The Surviving Battery. 


I search, I search beyond myself to find what it is I need. Under  the stars, over this hill. It goes on and on. Soon exhaustion takes over me, and I loose control. I need to be fulfilled. So I fight, I kill for food. I steal when I need water. I am human. I pillage for my own life without regard for yours. I reap the soil and suck out it’s life to create my own life. I fight for my own survival. They say it’s survival of the fittest, right? 

But what my inner spirit needs, the whole to my very existence, the battery to my body needs I repress. I am human. I hunger for love. I thirst for desire. Instead of finding life within, I take life from the outside. Of course my body needs maintenance but what kind of maintenance is good to a car that has no battery? It can’t even be started. It’s as though we are all batteries wondering why our cars won’t start. We are looking down in our hood at an empty space where we would, could fit but we are looking for outer sources to try to hook up and while something may work it doesn’t quite fit appropriately, or doesn’t lay very long. 

So we take things that we think fills our life’s. We kill and steal for substantial feelings. When all we need to do it ask. Everything is provided. Everything. 

Yet, our fear hinders our ability to see. Our “desires” of “the hunt” keeps driving us, this minimially efficient battery. But love, true love, our spirit/soul, that’s the true battery to life.  


What IS Reality?!


It is but a dream, a perception of the senses that create a chemical compound to create an image or emotion. Like music in a car or a motion picture. How is it that the “energy” from a computer chip creates a sound or an image that creates a real emotion? But it’s not in front of you, yet this emotion from the music or movie feels real. It pulls you in, you get into a funk after a sad or crazy one, one that makes you think. 

So what different in a trauma of a dream, and real life? This is in my head – all the senses penatrating my brain. Sight, smell, taste, touch and hearing. All of my dreams are real. How is it that I can’t determine the real world and the dream world? I wake up to a familiar scene but that familiar scene can be one of a “reoccurring dream” so I implore what is the real reality? Isnt it that a scene is so monumental in a movie that it’s pulls you closer into the screen? You can’t turn away because of the depth of your feelings – you have no idea who or what is around you – only this moment in a movie. It’s a moment in my mind of these senses that captivate me in this world. How is it that I feel like I can feel other worlds? 
They exist, I’m not talking about aliens, yes those are quite possible – but I’m not all about it, obsessed that they do, I entertain the thought because how is it that I could ever know? Honestly? How is it that I know anything? How can my brain store more or less than yours? How does someone remember something but not another? Chemicals, emotions, feelings. It’s the self. This ego, this soul.  

I, I, i, i, i…. me me ME! That’s how. This is hell. This reality in which we are punished from oneness. 

Dreams; hell. Senses; hell. Life; hell. 

I’m the Bible it says hell is a burning firing pits. That pit in your stomach? That heat when you’re angry? Anger is love’s fear. God IS love. Anger is the separation from God. So here I am living in this hell with only a glimpse of what true love really is. What GOD is. What I’m meant to be – with God. Not as a me or I, but as in love morphed into nothingness and everythingness with God. Because we are made in his “image” in which our human language can’t properly communicate. 

Papers to Describe Me


He gave me two stacks of paper. This man in a white coat holds the power to label my insanity. He tells me to go back to my room and read them to see which one I thought discribed me better… how am I supposed to know? He’s the doctor anyway. I held in my hands this banquet of words lined perfectly with pictures of sad women and men, looking out of a window trying to escape their mind, when I feel all they really want is to escape slavery. 

I gentlely grip the papers as he continues to speak to me in mindless words that seem to be a manuscript for all the inpatients. I feel as though every smile ever expressed on my face is now falling with my down turned lips. The gravity of society, pulls them away from the gentle crows feet wrinkles from my eyes that I so willingly expressed as a child. Running through the woods singing with the birds and absorbing all the suns rays through the canopy. As I breath in now to find I’m stuck with barred windows and bolted doors and I wish I could be free. 

Not just free from this prison of “sanity”, by this cookie cutter of humans this medication turns me into. I don’t want to be normal. I want to live! I want to feel alive. Not the alive you get with an adrenaline rush the alive feeling that comes with being free to choose, without laws and regulations. I feel like I knew that time. I feel like I still know. Like I’m waiting for a ship to become visible to take me away to my real home. 

Yet, I sit in this seat across this man telling me what I am, not who I am, in this description of how people should act in this society. Fuck that. 

Rage begins to boil inside my being. I want to reach across the room and rip the man apart who talks in a monotone voice, with no reason, about who he thinks I am. I want to scream and tell him to shut the fuck up, to ask him if he even knows he’s being a conformist to a “man” who no one sees. 

All my muscles relax before I show him my rage and I’m stuck in this hole longer than I’m gifted. My whole body relaxes, it’s like poison running through my veins paralyzingly me, burning holes and leaking my life force out into my muscles. They want so badly to contract, but my brain shuts out the will to move. I’m frozen with anger. I’m frozen to society’s grip on me. 

I finally hear something that’s like “you’re free to go”. Free?! How is going back out of your office into a hall wall with other locked rooms free?  Unlike some of the patients here I am not threatening enough to be in a straight jacket, but this level of the building I don’t think anyone is straight jacketed. 

One person I remember screaming and yelling one night. I feared he would come into my room, hurt me. Rape me. My mind wandered to the possibilities of what he could do before any of the nurses could get to him, and even if they could, would they be able to stop him? Panic filled me with escape routes. I couldn’t escape. Illogical imagination  filled my head with what would happen. The next day I wake up with no recollection of ever falling asleep. What happened to him? To me? What is this place? He wasn’t anywhere to be seen in any of the groups or therapies. And as my mind wonders it becomes unrealistic. 

They took him away to the lower level below ground where no screams can be heard and they practice illegal treatments to reduce rage in “the rebellious” for the coming when we all uprise against “the man” and take back our Mother…

Okay I’m laying down again. But as I lay in my bed the papers are still in my hand unaware until now. I sit up again. My memory of this is fogged. I feel as though I’m locked in a room filled with a single light to give me a dimmed view of the words. I’m locked in a cell with no way to see, hear or speak to the outside world. I’m confined to a lonely chair with a Lonely table. Cold Shackles cross my arms and feet. I can’t move till I finish these nonsensical paragraphs of who I am being labeled as. He wants me to tell him later which stack of paper describes me the best, as I believe I am. 

As I read these papers I’m filled with the belief I am those things.  I’m a “borderline” I have PTSD. Both of them fit who I am, what makes me. The chain breaks and I am released back into my room. I believe what he says. 
There’s therapy session after therapy session, and after those; groups and things to learn to put in our tool box to fit into society better. 

I walk out of my room. Groups and therapy are mandatory your first inpatient visit. I slump, head down, defeated. Shoulders turned inward. I hated this place even more. My child inside kicks and screams as I repressed her; she cries to be set free. To rebel. I silence her. She can not live here. 

Being Pulled From Reality


Time seems to be speeding up as I will soon face plant into a brick wall, then continue on through it. It feels like falling but without reaching terminal velosity.

When you fall normally, it feels as though you are leaving the place in which you stood. You’re being separated from the stable ground to the dyer attempts to stand again. You fall to your side with a heavy head to plunge face forward. You normally don’t feel the pull of the gravity that pulls you from where you stood. You think of loosing your balance and simply falling fretfully but here I was pulled from stability. 

A while ago when I lived on the west coast of USA, I turned into someone I fear to this day. A woman that didn’t take life seriously, who would rather die than to face reality. 

As the moon rose in the sky and her face pressed against the push of wind from the rawring ocean, her tears went dry as did her mind. Numb and alone. Hair follicules stood at attention to the push off the winter wind.  Waves crashed onto the beach and surrounding rocks; she stepped forward. Her mind blank and focused, she smelled the salty condensed air of the Pacific Ocean, the moonlight tinkling the waves as they ricocheted off the large rocks, she continued forward. Into the freezing ocean she walked, she felt her boots fill up with thickening desire. Initializing shock from the water, her body made the attempt to stay warm and shiver but her mind refused to shake. Like the sinking titanic, water began to rise with no possible outlet. Her mind was her sinking ship, why not have a body to fit? 

Unsteadily she tripped over coral reefs towards the towering rocks filling her jacket with a salty calm, her eyes fixed on the Boulder ahead. With her feet numb, she forced herself up on the neighboring boulder. She rose out of the sea while the tide came in violently crashing onto her rock. The darkness did not show her the space between the rock and her target boulder and she slipped between them. Her throat filling with ocean and the waves pouring on top of her. She grasped for the rock and slowly climbed. The cold rock stealing the little warmth from her body through her hands, she reached the top. Shivering from the short journey she looked down around her at the waves growing to pull her into their home. To make her one with the sea at last. They cheered for her bravery, the ocean audience grew louder as her decision was made final. 

She closed her eyes and swayed with the wind remembering all her desires scuba diving to be one with the sea. She smiled at those memories to be put to sleep. Even more memories came penetrating her thoughts of warmth with clouded skies and black cold. She quickly opened her eyes yet the darkness sourrounded her. That darkness of cold and of skies. The numbing darkness she felt when she began.

She looked out past the crashing waves onto the horizon where calm overtook her. She paused and for the first time felt relief. Beyond the crashing of the waves and the push of violent, cold winds, she saw peace. She saw a glimmer of hope. But again looking down the waves calling to her; just one step they said as they sprayed there cold welcoming onto her face. Just one slip and you’ll be home. 
She looked out again now conflicted with hope and desire. A hope for calm, and a desire for a peaceful end. But how peaceful would that end be? Being pushed into rocks until she fell unconscious only to wake up to her choking on her decision to go down with no way out – a divers worse fear. She turned for the first time and looked back toward the beach. Her stomach was uneasy. Her boots squished as she adjusted her weight from one foot to the other, a cold shiver went up her spine. She closed her eyes tight. She had lost her mind. 

The Dream of Mars


So I vividly dream on a nightly basis, sometimes multiple times in one night and most of the time (normally upon waking) I remember my dream. Sometimes I get so lost in my dreams I wake up like I come out of a comma and have to reorient myself to my surroundings and to my own being – and people wonder why I have a hard time with reality, psht. Last night I had a weird/good/interesting dream that I feel like sharing. Comments are very much appreciated and welcome! 

So I was going on vacation, on a cruise ship to an island. I didn’t know where the island was but someone offered to pay for my boyfriend and me to go so i agreed. Well before we left I was at my aunts house who had a raccoon (true story) and she kept trying to bite me (also true a few times in real life) but she bit me multiple times in my dream. We were locked in the master bedroom at my aunts and I had to stay there for some reason. Well my boyfriend came and “relieved me of my duties” in the room and then we were on the island. It was a beautiful island with large trees, running water, a water fall into a large fresh pool, and also animals of all kinds. One, specifically, was a tiger that was inside near the pool in a screened in pool area. It’s night out but I could see the stars and a brightly lite night sky to see the clear sparkling water. There wasn’t a moon that I can remember but the screened in porch where the tiger was had a dim glow of star lights and soft lights such as a string of “Christmas lights” hung around. Except the lights were further apart so it wasn’t so bright. Trees from what looked like a tropical rainforest lined the tigers cage inside and outside the pool area. 

I was with the people that paid for me to go and my boyfriend and something was happening.. I don’t remember exactly what but all of a sudden the tiger was gone out of the cage and I remember thinking “thank god he’s free” and then we saw large waves over the house coming towards us. We clung to a short wall making a corner as the waves came crashing into the pool cage. Huge tidal waves one right after the other. Filling the pool cage and beginning to drown us. The island seemed to be going under water, but we were trapped by the roof. We held our breath as each wave passed – drowning us deeper and deeper into the ocean. I remember, not panicking, but as a survivial instinct would kick in, i felt determined. Responsible. I wanted to protect those I was with so I had to stay strong. 
Here I remember thinking – the tiger knew that’s why he escaped (which leads me to question was he really caged?) after the waves were over our heads and the pool area was filled to the roof with water – It was time to get out to swim to the surface and to breath. We were all drowning. I let go of the short walk and swam in the clearest of water – almost like it wasn’t even there. Somehow, With the air filling my cheeks, I was able to recycle the air but the oxygen was running out as I swam out the door. As I got out I tried to breath, choking on water and as I got out of the cage and began to try to surface a few things occurred to me; 1. If I left them now and the water is too deep how can I swim back down to save them, and if the waves are still crashing the current will take me away and I won’t be able to find it. Then, as I continued to choke, I realized I could breath under water and I was basically choking on the thought of drowning not the actual water itself. By this time, I had swam up a tree over the patio and I grabbed onto it which made me feel a pulling sensation toward the surface. I couldn’t leave my friends and boyfriend so I swamback down to save them. But we were figuring out we could breath so I stood there wondering if we were even underwater? And that pulling sensation toward the surface, was gravity lessening on earth? Or were we truly underwater? If so how could we stand without a weighted belt keeping us below the surface? 

As I pondered this, I turned to look up at the sky and there spinning through the stars is mars. The black and red surface dazzling like a lava disco ball towards the north west. As I was thinking of how beautiful the red and black rock was I heard someone say, “hey look at Venus” i kind of rolled my eyes inside because it was obvious that it was mars but I just allowed it to be and continued watching. After the comment though, something really strange happened. Like little trundles of lava, sparks rose from the ground – like reverse globs of rain. It was spectacular to see. That’s when I felt the gravity pull me again and realized that mars was pulling this towards it – including me. I stood firm not to be taken by gravity. But then, Mars started traveling in the opposite direction. Then as if it got slung like a boomerang, it curved around toward our island. Right to me! When I grabbed ahold of it, no bigger than a volleyball, it turned into 6-7 (no idea exactly but around that) silvery rings in the shape of the ball made if some silver crystal rock, dense but very light.

 I wanted to keep a piece so I tried to break a piece of the rings off, but when I chipped a piece off the rings started falling apart but they continued to spin. I tried to place them all together and send the hollow ringed rock back into the air but it caught the tree and continued to shake the rings – like an amateur trying to hula-hoop multiple rings. It never broke off an axis. Then it got caught in a tree. I looked at the piece I had in my hand and wondered if what I did would cause something traumatic. 
Then I got distracted and my dream turned into a map of where we were and we were all the way across the Atlantic Ocean near where Spain/Italy would be yet it wasn’t like our earth map. It was different, there were islands that lined the whole side of those continents. And we were in one much like Ireland but south of where Ireland would be. And there was a line where we had traveled from Florida to that island I had never heard of. And we were going more south but I couldn’t see where. 

I’ve looked up some meanings but I’m still unsure. 

Peace on Earth


The relativity of time, the balance of life. The perceptions of each and the ghosts of the things unknown. Living in a world full of misunderstandings and teachings of absurdity. We misunderstand because one “has to be right”; it’s “my way or the high way”  I feel there’s little acceptance of any of it. Respect the nature of all existence, of all people, of all and any life – including that of the smallest insect. Who am I to take or to judge or to hate? It’s your way, but I have mine – don’t send me to the high way because it’s not the same as our way. I’ll still see you on the other side regardless of endless bliss, heaven, nirvana, joy, love, peace where ego, self, space and time are no longer in existence to any matter (and I mean that as physical and rational matter). We are all here to experience. Simple but complex. Peace is every breath, and every moment between.