choices

Bully Beat Down

“Bullying is the use of force, threat, or coercion to abuse, intimidate, or aggressively dominate others.” ~Wikipedia

Just read that to yourselves a few times. Let that sink in. Open your eyes to what’s going on in your world and maybe even your own life. We seem to think abuse has to be a fist in the face resulting in a black eye or a few missing teeth. We go along with the idea that if there are no bruises to show then no injury could have been done. We think broken bones and fragile nerves and weepy frailness personifies those who are bullied by another. Those who allow themselves to be beat down figuratively because if it’s not literal it can’t possibly be real. We lie to ourselves.

The tricky thing about abusers, narcissists and bullies is that we expect them to look like their afflictions suggest. We picture ugly and cruel and scary looking. Unfortunately, that isn’t usually the case. We don’t always get that kind of visual “heads up”. A lot of the time these traits hide behind a handsome or pretty face, a noble reputation or a soft voice. Sometimes the face the public sees is not what we live with. We allow ourselves to be trapped in the delusion we build for ourselves to make our choice in life easier to swallow.

I will never forget the moment I realized that I had slowly built someone into something they were not so that I could live more easily with my choice to allow them into my life. I shamed, humiliated and embarrassed myself in front of my own soul. You don’t get any lower than that. But I digress.

There are times when those who are allowing themselves to suffer under these circumstances appear to the world as a pillar of strength. They seem strong and indomitable. They project strength, confidence and authority in all other aspects of their lives save the one that matters most. They stumble blindly behind the scenes of their own lives allowing themselves to be that quiet cowering thing that they themselves have no respect for. It’s a slow and insidious downward spiral into isolation.

They are often the champion of the weak around them. They are the vigilantes for justice for everyone but themselves. I promise you that they hate themselves for it. They stand and fight for others, all but the most aggressive bend before their will to prevail. But they do not stand for themselves. They do not draw or guard those lines of decency that must exist between one human being and another. The way they allow themselves to be treated makes a mockery of the rest of their lives by their own perception. It’s a losing game.

There are bullies everywhere. They are cleverly disguised as spouses, parents and friends. You know them by the way you feel “lesser than” when you’re with them. You will know them by the way you tone down your personality, dim your exuberance and let them be the winner in any situation. You will know them because you can’t breathe freely or smile genuinely or laugh from your gut when you’re with them. Lightning strike me now if I’m lying to you. You know it’s true. You know it.

I hate to tell you this, but this is what I know for sure. It is not enough to run away. It is not enough to save yourself by relocating to a new place where you are ready to be a victim again. You have to turn around and stand up to the one that scares you. You have to not allow them to bully you anymore. You have to look them in the eye and say “NO”. You have to stand your ground, come what may. If you don’t, you’re just another might have been ready to be run into the ground by the next big show. Because that’s all it is darling. A great big dramatic show that you’ve bought into. You will continue to be that one in the movies that trips on the root and gets chopped to pieces by the psycho. Not to scare you or anything, just saying.

Walk away. Then run as fast and far as you can. Then take a deep breath and turn around to face the thing that scares you the most: your own weakness. You are not fucking weak, you have merely been uneducated to the quality of a real life. Once you get a taste of it, you’ll be more than willing to turn around and face what you have to. You’ll wrestle that bear and win the right to breathe freely and with all the joy you can stand.

I double dog dare you.

Becoming Real-The Lie vs The Wild-ish Heart

She refused to die. The uncivilized heart of her beat slowly, laboriously, and refused to give up. The wild-ish blood in her veins had been diluted to a mere trace after years and lifetimes of acceptance and settling. She had the good job, the good money, the spouse, the house, the acceptable words, expressions, and behaviors. Day in and day out generic life performances to maintain the status quo had converged into a falseness of epic proportions. She had fallen for The Lie so many years ago, that she perpetuated it herself almost mindlessly every day.

Almost.

More and more lately, her blood seemed to bubble and spark beneath her skin. Her life-deafened ears began to catch whispers from a spirit that wanted to roar. Her eyes would sometimes flare and burn, seeing herself with a clarity that would temporarily freeze her in her tracks. She began to have trouble controlling these freakish moments that would break and then settle inside her. She began to fear for her sanity.

She would catch herself pacing about the house at night, drink in hand, eyes casting to every corner searching for the thing she needed to satisfy the burning hunger she felt. She would sit down and write things she didn’t even know were in her head until she read them later, appalled at the fury of the emotions expressed. She began to dream at night of mad things, precious and untamed things that left her broken hearted upon awakening. She became certain of her insanity.

She tried everything to numb the madness overtaking her. Too much everything; food, smoking, spending, sleeping, reading-anything to take her somewhere out of the reality she allowed to boil her slowly to death, one degree at a time. Nothing stopped the Wild from creeping ever closer to the hidden trip wire of transformation, but she did everything she could to maintain the Normal.

But She is here now. The Wild One. The one who will not be tamed or reduced by circumstances. She holds the trip wire in her hand with lifted chin and burning eyes. It is time to change, to live, to be. She doesn’t care about the consequences, she steps up toe to toe and stares them down until she owns them. She will yank the trip wire of transformation with a snarl, and feral eyes that see a future worth living.

And she will embrace her insanity.

Love Thyself

There is Love here…

Covered in the finest dust

Of Neglect~

Buried beneath

The harsh gravel of

Carelessness.

There is Hope here…

Suffocated by the heaviness

Of Indifference~

Held beneath

The surface of Monotony

And Despair.

There is Life here…

Struggling to grow

Within~Without

Refusing

To remain the Same~

Searching.

There is Magic here…

Woven through

The Love, the Hope, the Life~

Waiting for Someone

Brave enough

To lean in and Breathe

Light

Back into the Air

That surrounds my Heart

And Yours.

~Shelly~

The Magic In You

There is a place inside each of us

Where we hide our silent dreams,

Unspoken hopes and soul wishes…

We guard them so carefully

From ridicule and judgment

to save ourselves pain…

We don’t believe they matter

To anyone but ourselves,

So we hold back…

Cheating ourselves

And the rest of the world

Of the wonder and magic of us.

It is time to shake off

This archaic way of thought

And bring our true selves forward

Into the light of being,

Out of the shadows of doubt,

Creating for us a new reality…

It is not our place,

Nor should we make it so,

To decide our souls don’t belong

Out in the open

With the rest of creation…

You have magic in you~

Share it with the world.

~Shelly~

My Beloved

For the first time in maybe fifteen years, I will have a cleaning lady/person/housekeeper…what ever. She will probably be temporary until she finds her ‘life’ job, but it matters little to me in how I feel about her.

My best friends and I have always said that if WE had wives of our own, we wouldn’t be assholes about it. We would appreciate their hard work, the time given, the effort, the planning, the thoughtfulness, the absolute wonder of having a wonderfully clean home that frees us to enjoy our time off when we are not working. We would not be husbands to our wives per se, we would be grateful wives who had wives.

We would give them their hard earned money with a loving heart. We would show endless and heartfelt appreciation. We would pick up after ourselves and spend time thinking how we could make their efforts easier for them to show our gratitude and respect. We would occasionally leave extra gifts and ‘thank you’s for no apparent reason. We would give them lavish, incomparable presents for their birthdays and Christmas.

We would always speak kindly to and of them. Harsh and inconsiderate words would never pass our lips in regards to them. They would feel so valued and honored by us that they would never consider leaving us to become a ‘wife’ to someone else at our expense.

Yes, I will do my daily duties to not impede her from doing what I ask of her. I will keep up on my personal responsibilities of dishes, laundry, the daily sweeps and wipes that must occur. Her efforts will free me to come home grateful, and enjoy my off time -guilt and aggravation free.

I will no longer spend entire days off and/or weekends cleaning the pit of doom that I had no energy left for after the work day. Therefore, she will be saving me from certain prison time in payment for lighting my spouse on fire and putting him out with an ice pick. Possibly I exaggerate my resentments, but I think not.

OMG, you say? Why not just tell him to pull his weight as a partner, you say? Can you not deal with this like an adult?

Laugh. Out. Loud.

After years of resentment and blame, I spoke as clearly as God spoke to Moses from a burning bush. I spoke like a man-straightforward with no way to be misunderstood. I said I was tired of carrying the whole load, that if he were a roommate I would have evicted him by now, that something was going to change either with his efforts or without. After six weeks of no difference in cleaning/partnership behavior, I was looking for the lighter fluid and realized what I had to do. I texted him immediately as he was out entertaining himself that fine weekend day, to let him know I was going to get estimates and hire a housekeeper to eliminate my anger over this never-ending situation.

So here I am. Anxiously waiting the honeymoon of my first cleaning. I am happy she’s coming, I’m anxious that she not feel overworked. I will guard her with my life-so help me God.

I have to wonder at the ego of a human being expecting these wonderous things from another human being while behaving like an inconsiderate ass hat. What great thing do you bring to the relationship table, I ask? What is it that you give of yourself that has such value that no real effort or input is required from you at all?

And of myself, I ask this question: why did I decide to marry as opposed to hiring out as a housekeeper?

I misunderstood the path to becoming The Beloved.

My Bad.

Supernatural

It’s the most horrifying and wonderful truth you’ll ever learn. It will terrify you with happiness. It’s intimidating power comes with great responsibility, and once you uncover it…baby you own it, no coming back from that. You will alternately fling your arms open to the universe in joyous abandon, and cower behind your own shadows paralyzed by the possibilities.

You opened your eyes today, and realized that every situation and experience you hold onto as truth in your life (yes, everything) was of your own doing. You created and fine tuned the circumstances you were presented with and made them into what they are today. You let the outside world determine the fate of the One with the power to create miracles or mayhem, castles or curses, magic or misery. Yes. That would be you.

You didn’t learn this on purpose, but you can’t un-know what you know.

You were doing quite well blaming your parents, your work, your spouse, your God…for your miseries, disappointments, missed opportunities, and heartbreak. But you inadvertently took a bite of that apple and uncovered the power of You.

WTF?? You rise up from the pile of shit you’ve been feeding yourself, lift your beautiful hands in front of your face and whisper to yourself and the universe…

“What if, instead, I use my power for good? What if I use this magic in my heart, and this steel in my spine to magnify my life instead of minimizing…me?”

The heavens and earth tremble at the prospect of you living in your power. Your own heart quivers and your own breath falters at the limitless capacity for wonder. You begin to take offense at the old self-whispers that tell you to maintain the status quo, don’t be so arrogant as to share yourself and your gifts with the world. Now when you hear them, you crush them beneath your feet and banish what’s left with a flick of your fingers.

No more you~ shit talking you. You show yourself who’s boss, who rules your world, whose light you follow in a doubt storm.

Gut up kid, it’s You. The Divine light of creation expressing itself as one of a kind you, and you’ve kept who you are in the attic, in the dark, collecting mold and cobwebs? It’s criminal.

Luckily~you’ve just discovered your super powers, and can now right all wrongs, set fire to your dreams, dust all the pathetic off of you and raise a few things…hell, eyebrows, hope?

Lift your beautiful hands, your tear-stained face, and open your eyes.

You are Supernatural.

Live. Your. Life.

City of Jewels

Rest quietly for a moment
in the power of your potential…

Feel the irresistible
tug of your heart as it trembles
with the desire
to be set free…

Listen to the whispers
of the thoughts no longer willing
to be brushed aside
as trivial…

Know the tear you cry
is from your soul torn from reaching
into the City of Jewels
where your dreams wait…

For this exact moment
on the cutting edge of Now-
for you to find your courage,
and release your Fire.

Shelly ❤

Eye of the Beholder

I began meditating consistently two years ago to protect myself from the possibility of prison due to involuntary manslaughter…or maybe even justifiable homicide. When I was growing up, I wanted to be a vigilante ~ or perhaps more (like the commercial) The Fist of Goodness, balancing the scales of Truth, Justice, and the American Way It Oughta Be.

For some reason, while I didn’t do very well at standing up for myself, I was awesome at championing others. This would frequently lead to my desire to verbally level the playing field, with my actions following closely behind my desire. I was a super hero for the underdog, but sometimes (probably wanting a noble purpose for my temper) I jumped in too soon, and on the wrong side of goodness, breaking my own heart in disappointment when I realized I’d been duped.

I went from a job two years ago that was so pleasant, and not at all taxing, back into the management arena I’d hoped to never experience again. Being not at all the same person I’d been my first trip through, I had somehow lost my tolerance for what I considered stupidity, poor planning, lack of leadership, and my most frequent thought was:

“Oh. My. God. , are you SHITTING me?”.

I went from La La Stepford happiness into my version of Children of the Corn, or Silent Rage, or hey~Linda Blair spitting pea soup all over the place.

Kids, it was not pretty. I knew I was making myself sick; I was letting circumstances poison and rot my thinking, and in desperation signed up for a 21 day online meditation course. I began to meditate like medicine, the nitro pill that kept the heart attack from killing me, the counselor that helped me begin the day calm enough not to blow by the end of it…usually, and somewhere along the way I was able to see myself before I reacted to circumstances around me.

I began writing again as an outlet for survival purposes, and yoga kept me from twisting heads off in my mind.

I had accidentally created a momentary pause button between my first thought of what needed to happen~and what I actually chose to do. It was amazing.

I realized I wasn’t the evil twin sister I appeared to be, neither was I the white robed bodhisattva I yearned to be. I was a multi-faceted blend of all the parts it took for me to be me. I was the watcher of my ego, anger, and angst. I was the witness to my level of integrity high or low, my compassion or lack of, my judgment or acceptance of myself or whatever existed in my world at any given time.

I was the Beholder, and in the eye of the Beholder, all parts of me were valid, vibrant, and vital. All sides of me, no matter how it looked through the mirror darkly, were to be held, loved and listened to. All of me has something to say, something to share, something to teach.

I learned through the silence of meditation, and the momentary pause of the Beholder, that my Shadow is just as important as my Shine. If I let go of the reactivity and see what the triggers have to show me, then they become gifts of wisdom, yes? And if I hold my anger close like a beloved child and listen to what it says, in what wondrous ways will I change?

Do I still have moments I want to be the Fist of Goodness? Yes, yes I do. But if I throw in the Bodhisattva and a pinch of Jester, I just may have a winner~in the Eye of the Beholder.

Behold your own magnificent self.

No Flowers

What if, during these apparently disturbing times of unrest, there was no one willing to smile for a moment? What if, during the storm of what’s coming, raining all over what is, there was no one to point out the rainbow of hope? What if the morning news kept beating us with political screw ups and forgot to share the stories of triumph, hope and perseverance? What if all we could see was the endless desert, blinded from seeing the beauty of the sunrise or sunset, it’s simplicity, or simply became numb to the dreams inspired by the flowers brave enough to bloom there?

I am weary and heartsick of being trapped in the quicksand of pessimism, discontent, and disbelief in humanity that I find myself surrounded with. Fighting against those who perpetuate this only causes their grip to become stronger, and me to sink faster into a depression I am unfamiliar with. It appears to do no good to explain that I can see what is so wrong without dwelling on it 24/7, or that I agree with much of the opinions that fly about~I’m just not willing to rage in a manner that hurts my cause of hope. I wondered just last night what would be expected of me if I were to be diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only a few months to live? Am I expected to weep and wail for the duration of my life at the unfairness or hopelessness of it all? Or would I be supported in any way in my attempts to enjoy and celebrate what time I had left in between my moments of weeping and wailing?

While I can’t answer that question, I can tell you that I don’t want any part of a world without love, compassion, hope, or flowers brave enough to bloom where they shouldn’t be able to. I won’t help create that world, and I’ll have no part in perpetuating it’s existence. If we are doomed to a world of war, rioting, liars and lack of leadership, then I only have one thing to say:

Leave me alone.

Let me be.

Let me smile and laugh and joke while the fires that can’t be contained burn us to ash. If you’re right and the apocalypse is coming any day now then leave me to my singing, dancing, writing, dreaming, hoping, and loving where I can. Let the last thing somebody sees be my smile before being obliterated by Armageddon, the last thing they hear-my laugh, the last thing they feel-my heart wrapping around them so they know when all is said and done IT WILL BE OKAY.

I don’t want your world, and you don’t know how to believe in mine. That’s fine.

Just don’t pluck the flower that is brave enough to bloom in the desert and grind it under the heel of your anger.

Let the rainbow comfort somebody, even if it can’t be you. Let the flower bloom.

Broken Open

Protect yourself, toughen up, live in the real world, don’t be so sensitive. I’ve told myself this so many times. Be the same, blend in, don’t rock the boat, you expect too much, life isn’t a love story, or an adventure, or full of magic or miracles. I’ve heard this from others and replayed it plenty over the years. So I did that thing you never want to do and I listened to all of it, and I did a great job of making myself what I finally became: numb.

The good thing is, when my heart finally hardened enough, nothing hurt me anymore. “I don’t care” was my mantra to myself in a never-ending loop. When faced with negligence, judgment, hostility, hate-spewing, whining, subtle slams of criticism, or being severely under valued~I felt no pain. Moving right along with my “I don’t care” mantra, I breezed through mediocrity and monotony with expressionless grace. I quit writing, because I had to feel to do so, and I had nothing I wanted to say anymore.

Enter the truth. I noticed that I couldn’t feel the good things either. My joy in anything at all was missing. I saw nothing in full color, and felt nothing that truly touched me. I forgot how to love, and how to let myself be loved, with very few exceptions, and it frightened me.

I sat down one day after finding an old MAPP assessment I received, years ago, when I was unsure of what direction I should take, the results of which I disregarded as I tried to turn myself into Super Woman. After page three, I realized to my dismay that I was crying. Silent tears just falling as I read about the young woman I almost remembered being. I also realized with no doubt at all in my mind that I LIKED that girl. I missed her. I wanted to be her, and I should have been.

So here I am. Trying to open this bear trap of a heart with a crowbar. Reading, writing poetry, listening to music that makes me dance, practicing yoga, and meditation. I am working on softening my heart every moment of every day that I can. It’s not easy when the life that I let shut me down is still happening every day. But I am getting somewhere. I’m thinking for myself, and asking questions of myself too long ignored. I’m re-calibrating my soul in a way. I’m leaving my assessment out for frequent reading as a map to the new world, a way of finding joy, adventure, and miracles again.

I want to keep trying, crying, and loving until I’m broken open~and when it happens, my world may not be the same as I thought it should be, but what I am, and what I have will be real. The love I feel, and have, will be worth it. Both for the giver and receiver.

I want to be the open-hearted girl, the lion-hearted girl, the “too much” girl. I want to be that girl who cares too much, cries too much, gives too much, writes too much, and laughs too long and too loud. Come home girl, I miss you.