Finding the well of love wihtin.

How do we give from a place that is full place?
In our current society, everyone is so empty,
We are empty of self-esteem, self-confidence, and Self-love.
We spend our lives seeking outwardly what we need. We have built a society,  culture, and economy based on this.
We seek from others who are just as empty as we are. We fight over love, acceptance, and understanding in a tug-of-war with society, social media, friends, and loved ones.
It’s sold to us from stores full of cheap things, meant to make us forget for a moment that we are empty, filling it up with a trinket or a drink.
Love, acceptance, grace, and understanding are more rare in this world than diamonds; more valuable than Bitcoin.
But there are worlds where these things are infinite.
There are different ways to access these worlds, your higher self, and live in light and love. Gratitude can help alleviate the constant growl of an empty soul and heart.
But finding the well that can fill your soul to the point you can give freely, without effort, where you can smile at your own jealousy, hug your own anger, and make space for your shame to live in acceptance.
If you can do these for yourself, holding them for others is so easy.

This may be the most difficult journey of your life. It is the journey to open the well within, the holy Grail that lives in all of us, holding our compassion and understanding of love for ourselves and those around us.

It’s almost impossible to go on this journey if you are in a state of survival. Physically, you will need to have access to food, water, shelter, and time. I wish so many more humans had access to these fundamental needs.

But step number one is to make sure you are okay so you know you can rely on yourself, and slowly build that confidence that you can survive in this world before trying to access others.

We are all so empty inside, and we fight this outside world for validation, compassion, understanding, and acceptance, begging for it from others who don’t have enough to give to themselves.
And we take that as a sign we are not deserving. You only deserve it when a starving man gives you their last piece of bread. Where starvation is only valid among those who are starving themselves. Or hunger can live here, its safe here.

This Holy Grail that lives within us is not empty.
Unfortunately, it is where we have stuffed all of our fear, shame, unlovability, hurt, and pain. We stuffed them into this Grail because society told us we should never feel those. It is bottomless, dark, and often hidden from our conscious, a great hiding place for darkness and pain.
We shove the pain from our friends who told us it was unacceptable, too much, that we are wrong, fat, ugly, smelly, and dumb. Confusion and hurt because our teachers told us to shut up, that it was not good enough, and our parents told us they did not have time. We only had one try, and if we did not succeed, we were a failure.  
The special gaslighting of generational hurt: Somewhere long ago, it was okay to tell your child you were never wanted or to hurt them when they made a mistake. So it lingers from mother to daughter, father to son, through generations. The pain of walking in daylight, accepted.

We keep searching for a place to express all of these, for them to be accepted and loved, even though we can’t seem to do it ourselves. Someone else needs to love them.
We were never shown how to love ourselves at our worst. So, we expect others to do it for us.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it were going to be an easy crystal bath or a morning gratitude practice? It is not; this will be the most difficult journey of your life.
All of these can help soothe the warrior battling the dragons and demons in his/ her soul. You will never be entirely alone, but it will feel like it.
This is the journey to become a woman or a man for our modern person.

Finding what we seek from within.
There is a door at the bottom of the holy Grail; it leads to the world behind worlds, you are the key.
It is here that whatever version of god is. t  The god that not only created all of this, but is, at the same time all of it. It’s the never-ending acceptance, love, and compassion. Because everything in existence is a manifestation of this. Even you, and hard to acknowledge, it is all the pain in the world; you can’t see the light without the dark.

Unfortunately, there are layers and layers of shame, anger, resentment, jealousy, sadness, pain, hurt, and fear standing between you and this doorway.

Put down the sword and armor. This is not a fight or a banishment. This is you, all of you that were shoved in this holey Grail.

A 4-year-old boy, whose dad told him he was not good enough, and a 3-year-old girl who was left at the store. 10 years old, whose teacher said he was stupid. And a teen who was abused by a trusted family member. A little boy or girl that never knew what it felt like to be safe at home.  A kid who was sent to a fat camp.. was bullied for being different, poor, or rich.
Humans can be both kind and cruel creatures, filling others’ holy Grail with both kind and cruel thoughts. And now it’s up to you to decide whether you want to keep them, believe them, or change the story.

These are not things to be banished or slain; they are your deepest fears, most profound shame.

The second step is to walk into the darkness, breathe there, and begin to listen.
Begin to feel, not fight, and let yourself break when needed. When your mind lies to you and says “you are too much,” only you decide if this is true.
Don’t blindly believe what someone else told you; make these decisions for yourself.  You will never be too much for you, though it may feel like the pain will kill you.
Remember, you are strong; this pain is the pain of a younger you who needed someone like you. To be there for them, let that soften you and create space.

Make this space in the darkness of your Holy Grail known to you. When you go there willingly, sit in it, find calm, and listen. Because there will be times when you are forced to go there because of an outside experience.

A fight, a letdown, a hurt, a trigger, as they say, pulls you into the dark. But this dark is not scary; it’s familiar and has a warm seat. It will take time here before it becomes comfortable.
Let time slow, breathe deeply, and feel your body agitated and your nervous system on fire. You can hear whatever demon was awakened by this experience. You have no need to fight it. It’s just you, in the dark, grumbling, fighting the idea you are unlovable, teeth sharp, ready to destroy whatever makes you feel this demon.
Unfortunately, this is not a place for stoicism but a place of deep feeling; you can’t think this pain away; you have to feel it. Find time to move your body outside in nature; you need to feel the energy and let your body move it out.

Some demons you face once, others you face over and over. Listen to this demon, not what anyone else has to say. But listen to what you have to say, listen to what you are saying to you.
If it’s something someone else said to you, get rid of it; if you struggle with it, ask how to let it go. You may need to begin acting in accordance with who you genuinely want to be, and that is not easy.

So that this Deamon can tell you, “you need to make sure you eat better,”
Says the direction that uses drugs to stay thin. But it might just be saying you need to accept yourself and everyone as who they are.
Perhaps you need to ask for what you want and stand up for what you need. When your demons tell you that you are not worthy, you have to sometimes prove them wrong.

Do this, whatever it is, bit by bit, and you will become stronger than this demon. When you face it again, you can tell him, “No, I can take care of myself. I am confident and know what I deserve. I am not unlovable; I love myself in little ways.” And am worthy of love from myself and others.

It’s okay if someone can’t give me what I need because it’s not that I don’t deserve it; it’s because they don’t have it themselves. You can watch whatever demon you are fighting change and soften in the light and acceptance.

This will happen over and over, but you will get glimpses of the door of light in the dark. That is just within you. You slowly become the light within your own darkness. That is the key to opening a well of acceptance and understanding.
And the demons that once whispered mean things to you will now be your biggest advocates, and you can see the world for the light in it, not through the darkness within it.
The genital warrior within will no longer look to battle with himself but will honor him/herself and protect his demons, which were just parts of himself he needed to understand, feel, and forgive.  

Allow the rest of the world to be as it is, as its not his/her responsibility to change it.
But to just allow the light within to shine and flow over, and possibly guide others to their own Holy Grail and become their own key, where they can feel the love and understanding that is within the world.
That does not mean some might need a slight kickstart, and there is no need to allow others to starve themselves. But back away if they look at you as the only source of acceptance and happiness. Back away from anger but from self-acceptance and compassion.

We should never condemn the dark. This world is here for us to experience both and to learn, change, and grow. We would have reason to be here if it was not this way.

I will say there is darkness in this world, in our collective conciseness, that can be unbearable and unforgivable. And I will never ask anyone to go these roads alone. Or that you must be 100% okay, light, and have forgiveness and compassion, as that’s impossible and not the point.

It’s getting to a place where you are at peace with yourself and can accept when the demons rage and the darkness overflows, allow it, but do no harm to others.
When the time is right, find the light within. It’s about knowing there will be both, and no one is perfect. But you can find love for yourself in the struggle. And know that even if you are not always the best in yourself, you can hold space and accept this. Do your best to choose to be a little lighter, a little kinder, and a little brighter to yourself and those around you.
Slowly, allow the light within you to shine, acceptance, within the darkness and open the door to the well of compassion that is hidden within. Your demons are a part of you, but they don’t need to control you.

The forest within me

A strange place to hold space for your past, feel the weight of the present, and be excited for a future.
I once heard David White call this “the long site.” 


Our society is so focused on the present that it ignores the past and the future.
We are told to have only the present, which seems so small and limiting. There is only one leaf on a tree that is you, and one tree in a forest that could be you. You don’t get to see the sunrises, looking only at the leaf for fear of watching the darkness descend from a sunset.

But what if our lives are so vast that you can be in all of it at once when you need to.
Like a forest, there is old growth, fallen trees covered in moss, once hopes that never manifested but decaying in your subconscious, either rotting away in the darkness or giving nutrients to a new dream.
There are seeds for thousands of trees of possible futures, whatever one you choose to watch grow.
The present moment, every breath as unique as a leaf on a tree,  is where you can spend time enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment in whatever environment. With the warmth of a summer day, or watching them turn, brilliant in colors of red and yellow, then fall to the ground in the next breath, giving nutrients to a possible future for seeds below.

Sometimes, the moment is dark and cold, like a winter night, but we allow this, as it is just part of the process. We know dawn is a new day, and spring is not far away.

And your future is all around you and within you, seeds being nourished by your past if you allow them. Whatever seed you decide to watch grow,
Your whole existence is like a forest,
My past is clear but always changing, from the pain of a forest fire to understanding how it allows for new growth. Dreams of old trees rotting if ignored, I can see the beautiful fungi, moss, and ferns growing from this. It’s mycorrhizal, feeding a whole life.
I can watch it with a smile, the pain of the past, knowing it’s part of the evolution of my life sitting in the moment. I can look up from here, listen to the birds, and hear the rustling of critters there.
I can see a future within me, with every seed and every tree. No matter the hurt from lost dreams, I can use them to build a life with the potential for a full and dense future like an old-growth forest.

Where you can see all my past as part of the beauty, guiding how new ideas and dreams grow, moss-covered stumps, with sprouts of trees, creeks, and running water, foxglove, and fireweed brightening up the remains of a painful fire, adding color and life to the blackened remains of a dream.
Some days, when my mind is quiet.

I can almost see the ghosts of a future I’ve yet to witness and bear.  It will have its summers and light and butterflies. And it will have cold, dark winters, with death and decay.
But this is my forest, my life, my garden of a soul. My past, present, and future are all within.
Be present to all of it with an open heart. Then, you choose what seeds grow into your future, fed by the pain of your past, with gratitude in the present.
Your life will make for a grand forest.

My Kindness

My kindness.
My kindness is earned, not given.
Never take my kindness for weakness.
It’s not that kind of kindness.
Like Steel, forged, I have worked that kindness out of me.
Pain is the fire you make a soul of Steel.

My kindness is the strongest part of me.
My kindness takes me to mountain peaks, so a friend is not alone.
My kindness will allow me to drive all night to hold a friend when his father passes.
My kindness will sit with my mother when she is scared for my father.
My kindness will stand in the line of fire to protect those who cannot protect themselves.
My kindness will not let you lie to yourself and will push you to be the best you can.
My kindness will remind you that even at your weakest, you are better than that, and you will hate me for it.
My kindness will sacrifice myself because you need it.
So don’t come to me expecting the kindness of a kitten. The softness of a sheep,
Come to me expecting the kindness of a warrior as hard as the Steel in his blade.
Don’t come to me seeking the kindness of a meek, naive girl who earns her worth from little gestures for little men.
Come to me as you would a goddess who will burn the world if she feels you deserve it.
She has no time for little men who can’t figure out how to care of themselves.
They will abuse her kindness. They want kittens and naive girls, their kindness allows him to stay small.
That’s not the kindness in me.

Moran Again

It has been close to a year since I stopped writing.

I will forever be settled in my heart with the words,

We could have kept going; we could have made it.

The Mountains are my internal battleground, where the quiet whispers of self-doubt internally form, and we go to war. I watch my fears rumble under my skin, see my friends’ excitement and smiles, and watch them push through their pain and struggles as we all laugh at the difficulty and accomplishments.

I heard a quote not long ago.

 “If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go with friends.”

Moran!

The weather window kept being pushed back, so the party changed and finally settled with Brad, Nick, and me.

Plan to leave town at 10 pm and start the long journey over the lake by 11pm.

A little late, we start the walks around 11:30.

A sky full of stars, a moonless night; there is to be a meteor shower, and we are excited to see some shooting stars.

It is 6 miles to cross the lake, the distant outline of the Tetons and Moran guiding us.

Light banter, we laugh, purgatory, feeling like we are walking and getting nowhere, the outlines of the mountains, so very slowly get bigger.

It’s spring, and rapid warming is our primary concern; we plan to summit soon after sunrise.

I know how much my little push off the mountain last year affected our fearless leader. Brad, who is not fearless at all, brave in a way, showing us all beautiful experiences and knowing a lot falls on his decisions, route, and timing. Guiding a group is hard, and I want to give everyone a great experience while keeping them safe. For me, letting people down and getting hurt takes up so much mental space; I don’t know how he does it.

Watching me get taken out by a small wall of snow, less than a hundred feet, still weighs on him.

We turn the headlamps off, and the only thing visible is the black outline of the Tetons and the Black silhouette of my companions. This view struck me as beautiful. So simple but with so much meaning

Under this surface is a vast history of adventures, laughs, tears, memories they share, memories we all share; just under these black silhouettes,

I felt like each black figure was a 2-dimensional door I could open into a world of memories they each held. A whole universe lapsed in time, within each of them, too vast for me to comprehend, grateful to be a part of.

We changed course to move into Moran Bay, a group behind us and one rustling in tents that came out early to camp the day before.

We make our way up the initial trees, the “Push Trees,” Weaving through light forest and a few steeper places.

It opens to the clearing, a place I remember from the year before. We are earlier this time, so I cannot make out the immense mass of the mountain in front of me, but I know it’s there.

The temperature has been shifting, and pockets of frigid air come and go.

It’s a little after 2 a.m.; I feel weak. The whispers of self-doubt are beginning to make their first appearances on the edges of my thoughts.

We stopped, snacked, and hydrated; it’s amazing how a little food and water can change your attitude. I was excited about a chicken salad sandwich I had made, but it was frozen, which was disappointing. I ate half of it anyway and learned a bit about sandwich maintenance and midnight lake crossings.

I had given Brad some caffeine and vitamin B energy drops for water a week ago. He gave me a gulp of his creation, and we both said something was wrong. He told me he put both bottles in, and that struck a red flag; I remember the little squeeze bottles saying something like 18 servings, but he said one squeeze per cup; I was not in a mental state to debate the issue, as a cold pocket swept in, and I started shivering. Time to keep moving.

I can’t see much; we are on the mountain, and the red light only shows me a 4-foot radius. Pro and cons of this.

I did not know where I was relative to anything; my mind spun with hope; maybe we were in the Handle, to despair; we had not even gotten to the Basin. I checked my phone at one point to say 4:15, and I knew I still had a long way to go.

We march up; the snow is hard and slick, and I’m fine with just my skin for the first hour. Then it gets steeper as we work over wet slide debris from past warming cycles. I’m slipping every third step, and it’s slowing me down, taking a lot of energy. My team was not far ahead, but I knew I would struggle, so I stopped on a 40-degree icy slope to put on ski crampons.

These were Mattys, and the first time I’d ever used them. Wise personal choice, as I stopped delicately making my way up and could march with the Crampons chomping on the track. I made good time to catch up.

The Basion,

We regrouped; I hope they did not wait long for me, maybe 5 minutes ahead. I kept thinking they were going slow for me, so we did not get too far apart, but also maybe not; perhaps I am getting faster.

Being too slow, I think, is one of the biggest fear for so many of us; the caboose.

Too slow and avalanches hold a similar sense of panic, the social fear of I’m not good enough and I’m not worthy of having people wait for me. Facing that fear holds so many back from even attempting to join.

I have been told I was slow my whole life.

One of my first memories.

Being left behind at a relative’s house as the family went on a day vacation to Victoria Island to see the Gardens. I was maybe 3 years old. Told I could not go because I was too slow, and no one wanted to carry me.

Accidentally making me believe I was too slow and not worth the effort.

I can understand as an adult, but at 3, it began to fracture my sense of self.

Undermine my value, an identity I was given; slow, a burden.

It compounded as an issue and snowballed, gaining mass speed as I grew older. I think Therapists call these “Initial Traumas.” The creation of a filter, how I saw myself within the world. Slow and Burden. So many harmless actions and words were seen through this filter, looking for a reaffirmation of the original belief.

One of the battles I have with myself as I climb these mountains.

Slow at math and reading, to being named “polly polly,” meaning slowly slowly, given by a girlfriend when she would take me to the backcountry. The filter darkens.

How often was I told I was not good enough to go?

No matter how often Brand, Nick, and my friends tell me I’m fine and fast enough, those scares are there and ache like arthritis in my mind.

I took the crampons off as we continued up The Skillet, longer switchbacks and softer snow without the warm slide debris to struggle with.

Still just watching the 2 red lights above me in different places, we continue. The switchbacks are steep and rugged for me. I’m not sliding, but the level of balance and gymnastics I need to accomplish is strenuous and time-consuming.

Finally, after six hours in the dark, sunrise approaches, the black turning to grey, the light slowly lifts our spirits, exhaustion is lingering in the distance of my thoughts, and none of us has had any sleep.

I picked up this mental habit of counting my steps to 100, over and over and over and over. It stops my mind from questioning my capabilities, One two three four, watching my steps, forty-five forty-six, I’m tired, forty-seven for eight.

I can feel part of my brain that wants to complain and start down that spiral, 78,79,80. It is enough to drown it out. I have more mantras for when things are at their worst. But here, it keeps me focused.

Brad and Nick have stopped one switch back up; they are transitioning from skinning to Verts. Small snowshoes that fit with snowboard bindings

We are in the narrow part, the steep Handle. I’m grateful for the change; different mussels and being the caboose have their advantages. My friends make the steps nice and solid so I can catch up quickly.

I rarely see Brad pull back. Something is wrong, so we stop and chat. He said he had been feeling ill most of the morning and could not eat. I can see the “bonk” in his face.

He thinks the caffeine water he drank made his stomach too upset to eat. My guilt for giving him the drops takes over. I passed Nick a few feet below as he grabbed a snack and water.

I climb above and attempt setting the boot pack. It’s over two feet deep and crumbling on a 50%- degree slope. This is miserable hell! Wallowing, it’s called.

I can make it maybe 10 minutes before my body and muscles give out.

This is a testament to how insanely strong Brad is; I keep saying his muscles live in another dimension on his almost 6 foot 140 lb frame.

Sick, with no food and no sleep, he has made it this far, setting the track. He is a machine and a really good man.

The sun peeks over the horizon; we stop to admire where we are, and how far we have come. The beauty of it all.

Nick perks up after some food and takes over. I know he is also growing a few nasty blisters from the lake crossing. So he can’t be feeling terrific. And pushing through foot pain.

We rotate,  I maxed out at 100 steps. But so proud I was even able to help! That’s huge for me; I’m not dying 100 feet below everyone. The joy in being able to help almost equals the absolute suffering this is. So we continue for about an hour, moving too slowly for comfort.

Then we feel it, the sun on our faces and the heat on!

Memories flood; I’m just a few hundred feet above where I was pushed off last year. When the snow got too warm, the sluff came and got me.

I feel ok, miserable but ok. Brad stops, and we talk; it will take at least an hour and a half to summit in this snow. I realize how much last year affected him; he will not chance any rapid warming, as it can go from safe to “Get off the fucking mountain!” in 5 minutes.

Brad had not eaten in 5 hours, Nick was hitting his physical limits, and we still had to get back.

It was not an easy call, but I do not mind stopping and turning back as long as I’m not the one calling for it. The well-being of our group is the priority, not a summit.

I had already summited so many internal mountains. I was so happy to be standing with 2 friends in a beautiful place. And I did not give up on myself; I was able to keep up, kind of help, and was not a burden to the group!

I was just overjoyed to be there; the summit was never the goal. The goal was to spend the day doing hard and beautiful things with people I love to make memories with.

We called it and started the descent. One at a time.

When we got back to the lake,

Brad said we could have made it.

I replied. I’ll take 1,000. “We could have made it.” over one, “We should have turned around!!”

Brad said that was one of the worst conditions he had ever experienced on Moran.

And the Gravity of all of this hit,

Brad: “I don’t know how many more Moran’s I have in me.”

He has summited Moran at least 10 times.

And I was reminded so hard and so fast,

There will always be a last time. The last time to see the sunrise from there, the last time I’ll try and summit that mountain with my friends.

How sad that seems; it made me appreciate sitting in the parking lot, comparing blisters with Nick even more special. Knowing that there will be the last time, we will bitch about how hard that was, looking across the lake, amazed that not long ago, we were right up there. Almost on top of that huge mountain.

For Matty, It’s for you. I try and make you proud and be the friend you would have been! You left some pretty big shoes to fill, buddy!

Rest.

Rest my soul.

Rest is needed in many forms for many reasons, in different seasons.

A society infatuated with the never-ending doing, accomplishing building making proving.

A restless soul

letting of the agitation infatuation chasing dreams someone else dreamed.

Letting go,

A soul that needs time for being not doing. Rest from the restlessness under my skin.

Be present in this rest, be present for

your body

your thoughts

your emotions,

be present to the people around you,

feel them being as they are right now

Letting go

All of us human.. beings.. for a few moments,

be present for the act of being.

What luxury of self-care allows for being,

for being in whatever state you are in,

to witness, honor and acknowledge your current state of, human

That is rest.

To let go

Of needing wanting anything to be different than it is.

Being in love with your skin, being in love with the rain, enjoyment of food, touch, laughter, and a smile. Here with it, no wishing or anything different than it is, and smiling.

My body needs rest,

Rest, that is allowed, penetrating, and luxurious in just acceptance.

my soul needs to

Rest-

Celebrating the body I’ve been given

I always feel ashamed of posting selfies
Maybe I judge others too harshly, as to their motivations.

Told that seeking attention was a sinful act. Something that lesser women do.
or some such nonsense, societal judgments, projection of our insecurities on others, things I was told from a pharisaic society. ( a filter I have)


I have a difficult time taking pride in myself, not just in my actions but in myself, as a human female. 

I never understood what being female meant, confused and uncomfortable, hiding myself, and when I would want to shine, so uncomfortable in my skin, I would instantly regent the dress, hair, makeup.

The attention for appearance confused me, as I would reject it. Shame.

Feminism, rejects the feminine in a divine sense, chasing, I can do what you can do, Proving worth in a masculine world. Necessary, but not wholly true.  

Fine, yes I’ve lived that life, many women have.

And I still feel the rejection, but from within me of me, rejecting needs, desires, softness, vulnerability.

This is me 41, Entertained by getting older. 
The most amazing part is, the past few years is the first time I’ve been able to look at myself with kindness. 
I no longer shrink away from the mirror or photos. I no longer have the voices that rip everything about me apart! 
I can look at myself and see I’m, Beautiful in my own way, and just fine. 


I smile when I look in the mirror and talk to myself as a friend.
The beast that lives in me destroyed a lot of the negative chatter. 

What I look like is the least interesting thing about me. But it is who I am, and the body, face, and structure given to me by generations of love, fear, fighting, surviving, thriving and starving, passion and pain. All the way back to the supposed Adam and Eve, More Lilith in me,   

By body and this experience on earth should be celebrated, as in fact, it is a miracle given to me by my parents.

Why do I feel shame in not being what I think Is expected of me? And not just finding the joy in the beauty that is me and all things created in nature.

I don’t feel feminine in fancy clothes shoes hair and make-up. Mine lives under my skin, in my body, in dance, movement, acceptance compassion, in my eyes, and in my touch. My very Breath can be divinely feminine, and make men crumble.

This body I was given, by whatever divine creates all of this. Is the only one I have, for a brief time! Why not enjoy and celebrate it, love it, and let it be loved.


The window of my soul is mine to build.

It’s been a few; I’ve not been writing as much. Being an adult who has to work and make life happen, I have been busy and distracted. Or, at the very least, attempt to show up as life happens to me.
Much of my previous writing acknowledged my demons, pain, hurt and fear, mods, emotions, and depression. Gaslighting is a fun buzzword. We gaslight ourselves as much as others do to us. So I walked into all hurt.

What a fun process.
Then things changed,

Slowly my demons became my strengths; as I accepted more of myself, I became more confident. But, at the same time, the more of Myself I accepted, the more I started to let go.

Like rummaging through an old wardrobe from the 90s, I accepted the baggy jeans and crop tops of the late 90s, remembering I was trying to fit in so badly.
I did not need to hold on to any of the emotions from that time. I let go of the identities someone gave me and the thoughts I held about myself. I did this by allowing myself to experience all the confusing emotions and rewriting the story about that time. It was a clean story, not elaborate, filled with drama and unresolved memories, like cleaning a corner of the window that was my identity. I did not need to have all that pain to look through.
I started to think of this process as “The Art of Emptying” or “Cleaning the window of my ego.”

If I did not like something about myself, a trait I picked up along the way. It was up to me to change it. So, as I focused more on who I was and being brutally honest, I was less focused on what anyone else thought.
I started to play the game, Build a Bitch.
I have some fun, not-so-lovely sides, but that’s what I want.
I’m not all sweet and sugar; I unapologetically added some lemon and spice.

When you start to own who you are, you become less threatened by others. And it’s fun to see each individual’s art, see them as such, from different backgrounds, materials, and all kinds of things. Where they are in life is no reflection of you; just owning yourself, no excuses.
I’m not perfect; I’m just playing the game of Heather, creating the art of my life to the best of my ability whit what I have

The Road Less Traveled

I’ve been contemplating the juxtaposition of Roberts Frost,
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in the wood And I-
I took the one less traveled By
And that had made all the difference.

And Dante Alighieri,
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a dark forest,
for the straightforward pathway had been lost.

The road less traveled,
I found myself broken and bruised in a dark forest, cold and hungry. I thought I found the traveled path, the straightforward way. But I had been gone too long; I was looked at and balked at, a wild thing of the forest.
I am reflecting on the path less travled. 

I did not have the resources to take the road less traveled with skill. No map, no campus, and no shelter from the upcoming night. So I scavenged for food focused on survival.
When coming across the well-marked, trodden road after many years of wandering the woods. 
I did not have the resources to walk tall on the well-worn road, assisted by the trail crews of society’s expectations.

The sunrises were amazing, the sunsets even more so; I found streams and shelters, others that were friends until survival made them competition.

I saw some seemingly well versed in the ways of the road less traveled;  they had skills, knowledge, and support from those on the well warn roads, a lifeline back into that world. That gave them confidence; what they were doing was entirely accepted, and they might return to the world when they saw fit—the “Fat maps” to life.

I shall be telling this with a sigh; it takes a lot of skill to succeed on the road less traveled. It takes support, confidence, knowledge, and discipline. 

Without these, you will become frail, bitter, hungry, cold, angry, and resentful. The sunrise is another day fighting for your place, and the sunset is a new way to survive the night. Trying to navigate when the path becomes no path, just lost in a dark wood. There are predators there. 

I am licking my wounds, watching and learning from those on the smooth paths. I am strong, I know how to survive, though that part of my personality scares people. 

I’ve watched what survival can turn men’s and women’s hearts into. 
I’ve seen it happen to mine. Jealous, vengeful, hurtful things, I’ve watched these to. But, hopefully, at a distance these days. 

People trying to survive don’t always have the luxury of being kind
though often, being kind is your only option in the struggles to survive.

A Woman’s Body

My body, partly tan, covered in water, my toes exposed on the other end of the tub.
Tan lines, stretch marks, a few scars. My body, 40 years old, all the places it has been, all the things it has done. My body, all the people it has loved, all those that have ridiculed, shamed or abused it.
I may have been the worst.

I spent many years taking everything negative said about me and amplifying it in the confines of my mind. Though those people and incidences are long ago and far away, the memories are always on replay in some form or another. They became my Identity, how I saw myself in the world.

I was all things negative with a megaphone inside.

It’s not easy to change your Identity; neuroscience teaches us that. I had unconsciously kept myself in situations that would reinforce this negative view of myself, easier than finding people that challenged it. It was hard to be around people who said nice things about me, as I’d had to fight with my view of myself. It made me uncomfortable, so I stuck around with people that would ever so slightly put me down. To make themselves feel better. That’s my place; it was comfortable there. I did not have to change my internal dialogue.

Sitting in my bathtub, water warm incents and oil, fun little rituals, being a woman, soft thighs, and a lightly round belly. Precisely as it should be, no thoughts of shame or anger, judgments or comparing. Just looking at it, some bellies make babies; that’s cool.
Feeling how thick my legs are, leaning into my feminine. Women are supposed to be a little soft and round, my breast thicker than usual, finally eating to fill my body, to flesh myself out.
I feel more solid as a woman, “sexy little belly” I hear it for what it is now, a man that appreciates a woman’s body how it’s supposed to be.

It has taken a long time to face the internalized hate, disgust, and shame dialogue. How much I devalued my body—generations of a woman’s value coming from her looks, shape, and size.
I was never meant to be frail, dainty, delicate. I was built to hold muscle, be strong, and push it to its limits. Though I never did, I just spent a life starving it to fit a picture someone told me I should be.
If I looked like someone else, I would have value, Though when I got close, I still never felt it, my mind still only holding the negative self-hate dialogue.

I had to cure the inside, find beauty in all women, and myself, find value in what my body can do for me, and push it. Separate my view of myself from those around me, listen to good friends who see the beauty in people and celebrate it, not diminish it.
And never forget to let my body be happy. I don’t let my mind walk down the comparison game. I am uniquely me, and that is pretty special. My beauty comes from owning this, loving it, and valuing all parts of me.
My tan belly glistened in the bath, feeling sexy because it’s a woman’s body; it does woman things; how amazing is that?

Pain-

Pain-
Pain, A feeling we try so hard to avoid. Push down, ignore and pretend it is not there.
When did being hurt become a sign of weakness?
When did pain cause us to be a victim? When did pain start being hidden and not worn as a testament to strength?
We are applauded when we get up after falling. When we try again, though emotionally, no one sees us fall, and we are often too scared to get back up. Rarely is there an applaud for trying again, just cushioned the road ahead is hard, you saw how hard, might as well stay safe. I have been hurt by friends as much as lovers in my lifetime; that’s not a one-way street. No one is perfect.

Often we talk about pain in physical terms of working out; no pain, no gain, rings true in a gym.

The pain my body goes through trying to keep up with friends in the mountains is not something I hide or avoid. I push through, and it takes me to incredible places, each more profound than the prior.
Until the pain is no longer pain, just part of the adventure, something to be shared with the group, an experience that unites us on our quest for pretty places.

With this perspective, the pain in my heart is just a part of becoming stronger and more confident in myself.
Growing and learning who I am and who others are, on an adventure of the soul, learning the landscapes inside the heart.
I get the opportunity to share my adventure with others, the pain of climbing mountains, and the joy. I get to share the pain and joy in my heart with others.

I do not wish to avoid the pain that my heart has, past or future, as I know I’m strong enough to keep going, head high. As facing those mountains, the ones inside have helped me become the friend I needed, and somehow I got to be the friend they needed.

And like the mountains, it does not hurt much anymore; it’s just part of the adventure. One made worthwhile by the people in it.

I will wear my pain with pride, like the mountains I have hiked.
I will face my fears inside like I face my fears outside.
Fear of failure, inadequacy, rejection.
Every friendship I have is just like the mountains I climb.
I had to bring the best of me to get the quality of you.