the real world

Ever since I was a little girl, I've been told, "you don't live in the real world." And your intentions were good, but you dismissed me and my world everyday and every week and every month until I just can't stand it anymore. I will no longer be dismissed as silly or unrealistic. And you don't have to understand - just let me have my own world and honor it.

My world has always been one of poetry and magic, angels and unicorns. And what you don't understand is that this world is very real, if you choose to believe. In my world, there are miracles waiting to happen. The angels whisper wisdom in my ears and butterflies share their medicine of transformation. In my world, a regular girl, from a regular family is a poet and a writer and an artist. In my world, my work is not something I do with regret, but with passion and attention. In my world, life isn't a drag, but a adventure. And even when things don't seem to be going my way, I know it is in my power to change it. The world isn't against me. The universe is my cheerleader. The world is filled with opportunities, not trials. Even the lessons that must be learned as so worth the effort and the healing.

And so I want to tell all of you. I don't want to live in your real world. I choose mine. Everyday. When I get up in the morning I choose to see the beauty of the stars still shining and not the darkness. I choose to feel the chill in the wind and wonder where it came from, picturing the snow caps of a distant mountain range. I choose to smile and wonder at the awesomeness of all that has been created. The green is greener and the sun is warmer and my heart leaps in wonder. I will listen to the chatter of the squirrels gathering nuts...did you know they have a voice?And I will watch the hawks dance as I sit petting my dog in the schoolyard after the buses have sped away.

I won't live in your rat race, or fight your battles, or cry your tears, or drink from your half-empty cup. I will not acknowledge your war, as only peace exists in my world. And I am better for this. I will not be dismissed as silly. For wisdom of the ages guides me to feel and be and live - to breathe in the details of a very real and vast Earth, running barefoot as my body connects with the energy of the goddess.

You can keep your real world, thank you very much. If you like it, stay there. If you want to feel the magic you're welcome in mine. There's plenty of room for all of us, and so much freedom to be had.

who am I?

As I wrote in my journal this morning, I began to ask myself who exactly I am. I know who I was, and have been conveniently stuffed into box after box, none of which define me. And keeping with the law of attraction, I made a point only to list those traits that I want to manifest, refraining from writing the traits that no longer serve me.

How truthful is this list, I have to ask myself? And in embracing my authentic self, is it okay to list fears, and weaknesses? And if I do, will this only affirm them, and hold me back from fearlessness and strength?

I'm left with this...where I've been and who I was were simply states of existence, they simply "were." And now I simply "am." There need be no judgement in any of it. And today I am. I will have moments of strength and moments of weakness, fearful and fearless. And both pieces are necessary to be whole and complete. It is the duality of our feelings that make us who we are - complex and evolving, learning and growing. As one fear fades into strength, another will pop up in its place to urge us to further growth - a new lesson to learn.

And we take baby steps, finding our bliss one wobbley foot in front of the other. And humanity is all the better for it. And I am all the better for it.

november

It is November, but the weather gods seem to be out to play. They've forgotten that it's time for the mercury to slide down and for the winds to kick up. The temperature is stuck between 80-90 degrees every day, and the wood for my first fire sits unused in a stack. Went shopping for winter clothes, but my head wasn't in the game, with the sun so warm. Instead I treated myself to Lavender Dead Sea Salt to exfoliate during my next bath. If I'm going to show my bare feet and shoulders all year long, they may as well be smooth.

Looking forward to a little vacation - desperately needed. But my travel destination is far north, where the weather gods are awake. They have sent low temperatures and snow. I think my body will be in shock as I walk out of the airport.

Can't really remember cold - not sure if I want to. I do remember snow, and I'm hoping for heaps of it. Big beautiful flakes and icy tree branches. I'm looking forward to the glittery nights and the magic that only happens when moonlight dances on ice and snow. I want to feel the chill of red cheeks that sting, pull my hands out of warm mittens and warm my own face. I want to wrap myself in layers of wool and wear a really great jacket that only comes out of my closet a few times a year. I will drink hot coffee while I sit in a still-warm bed.

And while there is so much cold around, I am hoping to warm my heart with morning kisses and a hand to hold on long walks, leaving footprints in the snow that don't fade with the coming of spring. If the weather gods never awaken, it won't matter at all. Time can stand still and my warm heart will remain in the magic moments.

saturday morning

Haven't been here for awhile. My heart is on overload, trying to heal old wounds, and integrating the newly discovered me. And so the tears come, and I try to stay with it. Let them come, and know that it is part of the process. The old me would have run from them. Would have said, find something productive to do. The new me allows for this flood of emotions, lets them pulse through me, shake me to the core, and still come out the other side, peaceful.

Silly me. I thought that perhaps I was over that part of it. And yet in the quiet of the night, alone with my back against a white wall, I pray to be healed, and feel the heat in my chest and my eyes overflow yet again. The child in me reaches for love and acceptance, for the affirmation that she is worthy of all that is good. That she is worthy of love. That she is beautiful and creative and a vital piece of the universe. And it is her chest that heaves with great sobs and I embrace her gentle spirit, soothe her soul, wipe away her tears and offer my love. I tell her that it's okay to be who she is, to say what she feels - and that's a big one. And that it's all okay now. And it will always be okay. And that it was always okay. She looks at me, her eyes still teary, and she nods and knows from deep inside, that I am right.

We crawl into bed and dream great dreams of laughter and discovery. She is my mirror, and I am hers. I see my own reflection in her eyes, and I am smiling.

gates

There's a gate at the opening to my heart. It wasn't always there. I vaguely remember being young and adventurous and the way love traversed from out to in, then out again. Sometimes it was painful, and sometimes it was filled with joy.

My heart called to some on the outside. Please come in, it said, wanting to play. Instead they stayed just outside the gate, warming themselves in the heat of the beating. And then they were gone, off to find another heart to play with. My heart didn't like it much.

Others came through the gate, tentative at first, exploring their feelings as I explored mine. And after awhile, our hearts decided that although it was great fun, there were other places to go. We waved to each other as I watched them close the gate behind them, wishing them well. And though it was right that they leave, my heart didn't' like it much.

Some busted through the gate, and used my heart for a trampoline. They soared and I longed to reach the clouds with them. As it turned out, my heart was just a jumping off place for them. Soon they found the exit, and I felt tromped on. My heart didn't like it much at all.

After all the "not liking it much," I kicked everyone out. And it occurred to me, that my heart would be much safer if it were alone behind the gate. I slammed it shut, and put a huge lock on it, so no one would ever tromp my heart again. Still, I didn't feel safe. I looked around, hoping to find something with which to build a great wall. I felt lucky to find some rocks and stones that I hadn't noticed before. Perhaps they had been left by those who had gone. They were called pain, fear and powerlessness. And they were perfect for building a wall. Finished and exhausted, I lay inside the gate, and felt nothing. And I didn't like it much.

So I touched those rocks every day, ran my fingers against their rough edges. The pain seared my fingertips, and fear slit my skin. Powerlessness left bruises everywhere. And yet I touched them, let the feelings tear at my heart. Great sobs escaped my lips, and tears ran from eyes that remembered how to cry.

I am here, screamed my heart, longing to play, and explore, and be tromped on. By touching the rocks of pain, fear and powerlessness, you have worn them away. Remove the lock and throw open the gate.

I did as my heart requested, with a new understanding that I don't need the wall to keep me safe. And wouldn't you know it, the gate has hinges and a latch. I need simply choose who may come in, who must go out, and who may pitch a tent and stay for another day. And I like it very much.