betwixt the leaves

the world was abrasive, a sandstorm pelting my tender spirit. constantly cringing I retreated.  found my ticket to travel and explore other worlds, different dimensions, visit far off planets. i had a tribe, not just a family, but many homes where i belonged.
hannah gruen checked on me constantly, making sure i was safe and well taken care of.  carson drew loved and provided for me. fenton hardy always wanted me to visit. i had a crush on ned nickerson.  beth and george were my besties, with whom i could share everything. Image result for in between the pages of a book
i walked the moors with heathcliff, and cried with tess as she realized her place in the world.  i mourned with him for lenore and cringed at the sound of drip – drip – drip until it nigh drove me crazy.  i warned the working girls away from whitechapel.  i mourned when marmie took sick from taking food to the starving family down the road.  i too fell in love with laurie and wanted nothing more than to read quietly in the eaves with my worn but oh so cozy blanket and an apple.  i thought it unfair when amy and laurie got married, and jo was left to then mourn beth. 
when the ‘real world’ was too much to bear, i wished for the comfort of rivendell and knew that strider would protect me, for i was most definitely a long-lost descendant of galadrial. if wishing were fruitful, i would have been transported to the shire, and lived in a hobbit hole, with a round door, that had a knob in the middle of it.  i mourned with mathilde when she worked her beauty away paying back a diamond necklace that was nothing but paste.  i cried when della and jim traded their most priceless objects for nothing and everything. 
i spent countless hours on the alps with the grandfather. i tasted the fresh goats milk and climbed the stairs to the little sleeping space complete with a most comfortable bed made from hay.  I visited peter’s grandmother, who was going blind, and was taken away to become a companion to adeline.  i wasted away waiting for the grandfather to rescue me. i left the city with the swiss family robinson, and lived in the wild, finding a freedom i hadn’t known existed.  i bawled when carton went to the guillotine, a human sacrifice for love and viva la france.
i could go on for days and never ever write of all the wondrous things i’ve seen and felt. i believe it’s part of the reason i choose to embrace everything so vibrantly. casting all doubts to hell, i decided to jump off the edge and bare me.  if these magnificent worlds were created, then in some dimension reserved for the imaginings of writers, they exist. i decided to live, really live and make my existence an amazing tale of tragedy, adventure, love, suspense, but of course with a happy ending.
i never even got to the fairy tales, fantasy, sci fi, mythology, theology.. smh.  wow.  i could write a book about books.  

be silent no more

 

I am pen to paper no longer

My thoughts are just a clack away

Of my fingers typing in a cadence

Embracing the spirit of come what may

I am dedicated to spirit

Willing to be used for the light

Of share, caring and wonder

I am no longer up anxious each night

There is a rhythm to living

You can step into anytime

Surrender your determination

To do what YOU think is right

Instead close your eyes, then

Bowing your head

Release the fear, anxiety, and dread

Open your heart, remove all the doubt

And you end up shining ecstatic instead.

 

I am a tiny spark in this vast infinite universe.  I am one tiny pinpoint of light in the cosmos. I may be an eyelash on the face of the divine.  But I matter.  We matter.  There is no insignificance in my existence.

Along with the surrender to the universe, there are bonus gifts.  There is the gift of faith, purpose, love, angelic realm assistance and more.  There is the ‘red cross’ after care fare, that nourishes us because we donated to the collective, except the fare is usually so much better than a sandwich.

 

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Our feelings are a gift, a way to express our feelings of separation from home.  Frustration of having to deal with everyone in their own humanity.  There may be an occasion of our souls remembering a person from home, where they were so loving, but now are wounded, injured, and striking out. 

We’ve got to express ourselves,

it is why we came here, to feel, to write, to feel, to paint, to feel, to sing, to feel, to dance… to feel and set it free of its contraction by expression.  To communicate in the ‘language’ we hold dear.  To let our souls, sing through expression.  To dance with the cosmos, tango with source.  Close your eyes, let the outside world become silent, what do you feel?  What do you remember? What do you dream of doing?  Do that.

There is no matter if you don’t think you are good enough.  Spirit wants your pure authentic expression.  Express yourself, how do you feel? say it out loud, stand up and claim your place in the cosmos, for you and I both matter, we matter a great deal.  Give no care to what others say of us, it matters what we know in our inner hearts to be true.  It matters what we feel in those rare moments when all thought has ceased to exist and we are just feeling the light, the love, the perfection of just being ourselves.

We are priceless, we are connected, we are contagious, we can infect the world with darkness or light, it is our choice. 

I choose for me.  I control me.  I choose the light to feed the good wolf, and I will choose it, as many times as necessary to build a strong default. 

 

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Repressed emotions are indeed toxic to our being. They may form dark sacks of denied expression.  Listen to your body, listen to that oh so sweet tender spot where the universe and you become one.

Shhhh be so quiet, listen right there, that loving whisper that fills you with the knowledge that you are loved and everything is unfolding the way it needs to,  is divine.

be mine?

tears streaming down my face right now, but not from loneliness or feeling i am alone on valentine’s day as I would have expected

but

from the deep, palpable knowledge that the tremendous healing love running through my being is the reflection FROM source/universe/god/dess.  how did I get here from a teenage street urchin, hating my existence? Image result for to my valentine

If you are sans a partner today.  I will be your stand in. you are NOT alone.  close your eyes, surrender, and FEEL the love that is ours for the taking, our birthright and legacy. 

literally just did it myself. 

drove to the ‘castle’ (that’s what I call it) to get my lunch after stopping downstairs by my parents to check on them, was given a pressie by my mom, so sweet, yea they most def. have those amazing moments, which I appreciate and celebrate.  on my way back I saw a teenage lovely carrying a huge teddy bear.  i ‘koolaid’ smiled, oh yea it’s valentine’s day.  omg that took me BACK. 

memory number 1: standing in toys r us in jersey city, with my kids father, my then husband belly all full and swollen with my eldest.  we had walked there from central avenue (our very first apartment) cuz he wanted to buy me a teddy ruxpin, that I had always wanted and never had with my chaotic childhood. 

memory number 2:  standing in the mall in SC, my 2nd husband and one of my best friends bought me an eeyore from the disney store, I bawled like a baby and walked around all day clutching that eeyore to my breast and introducing my stuffed animal to all kids who ADORED him too.

so very grateful to have both of those memories pop up today.

think about something magnificent that has happened to you, maybe so so long ago, recollect the feelings, let them wash over you and realize that you are STILL loved.  love is ENERGY, it cannot ever be destroyed.  we are priceless sparks of universe whether we are in a relationship or not.  we vibrate with the love of the universe.Image result for to my valentine

If you feel you must have a valentine. I gotchur back.  I’m here.  we can message and laugh… and you will know without a doubt that you are NOT alone.

we got this miluvs.

happy violent cherub’s day <always with that freakin arrow>

lol

me! 

the dance

there are dances we are locked in

our bodies adjusted to move

learned by repetition and rote

oh how painful the news

we cooperate with this dance?

denial is the clue

looking inside,

excavation we must do

why does this serve me

if it causes so much pain

why do I stay,

for me what is the gain

fear paralyzes our movement

leaving us to the dance

that we’ve bled from before

robbing us of our chance

instead of a dip

we must learn to fly

forgetting the fear

keeping us locked up inside

yes you will hurt

and feel all alone

dancing solo

not the show you have known

no pity, no blame

no guilt and no shame

owning your choices

wild spirits can’t be tamed

so learn the new steps

your own powerful routine

let go of resentment

your soul light and clean

spinning around

disregard for the rest

let your spirit fly free

tangoing  your best

you remember your passion

your love and your light

reveling in the pleasure

that burns deeply inside

everything is new

your heart open wide

some things might hurt

but there is a star inside! 

witness to pain – lgbtq’s my soul tribe.

Trapped in the bathroom with a frantic, passionately crying tall teenage blonde girl holding the door to imprison me.  Not sure what to do, wide eyed over the very new drama of it all, I just sat there, feeling helpless. Screaming at the injustice of life, she paced back and forth in front of the door as I tried to come up with a plan to escape back to the side of my aunt who was outside the door  probably wondering what happened to me.  It was 1979, and we were at Under 21/Covenant House on 42nd street and 8th avenue.  We had run away from home together, and after an eventful two weeks on the street in Greenpoint Brooklyn ended up here, surrounded by battered teenagers of all shapes, sizes, colors and sexual orientations. We all had one thing in common.  Pain. Lots of pain. no-more-hate-crimes

I didn’t know it then but I was to hear many stories over the next seven years.  Tales of neglect, molestation, rape, physical abuse.  Such sadness and despair. I always listened, held space for and was open for free hugs always.  From group and foster homes to runaway shelters, family court houses, a hospital program, to the handball courts and pools across Manhattan and the Bronx.  I met so many beautifully hearted young people with stories equal too and much worse than my own.   

The Phoenix was on 18th street and 8th Avenue.  It was a drag queen performance night club.  My best friend Traci was the girlfriend of one the guys who hung out with the gay clientele who frequented the Phoenix.  It was kind of confusing to be honest.  We hung out with the guys who were ‘not’ gay but hung out in a gay club and we often went with one of the wealthy customers, sleeping over their houses, getting cleaned up and fed.  I met many gay, bisexual, transgendered etc… none of the labels ever mattered to me.  Who gave a shit?  We were all hurting.  We were family, those ‘things’ didn’t matter to us. 

Hanging in the all-night donut shop on the corner of 18th and 8th, across from the Phoenix, at around 3am in the morning, playing tempest (what do you know about tempest?) I met a young man who needed an ear. He told me how he was molested, and how his father beat him upon learning he was gay.  He shared with me that he would have chosen any life but this one.  That he hated himself. My heart was there with him, holding space while he told his story. 

I have been privy and witness to so many similar tales, from the transgendered booster who got us food when we cohabited in an abandoned house in Red Hook, Brooklyn.  (S)He showed me how (s)he tucked his penis to feel more feminine.  He also fed me while I was starving.  He could walk into the supermarket with a trench coat and come out with food for us.  Then there was the drag queen/prostitute that taught me how to apply eyeshadow.  She/he was GORGEOUS, I still use that look when I want to look my best.  They thought of me as a little sister, never asked me for ANYTHING, just gave of themselves, teaching and protecting me.

I stand.  I stand for my gay uncle who died of AIDs.  I stand for the LGBTQ community.  I don’t give a shit what the world calls you, by what label makes them feel comfortable.  You have been some of the most generous loving people I have EVER had the PRIVLEDGE of meeting and I am so grateful for your existence!  I am proud to have been your witness and to hold your stories close to my heart.  They have enriched my life.  Who would choose a life full of confusion, recriminations, and stigma?  Why? 

We all equally deserve love.  All of us, even on the dark days when we make asinine choices.  We are all worthy.  I stand for all of us. 

 

 

 

 

stardust

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perfect little conduits of universe

channels of the stardust in the sky

gazing upon your countenances

silences my protests as to why

naught could have been different

pass not those cups from my lips

for to change one tiny circumstance

would have been to sacrifice you, as is

each tiny little finger and toesie

the creases and dimples of your skin

you wrapped agape love around me

never cared to notice all my sins

the shadows at my shoulders

did not give you any pause

saw only the resplendent light

eyes, alight with love, of course

you have gifted me eternal

with love, so deep and pure

for you, I cleanse our lineage

and leave your path secure. 

Shanti Shaharazade Texeira

The Hood Hippy

homelessness – my achilies heel

i never know where/when the next nudge is coming.  i am fully aware now and paying attention to everything.  choosing to turn ‘in’ more to ‘hear/feel’ the summons. odd to see some of the way universe works, most unlikely messengers. this is a deep one. homeless

my son was watching one of my vlogs which in and of itself is huge for me.  after which during our follow up conversation he recommended a movie to me.   i was all over it.  i need some soulful content.  i’m just no longer satisfied with stupid shit that drains the soul.  name of the movie was ‘cardboard boxer’ it’s on netflix. i recommend it. 

i shy away from all movies and videos having to do with homelessness. it IS my achilles’ heel.  frightens me so much that i choose to die, three times, to avoid it, not that it’s appearance was imminent in my life.  the fear was enough. 

in the late fall of 2014, i had returned to mass after a few months in texas.  the feeling of failure was huge.  my demons arriving every night to wrap their darkly seductive tendrils around my remaining light.  as far as I was concerned, i had failed the world.

i was trying to choose light.  a friend picked me up to spend a night at her house.  i tried to explain what was going on but i really didn’t understand it all myself, well enough to do the description justice.  she fell asleep. the window was open, the air was cold and it was raining.  

blinking my eyes in confusion, i didn’t know if i was awake or asleep.  dark… shadows…. cold…. wet…… shivering…. scared.  huh?  wait.  what. 

standing on the dark street, huddled in the doorway trying to stay away from the chilling rain.  I could feel my heart beating so fast.  so frightened.  looked around, so dark i could barely see. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be safe.  no one wants me.  i am alone.  i want nothing more than to be warm and safe, but there is nowhere to go.  why am i here, what have i done wrong? they said it was all my fault, they must be right because no one wants me.  why won’t god save me.  am I so hard to love? the cold rain continued soaking through my clothes even as i tried to huddle deeper into the corner of the closed door.  if I pushed myself in too deeply, i couldn’t make sure no one was coming.  so cold, shivering.  sad, so sad.  what do i do?  where should i go?  just die already? 

achilles-heels

opening my eyes, i was still in my friend’s house, laying on the corner of her bed.  glanced at the window and knew a fear so encompassing and terrifying, i couldn’t catch my breath.  homelessness was coming, it found me. it was going to happen again.  i was sure of it, and in that moment, i knew that i would die rather than ever be homeless again.

and that is when my ‘dark night of the soul’ really began… (to be continued)

i don’t know why the universe has me writing about this. i’ve learned not to question the nudges.  maybe someone who’s homeless needs to have the sensations described for them.  maybe there are others, once homeless that carry this lingering fear. what i know for sure is that that NO ONE i love will EVER feel that way.  ever. 

if this touches something in your heart, please love it forward, someone may need it.