Life, Poetry, Relationships, Uncategorized


two years later, still relevant

Musings of a meandering mind...

Fall into me as I
wrap myself around you
rest in the softness
of my embrace

I am wide, tall
the expanse
beyond the stars

Close your eyes
lay yourself on me
feel my heartbeat curl
around the shape
of your body

I am vast
chasms of eternity
etched in my depths

I know your travail
your whispers
your tears
fall on me

I have absorbed them

Let me cherish
as you love
as you live.

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#notokay, All Blogs, Hearing Voices, Photography, Relationships, Trauma


This is why I write what I write most times.

When does it ever stop?

Will it ever stop?

Most days I’m fine then something like this happens and it stirs up all the memories, all the shit, all the pain.

The most powerful words ever spoken to me: “He can’t hurt you anymore.”.

No maybe not physically, yet carrying years of memories in my skin can’t be of any help either. Because he wasn’t the only one. There were so many.

Sneaky gropes, words, innuendos and the actual physical assaults over the years as a child and an adult.

I ran away from home at fifteen to get away and found myself experiencing even more assaults because I didn’t know how to protect myself except to step away inside, go to a space where no one could get to.

Floodgates have opened here because of #notokay

Now I need to decide whether to shut them down, dam it up or let it loose and wash over me.



(photo credit Wilowispaperio, 2016)







Poetry, Relationships, Rumi


( translated by AJ Arberry)

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

“Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it’s not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty.”

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn’t want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it’s best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.

(photo: wilowispaperio, 2014)


All Blogs, Life, Relationships


If Victor Hugo had a thesaurus in 1829 would he have chosen the word sanctuary?

I mean, what if Quasimodo cried “Asylum! Asylum” instead of “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”?

He may have wound up in Asylum de Bicetre rather than the Notre Dame Cathedral. Esmeralda would still have hung and Quasi would have spent the rest of his days starving and dying in a lunatic asylum rather than while holding Esmeralda at a massive gravesite.

Or what if God had said “And let them make me an asylum, that I may dwell among them”?

The Ark of the Covenant would have been carried not by Levites but mad men.

Asylum conjures images of wet dripping stone, chains embedded in ankles and wrists, rats, defecation, darkness.

Whereas sanctuary, well, think of inner sanctum, velvet curtains, plush floor pillows, soft light, incense.

Same meanings, different connotation.

I find myself thinking about these things when I’m meditating, which I do to gain respite from angst.

Angst, according to the urban dictionary means the following:

“Angst, often confused with anxiety, is a transcendent emotion in that it combines the unbearable anguish of life with the hopes of overcoming this seemingly impossible situation…Angst denotes the constant struggle one has with the burdens of life that weighs on the dispossessed and not knowing when the salvation will appear.”

I’d imagine Quasimodo felt great angst when he realized what was going to happen to Esmeralda, as well as Uzzah, who, according to the Old Testament, was smote by God after accidentally touching the ark.

At what point does angst turn into something else besides, well, angst?

While experiencing angst during meditation the other night, the word sanctuary came to mind.

Of course, for me, meditating means a whole lot of words, as well as voices, music and other distractions.

And I cry, a lot, when I’m meditating, which I’ve attributed to angst.

But what if it isn’t angst?

What if it’s sanctuary?

And this makes me wonder, what word would Victor Hugo have used?

Harmonious? My tears are one with the universe?

Or pastoral… aah, yes, sweet nectar of dew coursing down my cheeks.

Maybe tranquil? Though I can think of nothing tranquil about sobs and snot…

What if my meditative space is crying

“Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”,


“Asylum” Asylum”?

Life, Music, Relationships

in the future – David Byrne

Much truth here…. Let’s be rebels, shall we?

recovery network: Toronto

In the future people in boring jobs will take pills to relieve the boredom.
In the future there will be machines which will produce a religious experience in the user.
In the future there will be groups of wild people, living in the wilderness.

In the Future

In the future everyone will have the same haircut and the same clothes.
In the future everyone will be very fat from the starchy diet..
In the future everyone will be very thin from not having enough to eat..
In the future it will be next to impossible to tell girls from boys, even in bed.
In the future men will be “super-masculine” and women will be “ultra-feminine.”
In the future half of us will be “mentally ill.”
In the future there will be no religion or spiritualism of any sort.
In the future the “psychic arts” will be put to practical use.

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