prose – Page 3 – Synchronicity is the Source of Consciousness

September 17, 2017September 27, 2019

Prose; Wanting to Be Right

very cool lemniscate Why 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.

September 7, 2017September 4, 2019

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.

September 5, 2017September 4, 2019

Prose; How the Light Changes

Written 9/5/17

leaves falling Once 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.

April 1, 2017December 14, 2025

Protected: Prose; Rear View Mirror

February 16, 2017September 5, 2019

Prose; Oblivion

woman-with-orbs

Digital Artist Sandra Bauser

Time fades into oblivion

One memory, one vision of you and I feel whole again.

I remember your voice, your smell, the feel of you next to me.

In time, it was so long ago, yet to my mind, it was yesterday.

My love for you is as natural as my heartbeat.

February 15, 2017September 5, 2019

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