Patchwork Quilt Heart

A pearl is formed over time by grains of sand irritating it. I’m much the same. I’m the evolving woman. The over-thinker. The analyzer. And the one who will see her way out of the past. Fully.

It’s alarming to see yourself through new eyes, especially the eyes of love and compassion. I’ve been told I’m too hard on myself. I’ve always aimed for “better” in any area I’ve dabbled in. I carry the torch of passion anywhere and everywhere I go. Once upon a time (like recently), I assumed this made me “too much”. I am close to tears as I even write this, because what kind of belief is that to live with every day for nearly 35 years? It’s a belief that is built upon the foundation of self hatred. My core wound has manifested in many branches of this single wound. I hated myself once, so much so that I understood that I deserved to be hurt, to be forgotten, to be ignored. I feel like every day of this life I’ve thirsted emotionally for something that would quench the unquenchable. And so I stumbled into the life of being a “spiritual teacher” in training. Every time I take another footstep out of the darkness that has been my entire existence, I am surprised. Some people are taken aback by bad news, but I am thrown off by surviving another afternoon. By this person I’m becoming who pushes back and barges through emotional and spiritual barrier’s. True strength isn’t the anger I carried around like a flame waiting to ignite anything that appeared the least bit threatening. It’s choosing to be gentle. Even if I do still dance a little dance, a few steps forward, one back, and forward again. I’m learning. My teacher is asleep and I’m still awake.

If there is one lesson I feel worthy of mastering in this lifetime as Alisha Archuleta, it will be to love. I don’t have to believe in people, or even that they are always worthy of my love. I don’t have to allow bad energy into my life, or play with the core wound manifestations of “lack of love”. I can ask for more from my friends, family, and myself. And if they can’t deliver that, I can walk away from them. I am free. Love isn’t clinging, or holding tight to someone. It’s allowing them to love another, to walk away, to choose the wrong thing, even to manifest their own death. I’m not here to change anyone’s life but for my own, but I’m able to connect people to certain aspects of life after death if that helps. Or their guides. My job isn’t to love the unlovable. It’s to see that which is perfect in God’s eyes. And love that person. So much of love has been painful for me, because of my hopes and expectations.

I’ve carried the burden of lost love for an entire lifetime. I’ve let love slip away time and again, expecting it to be perfect or nothing at all. It can be frustrating to love another and know that you aren’t meant to be more than a lesson to each other.

If I were to be honest about what all of these lessons are trying to teach me (and I do mean all of them!!), it would be to keep my heart wide open. To birth love again and again. To become a vessel of pure love. To grasp for nothing but love. To hold onto one thing; love. To hope and scheme for but one experience; love. To become the manifestation of God’s love.

I recently elaborated upon this point as I realized my past behavior, that it is easy to shut doors. It’s a lot harder to open them again. Trust is so precious and it is the cornerstone of a good relationship. And yet, even if trust fails to exist, the love is still there. Never lost. Always abundant. You can cover it up in years of let downs and disappointments. You can lie every chance you get, but it doesn’t tear the love out of your soul so you no longer have to suffer love. Love isn’t, in fact, why we suffer at all. It’s the potential or perceived loss of love that causes us so much discomfort.

I am every age I’ve ever been, and I’m a fraction of every person I have loved. I am shreds of this and tatters of that. I am sewn together not because I have actually been torn apart, but because when you love someone you include them in the patchwork quilt that becomes your heart. And there is always room for more. Though my fingers often run over my favorites pieces of that quilt, again and again. Some people you simply never forget, even if you thought at one point in time, that you could. It’s like that scene in fifty first dates where the woman with memory loss, forgets her own boyfriend. He walks in to see a room full of her paintings, and they are all of him only she doesn’t “remember” him. He knows somewhere inside of her he remains.

She is changed forever by his memory, because souls never forget that which was real love – it is already a part of them, set aflame by another in perfect alignment with their energy at the exact right time. Precious works of “God” – the lovers entangled in pure abandonment of their hearts to one another.

I am ready to admit that when my friend Justin killed himself, a part of me shut down. I can’t believe it has been nearly three years and here I am still unable to admit that I loved him. Very much. Enough to dedicate a life to his memory; my own.

As my evolution continues I expect that this feeling of peace will as well. And maybe I’ll master a few more things, like genuine happiness.

Where there is love, there is a reason to live. If we remember that, we have the only answer we’ll ever really need.





Alternative Love

“She hears a distant drummer and follows a star most of us have never seen.” – Linda Goodman, on Aquarius females in her book Sun Signs


I’m an Aquarius. Let’s start with that little nugget of information, so that all that follows might be referred back to that one statement.

I’m not cold or unfeeling. In fact, I’m willing to bet my heart beats as ardently for my chosen love’s as any heart does. In fact, maybe harder, in my opinion. In other words, I fall in love a lot. And it never works out, of course. I laugh at myself though, because I know that once it does, all Hell breaks loose. There has to be a buffer for me, between real love and that which only resembles it because my core wounds insist I actually love being abused. Totally not my fault, by the way.

I often feel pulled to someone, until I realize why that magnetic attraction was there in the first place. Then, in true Aquarian fashion, I turn as cold as the ember’s on the ground after a late night campfire. And that is that. There is no going back. My heart must align with someone new and hopefully, better. I’m not afraid to put one foot in front of the other, or to travel alone.

I’ve hit a point though, where I’ve apparently been single for “too long”, because others are starting to notice. As in, I’m getting comments about my sexuality (Am I a lesbian?), about my relationship with my son (I’d rather hang out with a 7 year old, what does that say about you?), and there is that whole people deciding they might as well take things into their own hands and play “cupid”, because I may die single and buried in cat feces. Like, that’s so terrible!

I know they mean well. Well, some of them. The others are just threatened by someone who is entirely comfortable with their own company. As a woman I suppose love should be first on my list of things to accomplish before I die. Jennifer Aniston (who oddly enough is also an Aquarian!) has talked about this a little bit. About how people think there is actually something wrong with you if you’re single for “too long”. Especially as an aging woman in a society that wishes it would just legalize child sex already, because youth is always the more attractive option.

There are no pictures of me falling in love online for a reason. I am a private person when it comes to whom is the object of my affection until I have any reason to reveal that. I’m very open in most ways, but my love life isn’t one of them. I like that about myself. In a world that would sell it’s firstborn child’s photo to a magazine for a fifty bucks in the snap of a finger, I cling to some sort of respect for that which is sacred. Also, literally, it just really never gets that far.

I like a lot of people. I like men and woman of all ages and races, and backgrounds. I like people I don’t really know in reality, and people I have known my whole life. I like who I like, and I do carry the same hope as anyone who secretly does hope to once again have the experience of falling in love, does. I am human. I do want the right person to come along!!

I’m inundated by men who claim to be interested in me who never ask me what my favorite color even is. Like, that’s five words. They seem to think the overused phrase, “you’re so beautiful” is going to light my panties on fire. Dig, motherfucker, dig. You ain’t gotta be the deepest chump in the zodiac, but you do have to be self aware enough to know how to make a fully developed woman feel like opening up.

I’m frequently frustrated with the lack of depth I find in individual’s who pursue me. I can’t stand boring men who are willing to settle for some half ass version of life. I’m practically starving to death as I wait for a man who not only knows how to feed himself, but might actually have something to serve me too. I like to eat, motherfucker. Soul food on the menu?

And yet, I’m not a weeping romantic either. I don’t like played out shows of romantic affection. If a “player” is using all the same cards for every woman he meets, he can keep the deck and play 52 card pick up by himself. I’m not that woman. I won’t play 52 card  pick up with you! I won’t do it!!

The point of my ranting tonight though, was to ask a simple question: Why is it so hard for people to believe a woman might just be fine on her own?

Is my worth (as a woman) really wrapped up in a man?

No ma’am, I didn’t say that.

Am I passing up the age of attractive enough to be a worthy man’s trophy wife?


Is my twin flame sexual energy really to be found in another human?

I’m pretty sure it’s mine. Like, nobody can give it to me, when it’s born of me.

Do I not make myself laugh?

All the motherfuckin’ time.

Aren’t I bored with the competition because my mind is so unraveled and fucked up, nobody can match it enough to keep me entertained long enough to remove my panties and shove them in his mouth?

You wanna do what with your panties?

Am I only half a person until a willing ape and a half walks onto the battlefield and shouts as he pumps his chest with his fists, “Me, Tarzan! You, Jane!” ?

Just eat me and make this exciting then …

I’m not saying I’m perfectly content … I’m saying until cupid hits me with the right arrow, I’m content. Until I’m knocked flat on my ass by a brand new experience rather than some regurgitated bullshit fed to every willing vagina, that I’m willing to wait. Miss me with that arrow! You ain’t gotta’ be like that, cupid!

Are you whole without a car? Without a successful career? Without a child that looks like you? Or follows in your shoes? Without being crowned most beautiful or popular?


Maybe the most radical kind of love a girl can chase, is self love. Try and keep up …

Namaste, beautiful fuckers.




Night Terrors

I haven’t had a night terror attack in quite some time. I think in most recent years they occur one or two times a year. If that. There was a time in my life when they were a lot more frequent, in my childhood and teen years. And when I first began my relationship with my most recent long term ex., when I was nineteen. I would wake up in a state of shock (I always recalled very little if anything of these incidents), and he’d go to work with fingernail scratches all over his arms the next morning. He called them nightmares, but they were much more than that.

Last night I woke up to myself screaming “bloody murder”, as if being attacked in some horrifying manner. My son and his father entered my room. They said I was clearly pointing to the corner of my room, as if there was something there. I resisted that idea. I didn’t want to believe it had anything other than a scary dream like type thing. But the more I remembered, the more I did recall seeing a black shape in the very corner I’d been pointing to. It had obviously been the shape of a person. I also heard in my left inner ear a calm voice telling me to scream as loud as I could. And then I woke up to myself in full blown panic attack mode.

I have a lot of questions today. What exactly is a night terror from a spiritual perspective? One that isn’t tainted by the degree of logic that would rule out anything but a “scientific” answer. One that probably often leaves much to be desired for many people.

A. Are these night terror’s caused by repressed childhood trauma? That would make sense considering my bedroom wasn’t exactly a safe place for me as a child who was molested and raped. B. Are they a past life memory energy surfacing? That too could be accounted for with the understanding of how gruesome my life ended in my previous life as a disgustingly exploited murder victim. Or C. Are they a psychic attack? There was definitely an entity in my room. My guides can be heard in my left ear, through my inner ear. This all adds up to. Last but not least, D. Are they related to stress? I just lost a family member to an untimely death. My weekend was chaotic and introduced a lot of new energies into my aura. Death carries an extra punch for me as I navigate my way through a world that is new to me. One that I often feel I can’t talk about openly or honestly.

I do carry a lot of fear in me. I once saw someone write a list of ways that they (solely themselves) could make themselves feel safe in the world. I guess it’s time for me to realize that my journey is one that may continue as a single person who simply must master self soothing, and all that comes with consistently choosing to wait for a real potential partner in crime, than accepting the next thing in line, and so it is still my responsibility to continue to strengthen my spiritual core. I’m strong enough to do that. Even in the event of a night terror.











An Empath At A Funeral

Being an empath when someone dies is not quite the same as being a regular person when someone dies. I knew the energy of the many people I love would hit me hard. And it did. It left me unable to function on an emotional level as far as into today. And I am, of course, grieving on my own personal level a loss that hit me harder than I expected it to. Why is it when someone dies we want to recall all those lost memories? One by one, we pull them to the surface and dissect them. I mean, why is that the main thing we do when one passes on? It’s like an automatic coping mechanism kicks into gear, one that we never even question. Maybe it’s part of the healing process, and we instinctively understand it’s importance to our survival as the living.

I had expectations of this death taking place in May, but when it happened (it actually happened!) I was still thrown off the rails. I often still struggle to understand the power of my intuition. Like I’ve elaborated before, sometimes it makes sense, and other times I feel it is more symbolic. I turned to my cousin as I browsed the racks for an appropriate outfit to wear to a funeral, and warned her, “If I ever tell you not to take that plane, DON’T get on the fucking plane.” I mean, who else can even comprehend something like predicting a future event?

I am so tired of hearing people exclaim after someone dies, “I felt like I was supposed to reach out to him.” Then do it. Please, by all means. I hate that we’ve come to mistrust our own “feelings” so much that we miss out on what could have been our last chance to tell someone we love them. I’ve actually witnessed this phenomenon more than once, and it seriously hurts my very soul to realize that such monumental moments were missed because of self doubt.

I didn’t cry. I was in shock. I walked around in circles like “what the fuck happened?” all week long. I can’t imagine what the people closest to my uncle were going through. Like, how do you just go on? Chores become unimportant. Moments that once brought joy just seem forced. I knew the dam would crack at some point and I prayed that it wouldn’t be in public. I’m such a proud “non-crier” about life. I never cry, I like to say. I am that fucking strong. My dad used to repeatedly tell my siblings and I, like a dill seargent, to “never cry”. I actually didn’t really cry at his funeral. When the tears threatened to fall, I ran in the opposite direction.

As soon as I entered the room where my uncle lay in his coffin, I did just that. I ran back out the door. I blinked back tears. I ran into a cousin (his son actually), gave him a hug and offered my condolences. I readied myself and walked back in that goddamn door. His oldest daughter stood at his casket, like she had at his side throughout his life. I fell into her arms practically sobbing. I felt myself trembling, my legs actually physically shaking, as we embraced and cried together. I could not believe this was actually coming out of me. I’ve always been so poised emotionally? I mean, when others were falling apart I wasn’t. Yes, even at funerals.

And so was this theme for the rest of my week.

I can not believe the person emerging from the brittle shell of who I’ve always been. It’s actually really uncomfortable for me. I cried in more than one persons arms that day, and nobody thought less of me. “This is family”, my cousin Steven said. I think this weekend is the first time in a long time I understood the gravity of the meaning of the word “family.” It’s like being thirsty forever, and finally taking a sip of water. You wonder, of course, how you lived for so long the way you did. How the loneliness alone didn’t kill you. I don’t think family is necessarily who you’re related to, but it can be. Not everybody understands that love is deeper than baring the title you’re given over them (Aunt, Uncle, Cousin). It’s the feeling of being home, even if home doesn’t at all look like “The Brady Bunch”.

I broke down in public and I lived. I watched a lot of people cry, without any shame. I met cousins and uncles I’ve never taken the time to get to know. I had conversations I never would have had had I taken the easy route, and done what I always do. Or what would have been most comfortable.

I see my family and I see perfect people. No matter what they’re going through. No matter how they feel, or what they’re struggling with. My role in this world isn’t to be poised, pretty, and perfect all of the time. The typical request of American men and women. Especially mothers. We do not have to keep it together all of the time. The kitchen can be left filthy in pursuit of real life. Often.

And people are messy, but they’re beautiful. In fact, maybe most beautiful when they are messy.

I am not sure where my path is taking me anymore. I’ve given up on guessing. Hoping. Wishing. Creating. I just know now with all my heart, that the way there will be traveling the path of unconditional love. It always has been. Love is the only thing we take with us when we pass on to the next world.

After my uncle passed the message he kept pushing through me is this one: “Keep your heart open.”

As uncomfortable as this new phase of my life has already been, I don’t think I can live any other way anymore. What would be the point of a life that shut everyone out? What would be the point of experiencing all of the best and worst moments in the solitude of a frozen heart? What would be the point of never knowing how beautiful your own family is? Or who you could become once the walls have all fallen down?

There is no point to a life without people in it to love unconditionally.

Life is too short to be afraid of the thing we seek the most, and are often willing to risk our lives for. The food that nurtures our soul, keeping us alive. The oneness within the individual experience.



*I had to leave the funeral at one point as the grief in the room made it impossible for me to even stand up or breathe. It’s like a pressure cooker when I’m in a room with that much pain in it.






Heaven Is My Home

I watched Coco a day before I received the news of a death in my family, which I can’t help but feel is symbolic. Of course.

I have every bit of a hard time with death as most people, but I think I also struggle less to accept the loss because to me it doesn’t feel like loss. After all, I do have the ability to tap into other dimensions and connect with deceased people whenever I desire. Not that there is always an answer, but the idea that they are so close to us even after death, is comforting enough sometimes.

I also value the “experience” aspect of life and know that all souls opt into whatever experience they would like to have. There are no accidents or tragedies in the spiritual realm, just an opportunity for souls to learn and grown via a body and human realm experience. It’s the blind third dimensional reality (designed to feel real) that keeps most of stuck in long overdue grief, death related or otherwise. Who am I to tell a soul they have chosen the wrong ending?

In the movie Coco the main character, Miguel is a Mexican little boy who visit’s the afterlife on Dia De Los Muerto’s. I strongly relate to his “dream”, because in a way I visit the afterlife when I connect to those who have passed on.

I woke up the morning after being told of this family member’s death knowing that I needed to find a certain photo of  my firstborn son and his “grandpa”. I posted it online and wrote a tiny bit about him, but the nagging feeling of needing to create my own ofrenda has been chasing me ever since.

I was very touched by the way the Mexican culture seems to really want to honor their loved ones in death. Even the otherwise long forgotten eldest members of a familia. I guess we do that here in America, or we attempt to, but I don’t think we place such importance on keeping a family together by creating something like an alter where we can always peer back at the faces of time. Where we came from. I mean, who were these people? What were they like? What were their reasons for living?

I think I will create my own ofrenda. And maybe continue the research on my family bloodline I started decades ago.

I just wish I could include the most recent mental selfie I took of my son’s “grandpa” being warmly welcomed home by other long deceased loved ones, in absolute joy and love, when I do. What a welcome “back” home. I also wish I could bottle that feeling and share it with you in your times of loss, so that you would know without a shadow of a doubt that where we go when we die is truly where we belong.






8 Random Facts About Spiritual Diva

I think some of us are pushed to become the real version of ourselves. It’s like one day you snap and realize that if you’re ever going to be happy it’s going to have to be because you gave up on making everyone else comfortable. I know for me, I was more well liked when I wasn’t so outspoken (or verbal at all). I was compliant and easy to mold into whatever version of me suited your best interest. That time has come and gone, and here we are today. I can’t shut up.

I want this to be my most insanely real blog post, because I noticed that even in my attempts to be completely open, I leave the “realest shit” about myself out in still trying (am I crazy???) to “fit in” or belong somewhere in this world.

  1. I may or may not be on the Autism Spectrum. I’ve never been to a doctor to discuss this, but people seem to think I’m somehow really unique. And I am. I find myself struggling with day to day things more so than most adults my age. I feel lost in a world where everyone else seems to have picked up their “Adult Assignment” cards and ran with whatever they were assigned. I can sit and stare into space literally all day long, if left uninterrupted. People say “get a job” and I can think of a million other things I’d rather do (including run away), because I have worked and I’ve quit every job I ever had. I also aggravated most of my employers before doing so. I’m apparently not easy to be around. It probably doesn’t help that I find twirling around in circles and bossing the boss around, like totally fine. Is it my fault I was born to lead? I’m just plain frustrated at myself at this point in time, so just … be nice. You think you’re wondering what the hell is going on over here? Imagine how I feel. I almost envy how well others are doing in adulthood. None of that shit is easy for me. All those small tasks you do every single day? That is the struggle for me.
  2. I dropped out of high school because I didn’t like the way a teacher talked to me when I stopped following along in class one day. He yelled at me in front of everyone. My mind drifts. It … just … drifts. I guess they call that daydreaming, which is cute when you’re five. I also had trouble staying on task when the teacher seemed genuinely uninterested in his students as people and I wasn’t allowed to read ahead. As I left though, I gave the man the reading of his life. His jaw dropped. He asked me how I knew that which I knew (it was very damaging information, ugh!). I just replied, “I’m not so stupid now, am I?” Will this be a theme in my life?
  3. I hope to own a bakery one day that donates some of the proceeds to my Bella Life Non-profit, which benefits the poor. The homeless sure, but also sends students to school. And so much more. I want to give poverty a kick in the ass by sending the poorest folk on luxury travels and to buy shiny new things. I believe in the idea that to be given something beautiful is to be given the gift of the realization that you are worth it. My niece received a necklace, one that she’d never have been able to have as a child without a lot of money, and it made me think of myself as a child. And how beautiful things just weren’t a reality for a little girl like me. It’s a very disconnecting feeling to be left out of the luxuries of life. To watch your peers wear the best clothes and shoes, To see them travel and learn languages. They never knew the pain of not being able to own that book (it’s just a book!) you loved more than anyone else ever could love.
  4. I sing. My brother makes beats. He’s a natural. I expect big things out of him, actually. I really do. At the moment though he’s tied up in his own” journey”. The music making has been put to a halt. I spent last year sharing ideas with another GSE musician, and writing lyrics for music that may never be made after all. Honestly, I’m heartbroken. I should probably have more faith, but hope becomes a scary thing after a while. The realities that are born of poverty aren’t always very pretty ones. Out of respect for him I’ll skip the full confession. Anything can happen, right?
  5. As I spiral out of my spiritual enlightenment phase and come landing back to cold hard reality, I’m left with the lies I used to feed myself, scattered about the floor. And it’s different to really see yourself. It’s not so much scary as maybe disheartening. You want so badly to be a version of yourself you can gloat about. I am not who I pretended to be, but if that’s the version of me you loved, she’s still there in your mind. You can keep pretending too, until one day the mirror stops and says, “I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” All that is left of me is blood and guts. Jesus thinks this is fine. I asked him. He’s handed me a brochure to Heaven. He’s made a list of shit he wants to do when I get there. It’s kind of cute.
  6. They say life is what you make of it. They say you should never wish it had been any different, because it made you who you are. I seethe, because a child should never be held beneath the water, or raped, and then be told they should be thankful for the experiences that have given them lifelong post traumatic stress and suicidal ideation. I mean, how ignorant can you be? A little boy who starves every day or never knows the reality of having a dream or a wish come true, shouldn’t be told to smile and be a good sport while he watches his richer “brothers” have more than they need. Fuck that and fuck you if you support that bullshit.
  7. I’m not sure I’ve ever really loved a man. I have obviously really believed that I have, but energetically it would be impossible from where I once stood, to love another when I couldn’t even love myself. I feel like I’m in need of a physical healing experience. That there is nothing to take the place of actually being exposed to real development via another person’s love, you know? We can become so strong in ourselves, but we came here for connection. Nothing feeds a soul like real love. Not even self love.
  8. I once stood in front of a bathroom mirror, having just attempted suicide. I told myself I would write about that experience one day. And I have, in my blog post titled “suicide attempt”. What I didn’t know then is that taking a life isn’t ever going to be as powerful as “taking back a life.”

I hope when you read my writing you understand the importance of my words. But more than that I hope you understand how beautiful one life can be if it is here to be. Thank you for reading. I was pretty happy with my blog stats. You didn’t have to read, but you did. So, Gracias.

Namaste, A Survivor


Ghetto Superstar

I am never sure how other’s might perceive me. I’ve always been super curious about that. In recent years though, I have decided that hanging onto the hope of ever understanding myself as an “image” is rather pointless. I’m always changing, and we only ever see the world (and each other) from our own perspectives. Frankly, labels are limiting. I don’t do limited. Or, I try very hard not to.

Once upon a time, in my lifetime, existed a young woman who was quite a different version of me. I was as asleep in my life as one could ever be. I believed everything before my eyes, and I lived on autopilot. A dangerous thing considering my background and the reality of a life like mine. People who live like that can either be killed, or end up killing.

I’m triggered into this core memory of a person I used to know by a movie I watched recently, Mi Vida Loca. It’s a true to life movie about gang member’s and girls who are growing up in gang mentality related realities. Each and every character in this movie sparked recognition in my soul. They were all me, the old me. And in moments, the new me.

I have never tried to pretend I’m more innocent than I am. I’m not one to downplay my shadow side, as I understand the necessity of it too well. I have the utmost love and appreciation for ‘old Alisha’ and her use of her survival instincts. They are what kept me alive. Barely, sometimes.

I even look back and fondly recall the freedom of a life lived in whichever way I chose, with no support or guidance. I was born into a life that would eventually show me every opposite of truth I had accumulated in the first 18 years of breathing. I loved that life, but I understand the call to change.

I’ve always loved people beyond the exterior. As you can imagine that wasn’t always ideal in a seedy upbringing like “the hood”. I know the feeling of missing a man behind bars. Of loving a man who banged for a color. And of having my insides stomped on by “boys” who would almost surely never receive the same awakening as myself. To be called to change their ways so that they might serve a higher purpose.

One might say we are all ultimately serving a higher purpose, if one were a master at seeing from an enlightened point of view.

I’ve written intensely passionate love letters to strangers. I accepted anyone into my heart back then. I most strongly related to the character, Alicia – La Blue Eyes. I was also always a target for being unique, even back then! I lived between worlds, the same as I do now. Only now, the worlds are the physical vrs. spiritual, rather than my white side vrs. the brown. Or,  girl with grandiose dreams vrs. the pull of the underbelly of a world who has yet to acknowledge it’s existence with any real respect.

I’ve been at parties where gunfire broke out as soon as I left. That was an actual reality for me at one point in time. I lived for a time, with active gang members in my home. I didn’t fear them as I do now, because my life was pointless to me back then. Now, I have children. And though my heart still reaches out and loves without condition, all types of people, I protect what is mine as if it the most precious thing on this Earth. To me, my sons are that thing.

I’ve watched people snort coke and even tried it myself. Amongst other drugs. It’s the worst form of self medication, though I’m not in true judgement of anything anyone does to “survive” anymore either. I’ve seen too much. I know how hard it is for some, and I’ve been in their shoes at one time or another. I can’t judge another for his sins when my own are on full display. I wouldn’t dream of it, as these are my people, the ones my heart belongs to. The very lives I hope to touch one day, and gently persuade into wanting to change.

I think God gives us the tools we need when we’re ready. He bestows upon us the life we needed, rather than the one we would have preferred. The world is in desperate need of people who care. People who want to take the hands of the broken and see them, without any hatred in their hearts.

If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is never to be ashamed of who you are and where you have been. Because to meet someone face to face who sends their self hatred to you, is appalling and beyond tragic. And does nothing for the very people in the very place they themselves have traveled from.

No matter how you grew up, or what you’ve done in the name of survival, you’re here now. And now is as good a time as any, to become a different person than the one the world elected you to be before you knew you were so much more than they would ever allow.

To truly empower one’s self, one must admit who they really are first. And embrace that lost inner child as if the child itself is God.








Honeymoon Phase

The honeymoon phase of my spiritual journey is upon me. I have heard that this happens, but had been traveling the treacherous part of my journey for so long that I guess I bought into the belief that it may never actually feel any better. That I was just going to have to keep twisting everything to be more positive than it is. Which is a powerful tool, but ‘soul exhausting’ if the actual vibrations never get to a better feeling place to operate life from.

I look back at my journey and some of what I’ve written and almost want to explain myself, but that is pointless when anyone who reads my blog will only ever be reading from their own current focal point. Some will understand and be put at ease with some of my darkness, as it will make them feel less ‘fucked up’ with where they are. And others were always in a bit of judgement, because they couldn’t relate in the first place.

I am amazed every time I’m brought back to a situation and am now able to see it with more clarity. My compassion for myself and for other people is at an all time high, even if I do occasionally crack a joke or two at their expense. That may be the driving force that got me through the blackest night!!

I realize now that nothing anyone else appears to be doing to me has ever been about me. I know nothing of their personal journey’s. I am not entitled to my judgement of them. They are awakening too. Or blissfully asleep, living in the third dimensional reality as if it really is all that is real. And that isn’t wrong. It’s beautiful in a way, to never question the view before your lenses.

I have always sort of envied the simpler man and woman. Those who want only what they can have. And never feel the pain of needing a bigger life. How appropriate would a vibration like that be for someone like me? Someone who wasn’t born into a life of grandiose opportunity? I can only assume that desire is my inner calling guiding me into a life that does (or will one day) make perfect sense. If desire is what dreams are truly born of, I’m going to love being alive!

I’m working with this new energetic boost in my life to heal myself in a new way. The painful past was the foundation of my spiritual evolution. I can evolve past the person I thought I might always be, and keep surprising myself. It is possible to live a life under the radar for a very long time, then awaken to one on full blast.

It is possible to make it out of the dark night of your soul.

I’m writing all of this as the movie Twilight plays in the background. The music is very complimentary! Ha ha!

Other spiritual teachers teach the belief that one must travel through the fire of pain in order to ever really quench that fire, and be free of the Hell they have known. When we see spiritual people bypassing this, we see them staying stuck. They never do make it out of the flames, but they can act as though they aren’t engulfed in flames if that is what a set amount of followers have come to expect from them. We can do horrible things to ourselves in the name of “love”.

Closing message, if you’ve never made someone uncomfortable with your mere presence, it’s because you’ve succumbed to the idea that to be loved by those who can only love you at your best, your strongest, and your most lovable, is what love is. I assure you, it is not.

In seeking to be loved, or to love, we have lost love. 

It really is that simple.







The Messenger

I’ve spent the majority of my life living in fear of myself. Up until recently even, I was still trying to escape an aspect of myself. Perhaps the most important part of myself. My calling. I was born with extrasensory gifts. I grew up in the 80’s when the appearance of these types of personalities were still something new and unexplored. Nobody knew how to handle me.

As a result of people fearing me as a child for saying “outlandish” things, I grew fearful of myself. I eventually learned to lie so well that I lived a “normal” life. Ultimately fear of myself led to self hatred, because if you aren’t allowed to be yourself, there must be something wrong with you.

I struggled with mental illness (Depression, Anxiety) for the better part of my younger years. I nearly committed suicide, trying to cope as a so called “normal” part of society. There are no words for how painful self abandonment actually is. When you choose the comfort of everybody else over your own self nourishment (as so many of us are trained to do), you set yourself up for things like Suicidal Ideation.

Very recently there has been another increase in my intuitive energy, and I am now even more aware of other realities than I’ve ever been before. I followed a man who founded an organization aimed at childhood cancer funding for a year. Over the course of a year I reached out to him several times to inform him of one of his children wanting to relay a message. This happened with my simply scrolling through my news feed and taking a moment to notice a photo of a deceased child.

I never mind giving a reading, it’s always been easy for me. I however, have taken issue at times with the reply or lack of replay that might accompany a message from me to the receiver. More recently I’ve realized how important that fear is to let go of. I am a messenger, and it is no longer my business how somebody perceives me due to what my calling has become.

I feel like Elsa in Frozen when she runs away from her palace, and builds a magical land out of ice and snow. She’s so free in that, when her whole life had previously been lived in fear of her gifts, because others had been threatened by what they couldn’t possibly understand.

I understand the gravity of sharing my calling with the world, but it’s the only path I can see myself taking now that I’ve spent the last 7 years of my life preparing for my own “arrival”. That’s what this whole spiritual journey has been about all along.

I run into spirits at my gym. I see a photo of a popular celebrity and “just know” that he was another actor in his previous life. I’m tickled by these discoveries, but I’ve always longed to be able to share them with others. Without fear of how they might perceive me. Silence isn’t an answer anyone wants when they are just answering a calling.

I’ve had people reach out to me online asking for a reading. I hesitate. It’s a little uncomfortable for me. I always oblige though, as my talents aren’t supposed to be kept selfishly hidden. And I know that. I do feel like though I’m not a celebrity people recognize yet that I’ve tasted the reality of that lifestyle here and there. As in people feel sort of like because I’m open about my life they can say anything they want to me, or that I’m obligated to them in some way.

I consider someone asking me for a free reading almost like someone walking into a bakery and asking for a free cake. It’s not that I don’t want to do it, I love doing it. I would like the respect of being offered a little bit for my services now is all. This is what I offer the world. In the case of life and death, or a really great person (like the childhood cancer hero) I will always consider a reading free, one good deed done to compliment another. God’s payment for a life well lived. Meaning, if one is requesting a reading for fun it’s a little harder these days, to just oblige, when I really need to find a way to make a living.

I know that I’m not asking too much, as my guides will also always be straight with me and at times have aggressively pushed a message through me. When that happens I’m sometimes embarrassed (I’m human and this journey is still new to me), but I allow myself to be the vehicle in that moment, because that is in the end, why I’m here. To serve a higher power that had always intended for me to be a messenger.

It’s time to relinquish all fear and tread fearlessly into my new life. With the guidance of the powers that be, I’m sure I’ll figure out how to make this life one worth every struggle I’ve endured, because that’s what spiritual warrior’s do.







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