Category Archives: Blog Posts

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Our “Not All Women Have Vaginas,” World.


We have truly slipped over the edge and the fact people are sitting there, conducting their business with their serious faces on, is damn scary.   Remember when you were a kid and something happened and you started to laugh hysterically at how absurd it was and then you realized that no-one else was laughing?  You stop and then try to taper off the laughter looking into the faces of everyone else who is not only NOT laughing, they are looking at you like you are crazy?  Remember that?

That was my reaction to all of this.

We have jumped from individuals who are unwilling to take personal responsibility for their own lives by deflecting and focusing on what is wrong with everyone else and what they should be doing, to entire groups doing it to one another, to now world wide legislation.  People we are talking about controlling our speech and our very thoughts here.  This may seem helpful or some awesome movement to some idiot somewhere but the greater long term cost is going to be immeasurably damaging.   Continue reading Our “Not All Women Have Vaginas,” World.

Lessons from the Little Red Haired Girl Next Door. Fairies and Imaginary Friends.

red haired fairies

Today she is out in the backyard in a bright green fairy outfit with little wings that are kind of on her back and sort of on one butt cheek. Her hair is done up in double pony tails however their placement seems to have taken into consideration the displacement of the wings and is offsetting those so to keep her balanced. I have a feeling that the little red haired girl completely understands and pursues balance as an integral part of her daily routine.

Oh, and she is wearing bright yellow mud boots.

It is about 30° C today.

This is just the way a little red haired fairy rolls.

She is skipping and laughing, and talking to someone. I can’t see the person because well … I am neither a child, nor a fairy … but she alters between wagging her finger and instructing, to laughing and slapping her thighs as she leans forward and makes funny faces. Every once in awhile she falls over into the grass and starts to roll, gets carried away, and rolls and rolls until there is a little dust cloud as the grass is still recovering from the long winter. She gets up, dusts off her dress, adjusts her wings, checks that her pony’s are still there, and continues on. Continue reading Lessons from the Little Red Haired Girl Next Door. Fairies and Imaginary Friends.

Did The World End?


For many years there was a sadness to the wandering . . .  a sense of isolation, a loneliness that was hard to explain to anyone.  How could we be standing on a hill overlooking the most awe inspiring world we live in and feel sad?  How could we be with people we loved and admired and feel lonely?  And yet I did.

The world was supposed to end this week.  Once again people predicted horrible events and a big change. People got rich off of other people’s fears.  Some people stopped breathing, waiting for it to happen.

It didn’t end.

But this week I found myself standing among the people in my life, overlooking the beauty of the world and I felt chains of bondage slipping off.  I found myself letting go of emotional tangles and wishes for things that were not in my control.   My sadness and sense of loss lessened. . . and a quiet, directed resolve taking it’s place.

It was like the world sighed.

I opened my eyes.

I see lights of connection.  I feel their strength.  I sense the hope.  I taste freedom.

Love is all that is left.

I am at peace.

What the FUCK are we Doing?


I make no apologies for the F-bomb in this title. If there was ever an appropriate time to use it, it is now.

Our world is falling apart with wars and corruption, poverty and disease on a scale we have never seen before. We are fighting for our lives in so many arenas and it doesn’t matter one iota whether we are bleeding from the war or totally unaware as we flip through TV channels bemoaning that there is so little to watch.

The whole world is screaming out for us to wake up. Stop the insanity. Heal the world.

And what are we doing?

We are pushing each other away. We are lying and cheating . We engage in destroying one another on every level we can. Children are killing themselves with drugs, bored that the reality of life cannot compete with the action packed pace of a video game. They push and pull at their parents demanding money, holding their love and attention as ransom. “Do what we want or you will never see me (or your grandchildren) again. ”

“I hate you,” rings through the land. “I want nothing to do with you.”

Husbands and wives feed on one another. One moment they are everything to each other and the next – war!  If financial investment somehow measured the strength of their unions, they would all be unbreakable. They marry with a ceremony whose cost could feed a whole community for a few weeks. They immediately collect the fancy house, a couple of cars and tons of clothes and jewellery. They vacation. They spend, spend, spend. And then suddenly, they no longer love. They don’t love less. They hate. They hate everything about the other person. The person they pretended to be while married, all the things they said about what they would never do to each other, they do . . . and far worse. They don’t care that they are being complete hypocrites. They do it to themselves and they do it to each other. Worst of all, they do it to their children. Continue reading What the FUCK are we Doing?

The Etiquette of Public Hugging by a Survivor.


Don’t you think that “huggers” should adhere to some kind of hugger etiquette or that they should, at least, be policed in some form?

I find it awkward to stand around in a large group when a new person is introduced who happens to be a “hugger.”  You know exactly what I am talking about.  They show up, know no-one and presume it is alright to greet everyone with a hug.  First of all how do they know there aren’t committed huggers in the group who don’t adhere to open hugging?  How do they know anyone is open to hugging and that they are not some tour group out for the day from the institution where they are all being treated for a high startle response to human contact?  I mean someone could end up dead here.

And when you are the new person and clearly everyone hugs, how does it go?   Do you hug the ones you know best first? The host? Family? The people you like most? And what about skipping over someone and coming back to them? Like what is all that about? And how does one address a hugger who has clearly passed you over and comes back to you like they purposely left you for last?  Does it mean something bad or something good that you might actually consider bad, but they think it is a good?  And if you refuse the hug will you end up offending everyone . . . or again, dead? Continue reading The Etiquette of Public Hugging by a Survivor.

The Lion’s Share.

Last night on the news they covered more about the American Dentist who killed the lion, Cecil,  for sport.   I am not mentioning the hunter’s name here for a reason.  The killer said that he did not realize the animal was known, or had a name, or meant anything to its country.  If he had, he would not have killed it.

Doesn’t that sum up some people’s capacity (limitations) for love?  Only if the victim was known to someone, only if they mattered – this is what provides value.   Otherwise, it is a free for all for people like him.  He decided according to his “sport” in that moment.  He did not make sure, he did not research, he paid to kill a lion, he saw a lion, he killed it.  Now he is asking for mercy for his family and decrying the cruelty of people to attack him and them over this.  Again, because he, even being unknown to those strangers, matters . . .  while the lion, does not. Continue reading

Because Breaking is Becoming

breaking is becoming

True healing.

I spent several hours thinking about this.

In all of our lives are the experiences and situations that have scarred us, teaching us that while some of the dangers of this world might not be life threatening, they have the power to destroy our innocence, to shatter our illusions and to eat away great chunks of who we once were.

Some people spend a lifetime trying to gather up the pieces of themselves, arms full of bits and pieces, running here and there in the field of their life where the bomb went off, dropping as many as they pick up, and never quite getting it all.

Healing can sometimes seem like a commodity too rich for even the grossest amount of money. It can’t be bought.

There are hundreds of books devoted to “how to” heal, there are an equal number of healing guru’s out there, who, for part of that gross amount of money, will deliver a seminar or a lecture on how healing is achieved. People run, like hamsters in their wheels, attending, reading, doing . . . what others suggest and say.

And still the demons come at night and we never seem to gain back what we lost. Continue reading Because Breaking is Becoming

Dear Son

Letters From Home.

Dear Son – on the occasion of not having heard from you for months now …

Hi … It’s mom… remember me? Tall lady? You remember mom and dad? I was the shorter one on the team. I wore dresses and had breasts?

Try it with me now,say the word ? “MMMMMom….Mommmm….MOM ….” That’s it put your lips together and make a sound. Ring any bells yet?

Hope you got the money we sent you last time you called. Hope the car we bought for you is still doing well. Your dad and I hope to have one just like it when we finish paying for yours. It is hard sometimes to get my walker up the steps of the bus. Don’t worry, nothing serious, I slipped on the ice and fell on the sidewalk and lay buried in snow for several hours on my way to wire you more money. I am on the waiting list to get a new hip, if the local church is able to raise enough money to pay for it at the next Doily Extravaganza next month. Don’t worry if they can’t, I think hips are highly over-rated anyway, and it is not like I don’t have another one right? Continue reading Dear Son

Unpicking the Programming.


My life was woven for me. Each stitch catching at pieces of who I was and tearing it away from the whole, isolating and losing it in row after row of a programmed me that could sit and behave and be produced to perform when called upon.

My grandparents gave me a very expensive, beautiful cover, that they constructed, to cover up any trace left of me.

I tried to wear it. I tried, at school, to say and do the things the other kids were doing. I tried to involve myself in the same activities and to not see the things that called to me from beyond the shadows and up on the hills and through the wind. I tried to get married, have kids, go to church, be a good Christian, volunteer at school, and bake perfect bread. I did it all. And I did a lot of it well.

Except that I always felt empty. I felt dishonest. I felt like I stood off to the side, watching the me that I was supposed to be performing like a trained circus seal. Continue reading Unpicking the Programming.

No-One Loves Me – The Lie That Holds Us Prisoners.

No-one Loves Me

I have to share this, in its entirety because I think it illuminates the pain that so many people share. It is helpful for us to self direct healing and to extend understanding and forgiveness to others.

Some people are able to move through life assuming they are always invited. They join in without ever considering whether they are “wanted.” Others cannot do that, they need to be invited. Their lives teach them that they are not included. In the interest of healing all this, it becomes about being aware of other people, of seeing them. I have heard people say, “we are not an exclusive group” everyone is welcome – and they dismiss the angst of the person sitting on the outside of the circle. Continue reading No-One Loves Me – The Lie That Holds Us Prisoners.