-scratch, new-found world.

I wouldn’t really try
To change a bleeding thing.
After finding my own voice?
I’m totally gonna sing.

Why not?
So what?
Wear
Think
Do
Say
Go after
Pull down
The things you want.
No one cares.
No one stares!

And if they do?
Chalk it up to hate.
They’ll have to answer for that
Portion on their plate.

I’m too busy living life to wonder what small-minded people think
about this big-hearted person.

HEEEY! *snap* bye. *flap, flap, flap*


YOU! bettah. work!

Lois the Lion

i made this helmet princess several years ago after my friend died. it’s the dark eyes that remind me of her, i added those.

i didn’t draw the helmet, but i did everything else. i found it and manipulated it in photoshop. it was a royalty-free image, like a drawing from an old book.

and i wrote this poem. i revised and published here because it makes me happy to think of her.


i didn’t know you as well as i could, but i knew u were:
funny as hell
wispy like a princess
and the-heart-of-a-lion mother

life is a stain, full of blood and pain
an un-removable mark

indelible, undeniable, irreversible
irrevocably absolute

life is crazy and messy and amazing
impossible to erase

ur mark can never,
will never, fade
ur remarkable and beautiful
uniquely made

ur body is broken
ur life is undone
but ur spirit is alive
you have overcome

ur daughter is here
ur love is around
ur there in her eyes
angel come down

ur the lucky one
now u will rest
u endured the worst,
enjoy the best

Raise Your Sails

Republishing because I needed something positive this morning. Hope you need it, too. Don’t lose hope. You’ll survive. Even thrive. Just. Move. Forward.


Fix your eye
On the endless sky.
See the light behind the storm.

Raise your sails
For the new-found sea.
Un-anchor from the shore.

Find your wind.
Begin again.
Don’t linger in the shoals.

You’re the one
Who will feel the sun.
Ride the wave wherever it rolls.

An Armful

Last night, my daughter came up to me after a long day for both of us and asked to hug me. “I wanna give you a big hug.”

She hugged me for a few seconds and then exclaimed, “I can fit my arms around you!” And we laughed together. We rejoiced together.

That was a big moment for both of us. She’s never embraced me and touched her hands until now and I have lost so much weight that my daughter can get her arms around me for the first time. Wow!

What a beautiful moment. I love her. She’s such a gorgeous reminder of pure love and acceptance. I see Jesus in her spirit every day and she rescued me from a lifetime of indulgence and regret. She gave me a reason to live. She helped me embrace life.

Thank you, Lilli. For your hugs and whole heart.

Party City

Tried this flamingo hat on at Party City the other day. Is this a good look for me? If you can’t wear a bird on your head every once in a while, what’s the point of living?

I remember the day my dad tied two free helium-filled balloons to his ears and walked out of our local department store. I was embarrassed on the outside (because I didn’t understand whether it was funny or not, it was), but learning the internal lesson of standing out for laughter’s sake.

You know, I’m sure someone had a better day because they saw an old, crazy, fat man wearing two balloons on his head. Something to talk about.

Dad was balding, tall and overweight. He wore overalls on most occasions. Typically paired with a short-sleeve western shirt. In a mixed town of country folk and suburbanites, seeing someone in denim overalls at the store was not shocking. What was shocking was seeing a middle-aged man with balloons tied to his balding head and greeting customers in the parking lot.

“Thank you for shopping at Wal-mart! Have a nice day!”

My sister almost cried, threw up or had an anxiety attack at his ridiculous display. I feigned upset, but was cheering on the inside. That took balls.

Dad wanted to become a country singer/guitar player. He infrequently got the steel-string acoustic out and plucked a song or two. He had a good voice, but someone told him, “You got no rhythm.” No one from our family. That would have hurt him deeply and caused years of turmoil. But he definitely wanted to stand out. Be seen. Be creative.

I have always thought that I was a mix of my father and mother. Restrained and refined in some circles, but sometimes, in the right circumstance, not afraid to stand out. I am an actor, creative, designer, artist. I can’t sing, but I have other talents to display. To have a space to shine is, IMO, a required psychological exercise. Anyone who doesn’t have a special thing would feel pretty sad and isolated. Maybe he felt that way sometimes. Unspecial.

I’m thankful for my blog. For acting. For art. It’s kept me sane. Okay, less crazy. 🙂 Art is therapy. So is writing. I worked through much trouble with writing over the last decade. All for free. Thank you, Internets!

Dad would have loved Party City.