The Knitting Journeyman

Gathering Up One Thread At A Time As I Weave This Web Of Mine.....

Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Dawn Of Comprehension

My Spirit Guides have set me up.

Where to begin? Let’s start with my writing. This year is my year to really reach out and take back my writing in a way I haven’t done since I was a teen-ager. Since I depended upon my writing to get me away from all the boredom and tedium that was public school. And even then, it wasn’t like this. This is a planned action. A sincere and fervent effort.

It started with what I thought was a Muse story, as I have been having dreams about Muses and different things coming in to help me with my writing. But, does it really start there? When was it exactly I decided that this is the year I am going to enter and win the NaNoWriMo challenge? When I was going to take all my notes and various bits of outlines and short pieces and finally combine them into that novel that has been flowing through my brain, I swear to you, since I was roughly twelve, thirteen years old? When I decided to enter the Poetic Asides poem a day challenge for the month of April—which I did complete, so I am very proud of myself? When I decided that yes, I will sit and write no less than 1000 words of something every single day, even if it means I get up earlier to do so—even though there has been no getting up early for anything this past week-but for good reason-and it has not affected the writing at all? Other things have affected my writing-but never how late I sleep in.

I am sitting here now, looking at all the things I have done in the past few months, and I wonder. How long ago did all of this really start? It was 2007 when I signed up along with SoulFoodCafe to take a journey I did not complete. I didn’t have the stamina. My brain was in a thousand other places. However, I never let go of that group, regardless, biding my time until the Muse struck me again. And with my Muses, strike is a very apt term. Walloped up side the head with a mackerel is a fitting description too. Now, I am in a better space, and although I fear I never really ‘get it’ or participate to the level I want to participate or think I should be participating—I am participating, in my own little way. I find a great deal of peace in doing that too.

I am finding myself involved with several other writing groups, but none to the level of SFC. Most of the other groups are used mainly for prompts and for information about the ‘now my book is done what do I do with it’ angle. I am also finding myself in a position to interact with people I went to high school with, people I have missed and wished to find and to hear from and all sorts of things. There are two questions everyone invariably asks of me: am I still giving readings (yes) and did I get that book published/what have I had published (working on it). Here I am—back in the writer mode after twenty plus years.

My Guides are sitting around me, laughing at how slow I am to catch on to some things, to catch up to some things. That’s me: always the last to know, everything.

I have been writing for weeks now, many beginnings to stories I have had no intention of ever finishing beyond what I have already done. Most of them are the start of a woman standing up to face some trauma, even if facing it means running away. It never dawned on me there was a pattern here. Although I guess I must have known on some level. I am surely seeing the pattern and the pathways now.

Just as when I sat down and began writing the introductory piece to the Muse Journey, I had no clue there would be more than one piece, til I was finishing the first one with bits of the second part already flashing through my head. By the middle of the second, I knew there was a third. But then again, I had assumed there would only be five parts. I have notes scrawled on my little yellow tablet sitting right here beside me that include story ideas for at least four more, and I know that there should be a tenth and final culmination to the whole thing, based merely on the whole numerological idea that ten is the number of completion. Which will be done when I get there. And I know I will, at some point, get there and finish the whole thing. There is no rush though. That is the one thing I am finely, finally, getting to see.

But then again, I drew the picture of the donkey. Mister Uncetrys Tratec Outshi the Third. According to my Guides, I am supposed to be working on my drawing and my sketching, which will probably lead me into painting, and hopefully into encaustics and other things, which will then make me comfortable enough to grab that blow torch and melt things into other things the way I have dreamed about for years….but then here I digress, don’t I? The donkey. A nice sweet picture. I think I did a decent job on it.

Even as I drew it, I knew it would need a little story of its own, something to identify it. Then Heather asked that I post it on the Inner Donkey blog, which is one reason I had pulled the original donkey picture out of that magazine and held on to it for so long anyway. Then, of course, posting only a picture of the donkey I drew is not good enough-I, of course, have to write something. And I did, this morning. When I was half-way through it, I realized. The dawn of comprehension struck me full in the brain and in the solar plexus. My freaking Guides had set me up. I knew it. I saw it. I saw the way things were backlit. I saw where things were heading. I was already wandering, in my mind’s eye, through Lemuria, gazing with wide-eyed wonder at the prompts about to smack me full on in the face. And I knew. I knew! This is not the story about the donkey. Darn these Guides. This is the story I am about to write. This is a voyage I am about to undertake. This is me, seeking and finding and releasing and embracing. They never even told me. They let me trip and fall into it blindly. A pie in the face would be easier-but not funny enough for them, apparently. No, I have to stumble and fall into things all by myself, all on my own, like a baby learning how to walk, in the dark, wearing a blindfold.

Plus, they are forcing me to learn wordpress, which is by all accounts a much more professional and apt system than blogger. I prefer wordpress for a great many things, but blogger is just so much easier to use. I don’t have to think about it. Which translates into the whole I am too lazy at this point to make myself sit down and play and learn. Which is exactly what my Guides are going to be making me do.

I love them. I am grateful. They know this. I know they have my best interests at heart. But, still, the question niggles….

How far back does the conspiracy go?

It’s not all about my writing. It is, however, all about Me. Me, finding out who I am and who I was and who I am willing to be and who I want to be.

I never knew who I was. I was too busy running. Until the ex husband caught me. And even then I had to run, because he had ‘issues’ he had to deal with—as in he had to get divorced in order for us to proceed. At least, that was the first ‘issue’ that crept up. He never took me at face value. I knew he’d cheat. Let’s see. Married in August to one woman and sleeping with me come September, even though I didn’t know that til much later. Yeah, I didn’t need to have a lot of faith there, no matter what he told me about this or that. All I asked for was honesty. Period. In his words, he lied so he wouldn’t hurt me. And because he’s afraid of confrontation. So, I died. For a number of reason I won’t go into here. On top of this about him.

I did. I died. I wasn’t me. I wasn’t anybody. I was a husk of a shell and nothing real for ten years. I was running, but in a whole new way, because I wasn’t going anywhere. I was the treadmill of my mind. Nothing else really went on.

Then, in what he told me was the last-ditch effort attempt to save our marriage-while he was telling everyone else I wasn’t even coming along with him-we moved, to a whole new state. There he introduced me to a lot of people. One in particular. One guy who would save my life over and over. Someone I had to put into a place where I could deal with him. Since I do not trust anyone at all, and I needed to trust this guy. I made him family. We definitely have the Past Life Ties to carry that. It made everything acceptable in my mind.

I had to go through the messes with the ex-husband. It brought me through the valley of Death and into the Land of the Living. Nevertheless, I was still a little broken thing. It also ensured I cut all the cords, broke all the treaties done in my name without my consent, destroyed all the seeds, ended any form of any further contact in this lifetime and every other, no matter what world or form, period. That had to be done.

I had to go through all the almost training with the ‘Batwing Special’. If I hadn’t gone through that, I would never have realized my own innate power. Not to mention, I wouldn’t have my daughter. My children I may regret how I came to have them, but I never ever regret them at all.

Of course, I had to go through the other ex too, or I wouldn’t have been so verbal as I am now. I wouldn’t have been so determined. He and I were so very much alike when we got together. And then, it dawned on me, the difference. I am what I am and I am changing things to be the person I think I am and the person I say I am. He is what he is—and he is not changing that for anyone, even though he thinks he is the person he says he is. If he were the person he thinks he is, then in the past what, ten years now, none of those women would have walked away from him, if he was half the man he thought he was, if he would be half the man he says he is. But he isn’t. Yet, he sure did teach me a great deal about the way I did not want to be. I learn best through visual means. The example of his words and his actions being so very far apart was exactly what I needed to change me. Doesn’t mean the lesson was easy. But I did get it.

Now, we come to that one guy. The one guy I have known in the back of my head is my ideal of the perfect guy. Fine. He has two, no, three flaws. And, yes, I am being so persnickety with this. I don’t mean a word of it. Won’t stop me from playing it to the hilt though. My ‘perfect guy’ would be at least 6 feet tall, although my cut-off is actually 5’10”. He is 5’10”. Plus, he doesn’t mind that I have a thing for high heels. Think more 6 inch spikes rather than 2 inch pumps. He’s younger than me-and I’ve never had luck there. But this is different-and he is older than his years let on. Then there’s the blue eyes. I don’t trust anyone with blue eyes. Ever. Not since I was seven, eight years old. The so-called step-father issue there that I won’t go into. But, again, here this too is different. His eyes are like storms and I love watching the way the colours shift. Plus, there’s the gold rings that really make things interesting when I watch his eyes. I love him. And he truly is perfect just the way he is.

He’s my best friend. He has always been there for me. Bailed my backside out more times than I can count. I gave birth to my son in his house. He saved me when we flipped the moving truck. He saves me every week since I have no real desire to get a car of my own, except that now I want to find something for him and I can’t have him with me when I do it and there’s no way to get around that fact.

But, if I hadn’t been with the ex-husband I would have never met him. If I hadn’t gone through everything I’d gone through with the batty people and with the other ex, I wouldn’t be able to do anything but break this man. I have acknowledged this man as pack leader (yes, think like a wolf) for years. I have forcibly some days kept those walls of brother and sister up just because that was the safe thing to do. Then my glamours dropped and he dropped whatever it was that he held up too. It is a match made in heaven, if you believe in such things. Because of him, now I do.

I may have spouted words about “soul mates” before, but I have actually lost at least two clients because I said that I don’t believe in soul mates. Then again, it was a good thing to say in their cases, because everyone they meet is their ‘soul mate’, so I wasn’t really hurting anything. Now I believe. I truly honestly completely believe. He actually is my other half. And the same is true of me for him. We really are perfect for one another. But I had a long hard row to hoe before I could be anything like what we need to make this relationship work.

Let us step back, for just one second, one more time.

So. I move away what three years ago now almost. Where talking to him becomes one of the real high points of my day. I depend on him to keep me sane while I live so far away. It was his encouragement that gave me the confidence to come back here, even though my main impetus was to be closer to my son. I had to wreck a moving truck, total my car, and drag the man back and forth across the country twice before I stopped long enough to say, yeah, this is the guy. Before I stopped fighting and started listening.

The Universe keeps giving me what I keep asking for. I just don’t know what to do when that happens. I am not used to getting the things I want and being able to keep them. I am not used to things coming easily to me. I am not used to being happy or satisfied or content. It takes times to adjust to things like that, apparently. I’ve never really had them before. Now I have them in abundance. I am so glad for the opportunity though.

I kept asking for a guy like this in my life, of course, only a little taller. Smirk. What I got was the real thing. And it may not be ‘perfect’, but it is perfect for me. Although I do hate to hear how it should have happened long ago and yada yada yada. It happened at the right time for both of us. Timing is irrelevant. We both had to be in a certain space. We were. We clicked. End of that statement.

I keep wanting to have clients come to my home. Boom. I had my first in-house client last week.

I keep wanting to write more, to receive more acknowledgement for and encouragement of my writing. Boom. I have it. Not just my writing, but also all of my art work and the insane things I do to keep myself busy and occupied.

I have actually been afraid, since I have never really done more than short stories, maybe even a short novella or two, that I do not have what it takes to write a complete and cohesive novel. Now I know that simply is not true. I know I can do it. I know in dribs and drabs I have been doing it all along. I have just never taken the time to sit down and to connect things.

Today seems to be my day to do that. To sit down, curse my Guides, who continue to dress me funny, and to make the connections and to see the patterns. And to express my utter most sincere gratitude, even if I do it in a derisive manner, because, darn it, I was set up and I don’t like being the last one to know everything, even though invariably I am.

I am grateful. I keep wearing orange and green together, when my Guides so request it. Although today, it is orange and brown. I have to love them. Orange is one of my least favorite colours. And yet, I own a great deal of it because it makes them happy.

I am truly grateful. I am so glad they find me worthy enough to bother with me so much.

How To Name A Character In Three Easy Steps

You've seen this picture before--I posted it not long ago. This is simply a better shot, since my scanner and pc are still not on speaking terms as yet.

I was invited to put my poor shy beast on the InnerDonkey blog by Heather Blakey-so a picture of my donkey and notebook was not good enough. I took another one and made sure the notebook part was cropped out--until I get my darned scanner and pc talking, at least, this is the best I can do.

Not only did my little donkey need a story of his own--and yes, he has been a he from the moment I drew him, for some reason. I don't know why. Then again, the majority of my Spirit Guides are male, and they have so set me up with the whole Donkey issue thing I am unsurprised anymore by a great many things. BUT--my little donkey needed a name.

I have many name books. I have for years. Have kept them for finding names for my characters. I have numerous websites I can go to to find baby/character names. But I didn't even consider looking at book nor website-nor running through the list of my friends who have interesting names. Some characters just come with their own names. Others have to be found. Not this time. This time I made it easy on myself.

I love going to other people's blogs to post comments. I really do. I love being inspired and finding connections. I love to reach out to people to let them know how wonderful they are--because I know how people commenting on my stuff makes me feel. I like to spread that around.

I have been watching the word verification words that often come up when you post-to make sure you are not a robot or something-and I admit these words sometimes make me giggle--so close to real words but just not quite. I have been thinking about using them as prompts for awhile now.

I decided last night that the next three blogs I visited that had word verification would name my donkey for me.
So that is what I did.

Uncetrys Tractec Outshi.

That is the name of my donkey. Except of course I get the elite donkey. When he revealed his name in the story this morning he decided his full name should be "Uncetrys Tratec Outshi the Third" for some reason I shall probably never know. But there you have it. The character must always have a say in things, whether I want it or not. Who am I to tell him no, anyway?

Yes, his introductory story is quite done. I shall provide links once i get it up. I am finally figuring out the hows of posting to wordpress--which will probably mean I will prefer wordpress again-but we will see. Blogger is still easier for me--but I am not giving up on wordpress either. One day I will figure that out--I have simply been too stubborn to sit down and go through tutorials the way I should. So many other things to do.

Keep an eye out. More is coming. And one part of the donkey story is NOT the only part--I have been informed--so there is great writing to be done. Which is really kinda scary. New muses can be fun-but ah-what task-masters they are!

Finally, I Did Something With My Altered Book

Ok, so it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to.

My original intention was to run the yarns through the binding and tie them off--which went well enough.

I was going to then re-arrange the yarns and alter the placement of each end so that the ends hung all the way up and down the spine instead of all at one end or another.

What happened was I ran out of space in the spine--and the yarns refused to co-operate when I went to move them around, even to adjust where the ends stopped.

Rather than fight them, I just glued them in place along the spine, since it needed to be done, and let it go at that.

After I did that, I was stuck on a call with a client so I knitted something--three strands of novelty yarn, on size 11 needles, all garter stitch-not that you can see any stitch pattern at all. I am thinking it will be a bag of some sort--not sure what yet. And I didn't take a picture of it yet--simply because I didn't really feel up to it yet. But I will get to that point some time soon. :-) I like the effect and the way the fabric turned out.

Invitation To The Dance

4th annual Shyne Like a Star Virtual Dance Party

Jamie is having a dance party.

Please go to her blog to read all the details.

I am so there, with bells on. :-)

Imagine all that energy--all of us together--how great is that going to be?

Poetic Asides Day 30

Bye-Bye Now

I don’t really know you that well
I’ve never really had much affinity
You’ve always been too reserved
Too something not quite there
Not quite the thorn in my paw
That you really are now
But I don’t have to deal with you
I may have to see you
Every now and then
I may be pleasant
As ever I was
To your face
I don’t hold grudges
But I know you will
I could say all sorts of things
Some mean
Some nice
But in the end it is all the same
You didn’t mean anything to me
From the start
Why would you mean
Anything now
So walk on off
And curse to yourself
That part of your life is over and gone
And this is all me and mine now

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Something That Seems So Easy Today For Wishcasting Wednesday

What do you wish to read?

It seems like such a simple, an innocent question.
Maybe it should be.
For me, it isn't.
I have too many books lying around waiting to be read.
I have too many projects going on and too many habits to keep up with, so things have to rotate. I have to follow the Muse that seeks me out the most often at any given time and succor that one in order to appease it lest it run away never to return.
At least my various Muses do seem to take turns. :-)

I will keep it simple.

I wish to finish reading the Octopus and the Oragutan by Eugene Linden. It's a fascinating book. I don't make time for it, for one. And two, there are so many pieces in it that make me cry.

I wish to finish reading The Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. One reason is because it is actually good. It has all that back story I need so much when I read. The pictures get in the way, but at least the story is solid and juicy. The other reason is the book belongs to the ex and I want to get it back to him.

I wish to read my two Monart books I have sitting here-and to actually apply what I learn.

I wish to read Soul Mapping by Forst, Ruge and Shoup. I also wish to work through as much of the mapping as I can.

I wish to read A Year of Creativity by Brenda Mallon and to work through it all as well.

I wish to read Yoga of the Heart by Alice Christensen.

I wish to read Awakening the Hidden Storyteller by Robin Moore.

And that is just to start for the month of May. Then I wish to start on the stacks of books that have been waiting patiently for me for the past few weeks as I figure out where I am supposed to be....

Plus, I want to do all this and not give anything else up that I have been trying to do either, from writing to drawing to sculpting to knitting to collage to anything else my daft little brain pulls up and says hey do this.

Poetic Asides Day 29

Never Again

Never again
It sounds so contrite
So cliché
But I mean it
Even as I say
Once more
Never again will I believe you
Over me
No matter whom you are
Never again will I distrust myself
Never again will I look away
Never betray myself
My own soul
Never again will I give up
And walk away
There will always be a fight
Never again will I sink down at night
Sobbing in tears and frustration
Because I gave up
When I should have held
Never again
Never never
I have grown too strong

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

A Moment For Synchronicity

I was checking out other blogs involved with the Creative Every Day Challenge--which is what I do--both because it is polite--and because the artwork is so rich and so varied and I love being able to say nice things to people.....

When I came upon this blog.
I do try to look around as much as I can at every blog I visit, just because I am usually fascinated.
Did we jump into the rabbit hole yet? :-)
Because from there I of course had to go look at the personal map making on CollageDiva, which I read with vigor.
And that of course lead me here to Marney of Artella, whom I already love to pieces anyway. Which made me really really wan to not only learn Soul Mapping, but to order a session with Marney. See here for her Creative Cartography Coaching.

Now, I may have started my journey a blog hoppin' sober--but that's not how i was when I ended up reading about Marney's creative cartography coaching sessions.
Bf is under a great deal of stress. Which means I am under a great deal of stress. I could not for the life of me yesterday get my shoulders to release or relax.
I am trying to shift my Yoga practise to night so that I have the morning to write. Which means yesterday I didn't have the fluidity I needed to combat his stress in my body. Both the Yoga and the stress are projects in progress. I am trying to find my happy medium with both.
I did know a much easier way to get myself to relax. So about 5p I took the frozen margarita bottle out of the freezer to thaw.
You know what thaws first? The tequila. I don't think I started to sip my one margarita til after 8p. I know I ate first, because I have to, regardless. I made the mistake of calling bf well I was tipsy-although for the most part I kept my mouth shut about the things that are ravenous maggots in my soul at the moment. :-)
But I did tell him all about Marney and the maps. And as I am walking around my house, cleaning--yeah-it helps to be tipsy to get me to do that some days-although I normally do it after I log off work anyway-unless I can come up with a really good excuse--I looked over on my bookshelf--and said--only my Guides could find something -- in all my mess and with my bookshelves completely not in any but the most random of order for the most part--what do my Guides spy for my little eye?

A book I have quite literally owned for years but have yet to crack open to read, even though the subject has long held my interest, even though the whole process of mapping has been gnawing away on its own corner of my brain for weeks .
"Soul Mapping" by Nina H frost, Dr Kenneth C Ruge and Dr Richard W Shoup.
So, sorry, Marney, but I do have to save my money. We are saving up to buy a bigger house. :-) Not to mention a car as well, but that's a horse of another colour entirely.

Have i opened said book yet? Nope. I have been working on the Muse Series--and of course pondering the extent of housework I would really like to hire someone else to do -- except that I have a 7 year old who really ought to understand the concept of household chores better than she does. I'd settled for seeing the floor in her room at this point.

However, the book is going into my practical bag, along with "A Year of Creativity" by Brenda Mallon, which I have been meaning to work on and work with for well over a year now since I bought the darn thing. :-)

Where did the map thing begin>
With the mere mention of a heart map.

Now, keep an eye out.
The Surrender Box is next.
I found it through this blog....

The Muse Series

First of all, let it be known that the Muse Series has nothing to do with the Poetic Asides prompt poem I wrote today. Honest. I was on the phone when I wrote down my 6 random words to use in the sestina prompt. I wasn't really thinking, not before nor after I finished it. Not til I actually posted it and went--oooohhhhh. :-)

Yesterday, I started writing this piece, which I called Muse Journey Part 1.
I almost knew when I started writing it that there would be more to it.

I was not that surprised not long after I finished part one that I began writing Muse Journey Part 2.
Of course, once i got there, I knew something bigger would be coming.

I started Muse Journey Part 3, but had to stop after just a few paragraphs, because ti was starting to get to hairy for me and I needed the space. Part 3 sat and waited. Until I finished it today.

Which made writing Muse Journey Part 4 seem like a breeze.

My original intent last night was to write a five part series and end it there. Here is Muse Journey Part 5.

When I finished that last part, I thought, yes, this is good enough, this is the end. I'm done with it. I usually do not write interconnected bits like this. Usually I write in pieces, but I never try to make anything fir with anything else. I write a beginning over here--I write an end for something else completely--then I'll go over here to work on this middle. Or maybe I'll just work up a quick description of something or someone that I will use later on in something entirely different.

This piece, this series, it's quite a bit different.
I know now there will be a part 6. Most of it is already written in my head, waiting for me to sleep on it and expand and expound upon it before I sit in front of my computer to pull forth the rest of the details. If I am luck, my drawing Muse will wallop me upside the head as well and I shall be compelled to draw the image I keep getting in my head. We'll see about that. I lack a great deal of confidence in that arena yet-but I am getting there.

The whole thing with the Muse again is very compelling with me. I am going through some very major shfits and changes of late.
I had my very first in-house client this past week--and I am very proud of myself. And I just loved her. She is someone I want to see again, when she is ready and able. :-) Of course, it didn't dawn on me til the day after I did it, but I actually used the money I earned with that client to buy my bf and I a set of matching rings. Hand-crafted silver, from Ireland, no less. ;-) As soon as I saw what they said I knew I had to have them for us. The one thing I find the most funny is I never believed in such a term for real until the boundaries dropped with this man. Now I get it. Now I believe. And since all he knows is I ordered the rings--and he is quite grumpy about that anyway--I cannot yet tell what the rings say--I won't ruin that surprise. :-)
I am actually drawing--bit by bit. I am again writing alot more. I had that burst there and then things muddled up about a few things with bff and I of course stopped writing because that is the first thing that stops with me.
But there are so many things that are moving and shifting and going on--and as frightened as I am I am forcing myself to go along and to be happy. Well, forcing the happy is a little strong--I just have to trust that I can be happy. Some days I just don't know if I can do it...then of course life will drop something in my lap for me to fuss and worry about--and then I get over it and am allright again.

It's a new awakening. A rebirth. I kinda like where everything is going. So I am just going to keep taking slow deep breaths and going along with it. What else is there for me to do?

Poetic Asides Day 28

Seeking the Muse

I am nothing more than the roar of the dragon
Whipping away on the wings on the raven
Sailing at dawn into the moon
Eyes closed and mouth full of silver
To have the means to pay my muse
To get me across that river

Setting down I find myself standing at the river
Driven on by daemons inside bursting forth the dragon
Slams into heart and soul and pushes forth the raven
Leaving me stranded in the noon searching for the moon
Penniless now after the gulp of fear I am without my silver
There in the middle of the wake stands my pitiless muse

She laughs at me, my terrible muse
Pointing in dread she says I must swim the river
Must come to her breathing fire like the dragon
Dipping toes into the waves like the glow of the feather of the raven
Looking down I see I am the flow beneath the moon
Enchanting by the way my hair melts and seems like silver

Gleaming oozing tendrils like snakes of silver
Dangling from my shoulders reaching for my muse
In supplication as I deny the urge to fly into the river
Arms open wide, praying to land on the back of the dragon
So he can fly me to the other side, him or the raven
Standing there perched in the tree reflected back at me by the moon

It is not to be as I watch the clouds hide from me the moon
Standing by with clouds in my eyes as my body turns to silver
I soften and dissolve mixing into the waters to seek my muse
Becoming as one with the currents of the river
Flowing back and forth holding to the whiskers of the water dragon
Who whirls through the waters unhindered with the same grace as the raven

Winging through the breeze the stately man gracing the bridge that raven
Silhouetted in the gleam as he calls out to the moon
With filigrees and bows of silver
Clinging to his back as he climbs astride my muse
To merge and disintegrate as did I in the river
Where I am lost again with only my dragon

For company, are they not the same this dragon and raven
For pray for me in song to the moon for silver
That I might be delivered to my muse at the river

Monday, April 27, 2009

The River


SoulFoodCafe Prompt


Isn't it hard to believe they came from the same mold?

These are the faces for Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
The faces have been glued to the bodies--although I must find a better adhesive for this part.

I am still pondering over the rest of the form. Bodies are done. Faces are good. So much more to do. In this case, less is not more. It's empty.

Manic Monday 164

A new we go...

What's the best summer job you ever had?

best summer job I had was no job at all, hanging out near the beach and walking the boardwalk

Tell me about the worst date you ever went on.

Geez, it's been so long since i was on a date at all--I really don't know. I know i have been out with some lousy people, people I really didn't want to be anywhere near, but I always managed to find something positive to keep me going--even if it was this night will be over soon.

Now, the worst guy experience I ever had was not so bad-it just made me terribly uncomfortable. I had a dear boy in high school who was SHY--he would muscle up the nerve to call me at home--and then he wouldn't/couldn't talk-so I would chatter on a bit, then feel bad, try to engage him, chatter on, listen to us breathe, slowly pull us out of the call and hang up. It was so sweet, but I felt so bad. I knew it cost him so much just to call. He was such a nice guy. I always said hi to him whenever I saw him--and he would turn beet red and kinda nod and smile back.

Do you think the age for a driver's license should be raised (currently 16 here in the U.S.)?

If there were more stringent requirements to get a license, I would say no. If the US did things the way they do them in say, Germany or England, then I would say no problem. KNowing how they do things here in the US--yes--it should be raised to at least 18.
But I won't get into this now. :-) My soap box is out for repairs this morning. :-)

Poetic Asides Day 27

I wrote three poems for this prompt this morning.
The first one is way way too raw to let the public see. Maybe some time later I will gather all the things I've written for R and publish them in one volume. I will include that poem then. But I can't do that now.

This is the second poem. This is the one I posted on the Poetic Asides site.


My heart aches
Sitting here
Watching you
Nothing I can do
No matter
How much
I want to

This is the last one. I was writing all the poems today while I was on a call from work--which is why 2 was finished after 3--and why 3 is not my best work.

Take 3 (currently Untitled other than that)

Drips and spots of rain do fall
Making mud of Mother Earth
The dog goes out
And plays around
With burrs and bits
Trapped in her fur
She smells
And thinks she rules us
Can’t give her a bath
No matter how much I desire
Until the rains stop
And the ground dries up
Else we have to bath her
Every five minutes
To keep her clean
For once I can say
I’d like it not to rain
Just long enough
To justify
Washing the dog clean
Just so she smells better

The dog just needs a bath-and I don't want to wash her when she'll go right outside and basically roll in the mud because she had a bath. It keeps raining--which is a good thing, especially for my plants, but not for the dog's butt. She smells. It is not so bad yet that I will ignore the mud factor. Nor is it so bad yet that I will call my newest tattoo healed enough to dunk her and scrub her and do all that needs to be done to reach her skin through that overly-thick pelt of hers--at least on her backside. The rest isn't so difficult, mostly.

I long to give that darn dog a bath--yes. :-)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Poetic Asides Day 26

No Miscommunication

I keep trying to tell you
Words don’t really mean much
If you don’t back them up
With the things you do
The things I see
The actions you take
You need to walk your talk
That sort of thing
Here’s what I hear
From you
I love you
I want to fix things
I won’t give up
What I see
It must have been weeks ago
When you found out
You had the tickets
It didn’t come up in
Any conversation
Because it’s just not your thing
Then this Wednesday
You decide to
Bite the bullet
And test me
See if I will jump
You ask me to go
With you
If I want to go
To spend time together
With you
But you don’t reply to my email on Friday
You don’t take any of my calls
When you do get around to calling me
That same night
After an hour or so
You already have another guy
Slated to go with you
To something you have always said
You have no interest in
Am I missing something
Or do your actions
What your words belie
I am so not
Your fall-back guy
And you are the real reason

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Mothers - An Email Forward


Real Mothers don't eat quiche;
they don't have time to make it.

Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils
are probably in the sandbox.

Real Mothers often have sticky floors,
filthy ovens and happy kids.

Real Mothers know that dried play dough
doesn't come out of carpets.

Real Mothers don't want to know what
the vacuum just sucked up.

Real Mothers sometimes ask 'Why me?'
and get their answer when a little
voice says, 'Because I love you best.'

Real Mothers know that a child's growth
is not measured by height or years or grade...
It is marked by the progression of Mommy to Mom to Mother...

The Images of Mother

4 YEARS OF AGE - My Mommy can do anything!

8 YEARS OF AGE - My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!

12 YEARS OF AGE - My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.

14 YEARS OF AGE - Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either..

16 YEARS OF AGE - Mother? She's hopelessly old-fashioned.

18 YEARS OF AGE - That old woman? She's way out of date!

25 YEARS OF AGE - Well, she might know a little bit about it!

35 YEARS OF AGE - Before we decide, let's get Mom 's opinion.

45 YEARS OF AGE - Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?

65 YEARS OF AGE - Wish I could talk it over with Mom .

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes,
because that is the doorway to her heart,
the place where love resides.
The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole,
but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.
It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows,
and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

Please send this to 5 Moms today.

If you don't, nothing bad will happen,

Creative Every Day? Does This Count For Colour?

I got up this morning wanting to paint two of the polymer clay faces, one each for Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
So that is what I did.

Now the dolls' bodies are black. Their faces are painted with lack and red acrylic paint mixed. I am so loathe to waste paint that I decided with the little bit that was left over I needed to at least prep a page in my art journal somehow.
I simply dragged the brush through the paint-then dragged it over the page. There was way too much black, even though the paint was divided, on the paper where I mixed it to the brush. So I added more red. I let that dry and of course my brain was working overtime. I got the urge to dry brush over the whole piece. I used gesso to do it. It went on heavier than I wanted it to in places, but once i was finished I really liked it. Now I have to figure out what to do with the thing. I have some ideas, but we'll see. :-)

I was wondering if black and red counted towards the colour theme of creative every day . I know the red will--but black is a my lovely daughter always loves to tell me. I have some interesting stuff in my head. We shall see.

If nothing else, this does fit my mood today. :-)

My Inner Donkey

I drew this myself, based on a picture in a magazine that I saw. The photograph credit says it was taken by Maurizio Cattelan, if that helps anyone.

For more information on Inner Donkeys please visit SoulfoodCafe and meet your own Donkey.

First Mandala

Obviously called 'Time To Grow'. Pretty much sums up my life.

Have to find the disk that goes w my printer/scanner--because I have moved everything off the mac and onto the pc--and the pc wants more input before it is willing to work with me. Maybe if I give it enough input Number 5 will work for me instead of jollying me along. :-)
So, sorry for the poor picture-have to use my camera til I find the correct input. :-)

Poetic Asides Day 25

Hands Fasted

Traveling he comes
The priest into town
To bind us all
One to one
We stand in crowd
And stand our ground
Til cords wrapped
Are set free
Our turn comes
For a year of bliss
Let us pray
It holds for true
One more day
And everlast
That’s my love
For you

Friday, April 24, 2009

Heart to Head

I looked across the table
At this woman
Who is my friend
And I told her
So plainly
I know in my heart
He is a good man
I know we will be together
For the rest of our lives
I know I love him
Beyond better and worse
I walked away from that lunch
Thinking all too hard
Pondering all too much
My heart knows
What my head does not
My heart feels
Where my head fears to tread
I love him
Of this I have no doubt
He can stop my heart
In just one breath
I feel safe in the knowledge
That he will be there
Never to let me fall
But my brain fights it
Fights it all
How can this be
I question me
Why would he want me
My heart tries to soothe
The beast in my brain
Roars unceasing
Untrue untrue
Such a cowardly thing to do
I just don’t know
How to trust
How to relax
How to be genuinely
Happy and content and joyful
For more than a few seconds
At a time
Here is a man
With his unconditional love
Who treats me
The way I treat him
As if he holds my heart
In the palm of his hand
Then again
He truly does
My heart insists
This is real
And permanent
And true
My brain is crying
Beware you fool
What does it take
To join the two
To calm the one down
So the other can heal
To embrace the beloved
And to allow things
To follow through


I hate to sound so needy
I hate to be greedy
Yet my addiction
To grow
I need you
I need you here
Wherever you are
I need you close to me
Need to be in your
Where I am safe
Protected from harm
Even from
It seems so foolish
To say
You complete me
But we know
It is true
Like one side of a coin
Needs its own back
You do that to me
For me
And so much more
Thank you
From the depths of my heart

Poetic Asides Day 24


I woke up this morning
Swimming in a good space
The sheets were soft against my skin
The air was gentle
Blowing scents of flowers
Over me
I had to move
Had to get out of bed
I had to call you
You know what was said
Hiking down off my mountain
Into the here and now
It hurts and it sucks
Now so full of dread
These serious talks
Can’t we move on instead
But then we were done
And a swan song began
In the back of my head
I strolled on again
Whistling my way
Back into
My blissful state
Of awakening

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Free Reign On Poetry Play Thursday

Free form, free style, and letting it all hang out....all with the textyladies

Little China Doll

I am not as strong as you
I am that little china doll
Carelessly crushed and discarded
Too fragile too be loved
Without so much care
I cannot stand in the sun
Without tears streaming
Down my face
From my soul
Longing to crawl back
Hide within the known embrace
In the dark
I don’t want to look at the scars
I don’t want to see the fragments
I don’t want to have faith
I don’t want to trust you
I want to run away
I want to be alone
I know how to be afraid
I know how to hurt in silence
I don’t know what to do
With such unconditional love
I don’t know how you do it
I am not so certain
I know what to do
Or if I can wait
To learn
I just don’t know
I just don’t know


three inches long
one and one-fourth inches at its tallest point
give or take

Little Miss Innocent

Gotta love that smile.

Art Together

My daughter made the plastic doll thing at her cousins' house weeks ago. She came home and gave it to me. It has been on top the refrigerator ever since, waiting for me to figure out what the heck to do with it.

When I was going through my let's do some backgrounds phase a couple weeks ago I glued the thing in on its own page and sort of just -- left it.
I am still debating going back and writing more poetry--or drawing flowers or something on the blank side--we'll have to see.
But here it is now.


I kept having that image of the tattoo vining out and over-taking me--then I started to colour things in while i was on the for me.

Creative Therapy Catalyst Number 58

I never said I would do them in order, did I?

What's your favorite word? And why?

I just love the way it sounds--and the imagery it evokes in me every time...

I Believe In Omens

Three omens have been visited upon me.

The first one--was from my dear own self.
On Wednesday.

Read the full post here.

"""I have been taking steps--I could say all this mont--but I would know it has been so much longer than that. My one year plan that turned into a 2-3 year planned is nearly complete. Technically, I have achieved everything in that plan--and more. I guess it is time to re-evaluate and to see what I want to accomplish from here.

My next step could be that re-evaluation process. Except that I have been doing that lately, in dribs and drabs, in between projects and functioning. I need input from a couple other sources before I move forward very far in that direction."""

The second was my Yahoo Astrology horoscope--which I almost never read because I know too many other Pisces that have their heads up their butts and it makes me laugh to compare this blurb as being about my day and theirs as well. Today--I read it.
Several times. Every time I opened a browser--I read the darn thing.

"""Your vision for the future is a bit foggy right now, but you need clarity now more than ever. Therefore, in order to understand what you want for yourself, you need to take all the time you need to ponder where you want to take your life over the next five years. Do not apologize for being slow -- your future is too important! Luckily it won't take long for you to come up with a few ideas, especially since you see a great opportunity that could change everything."""

Third, this post from Goddess Leonie that I should have read last night when it appeared in my inbox, but didn't read it til this evening.

Click here to read a very nice explanation of how to take a personal Shamanic Journey.

I didn't write anything other than my Poetic Asides poem today. In fact, I slept most of the day. I can blame PMS. I can blame a late night last night-but I won't because it was a great night--and I always sleep so much better after a night like that--and not for the reasons you think either. It's the high level of energetic and creative work we do together. Not to mention, every time I see the man it gives me a stronger sense of peace of mind.

I knew I have been blocked. I knew I was blocking. I have been for days now. I keep stopping. I keep fighting. I can write and write--in my head. I have 3 non-fiction articles all done, in my head. Don't have squat on paper--not even cyber paper--not even scrawled out notes.

It may not be all about the next five years. It may not even be about the next few weeks. But the blocking is all about the here and now--and quite possibly the next few, or the next five, days. And the fact that I accepted a situation I knew I would abhor and that I knew would make me extremely uncomfortable and that would hurt me emotionally every single moment until it was resolved. Well, ok, maybe when the situation started I didn't realize the full extent of that actually hurt every second thing, but when things became clear--they became crystal clear for me. I didn't really make my thoughts known because of other situations. I chose to keep silent and be patient. I am still choosing to do so. As silent as I can be--by me not talking it becomes all too clear that I am keeping something back, even though I said I would do so. And he doesn't like when I go quiet-or obstinate. Although I have to give the man credit, he is patient. Thank goodness.
Confused yet? :-)
Right now, my stress levels are too high -- and there isn't much I can do but work on my own work in order to relieve my stress and my tension--the problem there being when I get stressed I can't do anything at all--especially my writing--because I balk and I block myself.

I got some other pushes today too. I got some really great feedback about my writing today. Past efforts, recent past. I got some support for actually pushing forward on my knitting book, which is always such a good thing for me.
I got some great encouragement about my drawing--and the need for me to pursue it.
I also got some positive feedback on my old work with my SoulCollage cards (see my old blog-I had put up the labels widget to make everything easier to find-but it is there now on the bottom of the sidebar)--which only means I need to pull those up and out and get everything photographed and decide where to take them to have them printed on smaller cards so I can carry them around with me to use them. I do need to get back into those.

And one more thing, I joined a mandala drawing/creating group, thanks to Cheryl Finley.

The Universe keeps pushing me. I am not so sure I have the right to drag my feet and pout-since the Universe is giving me everything I am have asked for and everything I continue to ask for-my first in-home client is coming tomorrow.

Time to go on a Journey and see what I can see for me.
I did get the information I needed from my significant other-some days all I need is that confirmation that I am significant. :-)

Poetic Asides Day 23

One More Time

I said I would never
Have any regrets
Long term
That may be so
But right now
I hate that phone
I hate the circumstances
I want to go Home
To curl up
Cry cry cry
Never again
Do I seek to ponder
Have to wonder
I do these things
To myself

Sarah Is Having A Give-Away On Her Blog!

Sarah Sullivan of Cottage Garden Studio is having an art give-away.
She's giving away two pieces, but you will have to go to her blog and see what she's offering.

I love her work.

She has the ability to tap something that causes me to think, hey, that could be my mother-my mother, who is a very witchy person. I swear the houses Sarah draws look an awful lot like my mother's house, minus the cats. My mom is a little dog person.

And of course around here the Halloween aspect is always a beautiful thing.

My boyfriend actually bought me two of her pieces recently. And we will not go into my reaction to his having done this-it jsut proves I've dated complete losers all my life, that something so small and genuine could mean so very much to me.

The 'Heart of Darkness' picture that he bought me is one of those pictures when I saw it I had to step back and say, whoa. First of all, I think Sarah did draw me, on my horse, cause I used to have a roan named Sergeant Pepper who looks darn near exactly like the horse in the picture Sarah drew--not to mention--the hair on the woman riding the horse--and walking into the cave of Darkness--which is shaped like a Heart--and the Tree reaching out for the rider, to help or hinder....
Sarah has a mythical Talent that really touches me.

You should definitely check out her blog here and her etsy store here. She's a very powerfully creative woman.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

A New Wishcasting Wednesday

What step do you wish to take?

Wow. I have to step back and really think about this one for a few minutes....or more....

There are so many avenues I could pursue here.

And I tend to be very instant gratification oriented as well--so if I think this is what I need to do--I usually do it. Not all the time, because I am also a terrible procrastinator, especially if I am afraid of doing something wrong.

I have been taking steps--I could say all this mont--but I would know it has been so much longer than that. My one year plan that turned into a 2-3 year planned is nearly complete. Technically, I have achieved everything in that plan--and more. I guess it is time to re-evaluate and to see what I want to accomplish from here.

My next step could be that re-evaluation process. Except that I have been doing that lately, in dribs and drabs, in between projects and functioning. I need input from a couple other sources before I move forward very far in that direction.

The one thing that does keep coming to me and coming to me and coming back to me to drill me in the brain to get its point across--I need to start sculpting and making the doll frameworks myself.

My next step, the step I wish to take now, therefore, is to take out my clay and my tools and play until I get the body forms right for me. Then I can move on to faces and other structures as I need to--not to mention other forms of media....

This is what I wish for me.
So mote it be.

Thank you, Jamie, for the grand process of inner illumination your beckoned forth in me today. :-)

Poetic Asides Day 22


The phone is ringing
I drop the pencil
Push past the glue
And paint
To grab it
Spouting off my
Opening phrase
Without a thought
Talking talking
Clearing energetically
As I sketch and draw
And signify
All life on hold
For the duration
Calls over
Take a step back
Breathe in deep
Grounding myself out
Back to my project
Til the phone

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Mornings Here

Before the girl gets up, after the dog comes in from that first quick outside time, while i am busy working, writing, whatever--this is the sight I see--this is two days of pictures--although I could take the same picture every day:

My Faery Queene -- Before And After

Some New Collage Work To Post

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due

I have to give the ex some credit. The man who can never be on time to save his life, ever.

Which has to be the worst pet peeve in my life. I can give you credit for five or ten minutes, especially if you apologize and say it was traffic, or the kids, or you got a late start, or anything at all.

This man never apologizes. Not ever. Not since I have known him.

When you say I will be here at 12N--I expect you to be there at 12N, give or take a few minutes. If you are going to be later than 5-10 minutes, you call. I do not expect to have to sit there til roughly 20 til 1P before I get ticked off and call you, to find out you are sitting around the corner doing jack squat. If I call you and it takes you less than two or three minutes to get to me, please tell me how that is not a complete slap in the face. It is rude and disrespectful and shows a distinct lack of empathy, compassion and the ability to follow through with the things you say you are going to do.

That is the ex for you, on a half-shell.

Which is why this past Sunday I nearly had a heart attack. We were dropping the kids off--and I had made a point of saying we had an appointment on purpose--because the ex could care less if I have to be at work at a certain time or not--he never has.

He was there at 12:30N.
Which was the time we told him we would be there. Actually we negotiated. We wanted to be there at noon, planning for his normal lateness and expecting him to show up around 12:30N anyway. He said 12:30N.

For the very first time in the past seven years that I have known him he was on time--he was there before we got there, and we were running a couple minutes late, two or three, due to weather and traffic--it was pouring down rain.

I could not believe my eyes. I was amazed. And awed.

Now, if he does it again, consistently, and keeps doing it for more than a week or two, then then I will be more than willing to say he is progressing, doing well, making an effort, all the nice things I would actually like to say now--but can't because I know his pattern is to change for a couple days, maybe a week or two, and then regress to whatever again.

But--he did do it once--and he deserves props just for that one single time.

He will get alot more if he can keep it up consistently.

It may scare him to hear this-but I am actually praying for the guy--if anyone needs it in this world, it's him.

I have to give him credit for doing it once. It's the only way to encourage him to keep doing it. To show how much it was appreciated.

So, thank you, for actually being there on time for the first time since I have met you.

That was really good of you.

To Wishcasters, Full Moon Dreamers and Everyone Else As Well

I meant to do this yesterday-I am still trying to catch up with myself. I seem to be making progress, but everything moves round in circle with me, so sometimes forward progress is not so forward as it seems, even though I keep forging ahead.

I know that in my life, things happen. Wish magic is an incredibly powerful tool.

To everyone who comes here to read all my mess, and who wishes with me, thank you.
I mean that in a HUGE way--THANK YOU.

Wish magic may work for me when I am all alone. But the magnitude and the speed and the force with which things have been moving and coming true since i joined up with Wishcasting Wednesday and Jamie Ridler's 'crew' -- it is all so amazing and stunning and -- fantastic.

I could not have done it without you--even if I get mean at times when I am clearing--but then again-I would prefer it come out rather than fester. I have festered for far too long.

I truly and honestly hope and pray and wish with all my heart your wishes and dreams are coming true as powerfully and as well and as fast as mine are.

Every single day I wish this for each of you.

I am grateful for your energies and loves and wishes along with me.

More than I can say.

First Poem of the Day

Rodney Rover Dog

Some mornings
I awaken
I start to think
Looking for ways
To improve things
For my daughter
Some things tweak
Dragging me down
Careless rubble
Excavating memories
That never should
Be found
Things that drive me
Shaking and afraid
From my bed
Seeking the heat
The light of the Sun
One good dog
Wet and shivering
His eyes begging me
Had I moved
I would have gone too
The wicked man
Knew no boundary
He would not overstep
To save myself
I fled
I ran
Lest the handle of the ax
Find me too
Forgiveness is a hard thing
Even for a child
I was trying to be more upbeat after the first round of poems I wrote this morning, but didn't want this one lumped in with all the rest.

Small Daughter

No talking today
Stay in your room til it’s clean
Flowers can bloom then

Poetic Asides Day 21

I submitted One to the Poetic Asides site this morning.
I read something yesterday--I didn't realize until now--that hurt me, a great deal. It brought up alot of , pain, for me--about the child I was, about my own children.
I did my usual thing and I stuffed it, way down deep, so I wouldn't have to deal with it.
I can no longer hide--not even from myself, these days.
I awoke this morning, smiling and content.
Then I started to think--my daughter's room looks like --well, like monsters had a party and tore the place to pieces. I have removed toys. I have offered direction. I have made threats, offered bribes--even offering to get her coveted nintendo ds which I feel rivals the end of civilization--yet to no avail. That led me down the path of my room when I was her age--as it was the same condition--but for vastly vastly different reasons. VASTLY.
The reasons mine was such a mess happened to surface--which led me to a particular memory that still gives me nightmares to this day--and is the one reason I may go to jail for protecting animals that cannot protect themselves one day--and why I so want to have the Rescue Ranch one day.....
Hey--look at the amount of stuff I am figuring out about myself today.
Think I am going to stop now. :-)


Awaken to beauty
Thinking then
Day all shot to hell


Woke up happy
Forced their way in
Uneasy now


Open my eyes to the sun
Darkness follows
Drifting memory lane


Open to the sun
Bursting with beauty and trust
One dead man kills all


Can’t quite stop shaking
Memories drifting too fast
Ax falls—darkness claims

Monday, April 20, 2009


I gather to me
The tools of my Trade
The Ancestors before me
The Heart of my Soul
Raven wing
And padded foot
Glory driven
Glory risen
Over the reddest sun
Under the darkest moon
Feather light
On butterfly wings
Swifter than swift
And swallowed up whole
Oh what a tangled web
We weave
Over ice and snow
And cleansing rain
I swim the ocean
Above and below
Caught in the branches
Trapped in the roots
Swirling knotted
And flying on
Such is the word of God


I wonder how long this will last
Every time I look down
I have an urge
To cry
To sob for all those things
I have wished for
And hoped for
And dreamed about
For so very long
Now here they are
Sitting right in front of me
And I cower like
A beaten dog
Wondering what
In Heaven’s name
Did I do
To deserve this
To find Happiness
To be happy
To wonder
If I will be a fool
Yet again
Left out in the cold
Always the last

Your Lovely Faery Queene

Fair and fine am I
Your lovely
Faery Queene Bride
Wind you in
Shall I
With shiny things
With tastes so sweet
Win your heart
I can
With broken kisses
Silver tines
Sweeping over you
Enticing you
Once more to eat
Your lips
Against my own
My vintage wine
While for you I weave
A gilded faery coat
So elegant
To show
The world
And all
That you are mine

An Empty Vessel

I am always
To be
An empty vessel
I fill up
I well up
I spill over
Like monsoon rains
Loosed on the prairies
Shuddering at the overload
With the muck
And debris
The tempest carries
I am
No good
Those monkey voices
Through the hollow
Then the womb
That is me
Speeds through
On insouciant fears
Tiny little whispers
Threatening now
With mammoth bellows
I must deplete
As much as I can
So much
As quickly
As I can
My self
My energies
The dark dank
And wretchedness
Once again
Always wary
That I will
Fill again

My Red Folder

I have this red folder. It is full of knitting patterns that I had designed and created all by myself. It has essays that I have written to go along with the designs. It is full of scribbles and doodles and things I crossed out. It is drawn out with graph paper and written out on notebook paper. It is my first full-length feature book that I completed. It is all about knitting. I designed all these patterns, all by myself. Well, ok, I did have a little help. Barbara Walker and her amazing stitch pattern books did come into play somewhat, especially when I started to work up the shawls. I wrote things out in pen. I wrote things out in pencil. I counted and I calculated and I thought about things. I worked and re-worked ideas, trying to get things to come together the way I want them to come together. I worked hard to get things to turn out beautifully.

So, now, what is holding me back? Why are the pages in this folder not all typed up and printed out and illustrated with wonderful full-color photographs? Why have I not begun to submit this book to publishers? Or even turned to publishing online?

Some of the projects have photos that were taken as I worked them up, writing down the pattern as I knitted and created. The rest of the projects have rough hand-drawn scrawls attached to them, or at least close to them, scattered over three little pocket notebooks that I carried with me everywhere during the creation of these patterns. Some days I look at this folder and I want to cry.

No one else knows what this folder contains. It is one of the few folders in my house, in my grasp, that I am using, that I did not jot some working title or some vapid detail upon the cover so that I and usually I alone may then identify it. The dog has stomped on it with muddy feet. My son has knocked it across the floor in one of his whirlwind adventures. My daughter has nearly spilled who knows what on it who knows how many times. No matter where I put this folder, it always comes out again, as if by magic, to sit within my sight.

The book itself wants me to write. It wants me to finish things out. It wants me, longs for me, to reach for yarn and needles, even hooks this time around, to create something profound, that I created all by myself. Such a coup for my ego, to know this I could do. This I did do. And all by myself. I just need that little push to force myself on, to move forward, and not to dwell within my fears.

Tattoo Artist Recommendation

Highly recommended.
As in, I think Bryn has been replaced for the most part....

Jason Conrad

Cheap TRX Tattoos and Piercing
3207 S Grand Blvd
St Louis, MO
314 664 4011

Everyone we saw and talked to there, from the store to the tattoo and piercing part, was absolutely stellar.
There is so much art work everywhere too....
And clean....very very clean....

I love it there.

But Jason, Jason is awesome.

To say I would willingly replace Bryn, even though I have to drive 9 hours one way to reach her, that is saying alot. :-)

Weird Question Of The Day

Let me give some background.

X has been preaching "boundaries" since before we moved from WV.

I can tell he is repeating something someone told him because he repeats it verbatim every time. It is the manner in which he says it -- it's not how he speaks--and he is parroting it from someone/something.

It is mostly in the context of I (as in me) cannot cross HIS boundaries.

He seems to need boundaries. He seems to need them alot.

He surely has no respect for any of mine, not even the ones common courtesy could dictate.

Like as non-friendly as we have been in the past--do not walk into my house and go through the fridge--especially without asking--at any point, much less before--or even after--you do it.

And yet-he will-and he does--and he has. More than once.

Now, if you were trying to create a decent space between two adults and you started spouting off about your 'boundaries'. do you not think at some point it would be helpful to uhm maybe speak up about what those boundaries may be? Maybe a little?

Other than: """as long as ... boundaries are not overstepped, then there shouldn't be any problems."""
(and this is what he told me in response to my letting him know I was dating....that's all--nothing else--no other information that may clue anyone in on the whole boundary issue there)

Is it just me that stops and steps back and thinks--sure no problem--but hey--wtf could your boundaries possibly be?

Much less the whole--he has to have his boundaries and screw me if I think I might like one or two of my own scenario.

So--my question today is: what should I do?
Ignore him as he does me usually. Or--ask questions--which in his mind says she's starting an argument again--I shall ignore her--or really be a prick-I guess depending upon how his day went otherwise before he reads my email?


So, I got another tattoo. It is not an unimaginable stretch for me. I have all these other tattoos. It is not a new thing. It is not a new thing for me to jump right in to getting a tattoo with what seems like very little thought, even though things always turn around to show that I indeed gave it far more thought than I realized, only after the fact. It is not a very new thing when I find that a particular tattoo means so much more to me than I could have ever realized.

I did the one thing you are just not supposed to do. Sort of like knitting your new boyfriend a sweater-the boyfriend sweater curse. Usually, according to legend and way too many stories, the sweater making process either barely outlasts the relationship or the relationship ends right after the sweater is completed. Well, you hear the same thing about getting names tattooed on your body, unless, of course, the names are of your children, or someone in your family you want to remember. Boyfriend/girlfriend names you just do not do. Even husband/wife names you are not supposed to do, what with marriages being what they are these days. I did it. I got my boyfriend’s middle name tattooed on my wrist. There is a plethora of reasons I chose his middle name. It means a lot to him. It means a lot to me because of how much it means to him.

Now, before I had it done, after a great many weird conversations with my Guides, I knew this tattoo would hurt worse than the other tattoos I had gotten. I also expected it to bleed when none of the others had. Not even the dread water rat symbol on my ankle that is just a little too long and too far back for the sake of comfort bled or hurt too badly. I have had lymph come up during the tattooing process. I have had red blood cells come up after everything was over. I have had some incredible swelling incidents, most notably the octopus. Never much red blood cell action. I have some tattoos in some very vividly painful places. My first tattoo was in the bikini region. And it was more—involved when I had it covered up.

Let me talk about that first tattoo there. I was, what, seventeen, eighteen? Enter this man I knew would change my life. Such that I was, my assumption was that he would change my life for the better. Maybe he even did, in some arenas. All I know is that, overall—it is a far far better thing he be gone-and stay that way. I got his initial as my first tattoo—but his initial was also my initial, so it was not such a difficult thing. It was a bit funny. I had this huge biker dude between my legs, tattooing me and talking, and that ex held on to my toe and watched. It was not the first time I had thought about getting a tattoo. I had in years prior to that been much closer to getting a brand than a tattoo—please do not ask me why. I had a couple friends who had gone that route. I am no longer that person-and I have no desire to return to that. I was committed enough to my destiny or whatever you wanted to call it to get his/my initial tattooed in a hidden place that no one would ever see and that no one would ever know about unless I spoke up and told them. That pretty much sums up exactly how I felt about him the whole relationship. I spent the entire time in hiding myself, much less hiding him.

Back to current day. When I got the triple swirl on my left wrist, it was a donation-it was a breast cancer charity tattoo run-the first The Ink Well in Weirton, WV, had ever done. It was a small tattoo and it was for a good cause. It did not take too long to ink. It is also the one tattoo I want to have redone because I think it could look a lot better—and one of these days I am certain I will have it redone, probably in a darker green no less. Nevertheless, I do like it, actually. It is weird and quirky and just--me. In addition, there was not much pain involved at all with getting it. It is actually higher up than number nineteen on my right wrist.

I am so dedicated and so intense and just beyond all doubts about this current relationship—I got the man’s middle man—his clan name—tattooed on my right wrist, not just where I can see it every time I do anything, but where everyone will always see it, no matter what. In this relationship, there is simply no hiding whatsoever. Period.

The tattoo artist hand-drew the name out for us. He added some terrific flourishes. I had had dreams of the tattoo before I got it, where the ink flowed like vines growing, twining around my wrist and up through my hand, curling its way up my arm and over my shoulder. And even beyond that. It was rather an involved dream. There was a lot more to it than just that. That is where the dream started. The tattoo is not centered on my little two and a half inch wide wrist, but slides off on either side. It does look cool and one day I will post pictures of it. I love it. When the needle first hit my skin, I was not really ready for it to go so deep or hurt that much. I made the mistake of watching the needle go up and down in the gun. I usually watch the tattoo artist’s hand that holds the gun, because I like to watch the energies flow. My brain flipped and I watched the top of the needle, not the end of it that was in my skin. Time slowed down and I watched the needle go up, then down, as if each movement were slow and separate, each motion deliberate. That made it hurt more, watching the needle work, in slow motion. It also forced me back into the whole concept of Celtic tattooing. I could see the ancient tools used to tattoo centuries ago. There is far too much spiritual content some days for me to really go into it. Every single tattoo I have is holds the utmost spiritual meaning to and for me. This one is something different. That seems to be the theme of our relationship currently. This is something completely different from anything else.
And it truly is.

There was some bleeding when the tattoo was being done. Especially in the beginning. Since I am a mother, my mind tends to drift down weird paths. Not to mention, the whole shaman angle these days sometimes leads me down similar paths anyway. There is always blood in the beginning. We enter the world covered in blood. Blood clears the way. Blood binds the method. Blood shared and blood given. The symbology and mythology involved there can be pretty daunting to most when you get the whole tale. I will leave it at that. Basically, we can say that this symbolizes a fresh start, shall we?

The pain angle was a little different. I have a weird pain tolerance. I used to have an extremely high pain tolerance, but that has been shifting a lot of late. Not just within the past few weeks. It has been shifting for a couple years now. Pain tolerance is not exactly what I want to say either, although that is where I most notice it. I am more aware these days. I can literally feel more--deeply. Look, I was watching the Secret of NIMH with my son yesterday and I cried, I mean, sobbed and had real tears falling down my cheeks, when the house sunk beneath the mud. I feel more these days. I was surprised by the pain of getting the tattoo, surprised I felt it as much as I did. I was surprised I felt that the ink and needle where being worked in more deeply than other tattoos I have gotten. Yet, I was also convinced that this was as it should be with this tattoo.

Not to mention, it turned out beautifully.

What I did not count on was how deeply it would affect me on a day-to-day basis. Yes, I have only had the tattoo for not even twenty-four hours yet. There is a huge difference between the thick dark lines of his name twining around my wrist and the tiny little green spiral cluster on my other wrist. I hardly notice the spirals any more. Since it needs to be re-touched, I tend not to look at it. I do not really mind, and I have not since I first got it, even before I realized how much it needed to be touched up, had any issues with covering it up, either with jewelry or long shirt sleeves or whatever.

I cannot walk past a mirror without stopping today. Even if I cannot see the letters clearly. I pace when I am on the phone for work. Back and forth, up my hallway, from my bedroom to the kitchen and back, depending on what garbage is on tv and how loud my daughter has the television jacked, and how loud the bird is screeching, since the bird likes to be very loud when the phone rings. Although we can say I am not wearing my bracelets because this is a fresh and healing tattoo, that is not the reason. I do not think I will wear bracelets on this arm again, except for the one silver one that will not interfere with reading my wrist. I have no desire to wear long sleeves that cover the tattoo, even though I am freezing at the moment and want to go find my sweater somewhere. There is only so much credence I can give to the entire healing tattoo declaration. I want to be able to see this one. I want everyone to be able to see this one.

Even with the green spiral, I had had plans to cover it. Wrist warmers. Jewelry. A watch. The only offer I made to cover this tattoo, number nineteen, was when I first meet his family, out of respect for him and them. I do not think it will be necessary by then, but the offer stands. Otherwise, I will not hide this one. Not ever.

Do you know the best thing about being a free-wheeling writer-artist-poet, the weird hippy chick, the complete unfettered wild child, that I have always striven to be? You can be pierced and tattooed and still be happy, and do whatever you want to in life. I do not have to fret and worry about my day job, cramped in a cubicle, dealing with the ignorant cube people, unhappy and unhealthy, or how they would or could react to the tattoo—or anything else. I get to be who I want to be and do what I want to do—and everyone will just shake their heads at me and expect nothing less. It is just me, after all. I am that person. I am that strong-willed and self-confident. And if I am not yet that self-confident to trust that the Universe will provide-I at least fake it till it comes. I never lose my faith or my focus. At least not for very long.

How can I not believe when all my prayers have so radically been answered of late?

Back to the tattoo. I have spoken before about how mind-blowing and incredible it is to have a partner in your life that actually gets you, that understands, that accepts you, that loves you regardless, that stands by you. I never said I was not completely insecure and free from worry—I said I was striving for such. Now I have a constant reminder of my partner—almost as if I have a piece of him sewn into my skin, sewn into me, constantly on display and always reminding me of his love. (Ok, that does sound creepy, even though it is not meant to be, really. Think more in terms of sewing a quilt together rather than, say, Strangeland.) When I walk by a mirror or I glance at my wrist while typing or writing or anything, that is what I am hit with—not how much I love this man—but how much he loves me. That is why I am not hiding this thing. That is why I cannot. There is no way I will ever deny such a thing.

I am happy. Is that not what honestly matters the most?

Do you want to know the absolute worst part about getting the tattoo? Having my arm shaved—the razor burn hurts worse than the actual tattoo healing. Although, again, it is nice to be with a person who understands and does energetic healing, because everything is a lot better today, since he worked on me a bit yesterday.

The strange little tidbit is the correlation between number eighteen and number nineteen tattoos. I can feel twitches from eighteen, like when you first get the tattoo, how it reacts as it heals. Eighteen is reacting to the integration process of nineteen. It is pretty interesting.

Funny thing here. All the spiritual tattoos. All the dream catchers in my bedroom and in my life. This is the one tattoo that can keep the scary monsters and the scary dreams at bay and far from me. It keeps me safe. Just as he does.

The frightening thing is all I ever knew or expected was that this man would be my friend for this entire lifetime. Despite everything that people and Guides and everyone else keeps telling me, even the things he keeps saying that floor me, about the possibilities of us getting together, I never dreamed that things could go this way-nor that they could be so very good. I am certainly glad they are though. We are very much blessed.

Manic Monday 164

Manic Moments

Describe to me your favorite lounging clothes.

yoga pants, tank top, fluffy socks
or jeans, tank top and fluffy socks

If you promised to never lie again in your lifetime, in what area would it be hardest to uphold the promise?

dealing w the ex

Give a one word answer to the question "why is life worth living".


Poetic Asides Day 20


Shall we mention
A new lease on life
A phoenix
Screaming up
From the flames
Why go to
All those
I fall asleep
Smiling and content
I awaken
Happy and smiling
By your scent
Your touch
Upon my skin
I am
With your breath
I am renewed
I am reblessed
I am Home
You have given
New life
New love
New joys
Thank you

Number Nineteen

I didn’t realize it til after you left
How much I had been holding in
Trying to be brave
For you
Trying to make you see
This was something
Meant to be
So definite am I
Still that it is
But oh blessed things
I did not know
Such a thing would so
Rock me to my very core
Such a huge step
For little old me
The one who never quite
Gets to score
To win the war
And now I am here
To stay
I cannot lie
It freaks me out
It took me twenty minutes
To stop shaking
I had to eat
I had to pace
And still there was that silly smile
Glued to my face
I am ever so proud
Yet feel
So unworthy
I wouldn’t take it back
Of this I am most proud
But the fuller implications
Astound me

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Poetic Asides Day 19


I don’t know what to say today
My anger was here
It left yesterday
Went out with the trash
Blew away in the wind
Here I stand
Feeling safe again