the liar, the bitch, and the warrior-fighting your way home


I blended in perfectly as the Liar. The choices I made to be liked, and admired and accepted moved me to the front of the line for that title. I wasn’t aware I was a liar, so to speak, for a very long time, but I can tell you now that in retrospect, some part of me knew I ditched myself. I settled, and I went along, just rollin’ with the homies. I welcomed the lobotomy of my life with open arms.

It’s time to get married.

I’ve got to move up in this job I hate.

I need to go to college.

Quit whining, this is just the way it is.

I’ve got to do this, achieve this, have this to be somebody.

I did logical things, made sensible decisions, worked hard to achieve the next title, studied things I hated and turned myself inside out to ace them. I brainwashed my own damn self to believe that all these things gave me value, made me special, and skilled and in great demand. Fuck.

I realized that I was somebody already, just as I was. I didn’t have to put on this dog and pony show to have value. I mattered simply because I took my next breath. I didn’t have to climb a ladder that took me to nowhere. I didn’t have to be who the world expected me to be, it didn’t have to be so hard.

When I finally realized that-I was pissed.

Enter the Bitch. Maybe I blamed my mother for wanting me to go to college and achieve greatness, or my friends for getting married and having homes and children, or society for silently pressuring me to be socially acceptable. Maybe it was my husband’s fault that I dealt with things I flat out had to rebel against. Why did I have to work this job, clean this house, study for years, and suck it up while I let life suffocate me?

Aha. I let it all happen because I had no clue who I was. I hadn’t met myself, or paid attention to what mattered to me. I was so busy rebelling against, I put no thought into what I should have been fighting for. I had to admit, in the end, that I was the only one who could make my life other than.

Thus, the warrior was born.

It’s crazy-mad-awesome to be a warrior. I say “no” when I feel I need to. I say “yes” when I want, even if it’s not popular to do so. I throw myself into things just to see what I think about them. I speak the truth, no matter how kindly, or I don’t speak at all. The circumstances I can’t change are temporary pauses while I create other choices for myself. I know I can change everything in my life by simply deciding to.

Enter wisdom.

Now comes timing, judgment and grace. Transformation needs a balance of courage and caution, wisdom and wild, fury and forgiveness. It’s balancing on a high wire with my sword in one hand, and my dreams in the other. It’s knowing there’s no net if I fall, but I just don’t give a shit because the journey is too important.

This is where the rubber meets the road. There are those who fail me. I let them go. There are those who talk to me as if I were holding myself hostage. I say no, I negotiated my own release. There are those certain that I’m having some kind of break down, I laugh and say I’m not breaking down, I’m breaking out. This is my Shawshank Redemption.

I’m just a Warrior fighting my way home…will you join me?

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Forgotten Angel


So entangled

in the lies and whys

your wings were bound

so long ago

you cannot know

you even have them still…

Twisted now so tightly

paralyzed by time

and disappointments sinking

deep into the heart

that is so finely

shattered

as to almost seem

whole in its

destruction…

And now you whisper

softly screaming questions

into darkness where

no light can reach,

you beg the answer

to the question why the knife

that slashes harsh

into your back

and keeps you here

entombed inside what isn’t

real?

Only to learn

the pain is not to tell you

there is cause

for this despair unless

you now refuse

to free yourself, your wings,

your heart

from rusted wire

of self-deception,

razor barbs of unforgiven

judgments clawing

causing you to feel the knife

you think is there,

when the truth is you

have all the power yet

to kneel or fly

and this is why

you have

to soar

unless you wish your soul

to fly no more.

Shelly Aspenson

Blood on the Page


Sometimes

words pour softly

onto pastel pages sharing love,

and some are ugly

terror sweats

that must be written

to be freed.

There are those

that slice the soul who writes,

as well as

 the one who reads

the words

written in agony.

There are times so ugly

that there are no words to shine

a light of mercy~

so they rage.

If in raging so they do offend

I offer that you close

your eyes

and listen with your heart

to the tears

and screams of poison

draining onto pages

crumpled in despair.

If it occurs

that you can’t bear to see

to feel

the truth of me,

I bid you

close your heart and mind

and walk away

at the very least

with a compassionate

negligence

without cutting further

into the heart

that bleeds.

~Shelly~

hide and seek-finding you


How do you find the true you in the mass of everyday ridiculous? How do you find your purpose, your meaning when you’re buried under daily life? How do you face and embrace the fear of change when, with no effort at all, you can have complacency? Why would you leave the safety of what you know behind you, when the step you’ve never taken is so intimidating? Why? And How?

A hard, and glorious odyssey. A lie-defying quest. A pilgrimage to locate your heart.

You will need to answer tough questions to draw a map to find the treasure that is you. What do you long for in the moments you become still? When you feel dissatisfaction, what is it you’re missing? Those times you wonder if you really matter, what is it you most want to offer up to the world? When you dream of the lover you wish you had, have you encouraged (or allowed) yourself to be the version of you capable of attracting such a phenom and living that life? Are you the type of person you’re looking for?

No? Well there you go.

What do you need to grow, or uncover within you to be what you long for, to create what you’re missing, to have an overflow of the heart to give to the world you live in. If you maximize the potential of you, and love you, and pour yourself 100 proof into the Universe…you’re gold. Your question will be which one instead of wishing for one, and you won’t mind waiting, because you will have realized that you’re more than a match for your future partner.

You’re the cats pajamas.

You begin to make your efforts purposeful instead of mechanical. You take care of yourself, and breathe, and allow what you feel to sink into you. You quit  feeling sorry and develop active compassion. When you feel lack in your life, you give to another in need. You help someone else realize they matter and give encouragement, and you love someone by letting them drain the pain of their day by listening-with your heart open and your mouth shut.

You must create within what you wish to see without.

Your integrity grows when you quit breaking the promises you make to yourself. You become a force to be reckoned with in your own life by choosing who you will be instead of trying to meet someone else’s expectations. You decide to get up and do what you say you will-and be who you decide you are. Period. No whining.

I ain’t playin’.

Look for the clues, listen carefully, seek out all the hidden and undeveloped parts of you and bring them into the open. Be real. Put yourself out there. Live a life worth writing about. I dare you.

Olly olly oxen free!

inside out-the flight of the fallen


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She had wings, but it hurt to use them. Even the movement of the air against her skin was an agony that caused her to remain perched where she was, totally still. She held them as close as she could without touching her body and lifted her face to the moon, letting tears slide from the sides of her eyes and into her hair.

It had taken her a lifetime to reach this place. They called it The Turning Point, almost impossible to get to, jutting fiercely into the heavens as if daring God himself to lean down and look the adventurer in the eye. Her journey had been a hard one; the path excruciating. Traveling the road she’d chosen, she had been mauled by the righteous, judged, mocked and ground into insignificance.

Every challenge she survived had left its mark on her. The battered dreams, the falls from grace, the ridicule and attempts to bind had eventually torn the skin from her body and left every nerve exposed. She learned not to touch, or lean, or draw attention to herself. She clung to the shadows in an effort to remain unharmed, and after a while, the shadows consumed her. She became insubstantial, and worse…

She could not remember what joy felt like.

She had stopped flying long ago when it became too painful, thus her way had become slower and more difficult.She watched as those she passed seemed to lead lives of monotonous activity, all ignoring the bloody stubs where their wings used to be. She knew if she let them take her wings, her skin would grow back and she’d quit hurting. She could be like them, and live like them, and never have to be alone.

They weren’t taking her fucking wings.

So here she was, crouching at the very edge of the precipice, watching the Stubs moving like ants far below in the moonlight. Her desperation was so intense that for a moment she considered just letting herself fall to put an end to the torment of living inside out in a world of numbness. Or she could go back down, give up her wings, and become numb herself. Either would be easier than the feeling of not being at all. Never again being alive enough to feel love or joy.

She stood carefully, legs trembling with fatigue, and stared back down the rocky path. She turned, gingerly keeping her wings from touching her and stared down into the darkness and moving lights below. She waited one heartbeat, then two, and stepped to the very edge. Her head bowed for a moment in acceptance of what had to be, and she flung herself out over the edge.

Her wings glinted silver in the moonlight as she plummeted, the wind screaming against her exposed skin, and as she fell-her heart lit with joy at the freedom of this last flight.

No!

In the blink of an eye, she knew what to do. It was worth every risk to experience it all. She was stronger than her fears, stronger than her pain, and she would no longer be kept down. Her wings snapped open, strong and beautiful as she soared above those staring up at her in awe and wonder.

And the pain of flying was glorious.