Living loved or driven…..

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I wrangled out a post yesterday,
pushed it through the sieve of some sleepless hours
and tried to coax some juice to share.
Because it was time and I wanted to find the lovely
and serve it to you here.

Then I dumped it in the trash
because it felt forced,
driving me,  and then I felt them like a song,
the words I scrawled on the console of my old work truck
in red lipstick,
wrote them down bold so that maybe my heart would hear it stronger
in the wounded place where I sometimes go bloody
in the heat of a small day.

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Because sometimes my hungry places want to carve it somewhere big
“I am here”
“I matter”
“Do you see me now?”
As if only something beautiful or important enough
might repair the holes I hide.

Like the lipstick on my console,
I’ve decided to just leave them to the light.
Let the guy at the garage scratch his head and puzzle:)
Lay my unloved places bare
so that Love can find and heal and fill them there.

It’s risky business,  leaving yourself open to love.
But I’d rather live loved than driven.

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The words scrawled in red lipstick across my gimpy parts:

“You don’t need to justify your existence.”

– Don Miguel Ruiz

(big glad honest sigh)

I’ll be sending out a package of handwritten love to Lisa Moreland this week.
Gonna plunk names into a hat again this week to draw for
another little personal love bomb
from my heart to yours.
Thanks for coming around:)

 

Of treasure and need….

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This is for your hungry places,
where  the cold fingers of need creep up through your thin-worn soles,
and you feel small against the bluster of a wind that would slice right through.

For the places where you go mostly alone,
hunted down by fear that raises stiff the hairs on your neck,
the kind of fright that preys on perception
and sends you into scurry
like the monster beneath your childhood bed.

Scarcity.
We all have those places where we feel found wanting,
towered over by a freakish sock puppet shadow
screaming bold and frantic lies.
“Not enough,”  it howls.
Not for you.
For you there’s shortage.
Of provision.  protection. wisdom.  solution.  love and comfort.  health.  belonging.
And whatever that something,  the circumstance lies,
it proves what you’ve always feared:
you’re a failure and alone.
A misfit.

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I want to whisper something into that despairing hole of unmet need,
in that very place where you feel the smallest and weakest,
where hot tears puddle in a heart that feels betrayed
by the seeming plenty of those around you.

Things are not always as they seem.
There is enough for you
without cutting into anyone else’s goodness.

This isn’t how your story ends.
There is more,
and there are freshwater waves rushing toward your shores
to sweep away your thirst,
mercy soaking ground gone hard from disappointment
until it’s soft enough to let your dreams break through.

Don’t go bitter
from the spittle of yesterday’s hand-me-down beer.
Dive deep,  little pepper flake,  where the grateful waters flow:)
You’re gonna harvest pearls from these hard,  craggy shells
and find the treasure buried for you there.

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“Where there is ruin,  there is hope for a treasure.” – Rumi

(I’ll be sending a copy of my last zine of the year to Susan Troccolo
of Life,  Change,  Compost.
I just read her freshly published book
of essays on friendship and breaking new ground.
Wonderful read!  The Beet Goes On.  Go see:))