Category: writing

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If We’re Not Thinking in Dreams…


earth magnetic portals - hidden

They know by studying the brain that we are not “thinking” while we sleep.

If I’m not thinking, then where are the people, places, voices, words, events, and feelings coming from? It’s not exactly like watching a movie; it’s more like an opaque, frenetic cloud that’s really alive.

I’m free in my dreams to sit back or join in, to interact or be quiet without judgment. Waking life is a dream for me. All day, while I’m “awake”, I’m trying to go back to my dream state to remember how I felt, who I saw, and what happened. It feels like there is a whole other life full of etheric information for me there. Waking life feels like just a resonance is a type of magnetic can; the kind you string together.

Where did I go? I know it was a good place because it affects my day, depending on where I went that night.

I’m not saying I don’t like it here, on earth, but the other side does beckon somehow. I’m a bit glad of that for when my body is worn to a frazzle at one-hundred and four years old, my work is done, it will be easy to drift off and say, “My work here is done.  I’m out.”  My senses and my body still want to drink in all that earth has to offer though, right now.

Earth is fabulous, no matter how hard it can get here.

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Prose; Sweet Earth


fall leaves

The smell of the grass, the trees, the fresh air in my lungs, the blood coursing through my body; that is sweet.

The physical presence of the soil beneath my feet and the sunlight in my eyes, that is true earthly sweet love and nurturing.

Humans aren’t there most of the time for each other anymore-especially when things are going well. Our culture has taken peoples time and minds from earthly awareness so that we are lucky to see each other for one hour a month if that.  I’m not going to make myself sick just so people will come running to me, keep me company, and nurture me while I lie there. How is that companionship? I thought people who loved you wanted to share good times with you, not just bad?

The earth and my body are there for me constantly and give to me all the time, even when I’m confident and feeling really happy. The Earth doesn’t abandon me when I’m happy or treat me like a barking dog because I’m a woman that speaks up! I honor and think of the earth all the time in return.

I’m in love with the Earth. That is my sustenance, healing, and love. I guess it will remain so until I’m done here.

 

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Prose; Wanting to Be Right


very cool lemniscateWhy do we want to be right all the time?

Why do I want to be right most of the time?

Why do I glee over saying, “See, I was right!”

Because we doubt ourselves too much so we are reassuring ourselves by saying it.

Because others who doubt themselves doubt us and say it!

Because others project their experience of being shunned for being or doing something that was wrong, onto us.

Because “if you make a mistake, you are forgiven”, isn’t widely practiced.

So, now I try to catch myself and say, “Lisa, do what you feel, study what you feel, write what you feel and use the best skill you’ve got.  That’s all you can do.”  I’ve got a lot of skill and I’ve paid the piper so I have no reason to doubt myself.  Whether anyone will listen and understand has never proven to be plentiful. So what?

And now, when someone criticizes me harshly when I meant absolutely no harm and never do, I know that they have not forgiven themselves for being wrong or someone else has not forgiven them for being wrong or vice versa.

It closes the heart.

Wow, the feeling of being around someone with a closed heart and lots of conditions, or an open heart and few conditions, is night and day.

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Prose; Dissolving


dissolving

Written 9/7/17 I remember writing this. It was a tough one. I was so tired of feeling used.

Dissolve people from my space that do not take care of themselves. I’m not your healer. I’m healing myself from victims and off-loaders. You heal yourself, I don’t heal you. That’s not my head trip, that’s yours.

Dissolve people from my space that think I should be on a saint pedestal just because I have integrity and do good in the world. I’m just a human being that refuses to tolerate certain energy just like everyone else. I’m SO happy to disappoint them when they compete with me when there is nothing to compete with. Everyone is different. Don’t compete with me. Read my book, then compete with the death and suffering that I never hold onto and know how to release. Dare you! No pity. That’s ego too. Compassion is all that’s called for; for me and yourself.

Dissolve people from my space that expect me to lead them into the light and refuse to do it for themselves. I’m not God nor do I want to be. Walk into your own light after I show you how!

Dissolve people from my space that say they care and then try to put me under their boot when they don’t know what they’re talking about.

Dissolve relationship with family members that don’t know how to let go of negative emotion and want me to be as dependent as they are. No. I don’t need to be.

Dissolve ties to people who walk late into a meeting they set up with me and immediately say, even before we begin, that they want nothing to do with me ever again after this meeting. REALLY!? Grow up. There is not going to be a meeting because you want to dominate, not discourse. I don’t work with people who want to dominate. I work with people who respect me enough to be my equal.

You want your power back?… I just handed it back to you because you erroneously gave it OVER to me when I never fucking asked for it!

Dissolve those who are always up to something, say they support you, then they vampire energy from you because they don’t take care of themselves.

Done. Dissolved. Happy to be just human. Happy to never, ever, ever want anyone to put me on a fucking pedestal just so they can try to knock me off to prove something to themselves.

You’re jealous of my strength and achievement? Then be jealous of the death, loss, vampiric sucking, hate, and jealous family to whom I courageously flip the bird to in order to get to this point. I know I deserve to be happy and abundant and not be surrounded by people that want to either worship me or destroy me for their selfish ego purposes.

Go away.

I’m just a human being with friends doing the work I love.

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Prose; How the Light Changes


Written 9/5/17

leaves fallingOnce the sun comes up, the sun in my eyes charges my brain like a battery.

The position of the shadows on the wall meanders aimlessly to new places like a squirrel trying to find a home for his peanut.

The refraction off of the green leaves will meet its demise when the colors change and drop like so many ancestors on our family tree. Into the ground, they go.

We’re all soiled phantoms, you know.

One day full of light and life, and soon, the Earth reclaims us.

Do you know there hasn’t been one, single human body to escape this transformation?

What happens to our light and life, like that green leaf?

The light changes.

 

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Prose; Publishing Joy


I feel like my baby is about to go off to college.

I’m about to publish my first book and it’s almost time to let it go,

No longer able to control where it goes in the ethers,

Out into the world, warts and all,

Fresh, innocent, never having smelled a book store (yeah right)

Never having gone through the digital or paper mill…

Does that hurt?

My memories, feelings, occurrences, family secrets, pictures,

losses, dates, intimacies, grandparents, babies lost, tears cried,

Oh my god!!!!  Why did I write this memoir????

Stop the presses!  I can’t do this!!!!

I can’t put all of the truths of my life out into the public for perusal and criticism!

Not that anyone will care…but my life has been interesting hasn’t it?

I wrote it so it sounded interesting….yes I did.

Why did I listen to my FRIEND????  She said, “Lisa, write a memoir”

after hearing me tell stories.

Well, what if no one ELSE is the least bit interested?

This is nail-biting territory if anyone reads it.

I seriously do have many mind-bender stories.

What if people think I’m nuts?

There’s no such thing as bad press.

I’m just…a little nervous I guess.

impublishingmymemoir

 

 

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Prose; Between The Cracks


walking-on-a-piano

Between the cracks of the piano keys, where the quarter and eighth tones lie, invisible gems are to be found.

Whole tones (normal notes) have no business here…no one likes them… they just seem whole, they’re really broken; like a million notes in smudged ink all over the page.

I long for these sounds to break the cacophony around me.  Dissonance? They are consonant to me.  They fill my cup in a parched closet, old wood, dry and brittle, thirsting for moisture.  Dusty, unpopular, unseen, unheard by most human ears…

I love those places.  Ah…let me sleep there.

“Grand Opening Here”, I run the other way.  I’ll come in the middle of the night thank you-when no one is around but the ghost of my Grandpa, and maybe his friend with him.  I can write then. Dusty basements, hidden shops, in-between dimensions, cracks, and mortice hide the doorways.

I long for these places to break up the routine of my day. 

Little antique stores, old forgotten thrift stores where mom & pop still sit in the chair from 1926, gems are to be found.  Patina so thick you can taste the smell of it, musky, soil, brackish dark. Cobwebs everywhere-but it’s all new to me.

I’m looking, for…my friend…a part of my soul that is tragically invisible to the surface dwellers, so odd, so unexpected that it thrashes my back.  So impossible, so inconvenient, so much…so very good!

It feels eternally old and yet new to me; New to me because it doesn’t “fit” in my brain; in my plan.  My well ordered, hip, sharp, cerebral, sassy, punkish, cavalier brain brutishly, insensitively mocked your old stories, your tradition, your nostalgia, your mischief.  I’m not really laughing.  I just really, really like the texture of it all-and you.

It has been said, “Your heart is a fickle leader!”  Then I am the crumbs in the bottom of the toaster-like the host crumbs in “the cup”.  Drink me.  I am altogether undone.  So be it…

Move to the old that is new!

Take a leap…what seems old is new, what seems new is old.  What’s up is down??

It just is.

It aches to feel like a foreigner in my own planet…Always seeking a creative space that is misunderstood, mysterious, and forgotten.

Gorge on my grief and run for cover then…

Nothing is lacking; ever…all of it.  The devil is in the details they say.  His ears shriek when he hears quarter tones and eighth tones between the cracks; and time is no more.  When the notes become whole, he is undone.

2/14/10

 

 

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Prose; Shadow


 

beautiful tree

I obscure my darkness to walk through life content, shadow feelings under the bed.

Convoluted darkness just below my navel only, my prescient dreams adumbrate what my body holds in, refusing to release its undulating grasp like a cranky child crying, needing attention and touch.

Male progenitor, emotional vampire and…ironically, my ally as a bridge to freedom in the face of neglectful, unfeeling, autocratic child-bearer.

Tremulous adolescence, when the course succor so needed is vacuous at best,

Cynical vexation felt so keenly in their insensitivity to my easily affected, young, psychic heart. They didn’t even know what the fuck psychic was because it wasn’t in the bible.

What could I have been?

What happy life could I have had if their crispy, mucous eyes had been open a crack?

That shadow feeling could spiral me down so quickly if I focused on it, so I only do it here

for release…because it’s bullshit, and my life is not bullshit, so I’m not filling it with that.

What is more helical bullshit that parental ignorance with an innocent, lovely child born in light and returning to light?

How twisted and contorted can adults get following societies rules, books, beliefs, and materialistic hysteria when they have in front of them a free soul, their child, needing only love by degrees, free roam by yards, food by weight and expression without limit?

The shadow of light is a contrast as a lesson

I’m using it to soar to the heights,

To rip asunder familial right to the soul of a child.

No more,

Whether in love or delusion

each child belongs to themselves only.

Just as roots do not dictate how far, wide and what direction a tree will grow,

so too, shadow roots deep below the ground only hold it in place while the wind, sky, and sun call us ever higher to dance with all of life above ground, storm and calm, for as long as we wish to live.

I hail from you but I am not you.

Feb. 8, 2017, Yellow 13 Warrior

 

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Prose; Skin


pick a tomato

The shell of a turtle, a carapace, guards your continuance of electric water, straight to your brain, pulls your vibration down in by degrees.

Your skin like a husk full of ridges on corn smells sweet,

hard to pull off at the bottom, tassles so soft on my face, the smell of earth.

Your arm was warm and pleasant as the first tomato of summer in my hungry hand.

Let me bite into that luscious fruit, so sweet and tangy

 or a mango stream of juice down my chin.

I’m distracted, clement smells from your back

Why are so sweet yet so smart and severe?

No end to touch makes my breathing peaceful.

I feel happy…oh god I’m doomed.

Indeed, it only lasted one day and you ripped your skin from me again.

At least you can’t take the memory from me.

Words can never erase actions like skin can never cover feelings.