Making Peace

“You can accept or reject the way you are treated by other people, but until you heal the wounds of your past, you will continue to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex, but eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories, and make peace with them” ~~~~~~~
~Iyanla Vanzant~

~Ego~

The ego says, you are not worthy enough....who are you? You were born of peasants, far from the castle gates of royalty and privilege.....Who are you? I quietly breath and explain, I am one who feels and thinks with her heart. I have compassion for all my brothers and sisters, and for all creatures great and small. My mind tells me I am nothing, yet I know that I am everything....for I am love and love is all there is....I take from the past, I live this day in the moment and to the fullest, and I look far into the future, because if we are indeed fortunate enough to experience the turbulent times ahead..... we must embrace the person we are today.....and love ourselves, so that we may have the capacity to love the rest of humanity, especially when they have forgotten how to love themselves..... ♥ ~Vita~

~One With Love~

It's not like you can just make love go away.....love is love, and no matter if you try to kill it with hate, or starve it from lack of feeding, or suffocate the last breath of life out of it.... Love withstands and endures.....It will not go away because you want it to. I suppose, the best we can do, is to absorb it into our being, and become one with love...Let it settle into our heart, body, and soul...and simply become one with it, because being at war with love, is a losing battle..... ♥

The Warning

I think what bothered me most was the way she looked at me, like I was some hungry, poor barefoot child who couldn't care for herself. She came to warn me, because she thought I was a good and kind woman, and one who shouldn't be subjected to someone who didn't have my best interest at heart. She said to me, "Be careful of this man, because you are right up his alley. He preys on women like you, who are trusting and vulnerable, and he likes them long, lean, and attractive. You are precisely what he looks for in a woman." She knew I was newly separated from my husband and starved for attention. She knew I was a wounded woman and would welcome any kind of empathetic attention from someone so charismatic.....so charming, so loving.....What she didn't know was that it was much too late. I had already gifted my heart to him, all tied up in a purple bow and hand delivered .... There is nothing more humiliating and heart-wrenching than to know that you have given your heart over to one who preys on tender women.....women who have been disenchanted, hurt, deceived, and made to feel less than worthy....You gave your heart over willingly, like a child, to a heart collector...... Now, should I thank this woman for her compassion....because she felt compelled to warn me of him ....or do I despise her for destroying my illusion of love?

Send in the Clowns

I suppose you can say that I'm a wee bit touched in the head......I mean, who the hell isnt? Especially in this modern day world that spins much too fast, so fast that it sometimes makes me naseuous and dizzy. I've never been a fan of carnival rides and circus clowns, and yet, here I am, on a perpetual roller coaster ride surrounded by a myriad of painted faces, exaggerated personas mimicking a cornucopia of different emotions. Happiness, sadness, mischieviousness, innocence, and perversion, to name a few, looming in and out of my line of vision.......one clown more absurd than the next. What are they hiding, this cast of characters, behind their make-up I wonder? But I am doing the same thing......each morning I stand before my bathroom mirror. I meticulously paint on my face, step by step, red lips the final touch.......I paint on my happy face to show the world that I am okay....and like most clowns....hiding behind pain that is not palpable, but hurts just the same........ I suppose you can say I'm a wee bit touched in the head.....but at least, I can see through my make-up.....Can you see through yours?             ~Vita~

~and then there was nothing~

~There was nothing......just a deep dark void of velvety blackness. No one spoke to me, there were no words of love, consolation, or forgiveness, there was absolute nothingness. But I wasn't yet dead, though I wasn't alive....breathing..... yes, because that is what the body does with or without our permission. I was enveloped in thick total darkness, without sound, without thought, without fear, without feeling anything. There were no demons to drag me to the depths of hell, and no Angels to mercifully lead me back home.....This is what purgatory must be like, because I pray there is something more glorious awaiting us when we exhale our last breath....After all that mortal life puts us through, there has got to be something more, doesn't there? I think maybe, if we can create our own personal hell, then we ought to be able to create our own personal heaven, here on earth.....we can try to, if nothing else.....we can try with every fiber of our being.~

~The Gift~

You take this gift that was given you, all wrapped up in shiny, glittery paper, tied with silken ribbon, and presented to you with thoughtful hesitation, humility, love.......At first you are pleased, thankful, and sing songs of praise. You proudly wear your new gift as a king wears his crown, in full glory, for all the world to admire....but slowly, in time, you decide that your gift no longer suits your needs, and you tire of it. How do you return such a gift you ask yourself, without being perceived as ungrateful and insensitive, without insulting and hurting the one who so graciously bestowed the gift upon you, given to you with pure heart, as a child gives a hand-picked flower to her mother.....There is no way to give back the gift of love without consequence, without pain.....no matter how consoling and apologetic the return... ~Vita~

Prince of Broken Hearts

                                   Prince of Broken Hearts

He is no Prince, this collector of wounded hearts. He steals them from the most beautiful and sensitive of his admirers, 

with his charm, his wit, and words plucked from the depths of their souls and softly spoken, as if his own.. Each precious 

heart is wrapped in colors according to worth, and stacked neatly, tucked away in a darkened and secret corner of his 

mind, a place he seldom visits. But sometimes, when the light of the moon shines upon his restless sleep, the beating of 

his stolen hearts awakens him with their slow and steady tempo.....and they bleed, they bleed, they each bleed the same 

color.

~The Look of Love~

           He looked deep within my eyes and told me not to look away. I could feel him searching, peering for something that he so desperately wanted, but I did not have to give. I tried to hold his gaze......but the look on his face left me feeling empty, guilty, shallow.....I had no choice but to look away. Such wanting and neediness, I resent these feelings in myself,  how am I to forgive them in another? Maybe he is right when he tells me I will never know what real love is.....maybe he is right.

~It's Only Love~

The thing is, when you fall in love, madly, crazy, passionately in love, after so many years of being emotionally comatose, it is exhilarating and frightening as hell at the same time. You're not used to wearing your heart on your sleeve. You are also unsure of how to act, what to say...so you decide to simply be yourself and let your light shine forth. But what happens when you fall in love with someone who is not emotionally available? It's not like we can pick and choose who we fall for is it? I don't have that sort of control over my heart I'm afraid. And what happens when your friends don't really understand or realize how much pain you're in? You keep everything bottled up inside and try to stay positive and know that this too will pass, in time. It's only love...no big deal, probably just an infatuation...Life goes on. Well.....let me tell you that I suffer. I hurt. I cry....and while this may pass, it has deeply affected me for the rest of my life, because I am built that way.... But it's no big deal., it's only love...and in the big scheme of things life does indeed go on......and I'll be alright. But never, never ever minimize the way that I feel..................................................

How Are You?

You asked how I am and I replied: "I'm doing okay, you know, trying very hard, very hard." You replied: "What are you trying very hard to do?" My answer was: I'm trying very hard to keep my self together, trying very hard to remain happy and maintain a positive outlook on life. Trying very hard to not stand too close to the abyss of despair once again because I don't want to fall back in for it's much too difficult a climb back up to the land of the living. Trying very hard not to love you or to simply love you and release you to the wind........but I said all these things in my mind and you never heard these words. You can no longer bear to hear my words because you don't really want to know how I am doing. I am doing okay...........and how are you? No, tell me truly, how are you doing?

Sacrificial Love

                                                    ~ Sacrificial Love~




 You ask why he chose you? Have you forgotten your beauty and self-worth? And who is he who honors you with his glance, his curiosity, his sexuality? You gave yourself to him like a lamb who lies her head down on the butcher's table, quietly saying take me....I am yours for the kill, because you have noticed me and shined your light my way when I have lived in darkness for so long. Do with me what

you will....sustain yourself from my flesh, but remember, I allowed this. I came to you with purity of heart and good intention. I looked deep within your eyes and trusted what I saw there..... you may have taken my flesh, but I have taken much more. I have taken your honor, I have taken your sense of self........now it is for you to decide, was the flesh worth the price?

Faith

                                                            ~FAITH~

I know what your problem is.......you're living on the edge, afraid to step back, afraid to move forward, afraid to make that leap of faith into the unknown. You stand there staring into the darkness of the abyss wondering if the darkness will envelope you and make this big bad world disappear, like it was nothing more than a terrible dream...... But the light above is brightly mesmerizing and offers you hope of all things possible and the fulfillment of dreams gone unrecognized, dishonored. And yet you stand there, hesitant to make a move, because the devil you know is much more comforting than free-falling into the unknown..........Where is your faith when you need it? Where is your faith....?

~ Forgetting~

~She had forgotten she could fly.......so many days had gone by, turning into months, turning into years......
  changing her, taking her joy, replacing it with sorrow, with fear.
~She had forgotten she could fly......her cage allowed little room to spread her wings.......
  a caged bird may sing but it's a song of loneliness, of yearning.
~She had forgotten she could fly......until she realized her cage door was never locked.
  It was always she who allowed her captivity. So with leap of faith, laughing, crying,
  she took to the air........remembering, flying.   <3

Tick Tock

~ So much time has slipped away. Minutes turning into hours, hours turning into days, which turned into weeks, months turning into years..... So many years slowly passing by as I complacently listened without really hearing the ticking of the clock with its second hand diligently marching forward, minute by minute, like some futuristic soldier who bears no mercy, no forgiveness..... Minute by minute, until sunlight turned into moonlight, day in and day out a repeat of the sameness, echoing the longing and loneliness I felt until it became some kind of pathetic mantra. I look back now and wonder why.....why did I allow myself to wallow in this self-imposed state of suspended animation, frozen in time, exiled from life, alive but not really living. Had I forgotten the sacredness of my existence? But of course, I knew the answer..... I dared not put faith in to love again when all I've known of love is heartache and disillusionment. Although my heart and my soul yearned for, my mind would not entertain the idea of it.....So I merely existed, alive but not really living....while the minutes turned into hours, turning into days, which turned into weeks, months turning into years......So many years slowly passing by......and then I met you, and you made me see that time, nor love, waits for any of us. <3

~Words~

So many words have been spoken. They've had years of accumulation....Many were spoken gently and filled with the promise of love and of all good things yet to come. There were words that spoke of our hopes and dreams, wishes and desires, joys and accomplishments, all an expression of thankfulness in the love we shared. But overtime, the hardships of life crept in and my words of reassurance were tossed to the wayside and fell on deaf ears. Our words then began to turn bitter and angry....resentment became second nature. our long forgotten words of love turned into words of frustration and accusations, sometimes apologies, sometimes vulgar retaliations......i can look back now and see the slow downward spiral into the abyss of marital despair. I own my share of the failure, my share of the blame....because I simply gave up and became apathetic to it all. So many words have been spoken...and they crucified me with their cruelty and condemnation. They stripped me of my sense of self-worth and self-love......Until the end of my days I will choose my words ever so carefully and speak them softly and from the heart.....For words hold much power and can forever leave their mark.~

Love Knows No Boundaries

~Love knows no boundaries. It does not play by our imposed rules and regulations. It pays no attention to color, race, religion, or political differences. It doesn't have the slightest care if one is short or tall, bald or hairy, obese or thin, single or married...... and why should it? Love only wants to be honored for what it truly is........and that is the recognition of two hearts who have once again found each other.~

Love Lost.....

Am I to feel secure in all of this, cherished and held dear.......or just a novelty.....an afterthought? No matter how emotionally unavailable I become, I will never be emotionally unavailable to you.... I feel like I'm flapping in the wind...becoming tethered and frayed. If I wait long enough I suppose I will get caught up in the wind and blown free from it all.....free from restraints, reckless abandon....

Slow Burn

Life and Love are sometimes too difficult for the sensitive of heart....a long slow burn that never seems to end....maybe I'm in a state of purgatory.......maybe I'll always be in a state of purgatory.

~Miranda's Passing~

Miranda led a charmed life. To look at her, you would think she had the world in her front pocket. Born into a wealthy family, Miranda enjoyed all the good things life had to offer, world travel, operas, weekend trips to New York City to see standing room only plays, dinners at five star restaurants..... She was graced not only with wealth but an intellect to match. Among her many talents was that of published author who wrote self-help books, the first titled Learn To Love By Loving Yourself, and the second titled Reaching for the Stars. She was half-way through her third book, which she considered her best yet, titled Sacred Journey. Miranda was an over-achiever, not quite a perfectionist but a close second. She simply felt that something worth doing was worth doing well.....or as well as humanly possible. Besides her love for books and writing, she also had a passion for painting and once exhibited her watercolors at a downtown gallery where she sold three paintings in one evening. She lived in a fine home in an upscale community where the lawns are meticulously cared for, and the children grow up playing lacrosse and tennis, take music and ballet lessons, go swimming and play golf at their parent's private country club. For all appearances Miranda did indeed live a charmed life. But the naked eye can see only the superficial, the face that is painted on each morning to show the world that all is well. All is not well with Miranda for all the wealth in the world cannot buy her good health. Only her family and small circle of friends were made aware of Miranda's prognosis. Weeks earlier she had been diagnosed with cancer. Not just cancer but stage four breast cancer that had metastasized because she had waited too long and turned a blind eye to the symptoms until she could no longer do so. Each year, religiously, Miranda would go for her annual check-up, always in the month of January so she could begin the New Year with a clean bill of health.  But she had missed her appointment the previous year because she was ill with the flu bug. She had every intention to reschedule once she felt better but days turned into weeks and the appointment was put on the back burner and soon forgotten about. At the age of thirty-six and never having been sick with anything more than childhood measles and an occasional cold or flu, Miranda didn't trouble herself with the missed appointment. If she had gone, she expected nothing less than her doctor's usual phone call claiming " Everything looks good. All tests came back normal. See you next year"..... But not this time. Miranda sensed there would be no next year. On this visit her doctor's eyes said it all, sometimes more is said when words go unspoken, thought Miranda. Time is a gift, not a given. Funny how we take it all for granted, our precious lives, our family, our future. She was beyond depressed. Miranda felt an emptiness so deep that her despair echoed throughout her repeating the same tortured mantra "Why me? What have I done to deserve this"? But she knew better. Miranda knew that terrible tragedies befall even the most innocent and pure of heart. Though she was not religious, she did own a strong spiritual sense and belief in an afterlife. She wondered if her fate was some sort of karmic retribution for deeds done lifetimes ago. her heart ached with pain and sorrow of knowing that she would never wed, never hold her newborn infant in her arms, never become a grandmother. She had placed more importance on education and career than allowing love to enter to her structured life never realizing that both were possible. No longer did life make sense. There was no rhyme or reason to anything and she now viewed her organized world through jaded eyes. She became detached and though she tried to continue her writing, she could find no peace or solace in the words. Miranda always loved the beauty and the power of words, but they now felt inferior and fell short in their attempts to pacify.

After a few months, with her health rapidly declining, Miranda went to stay with her parents in Upstate Michigan. Marc and Michelle Oliver left early on a Friday morning, drove the five hours to Miranda's home in Chicago, spent the night, and took their only daughter back to her childhood home to live out the final weeks of her life surrounded by nature.....surrounded by love. She was weak and tired but her medication was a wonder drug that alleviated much of the pain. She slept for hours on end. Her dreams had become so vivid and surreal. One dream in particular stood out from the others. It was of her maternal grandmother who had passed when Miranda was fifteen years of age. She was standing at the foot of the antique four-poster bed with arms reaching out calling Miranda by her pet name, Mimi. Miranda awoke startled. The room felt colder than usual and was bathed in a soft shimmer of iridescent light. Miranda felt confused. She audibly heard her name called out. There was no doubt it was her German grandmother's voice, soft and thick with accent. The smell of Lavender perfume oil hung in the air, her grandmother always wore the sweet scent of lavender.  With effort, Miranda sat up in bed expecting to see her Oma. The clock on the nightstand read 3:30a.m. After slowly surveying the room and wondering what had just taken place, she eased back onto the goose-down pillows but was too emotional to return to sleep. How she yearned to be held by her Oma and reassured that all will be well.  Curled up on her side and gently rocking back and forth, Miranda finally returned to sleep. The next morning, in the light of day, Miranda convinced herself that her Oma's visit was nothing more than a dream. It was her medications, her sickness that was distorting her sense of reality. But again that night, while Miranda soundly slept, she had the same experience. The bedside clock glowed 3:30a.m. This time, however, Miranda awoke to the sensation of her head being gently stroked. She smelled the lavender perfume. With eyes still closed she listened to her Oma humming an old German lullaby she used to sing to her. Miranda wondered again whether she was dreaming or awake. She was certain she was awake, wasn't she? Slowly opening her eyes, Miranda welled with tears when she saw her grandmother sitting on the upper right side of her bed facing her. The love she emanated....My God, the love.....It enveloped Miranda with a warm radiant white light  filling her with a peace she had never known. Miranda whispered " Oma, am I dreaming or are you really here with me?"  No Mimi, you are not dreaming. I am here with you. I have all ways been with you."  "But how is it I can see you Oma" asked Miranda. "The time is drawing near my Mimi. All questions will be answered soon." Know that I am here with you. There is no reason to be afraid my beautiful granddaughter." Night after night, at 3:30 a.m., Miranda dreamed...... She had come to look forward to her Oma's nightly visits. She had also come to realize that she was not dreaming.

As life slowly leaves us, the veil between the living and the dead becomes thinner. We then have a foot in both worlds. We can commune with our deceased loved ones, and they in turn, are able to commune with us....If we would only listen. The dead are not lost to us and speak to us everyday. On December11, 2011, with the fresh fallen snow glistening in the trees and on the ground in Upstate Michigan, Miranda's Oma came for one final visit. The clock on the bedside table read 3:30 a.m. This time Miranda was patiently waiting, sitting up in bed with her head resting against her pillows. She saw her grandmother as clearly as she saw her Mother and Father, and their priest reciting the rosary beside her. When her Oma lovingly reached out her hand, she spoke to her only granddaughter with such tenderness, "It is time now my Mimi". With a smile on her face, Miranda reached out her right hand and with fingers intertwined, Miranda stepped out of her emaciated body, and with her Oma's guidance stepped into the light.