Follow The Children

Part of a spiritual journey is going through something and coming out on the other side of it. Ego rules the sleeping man/woman, until it become more of a burden than a benefit to the preservation of self.

A hot topic in America right now is the issue of gun control. A recent school shooting has sparked once more, the flames of change in the hearts of all of us. Even those of us who are still on the sleepy side. We desperately want change, as to avoid any further damage to our youth.

It’s not easy being a mother right now.  Every day we send our children to school, and it used to be that was done without a second thought about how their day would go. Our comfort of mind has been robbed by children with guns. Angry people who haven’t the slightest idea about how to “feel bad” and not use that as a weapon.

As we debate whether or not the issue lies in gun control or mental health, in my heart I know we haven’t begun to even grasp how much the answer lies in the way we actively support our youth. And each other.

We have only begun to purge the toxicity placed in our structural foundation as “normal”. We have only begun to see where that has led our youth, and us. We are older, but not forgotten. We struggle so much, life as an adult has become about cheering one another on, rather than actually enjoying the experience of being alive. It’s no wonder the youth of today, a new (less resilient) energetic imprint on this planet, can’t cope. Suicide is on the rise, as are mass shootings of all kinds.

When will we ever look deep within and realize we are hurting each other so much none of us can cope, not without holding tightly to our faith and anger. Because both allow us to pretend we know something, therefore we never have to be unprepared to meet our most demonized manifestations again.  And we never have to accept our role in the blame for it either.

I’ve found myself wanting desperately to relinquish my anger, the coals that burn my insides and make me hateful and bitter, and replace it with peace. That is in fact, a journey we are all on. The consciousness on this planet is rising, but first it must reach the surface to breathe once more.

All is not lost. Do not despair. The children of tomorrow were born to build rainbow colored spiritual freeways, just like their parents inserted the worldwide belief that change can come in the darkest of moments, into their hearts.

They will go on to raise their own children to become all that we ever were. And all that we will ever be.



Drop Dead Fred

It’s time to introduce you to someone very unique, my main guide. I’ve mentioned him in passing, but never properly introduced him. We’ll call him Drop Dead Fred, because he has yet to give me a real name to call him. My friends guide wasn’t such a pain in the ass. She calls her main guide (also streaming as male), by name.

My main guide has been with me since my birth. He stands to my left and whispers in my ear, all the naughty things you guys do. Sometimes. On a need to know basis only, actually. Relax!

The most recent secret he told me that needed to be told, was that the package a very dear friend of mine sent me, actually contained spit. That’s love and all the potential seeds of love a girl could ever ask for, right? Try not to look stupid in the future, dear. I see everything.

Clairaudience is the gift of being able to hear beyond. I experience this a lot more profoundly than most people, though I do recall a time in my life when it wasn’t on full blast. That was a peaceful time in my life. Now it’s bossy, telling me to talk to this person. Reach out to that one. Deliver this message. I’m sincerely just a vehicle, and that’s not always easy to be. Especially if you’re sure you’re going to receive backlash for delivering a message. Which has actually happened.

I’m not the average psychic, or messenger. I’m a little too real, a little too in your face, for some. I’m not sure yet where to use my “gifts”. I’m even thinking about getting a job to shut up all the “she’s just lazy” thoughts that surround me. I’m not lazy, nor slow, nor dumb. I’m just different. So different that living in the world as it stands is actually super hard. Like, painfully so. I’m not meant to blend in. I’m not average. Who knew that could feel so shitty? All the best things about you reduced to labels like Autistic or stupid, or lazy. That title is lazy, sir. Not me.

Is it possible that some of us came here, in body, to be that unique? Is it probable that someone like me really is meant to be more?

I cling deeply to my guide(s) through my troubled times, because though I can’t see them physically, they are the ones who are guiding me. I’ve also met one of my female guides in person. I do not communicate with this person on a day to day basis, but we are strung together by the cords of the past, and considered sisters, bound by the craft. At least in my mind.

When I was a little girl this little girl (my female guide) used to appear to me in times of need. I am sure there are more stories that I’ve since abandoned for realism, but the one I”ll share today is about the time I was nearly kidnapped from my cousin’s backyard.

I was swimming home alone with my friend Ashley, when a man I knew to be the father of another friend started peeking at us from behind the shrubs. My friend had actually sort of warned me about him, revealing that he’d just been released from jail and acted sort of odd every now and again. I knew who he was instantly. His behavior made me highly uncomfortable. I knew we had to find a way to run and hide before he tried anything.

In my inner ear, to my left (as usual) the little girl guided me into whispering into Ashley’s ear that we would need to make a run for it when the voice instructed us to. And that she would need to listen and obey, no questions asked.

The voice screamed “run inside now!” I took Ashley by the hand as she began to cry, running inside, then locking the door behind us. We also checked all of the windows and the front door, making sure they were locked. From a window I could see the man wander into the backyard and then disappear. The voice again said I needed to be the leader in this game, as Ashley couldn’t hear her and was absolutely beside herself.

I explained this to Ashley, who of course didn’t understand what I meant by any of it, other than she was scared shitless and wanted to go home. He house was half a block down the dead end road. That became our destination then. The voice once again walked me through unlocking the door (terrifying, but I listened anyway), and then swinging it open and screaming at Ashley to follow me as I ran in the opposite direction of where the man had been earlier.

We made it to Ashley’s house in tears, and trembling. But safe. And alive.

This is my life. I get these sort of promptings still, sometimes trying to fight them as they make so little sense. I’ve learned to follow them. Always.

They can say anything they want to say. Try to bring me down. But I won’t face the ground. 

I no more than anybody else, want to be understood and loved for who I really am. This is the desire that spawned this blog. And every action in between.

My main guide has saved my life again and again. In one more than one kidnapping scenario, actually. That time it was the man’s voice I heard as I pretended to befriend my potential kidnapper, making conversation as if I were terribly interested in his questions, and then running home when the voice of my guide said, “NOW!”

I once tried to introduce my family to this little girl who had saved my life. She was playing by running around my tree in my backyard. I asked her what she was doing. She explained that she was riding her horse. I told her I didn’t see a horse, my imagination already being altered by what adults call “reality”. She pointed to nothing and said, “It’s right here!” I understood. A smile crept across my face. I loved her in that instant for being so wonderfully childlike in a way my 7 year old self had began to cease to be. I told her I wanted my mom to meet her. She seemed unsure. I ran inside as fast as I could, and led my mom and brother out to the tree in excitement.

The little girl had already vanished, as she had before. My brother said he believed me because he’d seen her too on occasion, and the same thing kept happening. She just disappeared in the blink of an eye.

What you call reality and what I know are reality are probably two different things, two different ways of life entirely, two different universes colliding to be one.

Drop Dead Fred has earned his name for consistently taking me on joyrides I myself never asked to go on, though I trust him now, to lead me home or to whom I need to visit, time and time again. I hope you do too. Trust yourself I mean. It might be that your own guides are communicating with you by other means, rather than clear hearing. It could save a life, or your own. More than once.

Trust yourself.






It’s not technically the season, Spring, quite yet. In Utah it’s felt like Spring most of the winter. Until it didn’t. The tail end of winter was as harsh as can be expected in the desert normally. The snow lay thick on the ground, suffocating everything beneath it, looking peaceful while doing so.

I have been feeling a little lighter in my heart, like the harshness of my own personal winter is lifting too. The worst has come and as it leaves, I’m left sort of wondering how the hell I made it through the frostiest season of all.

I’m comparable to the grass where it lays flattened by the now invisible snow, mud showing through in bald patches. And to the trees who are still standing, their branches bare, naked, ugly to those who can’t love trees in all seasons of life.

I’ve been sitting outside. My eyes closed. The sun beats down, making me toasty. And I feel somehow, a renewed sense of hope.

God, the human spirit is resilient! The heart can barely beat for a heaven or two, then it’s pumping full of blood again. Life is coursing through your entire being. It’s a little surprising to realize somehow, you still exist. After all that you have seen, and all that has come to pass, you are still amongst the living.

In a way, it’s a little like the journey of being a flower. Trying so hard to break through the cold, hard, frozen ground for so long it perhaps, even stops believing that it will. Or what it is attempting to do. It just finds the moment and clings to that instead of hoping any longer, for something else to happen to it.

The suddenly it does break through the barriers that were never meant to keep it hidden forever. It becomes what it was always meant to become, despite the turbulence of near constant and incredibly painful (at times) growth.

What will this rebirth bring? 

Exhausted, shivering, but standing. 

It’s a miracle.

And now, to bloom.

What will I look like when I bloom? 

What stranger will I become to myself, as I try a new paths and meet myself in new reflections of self? I can not possibly stay the same, can I?

What would it be like to not be invisible, buried beneath the snow for an entire season?

I thought the storms would never end. That I’d never find my way home through the blizzard and hail (hell). Amazing grace has carried me through. The gentle whisper of a summer breeze in my memory bank, has made traveling through the darkest season of my life possible at all.

The “power of positivity” is something I’m embracing, though even as I breathe the word, it hurts. But hurt is just more proof that something is indeed, Alive.



Fantasy Man

The topic of relationships is currently trending. Isn’t it always though? We’re a love obsessed society. Always seeking, rarely finding.

A man generally isn’t the one who needs the fantasy, it’s the woman. A man’s fantasy probably looks more some hot young blonde going down on him without grazing him with her teeth. He’s simple. Not complex. Like an ape.

When I envision my life with a man, it’s one I haven’t exactly met yet. He’s a combination of some of the best parts of the fuck up’s I’ve dated before him. All the acceptable parts jumbled together to form one man fifty shades of fucked up! Seriously, he’s no perfect person, because I’m not. I don’t have any real desire to play the role of “fantasy woman”. That just sounds exhausting! And I’ve tried that one before. Once you lose respect for yourself as a woman, so does he.

I’ve had the absolute worst experiences with men, now I want the best. I want the simplest. I want the closest and the safest. And the most respectable.

I couldn’t see myself long term with someone who lacks passion. Someone afraid of himself in his full power. Someone who can turn his back on anyone. He’s gotta be a strong, compassionate leader in some way. I need to know he’s got my back. Not because I don’t have my own. I’m quite capable of telling someone to fuck off. But the world can feel mighty  lonely without a mirror reflecting the best parts of you, back to you. Without someone else reminding you of your strengths when you feel weak.

He has to be willing to grow and evolve, and always be willing to change something if it’s not working for us as a couple. He has to take personal responsibility for his life and for his mistakes, and be strong enough and humble enough to apologize when he’s found that he’s wrong. Nobody ever says they’re sorry … and sorry can fix so much that is wrong, if you really mean it when you say it.

I don’t need moonlit walks on the beach. Or star gazing while we drip with honey. I don’t need him to handcuff himself to me, so that he might never escape. If he wants to go, he’ll always be free to do that. I’m okay without him. I’ve made sure of that. I’ve built the tower that is me up so high, it can never be knocked down. Though temporary winds might always frighten me a little.

I’m not an easy woman. And I don’t expect him to be. Because I am so complex, and so full of fire (or piss and vinegar as Justin’s family would say), I have to accept that he may be too. Life isn’t always kind, and it can leave a heart torn and bitter, full of angry shreds of skin, caused by the always clawing hands of those we once thought we could change with our love.

Standing up, it makes you a target. It makes you visible. He has to be ready to handle that. I can’t deal with running. That’s a person I can’t trust. And I need to be able to trust. I have children. And dreams. And things that require a real man standing by my side when I need him, if he’s going to ever stand by it at all. My life isn’t a revolving door. I don’t settle easily, but once I do settle in, it’s because I’m serious.

And you know what, I couldn’t live with a man who can’t laugh at himself. And can’t laugh at life. Life can be a tragedy, or a really twisted comedy. I just want to die laughing. It’s the best feeling in the world.  I’m funny as hell when my opponent isn’t so sensitive he becomes defensive. We gotta’ be able to talk shit to one another, or the relationship is a shallow dive, rather than a real swim.

I’m no fantasy woman. Unless your fantasy is “real”, and you kind of feel like being a part of something much bigger than you.

I see couples sharing their most intimate moments online (this is a topic that came up just today) as if they are living THE FANTASY, and I cringe. I cringe because a real relationship doesn’t need to be hyped up as something it’s not. I cringe because relationships used to be sacred, remaining safely tucked away in the hearts of the only two people involved. And now it seems it’s another opportunity to self promote one’s “perfect” life on social media.

I’ve seen the “cutest couple’s” in person. I’ve tapped into their energy. I’ve witnessed the cheating, the lying, the very opposite energy expose it’s self in the reality of life.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say all relationships are a sham at all. Love is abundant. I would go so far as to insist that if you need an audience to validate your fantasy life, you’ve already tainted the most beautiful thing there is: A real love story between just a regular man and a real woman.




Recent Events

My life has been a bit dramatic since December. You remember the plumbing incident, right? It took over a month and a half to resolve. The black tub water smell still haunts me every once in a while. I can not believe we lived with that smell for that long. Imagine what black water smells like, that’s how it smelled.

Except worse.

Anyway, the floor had to be ripped out and the toilet removed to get to the problem. I’m not sure why the plumber (I’ll just refer to him that way) decided the front yard was the best place to set an entire used toilet while he worked, but he did. And I got my picture taken sitting on that beautiful porcelain throne, because I am addicted to the next picture of me.

This sick rush washes over me.

I get a little loopy feeling.

The world seems brighter and better.

The voices plead with me to be realistic, ” Stop! You’re not that good looking!” But you can’t talk any sense into me.

I’m already flying.

It’s a beautiful thing.

This addiction of mine.

If you’re anything like me, you’re defensive about your addictions. I’m always screaming at people, “it could be worse, motherfucker! I could be on crack, dick!!”


So, back to my problems.

More recently a woman wearing a plastic badge showed up to harass me about weeds in January. Code Division bullshit. You know how it is. Also, she personally is offended by people leaving unregistered vehicles in their driveway for too long. Even if it is an old Crown Victoria, cop car. Weird.

This shit had to be taken care of immediately! IMMEDIATELY!!

I was livid.

I left her a lot of voice mails.

I argued about the weeds.

When she showed up personally to my house to take another peek at our progress, she looked sad, tired, worn down, like she might want to rip my head off and shove it up my ass. But we have played nice ever since the tow truck man came the day after a major storm, and got stuck towing my piece of shit car out of my driveway. My brother adopted her.

In the midst of all that, was a friend who offered the help of his brother and his truck to tow the car away. I thought I had hit the jackpot. What kind of amazing human being had I stumbled upon? Maybe the world was actually full of them after all!

It didn’t go well. He literally left me in my driveway in the middle of fucking winter, with a bold faced lie about how he had to leave suddenly. When I called him out on it, he confessed to being a coward. I don’t really get along with cowards, so that “friendship” met my delete button IMMEDIATELY!!

I’m not sure what he thought was going on with the car, but I really do try to treat people better than stray dogs, myself.

Then my cat went missing! And he’s so much more than your average cat. We’ve been together before. As in, he was mine in one of his past lives. When I was a little girl (12) I had a white cat named Sugar Baby. She adored me, and I her. She had big green eyes that crossed, and she slobbered on me when she was so happy she couldn’t stop purring. All things Chaos, my Siamese cat, does.

I energetically asked Chaos one night, sensing this discontent in him that I was somehow unaware of who he really is, about this other cat. I began teasingly in that moment, calling him Sugar Baby, and his soul lit up. He’s never purred so hard in his life as he did in that moment of wonder between us.

People probably think I’m crazy for loving a fluffy person so much, but he was an Angel to me. And I hope he comes home one day, though my faith in anything ever going right again, is currently traumatized.

Drama, drama, drama.

I would edit myself, but this is THE blog about real life. Remember? I really thought 2018 was going to be my year.  I keep doing that. God is laughing, giving Satan a high five, right now.

Maybe I just need to focus more positively …

That’s what spiritual people would say.

Maybe I’ll write a follow up blog post about these same problems, but seeing the silver lining in them. Like, I’m really happy we have to pay the government for not weeding in January. I sure learned my lesson. I’m a better person today, because of that single event. Who doesn’t secretly hope to be a better doormat. I mean, person.

Or, I could make some wack shit up. Like, the plastic badge lady and I became best friends and she paid for all my traveling for life! Who knew rent a cops could be so lovely? Boy, if she hadn’t tried to take me for every penny that time, life sure would be empty and meaningless!

Another lesson learned the hard way: Laugh, there’s nothing else to do.












I’m A Beautiful Fucking Snowflake!!

I’m bursting at the seems with words and ideas about what to write about after a month of silence. I can’t decide on just one topic, so maybe I’ll write about nothing!

I’m just kidding.


I read an article recently about Paris Hilton and her supposed influence on the world.  All shared from her own pretty little perspective. Did ya’all know she invented the selfie? Next thing you know, we’ll all be rushing to have our faces printed onto throw pillows and spending time behind bars, so that we can take  much needed break from being popular and pretty.  Focus on our “spiritual health”. You know, because Paris did it first.

That Paris, she’s so influential.

If only she threw a little money to the dogs. I wonder what the hood with do with that dough. What crazy, beautiful people are living lives that make no sense because well, they can’t afford to live the one of their dreams? What amazing new ideas could the ghetto bring forth to this world?

Whatever it is, I think it would be a hell of a lot more influential than inventing a new way to take a picture. I’m pretty sure I invented that in 8th grade anyway, but whatever. The Hood is humble. Maybe that’s the problem. We’re a little too prone to downplaying our greatest strengths. Used to being told to shut up and shine those fucking shoes already, boy!

Oh God, am I  … bitter?

I can’t help it. I just feel like if opportunity really were spread evenly throughout the world, all bad things would cease to exist. There would be no reason for theft, or war, because there would be no starving (literally or emotionally).

The Hood is poor. But they are also, poor. It’s full of people who died a long time ago, along with their unfulfilled dreams. It takes a lot to stay alive in a world that simply put, doesn’t give a fuck if you do stay alive. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe this is the pain of the entire consciousness right now. Maybe it’s not isolated to a certain type of person. Maybe I’m ignorant, but then maybe my perspective is still valid in that ignorance. After all, I’m only able to sum up my own experience. Sorry, this is the one this world still gives to people?

Recently, believe it or not, the world seems to be even more at odds with one another. I like to think we’re trying to reach a balance of some kind. That’s painful. It’s painful when hugs last a little less long, and are given a little less enthusiastically, because ya’all aren’t agreeing on politics or gun laws. When you forget that you love one another, and struggle to like each other once you’ve seen the deepest depths of each others’ personal hell.

We are all children pretending to be adults. None of us have got life figured out. We hate what has been done to us, as we’ve basically been asked to forsake our own inner children again and again. To exist in a world that rarely sums up our own beliefs and desires, at that. It’s insulting, to say the least. And we are angry, no matter what side we find ourselves fighting for.

I think the world needs more sensitivity, as sensitive people are actually really strong. Others, think we need more violence. We should start younger. We should beat the change the new world should be built on, into our children.

A friend of mine summed it up for me in relation to the older generation consistently beating up on the Millenial’s, “you had your chance. Look at the world.”

The older generation can argue that we have screwed up the world with our sensitivity and lack of respect for our elder’s, but we are only working with what they left us to build from. It used to be that their truths may have been the better version of right or wrong, but that time has passed on.

It’s dead.

Rigor mortis has set in.

Let’s bury the old world.

That is respectful. To honor that which has passed as once having been alive, having had a purpose, having been good enough “then”. Saying “thank you” for that crumbling foundation, and I respect what you did here.

But it’s my time now.

And I do deserve a little more respect for being left with a world that isn’t fair, or operating at optimal performance. For like, fucking anyone but Paris Hilton and her dog, Tinkerbell.

Namaste, fire starters. Keep the flames burning~!





Let them be roasted!!

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I can’t help but sort of hate everyone even more so than normal. There is such a thing as basically being single for way too long. I’ve had many opportunities to fall in love. I’m a girl. It’s what we do, and what the world asks of us, right?

I’m not your typical romantic, and my glass slippers are bunny slippers. The same bunny slippers practically, that Marlon Wayan’s wears in Don’t Be A Menace. I too am unsure of whether or not to wear my Tec-9 or my Uzi with my footwear. It’s just not an easy question to answer, no matter how many times it comes up.

The problem could be that I’m too picky, but like why? Who the Hell do I think I am exactly? I think people assume that’s an ego trip, but really it’s an innocent attempt to never end up with a broken heart and utterly humiliated again. It just seems hopeless that one would ever actually find a soulmate after all the bullshit I’ve seen.

In an attempt to have you side with me about the horror’s of dating and modern romance, I’ll share (almost) every single interaction I have with men the past six years. I’ll also do it with humor, so that you might laugh at my bad luck as well. Because I’m not really all that fucking sensitive about shit anymore. You broke that in me, world. It’s gone. I no longer have access to giving a solid fuck!

Bitter Beer Face – I should have known when his profile picture was a photo of him holding a beer in one hand and looking sly as the devil himself, that he was nothing more than an overgrown man child. You know the kind that never actually grow up, and scratch themselves in public. That kind.

He offered me a trip to Belize after one too many beers and I graciously accepted, because I was a fucking idiot back then. Still green. Still sure Prince Charming looked like a retired jock who no longer fit into his jersey or jock strap. That shrinks too after awhile, doesn’t it? Needless to say, after my girlfriend yelled at me for being a fucking idiot, and he deleted and blocked me online so his other, young, dumb girlfriend couldn’t see that he was a fucking cheater, it all ended as fact and triumphantly as it had begun. We went down in flames, baby!

Also, I no longer send semi-nudes over the internet.

Corny Jokester – I blush when I remember liking this one. At first his jokes were impish and cute, like a dumb child’s would be. Then something in him changed, like the way gremlins do when you feed them after midnight. I watched helplessly, in full blown disgust as the baited and hooked a naive woman in her very early 20’s. Good thing she ended up being as egotistical and shallow as he was, because then though it was so very fucking gross to see, I didn’t have to feel too bad about his bragging about her bedroom skills online.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Anyway, six months later when it ended dramatically and publicly, it was really hard to stop smiling from ear to ear. Like, really hard.

Old Flame – The Devil himself manifested in this whack job. Apparently his father wasn’t dead after all. I saw his facebook profile and he actually looked pretty damn good for being killed off by the mafia twenty years earlier.

We had written love letters back and forth for a year. I remember swooning over every word at one point in time. It’s amazing how charming people can be, but it’s even more amazing how silly 18 year old women can be. They really do trust ANYBODY. As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that I’m actually still upset by it. Like, there’s being a shitty person. And then there’s being a potential psychopath who could cover up a murder, no problem.

I guess he still reminds me a little bit of Scott Peterson.

Backyard Bully – This one isn’t really a romance gone wrong, so much as more proof that some men are bad, very, very bad. This idiot used to ride his little tricycle in my backyard, wearing a chunky helmet to protect whatever brains God had generously bestowed upon him. He was capable of taking your hand in your worst moments, and making you feel seen, and then of turning around and locking you in a closet the next. AND! And, call you pathetic as you suffered an anxiety attack because of it.

He still rides his tricycle, only it ends up in “Chumps R US” every now and then. He grew up to be a humanitarian and man does that shit look good on instagram. The reality is so insanely different, as I was rudely awakened to the fact that some people never grow up. Anyway, I don’t follow him anymore. Just seems like bullshit to me now.

I think he tried to have me run down with a truck at a race once too, but maybe I was mistaken because I’m sure no actual sane human being would do that while a woman was pushing a baby stroller, would they?


Lesser Offender’s –

Chicago – When one of the first thing’s you say to me is “you look good!” And then you follow it up with “for being in your 30’s”, it makes me think maybe you really just want to rape babies.



I don’t want to hang out. Hey, aren’t you the ex who used to brag about our sex life to all your friends? God, that was humiliating. Nice muscles, they don’t buy you class. And are nothing in comparison to an actual apology for making me wish I were dead. A thank you for not revealing your name, so that you might still find a woman to “kick it” it with someday?


 Summer Fling – At first we had so much fun. He liked to play hot lava and share great conversation about the universe. I didn’t love the actual bragging about how great looking he knew he was, but it wasn’t the worst offense. The worst was basically being compared to a hooker. Why would you send so much shade, and scratch your head over why I want nothing to do with you? My self esteem ain’t that low, you know?

Hey, I think I’ve had this experience one too many times, not at all as nice (or sane) as you seem.


I’m sure the next asshole is waiting just around the corner, so I’m gonna’ cut you now, okay?

Oh god, the list is truly never ending. These have just been some of my worst experiences with the opposite sex, whether romantic or not.

I do not mean to sound bitter, but as you can see, my threshold for abusive and toxic influences in my life, has hit an all time low. And I really don’t want to have to pretend I’m not that fed up, because this is real life.

Thank you for reading. And not judging. Or judging, whatever. I hope somewhere out there is a sane man with a great head on his shoulder’s, who likes women who have reached maturity, as bitter as she may seem. Beneath that crusty exterior is just a woman scared to love again.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You’re cool! I’m out!”


















Heart And Soul

As an observer, and an empath, I tend to sense more than most people perhaps do. I  was born this way, and I mastered this trying to survive my childhood and life in general. I am however, sometimes, as surprised as anybody is when life does a complete 360. Like, maybe more surprised than most people too. I don’t think the point of life is always winning. Or being right.

My boys and I adopted a new television show we tune into every Thursday night religiously! It’s a music show sort of like American Idol, but with more battles and better judges. Part of the thrill of this show are the battles, where each contestant is at risk for being sung off the stage back into anonymity. A washed up “has been” after three episodes.

Life is actually just like that, isn’t it? You aren’t always going to be at the top, but you won’t stay at the bottom either. Most of it will, in fact, will be lived in between those two stages. Sigh of relief. Unless you’ve built your life on being successful, a winner, no in-between allowed.

What I’ve noticed as I started gravitating to successful people in my own mission to have my moment as a “somebody” (you attract what you focus on), is that the glory of winning can and does overtake many of them. One minute they’re a nobody, and the next everybody wants a piece of them. That can be an addictive rush, and it often does go straight to the head. These people become their own downfall, as their egos blow up and inevitably … pop! Maybe there is no staying humble when people are kissing your golden asscheeks and saying “yes” to you all of the time.

An unknown singer can become an arrogant brat sitting three weeks on the throne of a music television show. And a football player can lose enthusiasm for the game when he’s faced with the opportunity to prove himself once more. It happens to the best of us. We eat our own hype, which can poison our bloodstream. Or, an otherwise noble dream.

I predicted the outcome to the super bowl THREE years in a row (like I seriously just knew), so I assumed that without even asking my guides, or tuning in, that my arrogant ass knew who was winning this year as well. I just like, know everything now, you know? My superbowl team choice didn’t let me down, my own ego does that almost daily, actually. I’m always putting myself in check!

I wish we chose to connect more authentically to one another, instead of striving so hard for greatness. We might fuck this world up enough to fix it instead.

I think there is a better way to live life. Better than pumping our own egos up to full blown monsters. Better than needing to be a winner. Better than shouting at the roof tops how great we are. Better than screaming “look at me!”  Better than being so self-involved we lose the best moments to things that don’t really matter. Or won’t, when the time comes to meet our maker. Even he doesn’t like a bragger. I checked.

My favorite singer on The Four has been Kendyle Paige. She’s so graceful and such an artist that when it came time to compete, she just sort of blew it. Her heart wasn’t into the competitive aspect of having to prove the talent God had bestowed upon her shoulder’s. And I adore that about her. At least, that’s my perspective of her, as I actually don’t know everything. Or maybe anything …

What happened to living life with some good old fashioned grace? We buried it beneath our desire to be better than average.

If you know you’re great, great in the way your God has made you sense you are, why are you still asking the world to validate that shit?

Go home, it’s where you belong.








Boundary Violation

I don’t pay attention to the world ending. It has ended for me many times, and began again in the morning. – N.W.

I shed the skins of my past as fast as I change my clothes. I’m almost never the same person I was a week ago. Or a day ago. I choose to evolve. Part of this is, of course, my survival mode skills. In order to keep living in a world that threatens who you are, you either adapt or change the world. Since the world is harder to change, most of us just become ultra spiritual in our desperation to “feel good” about bullshit. Which leaves us very philosophical.

It’s funny how life can be going one way, and abruptly be pulled in another direction entirely. Part of this is due to my ability to fantasize rather than actually take many chances on risky people and things. I learn in a unique way. I sit back and observe the world around me, when everybody else has thrown themselves into the next thing (relationships, jobs, moves, etc) with all their hearts; Blind. Asleep. Living. Probably blissfully happy, until it all points them right back to themselves and they see that nothing has really changed after all.

I’ve become an island. That’s not what I had intended as the result for these past six years. I chased the ideal of love as ardently as any romantic does. I put myself out there via public outlets every chance I got. At some point you redefine who you are, and what you’re really about. People don’t make that shift easy.

I sense beyond and deeper than most people do. I hear what you’re not saying. Feel what you think is sacred to you. And know what you have hidden deep in your heart. I see a relationship failing before it actually does fail. I know the real reasons why “he and she” are even attracted to one another. I see the core wounds that drive them into one another’s arm, what they know as “love”.

That being said, I don’t always honor the potential of people either. I know how hard it is to change, and few actually stay true to a path of constantly redefining who they are. It’s not exactly an easy path, when everybody else is content to stay the same.

Life as an empath isn’t always charming. In fact, I brace myself for energetic boundary violations when I attend any event, including just walking in a door filled with people I love. It’s made me a little jumpy. You could live happily ever after never knowing what petty things your friends and family members think of you.

I’m also very sensitive to negative energy, and I’m actually dealing with that right now. I made a friend last summer who initially I got along with greatly. We’d stay up all night long messaging one another about every topic under the sun. For a couple of months this was a key relationship in my life. And then one day it all changed.

I’ve since tried in several different ways to discourage this person from contacting me. They don’t seem to grasp the true message of my actions, which is I no longer feel safe being in contact with them. They’ve seen me in a light that is not only unflattering, but hurtful. And they last out, not only with their words, but their energy every time they connect to me. I have literally become quite fearful of this person. I’ve finally reached out to a couple of trusted friends and family members to make sure they know about the situation. That’s how afraid I am.

I spent an hour tonight triggered by the most recent interaction. I am tired of trying to convince myself everything is fine, when it feels so bad. Maybe my gut is telling me something a facade can’t cover up, you know? This person is also known for being “such a nice person”, and my concerns have previously been brushed off as nothing  more than me being sensitive, or afraid for no real reason.

I find it ridiculous, and I am angry, that I had to spend any time at all being in an anxious state. That my boundaries are repeatedly stepped over, with no regard for my feelings at all. I do not have to be friends with or even answer a message that had made me feel uncomfortable. I choose to completely stop doing that at this point. The truth is some people expect something from you that they have no business asking for. I’ve had every type of person approach me you can imagine. The requests for my time and energy are almost demanded in some cases.

Because I write publicly and wear my heart on my sleeve, people can sometimes believe that I am obligated to them, which is not only rude, but kind of abusive.

I dream of the day I feel safe surrounded by my tribe, and by men who are willing to be warriors for the women. My tribe should be growing by leaps and bounds in the next couple of years, which is so very very very welcome. Even warriors tire of standing guard, hoping they are safe, rather than knowing.

Be respectful of one another’s space.













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