Messages For The Dark Messenger?

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Fucking Signs

I 'see' signs everywhere. Though more than a little psychic, I cannot read cards for myself so I depend on messages from the world both seen and not. Nature speaks the loudest but I seem to be into making things rather difficult on myself and hardly leave the house, therefore limiting communication with the Divine.

This does not stop them from finding a way. I mean they are fucking deity and shit after all. Their newest way of spanking me with truth is via the internet. Pinky Swear! I have seen “trending” messages before, but this one is so strong and clear, even as I flinch at the mere idea, I accept the message with reverence and everything. The fact that I am even sharing this speaks to my openness. I seem open booked but it is I that decides the stories to tell, and how to tell them. Keep that in mind when I seem to be in overshare mode.

This can mean only one thing; I have had enough with the self-flagellation! Its redundant tiresome bullshit whispered to my psyche by dark unattended spaces where the lie hatched. I believed that the "L" word was not for me but for others and perhaps is even a myth. Simple in its maliciousness, it has afflicted my capacities.

But let us circle back to an unequivocal fact that the Divine is swaying fate to sweep raggedy notions out of those dark spaces, and clearly does not care one fucking bit that I am terrified.

I’m pretty sure I was not in stealth mode and gave up the reveal already, but in case you missed it.

Today’s message is LOVE.

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The oracle card set the tone, the rest played out seeming like voices set to a choir of one word. 

Your Card

Love

~

My child, my wondrous one, it is time to celebrate because Love is calling to you to open your heart and receive my blessings. Choosing this symbol is a powerful sign that love in all forms is in your life now. There is a responsibility to this also. You must give love freely without conditions, and love because your heart is open.  There is something else here to consider. Love can be a confusing force too and can sometimes ask a sacrifice of you.  If your heart is aching and feels like it’s broken, know that Love has a greater Love for you later. No matter where you are in your life right now, Love has come to guide you into an important experience. Trust in Love.

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Rob Brenzy of Free Will Astrology seems often irks me with his unflinching capacity for love and his willingness to get everyone on the carousel.

Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology

"I tell you the more I think, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." - Vincent van Gogh

"The most vital right is the right to love and be loved." - Emma Goldman

"Love imperfectly. Be a love idiot. Let yourself forget any love ideal." - Sark

"Everything I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything exists, only because I love." - Leo Tolstoy

"To love is to tilt with the lightning, two bodies routed by a single honey's sweet."

- Pablo Neruda

"Love is a great beautifier." - Louisa May Alcott

"Love is everything it's cracked up to be. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong

"Fall in love over and over again every day. Love your family, your neighbors, your enemies, and yourself. And don't stop with humans. Love animals, plants, stones, even galaxies." - Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

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{peace.love.free} seemed part of the conspiracy with this quote on FB. I can only hope to know Love minutely in the shadow of how much Love, knows this woman. Take a moment to take a look see at Jeanette LeBlanc's website.

If your beloved

has the life of a fire

step in now and burn along.

Rumi

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So then there came the sexy saunter that is Rebelle Society. Please click and read as its not too long and you are worthy of the wisdom. 

"LOVE, love is the answer.

When we are loved, truly loved, we become our authentic selves. Love sets us free from our one big fear that keeps us from being ourselves: the fear of not being loved.

Being real is the capacity to accept and love ourselves, every bit of ourselves so we may be loved by others. This becoming real may take time." 

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Facebook mirrors and though this doesn't fit the "message", it dose fit my thoughts of late. I feel the push and shoves towards it while I feebly dig my thick worn heels deep into the core. But my reality is that I am already free to take any fucking Leap I wish.

Why not take the most dangerous of Leaps?

"When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly"

32 Years Ago I Was Taken To Fucking Kiddie Jail...For Being A Kid

Yesterday marked an anniversary I had not given thought to in many years. Not to say I’ve not thought about it, I am after all writing a memoir. But I’ve not marked it in my mind on the actual date, that on 11/05/1981 at the age of fifteen, I was taken to juvenile detention for a probation violation that would span enough time to include my “sweet sixteen”.

My violation? I skipped two days of school and was failing, which is no surprise considering I failed through Jr. High. My mother had pulled a scene straight out of Forrest Gump by having an affair with the superintendent of my school district; it was my mother’s infidelity that stamped me passable each year even though I was failing each class, well except choir.  Admittedly that did not go well after slamming our choirs superstar Jill’s (Think Rachel from Glee) head in a locker, breaking her nose. After that I wasn’t allowed to go to any classes and was put on “in school suspension”. I really did prefer the at home kind, it afforded me all sorts of freedom.

Why was on probation? Assault of course! But not for breaking the nose of Barbara Streisand’s mini-me, no this one was for breaking the nose of the girl dumb enough to fuck my boyfriend.  Her name was Shelly, and to this day I rarely meet a Shelly that I don’t want to punch in the cunt. 

*thinks real quick…do I have any Shelly’s on my friends list?*

On the evening of 11/4/1981 my probation officer called to inform me to be out front of my high school in the morning with my toothbrush, I had violated my probation, I was going to jail, and that he was driving me to my arraignment and sentencing. That night is a blur of confrontations and tears but there was nothing for it. The next morning I stood frigid and angry in front of the school alone with my toothbrush and crying at the unfairness of it all. Really, this was a minor infraction of my probation, with my lovely mother at the helm having called attention the violations to my PO. See, she had read that unfortunate (for me) book called “Tough Love”, deciding it meant she was given permission to be a rabid bitch to her child. She took her license to legally abuse seriously, doing to me what she otherwise would have just fantasized about.

My probation officer was a young good looking blond spiteful little man who enjoyed every minute of the long drive to kiddie jail. He lectured me on all points of my being an awful teen who was headed for hell. I shot off a few times that my violations were based upon what my mother had him write into my probation document. He had allowed this in admiration of my mother’s willing to exploit the control that that document bequeathed her, you know, all in the name of "Tough Love". I was so fucking grateful to get away from him and go into court, so much so that it did not enter my mind that I ought to be worried. I was so lost in hostility, fantasying about telling my PO what I really thought of him, that when the judge slammed a full 30 day sentence on me, I started to silently sob. It was like being punished for having shitty parents. And it didn’t stop there.

The day after I was processed and put into my green horizontal stripped tee and itchy green polyester shorts, I was visited by my PO. My stomach churned as I had thought myself free from his torment, but evidently he was just getting started. In hindsight that only an adult can be afforded, there was only one reason why he was there lecturing me further on what an awful piece of shit I was and that I needed to clean up my act before I got into even deeper trouble. But I know now he was there to provoke me, to punish me, or worst of all, to dominate me, where I was imprisoned, had nowhere to go, or the right to leave that small room with its glaring lights, two chairs, a table, a defiant kid, and a sadist adult.

I have no memory of how long it took him to manipulate me through a gambit of emotions ranging from crying to laughing as he prodded me along. Oh how he latched onto this like a hungry dog, deciding this was a sign of an unstable mind. What was to happen to me next seemed like torture at the beginning, but in the end, totally worth it.

It was ordered that I would go through full psychological testing to see just exactly how fucked up I was. At first I fought this pretty hard, but then I started to realize that there was something interesting about the testing, I started to wonder if I could figure out what they were looking for. I really wanted to understand how drawing a house was supposed to give them any insight to my inner workings. I found myself asking the nurses who administered the tests what this and that meant. More than a few times I was answered. There was a sense that this was all for nothing, that I clearly was not insane as my PO flat out said I was, and so I learned a few things about psychology during those few weeks of mind numbing tests.

My inquisitive mind and other intelligence testing led to an unexpected result, one that made even my jaw drop as my probation officer had to inform me, “turns out your gifted”.  Now it’s not like I was told I was dumb, really the opposite, there was always some school principle telling me I am way too smart to act like such a shit. This was clearly not an era that you can say “have you met my mother?” Finding out I was gifted was like being gifted a secret that I had no idea about myself. One that I’ve never taken for granted or allowed my ego to inflate with it. This was something none of them could beat or berate out of me.

So the rest of days were less eventful and led to extreme boredom till my birthday came along. As that date neared I became more depressed and easy to cry. Little did I know a kind man who worked at the jail, who always believed in me would go out of his way to make sure I was treated like a princess, well a princess in jail wearing what we called an “alligator suit”.  He brought in with great fanfare and to the screams and hollers of my fellow inmates, a huge sheet cake for them, and for me, a Barbie cake. You know the kind where the skirt is the cake? I let go of my cutesy tough girl veneer and began to cry quietly as I opened my lame ass tax paid gifts given to me by my jailers.

I’ll never forget the generosity of a man that would during future incarcerations, fight for me in ways NO one else ever did. 

But that's another story....

Operation Michelle Gets Probed In All Her Private Bits Is A Go!

Soon I will be on very intimate terms with a few doctors and technicians as they take close examination of my breasts, vagina, and colon.

TMI-R-US right?  But I say, get over it. One of the reasons I'm blabbing about my volunteered probing is that it has come to my attention that many men and women speak not of these things and may even avoid important screenings because of a clear stigma and lets face it, not a fun time of it.

Personally, I care to know if my organs are acting up like bored children seeking attention. I demand to be on the need to know so that I may make  informative decisions whether to go the traditional route, or the alternative if something were to be found. We are active participants in our health, not passive passengers.

As a practice I choose to not take meds ALL the fucking time if I know I got this. I have healed me with the help of wonderful healers who taught me to take control of my wellness rather than continue viewing myself as sick and nothing more. I at one time refereed to myself as "a broken girl" or a "professional patient". Shit, talk about negative self talk and the in turn negative energy that was certainly called to me because of I clearly had a distorted self image.

The point of this blab fest is to suggest to men and women alike, that if you are due for screening tests, to partake so you have the knowledge needed to decide what, if anything must be done. Remember it's your body. Also, I think the telling of your experiences spreads a kind of comfort on such subject matter leaving the stigmas to die on the vine.

I have had two pre-cancerous polyps in my colon in the last ten plus years. This is why I go through the less than pleasant prep for the screening, but I do it because if I hadn't, who knows how sick I would be now or in my near future. I go through this discomfort feeling grateful for knowing I am saying Fuck You to colon cancer!

So yea, get all your bits probed, then have a drink to celebrate having a clean screen!

Are You Fucking Kidding Me? Yes, It IS In The Stars That Life Sucks Of Late!

Miss me??

Well I have been a bit busy with ending friendships, letting go of ills my mothers beget upon me, and a general magical letting goes...all around!

I am linking some astrological website to those that wish to understand what the FUCK is happening these days! There is indeed a reason and I'm a firm believer in being armed and prepared. This time the weapon of choice, astro info galore!

Be sure I have shit to say, I just am still reeling from the Blood Moon to Samhain, and now we have a big day with the New Moon and a very interesting eclipse of the Sun!

Happy, Happy...Joy, Joy!

This is the big event tomorrow...
http://www.mysticmamma.com/solar-eclipse-new-moon-in-scorpio-november-3rd-2013/

More on tomorrow...
http://mooncircles.com/scorpio-new-moon-honoring-darkness/

This is an ongoing punch in the gut...
http://www.moonkissd.com/2013/10/18/checking-in-with-the-uranus-pluto-square/

More on the punch....
http://www.mysticmamma.com/the-theme-for-november-2013-is-discipline/

And just in case you didn't get the point...
http://www.mysticmamma.com/pluto-uranus-square-november-1st-2013-mindful-breaking-through/

So I believe I have overwhelmed and given far too much info for anyone person, but hopefully one or more will talk each of you that read this for again, a far better understanding of exactly how fuck we actually are.

Oh, I'm just kidding, we are not fucked, we are challenged and if taken in and used properly, we can rise just like a bad ass phoenix...just to do it all over again. Oh and if you are looking to get a reading, I am still doling out the 25.00 for 30 mins deal!

"Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings..."

 The fog that has settled here in the PNW is eking into my mind. Not helped by long delays in getting money settled and a knee injury from earnestly practicing yoga and belly dancing. The cycles of these nonmoving events boggle. I feel a slipping that I know so well and have to let go into, but the hypo-mania was far too short and it did nothing for my disordered eating. I can usually count on mania being a wonderful equalizer when it comes to all my binges. This time I’m left wanting.

When I find myself here, I wonder each time, how am I going to make it? But in the last three years I’ve been feeling the deep sting of aloneness. There is simply no one for me to tether to and ache for it so. It isn’t like I lack awareness of being alone when balanced for a second or the longer standing mania, but obviously depression blatantly reminds.

Mystifyingly, I find me falling for domestication. I left behind the consumer in me, the one that must have fucking Cost Plus snowflakes because seemed styled just for me. I want to gobble them all up and put it in the holiday bins for future usage. I want to cook turkey dinner, pumpkin bread, and lots of soup. But again this is not the new Michelle; this is just the filler that I’m filling me with because I’m empty.

Came to me like a shock that this is THE issue. Yes, there’s a new Michelle but her identity is in flux, in the embryonic empty stage leaving me vulnerable to the influence of doubt. Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings, which I already hold expert level like prowess. I don’t need outside pressures to catapult me down this well-known path. The “fuck it” moment becomes so doable on this path, which unfortunately “fuck it” begets “why bother?”  I’ve spoken already of the redundancy of suicidal ideology, but as I feared, the stealthy storm of depression simply follows its path of ‘being’, and I simply am the passenger waiting out the storm.

I wrote this yesterday and paused in its publication because I knew I might regret this pouring out, of what amounts to…self-pity. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but I know that today I am tired of being mired. So I start doing what I can do, what I do have control of despite the arrival of limitations.  Like for instance, I can walk. Oh how it’s going to be a freezing affair, but I had to my chance to walk in the sun, and chose self-pity instead. So this is what I get for not finding a way before this, a bloated gut and a frozen atmosphere.

Eat My Way Back To Death...Yoga My Way To Knee Injury

 This eating disorder thing is prevalent so soon after having lost so much, that to have gained so much back again, is a pain I cannot bear any longer. I do not want to eat in quantity, and yet in a state repulsive awareness, I compulsively continue as though possessed. Food is a necessity; and so this is where drug and or alcohol addiction part ways.  But after recently speaking with a 20 year sober AA participant, came to realize that addiction is indeed fucking addiction. Only again, you do not require heroin to sustain life.

I recently start yoga after a long absence. Body and mind has loved me for it, my knee however is not pleased at all. But this was certainly not going to stop me so I got my flexible band/brace out to support the knee and was icing when necessary.

Then yesterday happened. We have very steep stairs to the finished basement and where my room dwells. Going down the steep and narrow stairs my large booted feet stepped down awkwardly but my nifty cat-like reflexes moved into action grapping the railing. I would have fallen a long and hard into the litter box, still I stumbled hard in the knees and now my right knee declares it officially injured. This makes me very fucking irked, reminding me of a pattern that plagues my attempts at psychical exercise beyond walking, which then leads to the rapid cycling of intense moods of all sorts.

Eating disorder 101: knee injury begets binge eating.  The cycle of stress inducing food frenzy is clear, what is not, is a way the fuck out of the pattern. I am not a 12 stepper, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all the steps as I do not believe in giving up power to any one thing. Yes yes yes…I let go and allowed my bipolar to be what it is rather than trying to make it be like everyone else thought it ought to be…something to be controlled. But this is not something I want a part of me, I do not wish it a home within and therefore must be expunged.  This is how my mind functions; get the fuck out since you serve NO purpose!

My eating disorder is learned behavior and therefore I know can be rewired. I have successfully managed this with many other nasty aspects/demons deeply settled in my subconscious; I can kill this off as well. Really this rearing of ugly heads is timely, the shit and muck we wish not to face bubbles up when we are ready, even if we feel otherwise.

This is where I’m at, the in your face ‘deal with it and stop being a pussy’ stage of transforming eating disorder into health consciousness. Take into myself eating mindfully of the global impact of food distribution, not just my impulses towards corn chips. I am what I eat, so I must stay aware of the cells taking up temporary residency in my liver and other organs. I must alter my relationship with food. Right now I am wounding myself to new self-destructive glorious heights because…fuck I don’t know, a plethora of reasons I’m sure.

What I can assert…Namaste Fucking Eating Disorder…you are SO fucking out of here!!

Blood Moon Magic Makes For A Bloody Burning

 Blood Moon Altar

Blood spilled, dragons blood burned, cords affixed, songs sung, dances danced. All alone with me, myself and I…we merried our way to wholeness. 

Last night was a magical bursting long in the making. Looking long into my past has always been a peeling back of scabs long to heal but never quite getting the care required. I have healed a bit here and there, but with a pinpoint in my map of life that’s been denied attention.

Mother.

The wounding of my mother is a sticky tricky thing that is so pervasive that it easy to get lost in the history of it. So with the help of a friend I found the answer in the reduced to the simplest of magics by the cutting of cords. I am cutting the cord of attachment to my mother. When I say this, I do not mean I’m cutting her away because I find that a dangerous and uncomfortable thing. She is my adopted mother to be sure, there is someone out there (maybe) who gave me birth, but she is not the one who so poorly raised me. So I see no way out of this simple fact, she is my mother.

Cord magic is very powerful, but one must be careful not to cause harm. You have to be clear that you are cutting away the past, not the now. The now is still forming so it an unwise act to sever what is unformed. At least this is true of parents, children, and the like. Boyfriends/girlfriends of destructive forces must be cut away in a complete and utter fashion. You have no need to keep threads of energy  between you.

So be careful how you cut the cords, threads, and even whisper like connections. The lite ones are easy and may not require actual cords worn to be cut at the moment determined. But threads to ones that do not serve our greater good may require this commitment. Wearing the cords, or in my case twine, is a commitment that creates a reminder of the work you have commenced. You must know when you literally cut the cord at the predetermined time , that this connection will be no more.

More on cords; they can be used for you to cut away a habit long learned or a recorded message running over and over again in your mind, most likely given by parents trying their best, but ending up causing a corded connection of malcontent that follows long into adulthood.

The whole point of this type of spell/magic is to set yourself free from what feels like a itch on the brain, that one you cannot scratch. But you can exorcise it. You have the tool to do so. So use it at will.

Also, be honest when pouring your intent into the cord; make sure you are clear about your part in the creation of the situation that is being let go. You want to know it’s there for you to pay attention to. I wear mine on my wrist where it is an often reminder of the work I’m conjuring. When I get to them  to cut it off, I will feel the literal release. It will become a burden to bear, one that must become an annoyance to the level where you cannot wait to be free of it. 

I believe that covers cord magic. 101 level at the very least. I hope someone reads this, works the spell, and releases themselves from some misaligned connection.  That would make me very happy and surge power into my works as well.

Sharing is caring, especially if it’s a bloody ritual born from pain endured, but liberated in love for you.  So pass it on….

Rainbow around last nights Blood Moon

Bloody Blood Moon Blessing

The Blood Moon is here and she is eclipsed and in opposition via Libra and Aries. I feel none of the friction, rather I feel deeply connected to the Other-world leaving me able to "see/feel" deeper than I usually/always do. On this day I feel messages burning in me, so to this end I am offering readings for $25.00 for thirty minutes.

I want to give the message more than I want to charge my full price for readings. Though making a bit of money is not a horrible thing either. I look at this to be a Win/Win!

Take a peek at the my "So You Want A Reading" page for details how we can make this happen!

Fuck The Divine Feminine, The Divine Masculine Is Bleeding Out On Our Fucking Stilettos.

Attempts at writing today are futile as I took many drugs to rid me of a migraine. Which has work moderately but it has rendered me dull and boring. Still I have thoughts on how we should be focusing on the Divine Masculine as that energy force is all fucked up and in deep need of healing.

In my opinion, this is the core and if we can heal the masculine energy...then we can come cycle back into a place of equality, but as long as there be battle, there be casualties. I would like to see in my lifetime a transformation of all human beings into a state of respect, honor, and love.

Yes, I love the honor code of the warrior and well, we women have need to engage and embrace our male. Denying is as futile as my creativity today. The point is that men need to embrace their feminine and women need to embrace their masculine. Then we get that neato yin/yang thing going on.

Oh and don't go thinking it is the male that is darkness, oh no. Any pagan will tell you that when you light candles to represent the God and the Goddess, it is black for the girls and white for the boys. We women are of the dark womb, we understand death as we have the power to give birth to it. But we need be fertilized, now don't we? that is why God is light, he is life. He is the Sun and we are the Moon. This is a global knowing that most just don't want to see.

But it is time. If truly a healer, then you must understand the value of healing men. We are all human animals in need of healing/balancing and I look forward to having relations with a man on that level.

No matter what, know that the Divine Masculine is indeed bleeding out and we need to triage that shit! We were the funerary priestesses that washed the bodies of the dead in preparation of the pire. Men walked away as they could not face their fallen. We anointed the bodies as we would our freshly born babes. We understand the cycle of life, death, and rebirth in ways men do not, so why not show them? As we are upon a double edged sword, why not let go into our warrior spirit allowing us to forge forward...together.

Ok well I am not going to edit this, it is what it is. My brain is that of pudding (chocolate if you were wondering) and so thoughts expressed are either profound, or likely gibberish. You decide.

Keep The Good Days To Use For The Fuckered Days To Come

Allowing the good days to wash all over you even though you may know as I do, they can fleet away just as fast as they rushed in. I find it unwise to deny the pleasure that a good day offers. Fleeting or otherwise, you want to take it in and use it for all that it possesses.  

I am undeniably having one of those “good days”. I think that I can give credit to my yoga and the belly dancing I've found me doing for 3 days now. Amazing it is that breathing and bending can bring such speedy results, which is my preferred way. I’m not known for patience so do have a need for a noticeable alteration as result of the changes I make. And yes, I decided to move my body because I have the energy to do so. Here lies the trick, without the energy I sit lost in the other-worlds awaiting the swing.

For those that sit worrying that these “good days” will pass and so why bother to take in the joy, well I have been there and I can tell you that it does not serve you at all. When young and so unhappy that I felt “the sea of sadness” would never end, I would tighten up in any happiness feeling like it was not “real”, just mania passing by. Again, this did not serve me well at all.

Set to memory how it “feels” to be here, this is for everyone, bipolar or not. I burn incense, light candles, and send love/ healing to those I know are in pain. I watch the cold rain so dark it dims the light in the house as though night time has come at only 11:22 AM. I breathe deep in the beauty making it a solid memory that I can recall later when the darkness internal comes for me. This is a challenge still, but I practice as best I can and there are moments it works quite well.

I hope this will find those in need of knowing they too can contain their bliss for later days when it’s all fuckered up.  Cause shit happens and having tools such as this can make the difference between coping, and falling down hard.

Falling Deep...Getting The Fuck Back Up

Read this article. http://www.rebellesociety.com/2013/10/07/embrace-the-fall-the-happy-landing-can-take-time/

It speaks to me and may to those of you that contain the deep knowledge of The Fall. Those in the know, also know about the getting the fuck back up, the finding you’re your way to movement forward when there’s the risk that at any moment, you will fall again. My acute knowing of this fact is the hardest part of my being bipolar. But it is true; I do find the tangible meanings of things each and every time spent in my own personal pit.

As this is Monday and traditionally a day of discontent, and being sensitive to the masses that I often lay blame at the feet of all those that loath it so, I thought I would change a bit. Grateful Thursday has not worked for me as Thursday is a day easily forgotten, but Monday is a thorn in my brain so it is decided that I will be grateful today, each and every Monday. Why the fuck not?! Maybe I can turn this curse into a blessing by doing so. I found that Monday Madness found me even in Belize where days blurred into the next. I would be having a disjointed day and sure the fuck enough…it was a Monday. But no more this curse…today I declare that Monday is about the being in a state of gratefulness and in the service of others.

When I was practicing my newly embarked upon yoga routine this morning, I found myself speaking “prayers” for those I love that are in distress. It easily became a mantra that morphed into a form of meditation, for which is a kinda miracle as I find mediation a futile act. It reminded me of the scene in Eat Pray Love when the main character is struggling with her prayers in India, when she dedicates her prayers to a friend in need, it is then when it comes easily to her. In the end this simple act benefits me as well as to the people I love, it comes rippling back to me as much needed fresh energy.

This is my moment ago found (after time in the pit) state of grace. Stating a state of grace is a bit unusual but then again, so am I. I know I will fall again, but next time I hope to fall with graceful acceptance and perhaps the letting go phase will come to me on speedy wings rather than in lethargic anguish.

Monday Gratfullness…I am loved. 

The Queen Of Transformation Does La Push

Please Note: this is more like a travel journal and I have not gone over it and changed it. So I suspect it will be after I hit "Publish", is when I will regret this decision.

Why do I not write when inspired? Why do I still use excuse that I will get to it later when I never do? I had a wonderful “idea” formulated in my head for the beginning of my book and did I write it down? No. Instead I mentioned it to my friend as my newly realized brilliant beginning but that I would write when here at La Push. Well here I am at La Push and not at all inspired. My mood was setting the scene and I must learn to go with that. It might make for bipolar writing, but it was always going to be that way so why the fuck fight nature!?

I am just so tired of my self-sabotaging antics when it comes to writing my book. Yes I need to focus on building my brand TQOT but even with my focused turned, I come up with ideas to write, and that again, I never fucking write!! This is becoming as redundant as my suicidal ideology; I will never do it, so why fucking even go there? Well the book will indeed exists, so why not just get on with it?

So to those worried about being in the book, it is likely because you are going to be. I figure anyone “concerned” is so because they know the truth is not as pretty as fiction and that they do not wish to be viewed in any other way than they see fit. Well my message is this: get over it! If I decide our story together speaks to the human condition, mainly MY human condition, well its going in. And I am pretty certain of one thing, if this book succeeds as predicted, you will go from embarrassed to wanting the lime-lighted attention a book like this can garner. This isn’t me bragging, this is a real possibility, one I have pondered at great length and I know many will turn to wanting the attention for the 15 mins or even 2 mins of notoriety. Fuck there is a chance that’s exactly how long my mins will be. And another thing, no one will be exposing the juggler like myself. Not anyone.  Remember you are characters in the carnival of my life; you are a part of my story. It will be told from my point of view and if I get shit wrong, oh well, I am changing your names so get the fuck over it.

Oh and another thing, to those I actually give a shit about, I will not be holding back. It will not work otherwise. Please understand that again if you are player in my play, it’s because I think people will want to read about it. We all have lessons to dispense in Poor Impulse Control; I mean if you make the timeline cut. Though many of you will be in one of my books, blogs, and one of these days…articles. I can easily see my future just writing about me, people around me, and the experiences we have. Like Sex in the City and Eat Pray Love…only totally fucked up, dark, twisted, but with puppy love endings and shit.

This is me just journaling my thoughts as they pop into my noggin as I try real hard not to smoke. My lungs hurt and I smell bad. I hugged someone the other day I had not seen in a long while and I was embarrassed because I knew I stunk and could see in his face that he found it repulsive, which not that fucking long ago, I did as well. There is a combination of acts that has led here to the demise of lung health and lets just add, my liver health as well.

Let’s start with smoking because that was becoming a thing straight out the fucking gate in Belize. It starts with joints. Rolling is how it’s done in Belize and the weed lends itself to it well and though I could not roll to save my life at first, in the end, even with endless practice,  I was no better. Still I rolled and smoked dozens of ridiculous looking joints that led to a growing sense of smoking cigarettes. I could feel a shift but I still had no intentions of making the leap from joint to filtered cigarette, since I had not smoked in YEARS and wasn’t going to break my record as I still found it, icky. Well that’s till I met The Irishman who offered me a cig every time he had one, which was numerous and who was I to say no to those freckles and deep voiced accent? Apparently not I and so inclination was then anchored with copious amounts of rum punch. Oh Mayawalk and your 2 for 5.00 BLZ (that’s 2.50 US) rum punch. It is almost certain you are the real reason why my liver function tests found some…dysfunction.

Fuck! All this talk of smoking is making me want to…SMOKE!

Don’t look….

Whilst outside not smoking I made note that there is no better score for sea gazing than from the movie The Piano. I can observe the ebb and flow of the sea for hours but when dark and rainy as it is now, nothing is more perfect. Though truth be told, I can watch nature for endless hours in general, just as I did in Belize. I watched a few times over the plantains outside my window bloom flowers looking to be from a Jules Verne novel. These large purple plumes would open and unfold tiny baby plantain growing and awaiting the neighbor’s machete. They would come from their tin roof shack to hack down the fruit, lugging the burgeoning bunch over their shoulders on their bicycle to the market for profit. Belizeans are experts at balancing heavy parcels on bicycles.

Oh look, a seagull with what appears to be a large piece of fried chicken in its beak….cannibal. 

The Sun just had to make an appearance, prompting me to take a million snaps I said would never be. Never say never in matters that concern Mother Nature and her awesome ways.  I even worked on my tan basking in cold rays on my deck as I drank Irish creamed Early Grey.

The Milky Way!! Even beer swilling red neck hunters with their porch light pollution cannot ruin…the fucking Milky Way! Sitting there wrapped up against the cold, drinking hard cider with my neck bent way back (ouch) I realized this is always a constant and just because I cannot observe it, doesn’t mean the stars not observing me.  It’s like those moments of sadness when I am sure I am alone, I’m not. It’s the grandest of illusions, just as the cloud cover and light pollution veils the Milky Way from view. Oh how I know how hard this is to put into practice in the everyday. How do you connect,  to feel it when you are in a room in the basement alone and cannot even see the sky? You breathe through it and fake it till you fucking make it if need be. And when you can, push you out the fucking door and find a tree.

Nature never fails to amaze and rejuvenate, even if it be just your tiny urban garden, stick your hands in the soil. Go to your local park and sit at the base of a tree. If luck shines upon you and on Caribbean island, bury your toes in the sand and splash the water like a child. Were ever you find yourself, just close your eyes and feel the connection. The connection is there we just have layers of veils distorting our view, leading us to the united delusion that we are alone, separate, to the point we believe it’s not there.  Well it is. You cannot even disconnect if you wanted, you are a part of everything, and everything is right the fuck back atcha!  

Shit I guess that makes us all Gods/Goddesses…well that’s not scary at all.   

If you want to see the pictures I took..."like" my Facebook page! Here be a sneak peek.

The Great Fucking Mystery Dangle

I pull cards so that I may get messages as I cannot read for myself and of late, there has been a theme. Get prepared bitch, because we prefer you get the fact that you should never plan a thing, that we know what you are to do...you do not.

My response? I'm off to the La Push for fierce ocean storm watching, writing, cleansing...alone time.

I can take it when the lightening bolts hits. I can even find gratefulness in the warning, for being prepared is not a horrible thing. Making plans is futile in this life I find me in and I will find my way to a joy in that. Experience is a bed partner I can embrace over suspension, for suspension lingers in nothingness. Experience is the explorer and dangles the leap into the new, which I am an expert at.

This card bugs the fuck out of me, but it also challenges me to ready myself for...anything.

Disruption

Disruption

This marker warns of a shaky foundation placed on a fault line. At best, this reminds you that shake-ups are necessary when you need a wake-up call. It’s a warning for you to be diligent and alert when making decisions. This can also portend a toppling of plans, ideas, or a total destruction of something hard won, worked for, or desired.

Be reminded that the way of the God/Goddess is one of mystery and chaos, and chaos is the ultimate cleanser. Disruption brings delays and upsets that have a hidden gift of opportunity within them.

This is the time to rethink, rebuild, and refortify that which was previously unstable, or it allows you to begin anew. Without this gift, you wouldn’t be adequately supported later on, when you’ll need it most.

The greater message reminds you that, in life, all people, places, concepts, and things are but fleeting on the path to wholeness. Only Spirit is stable and eternal. Such is the Wisdom of Avalon.

Shit Breaks, So Don’t Love It Too Awfully Tight

Also, don’t hold on to things that do not serve you or that you’re not wearing anymore! This goes for the accumulation of stuff you thought fitting for the life you were leading, but clearly are no longer. This is my current struggle as I said I would deal with my shit/stuff with my time here in the States, but I am doing an awful job of it.

Why? Because as much as I want to be free of all the things that feel a burden now that I’m not the Pagan Martha Stewart I once was, it also feels a burden to sell it all. And fuck have I accumulated a mass of clothes, décor, and what nots.

The pressure set upon me by myself and one who will not be named, has backfired in my face. The more I say I will do this, the more I don’t. Its immature bullshit and I know it. But I am insane in the membrane and so only partially have been able to push my stubborn ass to task.  

One of the reasons I planned on this endeavor in the first fucking place was a lesson learned in a hard fashion via pirates in Belize. The lesson learned was not to hold much value in stuff, cause said pirates might make a sacred geometric shape on the floor with your prized crystals and then smash them accidently whilst hoola hooping. So when I came back here for sake of being a grown up with responsibilities, I thought I would find it easier to let go of what I once prized, I was wrong.

I want to be rid of all of it, so I guess it be time to man up and stop being a pussy. 

Dipping My Toe Into The Pool Of Ick…

Though I’m not too mired in the Ick to lack gratefulness for my ability to get my ass up, do the fucking dishes, wash my hair, and write this less than ‘my best’ blog entry. Today is Grateful Thursday and therefore, nothing for it.

Because I lack creative mojo and chain smoking seems a worthy use of my time today, I will make use of the handy bullet list.

I am grateful…

For my daughter. She tops all lists, all of the time.

For not being a crack whore, or worse. Going over some of the stories from my book, it was touch and go there for a bit.

That I have the money for my return ticket to Belize! This would be #2 but my near addiction stories are still afresh in my brain.

For the security that I often times take for granted.

For my friends. Old ones, new ones, and soon to be ones.

Finally…that I know how to cleanse me of the Ick that I find my toe dipped into presently. 

P.S. Yes, I am aware I forgot the bullets, however I did bold it all. 

Humping Hump Day…

I thought that title might catch your attention.

So why is it that women are sluts and men are studs when it comes to an active sex life that does not include monogamy? Puritanical bullshit, that’s why! I mean my shoved way back in a corner puritan comes out here and there. As example: I am not an exhibitionist and will turn from sexual adventuress to dowdy prude in a hot fucking second if it even suggested.

With all this clatter about “slut shaming” I've taken a look back at the sexcapades of my twenties and don't recall really being slut shamed, feeling ashamed or having any remorse for what I did. OK, there was mortification on the highest level, but shame I suppose is not my thing because I’m far more embarrassed that I fucked a skinhead in a Native American graveyard than I’m ashamed of doing so. Actually, I can tell that story laughing my ass off as it's over the top fucking ridiculous and honestly, not to believed other than the fact that you know, it really did happen.  

I just feel already tired at the term “slut shaming”, though without dismissing the reality of harm it causes. But evidently the garish over sexed 80’s has been sanitized and forgotten in this 21^st Century.  And I think here lies the truth in why I feel no shame…none of us fucking did! It was like the free love of the 60’s only with white jeans, Nikes, big hair, and really dark eye shadow. Oh and that’s not just the girls.

The scare of HIV and other sexually transmitted disease may be in part the cause of all this shaming of the girls who fuck for which it seems boys are never held accountable for. Its guilt is always pinned on the girls as to transmission, and never the boys responsibility. It’s not their problem till they find their prick hot with puss and then of course again, it’s the sluts fault, never theirs. No matter how much bullshit that is, slut or not, protect your private bits girls! Even if YOU have to carry condoms in your purse when that boy may think himself so sexy he can get away with “forgetting”.  By and by….this was a common occurrence in Belize. Men there do not believe they have to wear a condom and I believe this might be why so many young girls are pregnant and some, have HIV.

So let’s touch on Belize for a moment. In my beloved Belize you are slut in the male gossip mill but wanted for their beds in secret. There I named myself The White Whore of San Ignacio, I thought it funny in that dark way I do even though it wasn't true at all. But I dared to be a single white female living alone and hanging with the Rastas. It didn't matter that I never slept with them, though not from a lack of effort on their part, it mattered that I partied with them and women do not hang out with men who they are not fucking. I did however get rather drunk with them on several occasions, but they were nothing but fucking gentlemen with me and always made sure I made it home, even that one time I couldn't walk…that much at all.

Ironically the townsmen with prying eyes and womanly gossiping ways, never knew who I actually was sleeping with. He and I were rather private about it, but still, a slut I had been deemed and I never did help my cause as I hung out with mostly men. When a group of very young backpacker/pirates came into my world, and we drank much “pirate juice” at a centrally located bar, the stories became even wilder!  

So am I a slut for sexcapading with more than one sexual partner in Belize?

My answer: I’m a sexually active middle aged woman loving every moment of my sexual awakening. It is I who chooses who I fuck without too much embarrassing compromises. Well unless said compromising position was agreed upon and well some shit was just out of my hands. Heh. 

You know I arrived in Belize pretty broken physically with my weight very high, my memory fresh of gory oral infections and still healing from abdominal surgery. So slut shaming aside, I needed that sexual healing and Fuck Off to any who wish me to feel ashamed for that. 

Why The Queen Of Transformation?

Here is just a bit of the why…

It goes back at least ten years now, the name was not created because it's rather fetching, it was something I started calling myself  when giving tarot readings and realizing that I had reinvented myself several times over via spiritual breakdown, to build back the fuck up again. Wash, Rinse, Repeat…over and over if fucking necessary, this was often advice given to clients. I find that I have a deep understanding of the smalls deaths we endure in life. 

I realized we die to the old so that we can rise as to be bad ass phoenix's and that I was no longer the Michelle of my twenties who leapt at every compulsion offered…just to find out what would happen. More so than the sick and twisted, what I adored the most was danger. Dangerous deeds like being ordered to shoot at the Circle K cashier if he runs after Adam who was there for cigs and beer. We of course had no money, so obviously we had no choice other than to steal because a night without smokes and beer, would have been a hardship indeed. 

I still possess that compulsion to see what will happen. This compulsion led me to having sex on a Belizean island with a Rasta Man just last year, though this doesn't mean I would ever knock off a convenience store in this age of Michelle. I mean a girl has to set fucking boundaries at some point in her journey.

So yes, there is the natural growth most us humans allow, but there were acts of the nastier ilk in my youth that left me ill to my core and nothing but a deep cleanse would do. Simply put, some endeavors need more energetic soap than others, but I know transformation from the worst of us is more than possible, it just takes a 'no holding back' look at yourself. One must allow for the flinching, for the tears, and the rage that is likely to come when you realize the scope of pain you contain. But indeed cleansing is something I do well and often. Part of the death/cleanse rite is to accept your participation so that you can let it go or embrace it, depending on a plethora of details. If you come here seeking assistance, again, I have a rite for that.

In the end as TQOT, I die to ancient history and negative aspects so that I can be free to continue this journey having learned enough to know not to rob a fucking Circle K store. I mean at the very least...

And The Winner IS......

I have a winner for my first Facebook page contest for a reading! Oh yea, I have a new FB page and really ought to have a button here so those from around the globe reading my blog, can “like” it. Oh and I need a twitter button as well, cause I have one of those too.

Fuck I am so very behind in this self-promotion so I can make money doing what I used to do for free…fodder.  But free fodder is fun, just ask my contest winner! Well after her prize has been dispensed and I’m relatively sure she’s not going to run away screaming.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe freaking out my customer base is not good for bizniz. Oh I'm just playin, I am not scary at all. Really...

P.S. click on Facebook to "like"

Let's work on your Icky Stickies together, shall we?

More soundtrack action for your blog reading pleasure!

At the midway point between the Harvest Moon and Autumn Equinox I find the words I had the other day a bit chocked. Again a lesson to write when inspired, don’t ever expect it to come back to it later believing the spark will await you, because that’s never gonna happen.

I can say with ease though that the Moon woke me up wicked early yesterday and said “do magic NOW” and so I did. It was not about me (for once) but did include interruptive dance smudging and questionable fire rites since I was indeed in a basement (just kiddin Terri). Heh

The energy of this moon was as it often is for me, beforehand. I mostly feel very little, with often feeling ill the day off. The week previously I had major epiphanies and moments of awe in nature, even if in a semi urban area. It was like the birds were talking to just me, showing just me messages of how to proceed, and what to cut away so I can be what I was intended.

So what am I intended? I am a Dark Messenger, Shamanista, and healer of dark ills that haunt. I illuminate the dark corners where you hide the icky stickies, unsavory thoughts, and the hatred that comes along with what you believe to be “wrong”, “bad”, and “dark” about you.  

Scary, eh? Well there is a reason I have fought my destiny for so long. For a good deal of it, this lifetime has fucking sucked big ass coconuts! I have seen dogs try to eat coconuts in Belize, it is both hilarious and heartbreaking and a not so bad analogy for my life.  Enough of that though! It’s time to let go and start healing others as I’m the most integrated I have ever been, with experience of the Underworld, and it’s time to get this shit started!

I want to help you heal the dark aspects of your broken darkness/shadows. I want to help you find your way to integration of your dual aspects through healing your relationships with nature and self as a way to wholeness. I will never claim this is the only way, but it’s a likely way to wholeness for those most banged up by this life.  

And so yes, I can say without doubt, I have a rite for that!

Embracing My Dark Joy

Please enjoy Zoe Keating as you read about my Autumn beginnings. Even though it will not take you 8 minutes to read, it is worth a listen for your own seasonal enjoyment. 

On this blustery and cooled off morning the heat kicked on for the first time in quite a while and the heated floor in the bathroom was switched on.  Layers are being layered with leggings, socks and scarves being amassed rather than cami’s, skirts and flip flops being donned to stave off the heat.

Yesterday was a warm-ish day filled with thunder, lightning, then pounding rain. Still I managed to get a smoke in whilst sitting in the side yard, with coffee in hand I watched a gang of blue jays yap about and make trouble for the chickadees and even a lovely peregrine flew above my head. With storm clouds advancing and mist forming, it hits me, I need to let go of the idea that this is a prison sentence and just be ok with being in the US awaiting a decision out of my hands, so I may make my own.

The moment I let myself go into this, all sorts of Autumn thoughts filled my head deciding I needed to make pumpkin bread, buy thick warm tights, and long sleeved shirts.  Just fucking face the fact that this is where you're going to be till November girl, so why not let go and ENJOY it? I mean it’s not like this isn’t my favorite season other than Spring…the other season of equilibrium.

Balance is being set and as a sign Mother Nature sent me a cute pair of raccoons last night as I was yet again smoking in the side yard. One stood up with paws out for balance sniffing the air as my cigarette smoke wafted towards him. They came very close but realized I was indeed a human retreating back to eating the moss off our concrete wall. Being a magical thinker, I of course saw this as a sign. A sign that I need to learn how to wear masks as I transform and perhaps stop sharing every shard of pain or even happiness with everyone. Keep some discoveries close to my heart in rites of secrecy to gain in potency, sharing only with those closest or just with me, myself, and the ones from the/my other side of things.

Soon the smell of fallen leaves in various stages of decay will fill the air with a magic that can only be found here in the cool North. I cannot wait to get back to the perpetual butterfly house that is Belize, but for now I will allow the season of late harvest bring me this particular dark joy. 

Just Say FUCK NO to Suicide!

I did not know till I looked up crisis line numbers for this post that this is National Suicide Prevention Week. We are actually in its final days and so though late to the party, I have something to say on the subject of wanting to end yourself.

I've been working on an article with tips and the what not on how to survive a deep dark depression, knowing the subject intimately, I thought I would share how I manage this feat over and over again.

Today I have only one thing to say...KEEP BREATHING! Call for help when you feel you can't and accept the help given as sometimes we fight an inner battle with life and death leading to fighting the very help we asked for. Ok, that’s actually three things…but try to imagine someone taking your life, would you fight for it? If so, there is a part of you that wishes to live no matter what. I know that sometimes it’s more than we think we can bear…but we do! Some of us cycle this over and over again and live despite how easy it would be to take all the drugs the psychologist has so conveniently prescribed us.

I also recommend finding a tether. Mine is my daughter. I go through a mental list of people who likely would be impacted by my death and how they would react and proceed with their lives. My daughter is the one being I know who would be damaged by my leaving. It is my responsibility to live for her, I made a deal with the Universe to give birth to her and you just don’t go and break a bond like that. So find your bond and believe me, most everyone has one and that bond may not be of the human variety. It could be a cause, a pet, a message meant to be given by you and only you. It can be ANYTHING. Hell it could be a tree in the forest you love, so tether you to it and when you come to your precipice, tug on it and know this is why you stay.

I will not lay claim to know this will work for everyone, I am sure there are people it won’t.  When you’re depressed it’s fucking hard to see opportunity, you only see what’s wrong, and that perhaps it’s just fucking time to say goodbye. And if this is the case for you, finding a reason to live is harder, but if you have spun down into this place and came out the other side before, it means you know how to survive, that your will to live is stronger than your will to die. Managing this makes you one strong mother fucker! You stared death in the face and said ” nay…I have shit to do, some other time perhaps.”

So just keep breathing and share your tales of survival with others. The more people talk about suicide the less taboo it becomes. The more we talk openly about it, the less alone we all will feel. I have no idea how many die because they share their feelings to friends and family and were met with discomfort and no words of support because they didn't know what to say. The crisis line can be a tether in those moments. If it is only for that moment when you need someone to listen, they are there for you, so please make the call.

Be Grateful...Breathe...Repeat

Grateful Thursday

I used to do this as a list and I think I will get to that next time. For this first one though, I think I want to keep it big picture and simple.

I am grateful that I NEVER GIVE UP!

Never giving up means I get to discover magic in places no one would dare look. I am not saying this is the way one ought to live, I am saying that it is mine, and I am grateful that though it be terrifying, I never let go of my lovely tether and decide…no more.

This first Grateful Thursday post is brought to you by a meeting of endarkened minds, the introduction to a forever-friend I never knew I had, and that I have so much more to learn and share. Sharing is caring and I intend on caring a whole fucking lot, all over the fucking place.

Get ready world, I am coming back…

Photo: my own from Belize during the dry/fire season.

Back the Fuck up Buttercup...

This is just fucking silly. Happiness is not in the wings waiting for you to feel nothing so it can fill in. We feel a great many things both nice and not so nice. These feelings are not killing our happiness, we simply are NOT happy in the moment.

We find our way to happiness, it is not a given. Most of the time, for most of us, this takes concerted effort. To me memes like this one, though intended to be uplifting, can be the polar opposite for those of us still struggling with balance in our enlightenment. There are also the ones just touching a toe in the pool, still feeling afraid and angry, happen upon a sweet tidbit like this and think "fuck! I just killed an angel!" See to some in the fragile state (the gooey cocoon stage) of enlightenment, a message like this can seem fatalistic as one braves their inner dark terrain finding feelings to match.

We need more voices voicing realities rather than ridiculous ideologies that no one can live up to. And why oh why do more not see that this is just a side way step to the right away from Christianity. Stick an eagle feather in your cap and call yourself a white-lighter.

Which by and by…is okee dokee by me, just please refrain from wrinkling your nose in distaste at the knowledge that some of us are in the muck and glory of this gorgeous planet called Earth and finding our way through the dark... naturally.

Goddess Am I

The mind is the birthplace of the imagination, it is here where our feelings are processed making truth that it’s the ones that “act” upon the imaginable, that change the world. Waltz intent right into the world of form and you are making shit BE.

If it were that simple for everyone, humankind on a whole would know there are no differences between us as a race AND all that we survey. In turn the human race would come to the natural conclusion that we all are indeed….deity.  

Winter Is Coming....

There can be no doubt at all, that I am mad as a hatter at present. I’m way deep in it and all I can do is silently scream into the quiet room as I blast music into my brain via ear buds. Winter is fast approaching and I feel that if I am still here when He starts his frosty march…I will just lay down and let him take me into the slumberlands.

I need movement. I am statue-ing into what I'm sure will not be a pretty forever face. My pain will be for all to see and not just the bits I allow access to. As it is my body swells with raging discontent observable to any watching the downward spiral I presently ride since my return to the states.

I need an intervention, but since I make it impossible to dominate me long enough for that sort of thing to be utilized, I shall do so for myself by sending me on retreat. I go to write and to be alone and to chisel off the icy marble attempting to stiffen me into the above mentioned, forever face.

This is not how this story ends.

Babble posts are better than no posts at all.....

Waiting is not my strong suit. Patience is not in my vernacular. Even with a knowing that I would indeed wait with no patience for it at all, I still fell into a puddle in the basement, in my bed, with my iPod firmly linked to my brain. It’s my new coping tool…do nothing but listen to music and figure out the mysteries of the Universe. One day I just know this will be of consequence, for now it feels like limbo on steroids.

Oh and have I figured some big shit out! But it’s as per the usual, hard to put into words readable by other, you know, humans. But I will tell Jana all about it and she will figure out the little tidbits that sound insane to me and make a sense of it. I do so love her for that. I need a decoder ring sometimes and she can be that for me and for this gift I want to kidnap her and take her with me…plots have plotted.

The one thing that is clear and easy to communicate is the release of more control that I insist on attempting even when I know there is nothing for it. I watched me fall into the puddle from an outside place and wondered why I was bothering. It seemed out of date and rather redundant. Still I did it for I had no other avenue at the moment to flow my inertia upon. I mean what do you do with suspension other than get comfy cause its fucking happening.

So this time I paid painful attention to every infliction and regret I set upon myself. I have it all stored up looking to never go into repeat mode again. I know I can alter how I react to these moments. I mean I did! Never did I go into the suicidal ideology moment, well not authentically. I heard the words and they fell flat. It might actually now be boring to want to die knowing I will never fucking actually do it. I live because I fucking cannot allow me to die. That is a FACT, so why fight it. See…I am letting go.

Can I have my Love Cookie now?

My Eating Disorder Has Bipolar

Epiphanies are such lovely moments that if realized and materialized can indeed be life changing. Today I finished what was started on Monday when I went to a therapist who specializes in eating disorders. I asked the Universe and even declared on Facebook my intent of gaining tools and not long term talk therapy I have always found of little use at all. Well it’s exactly what I received and yet has taken nearly a week to work out the kinks.

So me being me and not at all conventional took the advice of the therapist literally and if that is not what she meant, well she told the wrong girl to think of her eating disorder not as a part of her (this is dangerous), but as an entity separate and whole from her. Give it a face, a body, a name...and so I did.

I had just a few days before Monday watched the cartoon movie Rise of the Guardians. Which is odd in and of itself since I only watch such films with kids about and have never done so alone, in my basement, and in a not so good mind space. I asked myself often, “what the fuck are you watching this for?” but ignored the question as I laid there like the sloth beast I can be, not caring enough to change the channel. However late Monday night after pondering what the therapist had said, it came clear to me why the fuck I did indeed watch that movie. Her name is Cupcake.

She is a large boyish girl in a tutu who is for a minute or so in the film, a rather unhappy girl. But Jack Frost sends her a magical snowball to the face and is transformed into a happy girl who plays with the other children rather than beating them to a bloody pulp. Or that is how I saw the way her character could have gone, but this is a kid film, not a Michelle film, so no blood. As you can see Cupcake from the movie and Michelle in the 5th grade, well there is some resemblance.

Now I was not a fat girl, I was a big girl. Being half Swedish I looked more football player than dancer, even though I was never good at sports, and actually a good dancer. Which in my twisted mind, makes the tutu fit. And so Cupcake becomes the imagery for my eating disorder...a disgruntled girl who looks like a boy and because of her size, intimidating, but really is kind hearted and innocent.

The rest of my week I start to converse with Cupcake when I wanted more food than was necessary, for which she would pout, and I admit to caving more often than not. This yesterday led to a rather large binge leaving me discouraged and witless as to how this was going to work. Today being what it is, a new beginning. Me not being one to not seize opportunity, communed with cigs, the sun, a very green smoothie and Tori Amos when above mentioned epiphany hit me straight to the…heart.

Earlier this morning I reposted on Facebook a bit about the heart chakra in various forms of dysfunction and was impressed how accurate it was and that I indeed had freed me from a good deal of said symptoms of a closed and or out of balance heart. So when I’m sitting there having a convo with the Sun and listening to Tori, I realize suddenly that the problem with Cupcake is that she is not ‘dark’ enough to be MY eating disorder and yet she fits so well at the same time! I’m running a conversation in my head that leads me right to the perfect imagery. She is not nasty enough to say “FEED ME” carnivorously, Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors is!

Seymour is the dark aspect of my eating disorder and Cupcake is the softer cuter side of it. She is me as a little girl wanting to fit in and Seymour is the end result of wanting to feed the big fucking gaping hole where mother should be.  Then Tori starts to sing Upside Down.

My head swims and my heart opens up (like the Queen Anne Lace flowers I’m starting at) even more because I know I once again found my answers with a tool from a third party and of course…its fucking polarized.

Cue Tori with Crucify.  Yes indeed “… my heart is sick of being in chains”.