Eat Pray Love

A night with my daughter led to diving into the movie Eat, Pray, Love starring Julia Roberts. I have been waiting to see this movie - attracted mainly by the title itself and ofcourse knowing Roberts will always deliver a worth seeing performance.

Verdict? It was enjoyable with a couple thought provoking moments. Honestly, I waited for "the moment" to happen. I felt a glimpse of what it would be like to be in Italy, the architecture, the food, the language, and the people. A travelogue with a few intimate flings to spice up the "find myself" journey. My favorite part is just the dreaming of being on the trip she was taking. Maybe that was the point. From the point of being numb and unexcited about life to exploring and expanding personal limitations to spark the life back into the day. I can understand that. I can appreciate that. But honestly, I expected more. Will watch it again. Just because I did expect more and feel jilted.

So, as for my life. I am confident with the day if I have faced it with a hint of passion. The days that scare me is when I see the end and all the in between is just that "grey filler" that means nothing because it will end when I end.

I went to the library yesterday and browsed the poetry anthologies for something that would jump out and awaken something in me. Taking out aged hard covered Elliot, crisp Atwood, and colorful names I had never heard of. Then, there she was, Anne Sexton Complete Poems. I had heard the name and wanted to explore more women authors. How did they handle their crazy. I continued the evening being a taxi and waiting in my little black bucket of bolts reading the introduction to Sexton's work. A history of a troubled sucidal woman who dared to spill her confessionals during a time when women's secrets were just that - secret. A natural flowing string of words devulging her love affair with death - specifically her own death. The scary realization is I relate to so much of her life and why she writes. She wrote to survive, to live, to stop from wanting to kill herself. I don't relate to the woman who walked with a barbie doll presence or the middle class view on the world. I relate to the loneliness and death that seemed to consume her days and led to her eventual suicide. I have walked with this cloud over me and survived with scars from my own attempts to escape my chaotic mind. But I did come out from that storm. I struggle each day to keep from drowning in my own mind. So I write.

Eat, Pray, Love....I guess that is a good start. I like the title. A morning cup of coffee, a plate of breakfast 'something', and cigarette while being an observer from my kitchen window. I may not have Paris today but I smiled. I smiled because I still feed. I still crave for candy apples and flavored coffee. I still yearn for the knowing only spiritual awareness can provide. I still can shed a 'real' tear when a child cries. I can still dream of being loved and sharing love. Yes. That's a good start for the day.
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Gathering Pieces

There are thoughts and feelings that pass through my mind each day that fight to be put down on paper, tapped on the keyboard or yelled out in ramblings. The twist and turns in my life since the age of two have left me in times of confusion and exhilaration. I get confused with the images of a childhood that seems so unreal compared to my life today. The exhilaration comes from knowing I survived and stepped out of a world that gives little opportunity for escape. I feel I am not the type of person to dwell on the past to avoid the present. I have taken all the pieces, and it took years to put together what I have, and placed them back into my life as a reminder of who I am. Like a broken plate the pieces were scattered and unidentifiable. At times I would select only a few pieces that I felt belonged. But every shaving became an important aspect of my growth and strength. If I rejected even the tiniest piece I was rejecting a part of myself. All my experiences in these forty years of life have made me who I am. The pain, the abuse, the loss, the rejection, and then the final arrival have all created the person that sits here today. It is like when I call myself by name after leaving some place I was visiting it is done to ensure I do not become lonely for a part of me I left behind and therefore may want to return to retrieve it. This is something I was taught during my travels. And I do not want to return to those places that had instilled such pain but to reject the experience would mean rejecting a part of me – incomplete, not whole, and lost. All is a reminder of who I am and a reminder of my blessings.

Spirit Message

If you have wandered into this site, "welcome". I don't advertise or roam to much to grab attention. But when the attention does come so does the interesting questions and relationships.

I was just reminded of a reemerging message to everyone, us; no particular color, religion, or political stand needed, just an ability to listen. Those who 'know' will understand. There is a time when using what we 'know' will be the most important guide for survival. A spiritual war that began with a division of tribes that occurred during ancient times. During a time when the mysteries of today were not hidden but common knowledge and practice for everyone. The generations of distorted versions of history have attempted to erase all memory or knowledge of these times. A duty that has been passed down to ensure that the unfolding of goals emerge. These goals or ambitions are not in the best interest of those who cherish their freedom. A reawakening of genetic memory that will give rise to the knowledge that will reconnect our existence with our original ancestors for the sake of our survival. This is not a string of words open for debate. If you know then it will make sense. If you don't it is not my responsibility to convince you.

All is good and the way it should be.