Alistair Cookie: in my small world!

Hello, “Alistair Cookie” here! I invite you into my small world of small things and hope you’ll leave with the understanding that I am a narrator of great and marvelous things… that I am exploring… in my small world.

Now, let’s just take a look into my computer and observe the files I have under “tiny moments of happiness.” Oops I seemed to have misplaced my keyboard. Oh no, no bother, this is my small television! I wanted to be near the computer! I suppose we’ll continue without the computer since I don’t walk, and am actually quite ingeniously, balancing myself at this console.

So there! Our first topic for narration: finding balance and keeping it. Amazingly I have not pitched a small fit to be near the computer. I am learning to be content with the surroundings I find myself placed in. That is growth for most and a remarkable feat for those who’ve not learned how to move their feet in a walking motion; alas, some still crawl.

So there! Our second topic for narration: motivation and what gets you there. Often I feel motivated by the sweet smell of cookies basking in the glorious oven. Their aroma wets my small appetite and I crawl, yes, crawl to find the satisfaction I crave. Oh… but crawling and groveling may sound so pitiful to many of you: you always have the option to cry out and solicit help. In the end it is going to depend upon how badly you want a cookie, or whatever it is you’re seeking.

So there! Our third and final topic for narration: how badly do you want what you want? When “Fluffy” my beloved cat got in the way of my cookie goal, I accidentally grabbed his tail to propel me toward the path to the kitchen. I use the term “accidentally” loosely, as I was truly sorry later for thinking his tail might actually assist me in getting closer to the kitchen… and the coveted cookies. Later as I sat on the floor munching a cookie, I sought to share with Fluffy who seemed more interested in my toes covered in cat food from an earlier balancing, motivation thing; I realized how much Fluffy means.

So there! I might want something and really put out the cat, put out the screaming, and end up off-balance… and oh dear… I hope you get it. This is “Alistair Cookie” saying: good day! (Mom! Where’s my computer?)

Alistair Cookie: the great outdoors!

Hello again: Alistair Cookie here!

Not to be confused with a man I greatly admire:
[Alistair Cooke KBE, Order of the British Empire (November 20, 1908-March 30, 2004) was a British-born American journalist, broadcaster and presenter.

Though we are both gifted narrators, I hope you note the difference in the spelling of our names. If I interpret correctly he was a cook, whereas I am an eater of cookies, which someone else cooks! Delightful; however today I want to narrate my harrowing experience with the great outdoors.

Where to begin? I was sitting at the large glass door, looking out when I spied a most attractive bird splashing in our outside tubby. Oh to be there and ask if the water was warm enough. Quite suddenly the glass door opened and one of my bigger, little friends, bounced in to retrieve more juice… leaving the door opened!

The freshness of the air caught me by surprise and I leaped for the pathway to liberty. Crawling hard and fast, I picked up tiny stones with my fingers and ouch, it was terrible but I thought not to wail and draw attention to my flight into the yard.

Onto the grass and a softness comparable to my coveted blankie, greeted me; I felt right at home for a while. In my peripheral vision something akin to the buzzing of Mum’s dryer circled my head; a tiny something with little hands and legs, smaller than mine. Oh joy, I thought as I tried to narrate with him about the great outdoors, and to shake his tiny hand, whereupon he landed and bit me! Nasty and vile pain, I could not help but scream at the top of my small developed lungs: “uh…wowwwww!”

I, Alistair Cookie, will not let the small things get to me today, nor allow trouble to be thought, ‘hanging outside my door’. I shall go and find positive creatures to narrate to and rediscover the joy of sky and land. But first, I need to go wash off the cookie crumbs.

To Our Blog

I wanted to blog and blog all day long.
While Yanni was playing I could not go wrong.
The keyboard would beckon and I’d start again,
With just one more post before the day’s end.

My treasure of photos and drawings by far
Assist in my joy to share without mar
I logged on and logged off so many times
To line up the stories and create the rhymes

I did not take typing, but taught myself how.
But still I am managing to get it all now.
There’s one single finger I seem to pick on.
When that one gets tired then that’s when I’m gone.

Its fun doing this who knew it could be.
I’m happy just writing and writing for me.
Mistakes have been made as I live in a fog.
There’s no time for that, let’s return to our blog…
To our blog… to our blog!

Living Fragile

Sometimes when life seems so fragile
A beginning feeling of peace arrives
From a source within and without
We bow our head
Acknowledge kindness
Receive the gift that helps us heal

We wrap the peace around our bodies
Longing for immediate relief
And find instead temporary solace
We bend our knees
Capture completeness
And let it work through all our days

Discover being fragile is not a curse
For peace will come and peace will go
From everything we are to what we will become
We praise the Creator
Everlasting love
Relieves our fear of living fragile

Fear of connecting

I can’t say it is ‘all my own doing’ when I fear a connection that might allow a closer or better friendship. There are times when the past failures or moments I’ve been taken advantage of, resurface. It seems to a repeating issue with me: leave before I truly connect or attach to this or that person, place or thing.

It was connecting that brought me to the blogging world. I wanted my brain and heart to connect. I wanted my heart to tell of things that bothered me or excited me, or upset me… and I wanted my brain to interpret those feelings into words. At the time resolution of any thing I thought was not an issue. Just put the dang stuff on paper and be done. I hadn’t yet realized that blogging was more than laying ink to page. It involved search engines and chances of the entire world having a peek at my zaniness. Though I was uncomfortable when I discovered that… it didn’t really seem as important as my realization that I could actually express myself. So my original intent of connecting heart and brain was succeeding.

I had never thought to define my connection as “talent” and it was a surprise to hear in comments that people liked what I wrote and how I wrote it. My first reaction was to shut down my blog site and run… so I did. I have actually shut down this site twice out of fear. I’ve come to believe that everyone can have a public place and still be respected. So I keep this site open, type away on my stuff, and occasionally bang out ugly things that give me relief.

I still panic sometimes, thinking that I’ve become overbearing, and that reminds me of other people I’ve had to fight. Or I become timid; afraid that the next person is going to be hurt by my actions or words. I am a mixed bag of ouch!

As I usually pick a photo, drawing or sketch to go with my posts, I wondered what would reflect this one. So it was that I picked the cable because that is the connection that brings you here, or takes me “there’. No matter what connections I work on, or the connections you work on… we are words on a wire. For those of you who fear connecting with me: you do not have to leave a message… try leaving a smiley face. Fight your own fear.

Oh! Politics as usual

I used to write political posts
Until the day I saw the ‘ghost’
It carried chains and held them fast
The former leaders of our past

The good and bad, the almost sane
And many more that’d played to gain
The bombing ones, the shooting fools
Who let their weapons be their tools

Then as the past was gone for sure
Arrived today with more manure
Repugnant toys, demonic boys
All shout above the lovely noise

To carry on the plea they ask
That we forget about the past
Join our ranks, political play
Give the fun another day

Oh! Politics as usual

Let's not

Let’s just write and see what comes out, because I’m feeling frustrated and helpless with my own feelings. Inside I think that there must be something I can do to really feel good about this past week, but there’s not much to tell. It was a week of disappointments, loneliness, and crazy concentration of resolving my fears. I don’t know that I accomplished any of that… please note the prior articles of bunnies, deer, cute shaggy dog, and outspoken bird… do you see a problem here?

Let’s not focus on the issues I need to overcome or need to get over, or need to hang on to… lets’ not but say we did.

Let’s just analyze the entire trauma of being ignored in a certain place because my paranoia is free today. Normally I charge myself a dollar for every paranoid thought I have. You should see my savings. This past week alone could afford me a couple nights in a luxury bed and breakfast, provided it’s within walking distance and I don’t have to buy gas for my smallish mini-van.

Let’s not cry over being flipping ignored because I can’t make people speak or hang out a welcoming sign. Some might think with a name like dcrelief , I represent the great American capitol. No, that’s not it, but my paranoid thoughts are continuing to build me capital. Let’s not cry.

Let’s just be thankful for the friend or two that dropped in, commented in, emailed in, and all that in stuff. In spite of my less than happy attitude, they stuck by… but the weekend is here… will they come back? Lets’ just be thankful they were here at all.

Let’s not drive myself nuts because I blew the budget, got challenged by my doctor, had the wrong organ removed during surgery, and all that blown stuff.

Let’s just write or let’s not.

The deer and the hare

All day I watched them in the snow
Playing happily just so
A deer and hare; now could it be
Were truly friends, not enemies?

Flights of fur and lots of hopping
The day went on without them stopping
The sun came out and warmed the air
The deer was looking at the hare

Was it time to end their play
Continue on another day
My camera clicked, I froze in place
As they were touching face to face

I didn’t know if the shot was good
Remaining quiet where I stood
The two were bidding each ‘good day’
In such an awe inspiring way

I have no words that can convey
The moment took my breath away
In hopes I’ll look for them this year
The tiny hare and gentle deer

Friends of the Heart

Recently I have been part of two different blog sites, and it is very nice to be a part of their world; enjoying and sharing our writings in hopes of reaching an audience of people who still care about our world.

Both blog sites are listed in my “blog roll,” so please take a look and read their adventures, disappointments, hopes, and “life is happening” stuff. I admire both writers, and hope you will too.

Klahanie: “a man challenging his inner critic.”

dispatches from the jazz unit: …a blog about entertainment and politics. or are they really the same thing?

Fall down

“Erika’s Place” painting 6”x8”, dcrelief

In the course of my day I can become overwhelmed by my thoughts. My familiar thing to do is just let them run on and on until, finally exhausted, I fall down.

Thoughts wash over me and I listen to make sure the walls of my being are not creaking and ready to crack under the strain. Would someone please get me out of my own way?

Lately I’ve tried to have more constructive thought; what helps me improve my life? I’ve been visiting new blogs, making new friends, and like what I’m hearing. There seems to be a real treasure in learning to practice having “positive anticipation” that some share.

At least I’m working on it. At least there are people who not only understand but they take time out to encourage where I want to be. I don’t want to fall down.

The Abandoned Boat

“The Abandoned Boat” painting by dcrelief

I sat on the shore and sketched the boat that rocked gently between in-coming waves, threatening to take off again into that emerald water. In my mind I wondered if something amiss had happened to the occupants yet I kept on sketching as quickly as I could, fearing the chance would be gone any time, and I’d be left with my imagination to fill in the details. Still I itched to know who abandoned that boat and why.
Later in time, long after my painting was complete, I wondered about having abandoned my own life… my proverbial boat… those issues that I feared facing. For me: to give up seeking answers was akin to giving up entirely.

Today I decided that there are some things I may never have an answer for, and to continue depending on others is a waste of their time and an avoidance of what I should be searching for instead. My patience is weak and so I must turn and give it rest. To those who would follow me, I say, find someone worthy of your admiration and give your time to that blog site.

Kate and the sand fairy

“Kate and the sand fairy” painting by dcrelief

One of my nieces gave me a call
“Do me a painting to hang on my wall.
I want lots of sand and a beautiful sea,
And a castle that’s small with a fairy for me.”

Large floating clouds that hide the great sun;
Reflecting its beauty and playfully done.
An ocean that threatens to wash into shore
And take the small castle with each foaming roar.

“And paint me in purple; I’ll lie on the beach.
Just like ‘Mona Lisa’, a slight smile in peach.
Can you place in my hand a fairy so small?
And make her have wings, though not very tall?”

I searched family photos to find that sweet face
To paint in the setting of a magical place.
Yet when I was done I really could see
That sweet little face looked so much like me.

And she saw it too and thought it was great
That she looked like me, and I looked like Kate!
“Aunt D, it’s amazing that we look alike,
so for our next painting, let’s paint it at night.”

In the quiet of my night

In the quiet of the night, I can contemplate the most marvelous things or the most pitiful sorrows. I can make them as big or as small as I choose. With only the low hum of my fan, I sit here and type away. Sometimes I wish I could type away the misery of my own and other people's lives; yet I cannot. It is then that I feel so small. And I type and I type.

In the quiet of the night I can type chapter after chapter of my life, which may never be read, save by me; chapters that I've written that never a tear was shed until I reread them. It is only through the growth of my spirit that I am able to look in hindsight and weep in sorrow or in joy. Yet when the pain of too much sorrow or too much joy would overwhelm me I move to the quiet of the night and I type.


In the quiet of the night I can know when I'm sad. I can know when I'm joyful. I can know when someone else feels those same feelings. I can offer a shoulder, a smile, or both. Indeed when tears are shared and mingle together with someone who understands, they offer comfort… in my quiet of the night.

The Pink Forest

“The Pink Forest” painting by dcrelief

Every year I wander home to Pennsylvania to visit with family. I find my self surrounded by nieces and nephews for whom I have written children’s books over the years. Now they are old enough to have children and it’s, “Aunt D, can I get another copy of ‘The Red Bird’, ‘Grandma’s Teapot,’ or ‘The Wooden Horse’?” Funny but I didn’t realize that my books would be so loved. Is it time to publish them; with my dual fear of failure or success… I can only wonder.

I always take my paints and canvas and carefully trek into the woods or some other quiet spot and record with brushes what I see. Last year was no different but I wondered what to paint in the dismally cold rain. Before the week was out I had my answer; the rain cleared and an overcast sky began to snow. Huge flakes began to fall as if someone was standing on the mountain top and shredding paper; nice large flakes! The ground covered fast and I could tell there was going to be a painting. But it continued on through the night and I began to doubt I’d ever make the walk through the large drifts.

It was around seven in the morning that two of my oldest nieces woke me, “C’mon and see the pink forest.” I hurriedly dressed, we grabbed my painting gear and I followed, not knowing to where. The youngest, at 21, talked fast, “Oh you’ve got to see this. It happens every year when it snows. We call it ‘the pink forest’”. Pretty soon we came upon a clearing and… the painting from above is what we saw. No words could really describe the beauty. Enjoy!

Looking for the negative

volcano: Hawaii National Park

Emotions flow
From long ago
Never trusted and I know
I seek the negative

Reject the wealth
Of my very self
Placed on a shelf
I was taught the negative

It’s been the norm
Since I was born
I’m often torn
And doubt the negative

Ones who care
Have bid me dare
Come from the snare
Forsake the negative

The question starts
Within my heart
Could I dare part?
And trust… and trust…
Not looking for the negative

Home is where the heart is

Artist unknown, photo: Hoodoos Drumheller Canada

No matter where I go I take myself. No matter where I live I keep every problem or secret that hides in my head… in my heart. I can no more be me without them, than I think I might be with them. All of my shortcomings will live with me, where I go, until I choose to let each one go. But today those same shortcomings do not define me. I can ask my heart to release kindness and empathy for my head that would lead me astray. I can seek others that give me hope that my life can continue and reap joy, understanding, and yes, love. And along the way I hope to give back during the clear moments to someone else who finds that they take themselves wherever they go. And may I help them to understand that home is where the heart is; not of a physical location, but within the hearts of others who share.

Appreciate All Life

The painting: “The Diver and Sea Slug”, by dcrelief

After many years of a medicated life and feeling numb to anything or anyone, I finally chose to come off of the medications and take my chances on finding some normalcy again. Yes I had some issues that had plagued for a long time that needed addressing. And I also found out that I had an illness called Fibromylagia which had induced my original depression. I wasn’t clinically depressed; however the damage done by the medications left me without a life. My mind fought hard to regain the cognitive abilities and my body, so racked by side effects, would never be the same.

Along came the day I decided to take up painting again and I wanted to do a study in black backgrounds. Reflective of my feelings at that time, black was invisible, which is how I felt. Since then black has come to be the very show piece for allowing my paintings, pictures, and photos to “pop” off the page.

This first painting called, “The Diver and the Sea Slug” was so easy and yet I spent three days fighting my insides, screaming at me, that I could not do a painting. I decided to just blank out my thoughts and let the brush and colors flow as they would.

I did the painting for a friend and his wife, using a combination of photos they had. I listened in amazement as they told of the things they had seen underwater; the precious view they had developed for all life. From the tiniest sea creatures and larger mammals traveling great oceans, to the very divers in their group, they knew each form of life has its own place of play and refuge. Each form of life has a place in the great cycle of existence. Though some may disappear and new ones come along, it behooves us to appreciate all life.

Hmm, each form has a place? I wasn’t sure of mine but this was a beginning thing to do to find me and see what I could be… again… anew.

Love at first "write"

I was sitting alone and typing away and along came this person named “Klahanie”. I had just finished posting “Just One Voice” a story in miniature of some pain I’d experienced. Thinking to hurriedly cover it with another post, bearing less soul, I found “Klahanie’s” comment: his wish for me to embrace the word empathy, and his expressing the idea of “promoting my writing to a wider audience.” Ironically it was not a wider audience that I desired, but an occasional comment from someone who was actually reading along. So I answered yes and went off to explore some blogs of his that he’d asked me to read.

Love at first “write”? Not only was I captured by his writing but also by the writings posted by his friends and companions, within the comment boxes. What wonderful people! What mutual appreciation and sharing they exhibited, and I wanted to be a small part of that “love”. So I wrote my first comment, followed by many other comments on other blogs that I read. And I grew to understand a bit of how they were able to “be” free of the pain I was sitting in. Could they help me; would they help me? I live so far away.

To a commenter on Klahanie's blog, “David” who asks if there’s a bit of romance between Klahanie and I? Romance from across the great pond… wow! But when I view the dictionary it tells me “no”. We are not impractical, we are not unrealistic, and we are not preoccupied with the idealizing of love. Now if you’re talking about the Romance style of literature or art that emphasizes imagination and emotion, you’re closer. Klahanie being a known “challenger of his inner critic” inspired me to begin thinking in a different manner; in a manner of positive affirmations, but so did the various other writers who were leaving him comments. So by all means, it was love at first write.

Tired...

Do you ever get to the point where you tire of writing? There’s no thought, no idea that entices you enough to sit here and type. It may be time to hang it all up and leave the blog world for good. Or maybe the stomach flu is winning.

my blog site, my friend

This site has seen me happy; this site has seen me sad
This site has seen me angry, less time than I’ve been glad.

There was a time when comments were not allowed to be
admitted to my blog site with messages for me.

My fear of hearing laughter and vanities that sought
to tear away exploring of what my mind had fought

In early morning twilight or deep within the dark
I rendered that my bite was much worse than my bark

Yet in my mind I traveled far and saw a rising dream
That beckoned me to tarry here and build my self-esteem

So one more post and one more chat and one more thing to say
I’m looking for a better life with those who show the way.

Live Transparently?

Transparent: so sheer as to permit light to pass through; easily recognized; easily understood.

My posts are not always transparent; sometimes it’s hard to tell where my gripes end and my cheers begin. I try, and getting there sometimes becomes the fun for the day. Often not knowing which thought will be the last thought of a post? Will it end in joy or sorrow?

I was rummaging through web sites for free photos, missing my photographer cousin’s treasury so late in arrival this month; my own photos gave me nothing that really said: transparent. Then I came across this wonderful shot of a domed building in Canada. Yes, I could see the thoughts flying through the roof and beyond.

How often I’d like to fly; really take on wings and soar above the earth… visit places I’ll never see in this life. To take with me a kind heart, a gentle voice, and a depth of compassion that longs to heal others. And I would need to live transparently so others would also know my intentions are honorable. I don’t know that I can do that.

Writing transparently? Sometimes I can put into words what I cannot hear coming from my own mouth. Writing here, I have learned the “comfort in a crowd,” just as I have experienced feeling “alone in a room full of people.” Strange living: this desire to live transparently. Did I end in a gripe or a cheer?

"Klahanie": his dedication to "Changes"

1900's Church St. STOKE-ON-TRENT

There are times when my mind would seek to hold me captive to its negative thoughts and reactions. Though I am receiving some help I envy the ones who attend the “Changes” program of England. You have the best of both worlds right there in your pocket, so to speak.

“The aim of Changes service is to provide an opportunity for those suffering from mental distress to move from isolation, withdrawal and dependency to becoming active and contributing members of their immediate and wider community.” (Changes 2008)

But I don’t live there and must “make do” with the information and helpful people I’ve met from there. One such person is Klahanie, whose name literally translates into “The Great Outdoors.” Indeed I took a cautious step through a cyber-land door to “meet” him; for me that WAS the great outdoors! I was searching in the website “Zimbio” when I found a “Wikizine” that Klahanie had established. He waved a new flag and I stopped by to watch it!

“Mental Health Matters”: The aim of my Wikizine is to help eliminate the unfair stigma that still surrounds mental health issues. And, I have been honoured to have my blog 'klahanie' featured on the B.B.C.'s radio station 'Radio 5 Live'. -Klahanie

He has been gracious to leave comments on some of my blog posts, revealing his empathy and compassion for the struggles of many. He’s a refreshing attitude toward the mission of positive interactions between others and their environments. (And I hope I’ve explained this correctly. ~dc)

The transparency that we are comfortable to blog with, concerning our issues, may help one another to take a step into the “great outdoors” of our souls. Think of the blogs as a sharing of soul to soul on the realities of living whole, and what we each need “to feel a part of life.”

My special thank you to “Changes” and “Klahanie” of Staffordshire Moorlands, UK; in special dedication for the understanding and empathy I have received. You are always welcome here. Peace unto you, your projects and mission.

real people *dedication

Winter Sunset: Vancouver, Canada

Real people, real places
Faceless

An old blog with new cog
I trip.

I learn to explore more
Facets

Questions, always questions
Appear

My mind would say thank you
It’s sick

My heart reveals the truth
Be real

No more abiding
Hiding

Real people, real places
Exist


*Special dedication to the seven people I’ve “met”, who live or originally hail, from Vancouver, Canada: Thanks for the read!

the bench

I sit on my bench and watch them go by,
The people around who often wave, “hi”

They go by in cars or walk up the road
I spend quiet time in quiet time mode

When time passes slowly I have a long day
And hope for a friend to pass time away

School children laugh in groups as they pass,
But their cheery smiles go by much too fast.

Squirrels wait for crackers as I clear the wrap
Birds start their chirping when I long to nap

My bench is so old but it feels just like new
The place that it sits affords the best view.

The shade in the summer is in the right place
With sun in the winter to warm up my face

I take a good book or paper to write
For days when no people are readily in sight

When bench time is done, I gather my things
Return to my house, a renewed voice that sings!

Free this woman

I’m tired of judging the one person I live with. The years have loaned me chains to wrap around me to hold me back from living. Free this woman.

Genetics, predisposition questions, beatings, sexual exploits, and welcome to the world of rope and links. Somehow it all meshed into my being and told me: this is who you are. But I do not have to remain that tangled, distorted self another day. Today, just today, I count. Who shall free this woman?

A stranger asked me, “Which piece of your challenging puzzle is the hardest to accept?”

I could not answer… for the puzzle was not yet fully revealed. So instead I answered, “Today… today is the hardest piece to accept, but it is easier than trying to lump a week or month together into acceptance.”

He said, “Then, just for today… free this woman.”

I took another deep breathe and exhaled. Lying on the ground, hoping the fire ants were not on the move, I paused to see if I felt like crying. No? I stood and shook off the dirt and leaves and pronounced myself “free”.

There’s always a beginning and though I have started over each time with each part that needed help… I still believe the hardest part is acceptance. From there I am often moved by the momentary joy and a glimmer of hope. I hang on to those tiny moments as if they were precious pearls.

Free this woman.

Could I?

Could I be a shining light for someone in their darkest night?

Could I help a soul find rest by doing what I do the best?

Could I tell of hopeful things and watch for peace and what it brings?

I don’t know but I can try
Write my thoughts, I’ll let them fly
Maybe one will see in view:
A better life… a better you.

Could I write some things that help, that don’t rehash a nasty whelp?

Could I write my feelings out and let you learn without a doubt

That life goes on and we go too, with hearts together staying true?

Could I?

I am my words (version 2)

I want to explore without getting lost
And visit lone places without any cost

To love more freely and yet I do not
Fearing the pain I reject the whole lot

My mind swirls in time and though I’ve no say
My closet is full of more prayers for the day

Temptation is danger to people like me
Who laugh at their frailties, as foam of the sea?

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Tortured desires, the reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here fighting
To be what I be; I am here for the writing.

My words will I give and not ask for them back
And I’m sure when I’m done, there won’t be a lack

I want to know people but fear what I’ll feel
When they know my past that makes me so ill.

Yet I share what I know, reveal what I’ve heard
Being true to myself because I am my words.

Stand in the rising sun

It’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there in the rising sun.

The night has left me doubting and perplexed; am I making the right decision.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

I wrote a friend-to-be but I cannot say what I fear.
I wrote an old friend but there’s no answer.
I wrote a new acquaintance, but feel afraid to reach out.
I wrote myself and we cried.

The night gets closer and I am tired and still I work on afraid to stop. I’ll set my clock. The hours drag as I wait for the rising sun.

Till it’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there is the rising sun.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

De-tales

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
The sand now packed in mounds kept richer soil in locks
The water held a mirror reflecting beauty fair
While ripples from the tide obeyed no one who lived near there

Out beyond the sea wall beyond the roaring waves
A large and awesome whale swam peacefully in its ways
She watched it from a distance and longed to join its side
In hopes of floating eagerly upon the rising tide

The beast was oh so beautiful and swam for quite a while
And then she saw the reason why, and offered up a smile
A cow with calf arrived to play and joined the larger one
The three would live within the bay and she would watch the fun

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
Though time would not be measured by the sound of ticking clocks
She’d hurry to sand and sea and sun to watch her whales
And when her friends did come to tea she offered all de-tales!

Tall Trees

I was eight years old when our babysitter blew her brains out. No, they couldn’t have imagined why she would do that? Didn’t everyone love her? On my lap lay my paper, and many pencils; pieces of charcoal and white conte were gifts from the babysitter.

It was the viewing of the body and though everyone was curious about the damaged side of her head, I focused on the side that had a slight smile. Sleep of the angels? Of course some adults wanted to stop me until I told this one man: “I want to remember her beauty and joy. You look at what you want to remember.” And my Mom almost made me leave after that, but our minister said “no, she will stay.”

Later I lay in the big field and the tall trees stood above me and though I felt so small, so insignificant, those trees had enough power to lift the bruising from my heart and bid me a rest. I had been seeking solace in this place of tall trees; here again I needed their reassurance that life might continue without a special friend.

The minister lay down too and looked up into the trees and spoke, “Hi dc, your Mom called and said you wanted to meet me. Okay, I’m here, what would you like to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing really; I just wanted you to help me listen in case there’s something said and I don’t understand it. I’m almost nine, but I’m still a kid.”

“Why here, in this place?”

“The babysitter and I were here last Saturday… lying right here on these leaves. She told me that if things weren’t better when she got home she was going to blow her brains out.” I was shaking and barely holding back eight, almost nine year old sobs.

“I’m so sorry, dc… but”.

“I didn’t know what she meant or I could have told my Mom!” Now the dam was broken.

“Bless your heart.”

“No, bless my ears so I can understand from now on. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.”

It was a strange wind that stayed with the trees all through winter. I’d park my bike and walk into the circle and call her name. But no one answered. On her birthday I took a balloon and let it go up through the trees; pink, her favorite color.

Spring came and my mind left. My parents refused therapy for me, it was a no-no. All I know is that one day when I was twelve I looked in the mirror and saw myself and not “Barbara” staring back at me. I knew I was free, and so was she.

A Prisoner in Time

You captured me

because I let you

hear that,

I let you

capture me

now I'm going

and you

will not cry

why because

I was a good prisoner

a prisoner in time

why you spoke less

no sweetness

music stopped

no song

just carried on

in the new time

a low time

and I can go

I can let you go

my prison time

and you said

I was a good word

you captured me

because I let you

hear me,

I let you

capture me

Switched Teams

I hail from the “Carolinas” in the States; born and raised here. Don’t know why I keep coming back. It’s mostly the coast that holds me; holds me with all its wonder and my secrets. I used to be a basic Carolina girl who loved football. Got tired of all the negative and destructive behavior of sports professionals in our area; enough was enough.

See this Carolina Panther sitting on a granite wall? Well on that wall my name is engraved as one of the first seat license owners in the, then, “Erickson Stadium”. Imagine a small town girl cut into the wall. It was expensive but I was told it would make a great investment… gee I wish somebody had told “The Carolina Panthers” that.

Sold my ticket to family and went off to invest in people in other ways. I’ve had a lot more scoring on the board and lots of happy people getting needs met. So if you want to really invest your time, talent, and finances… invest in peoples’ lives. Your contribution becomes engraved on your heart. Please and thank you.

Another Fall

Its fall and the leaves are taking their time now to come down to the ground, to cover me with their jewel tones.

Its fall and the wind is dancing and prancing and my hair is blowing around and covers my eyes and I strain to see the path.

Its fall and short walks become longer, easier breathing, cool restful wind, and a nice chill prevented by a light jacket.

Its fall and my sweet Canadian geese strut from the lake down to Mrs. Nix’s and a group will take flight out soon.

Its fall and the last spotted monarch left two weeks ago and we are sad but know she will send new troops this coming spring.

Its fall, my Mom’s favorite time of year and I’m glad she passed on in spring because I love the fall too, and this was always our play season.

Its fall and as I wait for those leaves to accumulate so I can rake and jump in them, I wonder why I feel so alive in the dying time of the year? Or was that the answer.

Circled In Fear ~painting by dcrelief~

Circled in fear
Boxed in as bought
Heartaches as layered mats
Framed up for leer

This was my here
This was my here

Small very small
World was my yard
Shadows to run from
Drunks not on call

They were my all
They were my all

Neighbor hates men
This one cruel and crazy
She liked to drink
But hid me, her friend

Till lost in her gin
Till lost in her gin

Then he entered in
Then he entered in

Her one, only friend
Her one, only friend

navigating destiny

I made a wrong decision just like the pilot in the airplane. Veer right, did he say veer right? At what point did he say, veer right? Where was I? Veering left? Was I veering left? No?

In the blog world, (for me at least), there’s the chance that I may not understand what you’re “saying” to me. I don’t know if it’s my ears or the words or the long sentence, but I suspect I read so fast I just miss the whole point… sometimes. No!

In the blog world it could be you and you’re not getting the fact that I’m “really a slow thinker” and just because I can write a lot in a short amount of time, you think I’m smart. No?

Mentally my giant brain has been bashed a few too many times and I’ve lost the best part of me that ever composed a word. Arrogant, yes, and I’m sorry I ever took that path, and maybe “bad Karma” paid me a few visits and said, “Look there’s other stuff you need more than composition and oh, yeah, we’ve got “spell check” now!! So wham, wham, wham, and now you need to “remember how to speak” so that one day you’ll write something that sounds “like you just said it out loud” for everyone to hear. What was so important that I had to experience such trauma to tell you?

In this blog world post, the answer is “stop”.

Well, fine and dandy, but what was the question? We need the question. Do you have it? Where did you put it this time? If I turn right will I find it; if I turn left is it hiding there? Well? No? I give up.

There, perfect; and now that you have “given up” the question truly reveals the answer to be true! The pilot above could have stopped. He could have applied the brakes on the big bad boy and stopped, but he didn’t. He kept thinking that there was a last point where he could turn off and avoid the highway. It was such a big plane that the pilot couldn’t see where the turn off WAS; he had already missed it by the time he asked the tower. VEER WHERE?

My life is like that some days. I hit the wall of mental anxiety without a thought of asking: “Is there a veering off point? Or is there a stopping point?” Read that again.

A friend of mine used to say, “DC, you don’t have to continually hit the wall. As soon as you know you’re headed for a wall, STOP, or turn right, or turn left. STOP! Don’t keep hitting the wall.”

I still struggle but each event brings more challenge to the “wall theory” and STOP HITTING THE WALL has had advantages. Veering right or left can work well too but sometimes it just puts off a decision that I know will eventually end with “STOP.”

I'm just a copy, Right?

I used to envy the cartoon world; their ability to make an icon that people could love. My number one choices were: “Marvin the Martian”, “Tweedy Bird”, and “Bugs Bunny”. All three exhibited quick wit and a cut to the chase mindset… or playful mayhem! Writing in cyber land has been a great deal like being in a cartoon. Everyone has the choice to use a photograph or an icon to represent “self”. You are “seen” as your choice.

I went to guest write on a blog that I did not own. I had no experience of what this meant, I was simply grateful to be asked to join a “writers’ group.” I planned on learning a lot. On this blog I had no icon; I am known by my real name. It wasn’t scary because I thought I was invisibly practicing writing. I had no idea that I could be viewed by anyone. Only when a comment came through one day, did I realize I was being seen! The comment was not from my blog host. I was terrified, but my terror was dismissed.

I have often read another’s post and thought: “my goodness, I’ve experienced that emotion.” But then I didn’t leave a comment to show empathy. So it was that the terror I felt stayed with me. I could not let it go. I could not get out of self to help another ‘let go’.

Needing my questions answered, I sought help, in what I thought was defeat, and went to see my doctor to talk about fears, expectations and acceptances. I thought I’d left the fears behind in the real world. How did they translate into the cyber land world?

The first thing he wanted to know was: “What icons did you choose to represent you?” This was interesting; maybe I’ll write the answers some time. He nailed me; I’m just a copy, Right!

We're all alike?

Maybe, and I’ve heard it debated plenty of times. But one area in particular messes with me repeatedly. How do some of us experience traumatic issues and find a way to survive? I’ve met people whose lives have one continuous boo-boo and I am amazed that they still choose to get up in the morning.

My own super-craziness began in 1997 when my Mom passed and I had to suddenly cut a symbiotic cord I did not realize existed. Granted I had already been physically ill for a year prior but this was the straw… the last nerve broke.

There are avenues to try and are available, but we may not be well enough to know that they exist. We need friends with experience and doctors that will listen, not just medicate! In my case medication pushed the healing out by about ten years. That’s a long time to go with any relief over a subject of pain.

Yes and I am ‘dcrelief’ so what does that tell you? Hopefully you’ll understand that I must try to be a better person for myself. I did not say righteous, good, and perfect, without sin, non-submissive or any other religious conditions and or expectations. When I stop judging myself by these terms I stop judging others. I begin building a bridge. If you feel differently then that is perfectly fine too. There is one statement I have found to be among all religions, creeds, etc: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” All of them have this!

Can I do this? Can you do this? We’re all alike regarding this challenge. From the people I have met who have survived terrific pain, this is what they seek. They seek to share their experience with those who would accept it.

There are only four emotions in the world! Mad, sad, glad, and scared; you may have hundreds of words to describe the level of madness or sadness that you feel. Hundreds of words could describe your joy, utter delight, and horrific devastation… but there are still only four emotions. Do you ever seek to understand something you’re going through? Of course you do. You are human, and in that respect, we’re all alike.

what do you long for?

What would give you great satisfaction to receive? Please don’t tell me that winning the lottery is your best dream. Give me things of the heart and soul. Tell me that swinging in a glider on a Saturday afternoon with your children is precious. Tell me that every Tuesday you help out at the clothing closet. Tell me you’re doing something that allows someone else to live a better life. Why?

I have been traveling through the internet for five months. During that time it has moved so fast that, years are felt to be passing, rather than days. I get in a hurry to post another article not realizing I just popped one into my blog a day back. Many Fridays afternoons find me wondering, ‘where did Monday go?”

It’s a fast-lived life and I often think that I’m living too much of life in here. But I want to write and here is one of the best places because I get to set my own hours and most subjects. So it is that I have returned so many times and people have been very gracious to let me be a small part of the picture.

In no time at all, I have met different people, shared a few stories, and moved on to another fine blog. But oh, I have lots of favorites after five months and I need to fix a schedule and a site list so I won’t miss reading favorite blogs. So this fast-lived life has benefits.

One of the hardest things for me to accept was that real people existed behind the screen images and shadows. My thinking was, “You can be whoever you want to be and I would never be the wiser.” It scared me often. Sometimes I grossly misunderstood a message or e-mail. My perception of the incoming fast-livers was devoid of joy and peace, though no one threatened me ever.

Then one day I had a revelation: I could be whoever I wanted to be in this screened world. I could maintain an attitude of pleasantness as I had observed in others. Be gracious and kind in my comments. Most of all: be sincere in my sharing, and thankfulness for fellow bloggers, not just for the readers. Because the ones I chose to imitate were happy and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be happy; there are days now when I feel happy. And now I long to pass that onto others... all things in their time.

always alone

I’m here all alone
Every day in my home
And I wonder, oh well
Am I living in hell?

Is there some other place
With thoughts that replace
The ones in my face
That mess with the grace?

I can’t see what’s ahead
And stop all this dread
From circling my head
As I lay on my bed

My pleas are so few
For what I should do
To settle my dues
And heal ones I choose

And here all alone
As the days greet my home
I still wonder why
But no longer cry

For love of self

It is good to take time out to do the things we love. I love the water, so sailing, fishing, swimming and other related activities are fun. Fresh air and sunshine are great for my health, even when I don’t want to go out the door. I take my kitchen clock timer and force myself to sit quietly for 15 minutes and breathe deeply. Invariably I find that once that first fifteen minutes passes, then I’m into another 15 without thinking. But this has taken me some time to do.

I get overwhelmed by a problem and cannot think of how to deal with it; how do I resolve an issue that earlier in my life would have been nothing to be concerned about? When did I trade in my peace of mine for paranoia? Or have I always been this way and only now that I’m sick is it so openly visible? I’m not sure.

My current step is talking with a doctor and people who seem to have experienced things like I experience. I also have friends who are not like me but enjoy similar subjects, such as poetry, economics, and politics, mud wrestling (!). And I have this urge to go horseback riding in the snow. What is that about?

So whatever adventure I’m on, on the day you visit, take time to look at the photo or painting because I’m probably focusing on that. Should you see yourself, feel free to let me know. Comments are welcome.

Fly

I longed to fly and needed wings
I searched for plumage, leather strings.
My eagerness was rather great
For heaven’s height I could not wait.

My friends aloft were soaring high
I longed to touch that sacred sky.
My body ached from working out
The muscle tone became quite stout.

I climbed a mount and stretched my wings
This flexed my arms and tightened strings
One step I took, but backed away
The wind was rough; wait one more day.

I stripped of clothes at morning’s light
Climbed that same hill to take my flight
When at the top I offered prayer
To one eternal that waited there:

“Oh let me fly and see your face
Guide my flight with heaven’s grace
And should I die before I land?
Please catch me in your loving hand.”

a beach I do not know

A beach I do not know
Is beckoning me to call
It has the strangest rocks
Not like a beach at all

The wind whips round
My shoulders chill
And I am found
Without much will

I leave to find a sweater
The fire inside is warm
The cabin keeps the weather
Outside, I am not harmed

Many come to heal here
Some just come to play
Others bring their fear near
And find a peaceful way

My head rest on my pillow
I’m thankful that I came
No more the weeping willow
Because they’ve soothed my pain

Harmony

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
I am one you used to love
I am one who is the dove

You were precious in my eyes
You were kind, I was not wise
You loved me, but I was blind
Then you left our world behind

I did not know that I was weak
And to admit I could not speak
I only knew I had to seek
The life that kept me from the deep

You are still precious in my heart
The times I thought we could restart
Are gone and though it is a lark
I’ll always see your glowing spark

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
There’s no stigma, look, you’ll see
My life is lived in harmony

My home

My home close to the sea and the mighty wind brings me clouds to watch the day. I watch them and watch the sea oats as they sway back and forth. The softness of the oats as they rustle each other then suddenly stops. The wind dies down and I take in deep breaths at water’s edge. I feel… I feel so… glad to feel at all.

My home has a small play of sunlight peeking through so I’ll be warm against the winds that preclude the storm. Large billowy and large pillars of clouds push across the water and throw ocean spray around me. I taste… it taste… the saltiness that I am made of.

Yet I Continue (2)

There are times when I’m not sure why I’m headed in “this direction”, or “that direction”; I only know that I don’t go alone. Many times I sit down to write and have no idea what will be presented or brought to the forefront of this “pop corn” like brain. Some posts surprise me more than they might surprise you. At times it’s like I’ve stepped out of a cave into a reality that bids me to just think and write whatever I’m feeling. Oh my, do I have feelings… and some might appear detrimental to my health. Indeed there is fear that what I write will be futile in its attempt to share life as I experience it. Yet I continue.

When it’s time to chose a photo I really note what elements ‘speak’ to the theme I’m attempting. This ocean looks pretty calm with nice small rolling waves. The foam rushes to shore with a bit of force cutting lines into the sand. Overall the photo exhibits a peaceful color soothing the nerves, advocating rest while the foam steadily flows. Yet I continue.

Strangely this photo is only for right now; this moment. My struggle to maintain an evenness of life is still affected by pain recently experienced. Yet I continue.

My walk is steadier, my goal ever true, and my hands write of the healing I feel from those of you… who continue.

Do I have a writer's block?

I’m not finding anything I want to write about so I’ll write about that. And blank.

I have goals that I’m afraid to reach toward. My current situation allows me to continue hiding from myself and those goals. And blank.

I have some very supportive people and resources and life is getting better, but I am not yet willing to hear reality. Yet my reality is what I make of it, taking into account the universal boo-boos that are planned for me.

I found this photo and it looks to be an old aqueduct/bridge thing that seems to parallel my issues. The old is crumbling and being washed away. But since I cannot see the new I run scared, and running is too familiar… it doesn’t work. And blank.

“And blank” is the emptiness that sits at the end of a sentence where another sentence might have joined had I had another thought to add. Another sentence would deliver me, possibly, to a paragraph? That’s the way compositions used to work but this is blogging; an informal rendering of heart and mine to cyber page.

I long to find the indwelling stirring that I feel and use to pen my pages; it’s not gone… it just seems to be on a break. Maybe I’m forcing issues I’m not ready for. Maybe I need some rest. I won’t know until I get ‘there’: End and blank.

A remembrance of love

You came here from another land
And we sat until dawn talking about the craziness
Of our world

Yours so humble and peaceful, mine aggressive
And often turbulent
But we talked on

The light shone through the glass door
And we noticed the sunrise
Neither of us tired

I couldn’t pronounce your name and you
Couldn’t pronounce mine,
But in a month we’d be married

Six months passed our lives broken
You went off to war
I stayed here and realized we
Would never be the same

a place for me

If I could live anywhere it would be in a place just like this scene of morning coolness; a chilled spray with slow, soft crashing waves of green nearing shores' edge, peaking in pink foam.

It would be a delicate sunrise of bright pink toned yellows, breaking forth in a lemony sky, oh my.

Would I share it or be alone? I think I'd rather be alone and drink it in; explore every sensory preception's reception.

The sand waits for each footprint to appear and just as quickly, to disppear; wet sand does as it is directed by a source we often forget. I won't forget this time.

The place I would live surely exists because I found a photograph of it. Can I find it? Yes, everytime I close my eyes I will see it and be grateful that I can still imagine beauty.

Just One Voice

“Just one voice singing in the darkness all it takes is one voice singing so they hear what's on your mind and when you look around you'll find there's more than One voice… “

Artist, composer, and lyrist, Barry Manilow may not have been the most popular musician in my high school, but I loved his music; I felt his music. Strangely I only have his first album, the others lost after so many moves with a running person.

I ran from every situation that needed confrontation, dropping my gift of love and leaving completely. Leaving friends and family wondering what was going on with me? I could never explain, but one day I stood still and let the world mow me down. Running was replaced by anger and hurtful feelings; then the loss of physical strengths. Hate came and it is the most devastating because it brings suffering, not only for me but for the ones around me.

So the choice was made to medicate me and I became a living zombie. I heard no one and nothing. For three and a half years I did not exist. One day I had a thought; A THOUGHT. The zombie finally had one thought; I would die, but how? Nothing came to mind. I couldn’t remember; how do people kill themselves?

Bargaining with the great silent universe I wanted to stop the non-existence I felt; I wanted to die. I began to starve myself, which created a medical problem of dosage versus body weight. Two weeks later I ended up in an emergency room, and the staff was going nuts trying to match the symptoms with a diagnosis. When I finally died at the hospital which tried desperately to keep me alive, I saw some of the most wonderful sites.

My youngest brother stood by my bed and I read his face even though my eyes were closed. He fought heard to keep his emotions unrevealed to anyone. With his medical background I knew, he knew. I tried hard to get his attention and tell him that I was going to be okay. I reached out with my arm but looked down at the sheet where my arm still lay. I knew his future, and wanted to tell him before I left. Just at that moment the golden “judgment box” reappeared overhead. I heard my brother tell his wife, “She’s dying and there’s nothing they know to do for her. They can’t find the problem.”

I lay back against the pillow having watched another “mirror of my life” within the judgment box clear; something had been forgiven in that instant. My brother and his wife stood before me and I saw behind them two great worlds collide and planets ripping apart. A large ship sailed out of the way and escaped the planets’ pull. No one else ever stood close enough for me to “see” what might be behind them.

A terrible medication accidentally got left at home, and left off of the emergency room history. No record of it anywhere. On the fifth morning in the ICU I awoke to a white, bright, clean room. Nurses and technicians fluttering about and then someone noticed that I was awake and sitting up. I had been without that one medication for five days. My mind was back. I no longer saw through a long dark tunnel toward a pinpoint light. It was as if I had been living in a dungeon and was seeing the outdoors for the first time.

I am not abandoning Barry Manilow’s lyrics. In my brief scenario above, someone was showing me great things, and if those great things help me find other voices singing in the darkness, then indeed I must sing, telling them what is on my mind. I’ve found more comfort re-listening to his music than in therapy where a person who’s had no tragedy like mine is telling me: “its okay.” Recently I’ve found many voices that have been singing for a long time of a way to heal through love, patience, and positive affirmations. I continue my journey learning from them and hopefully will one day be included in their collective ONE VOICE.

Can you fix me?

I want to explore without getting lost
My missteps add up, a burden with costs

Love is a goal but I’m never hot
My travel feels cold, rejection my lot

My mind swirls in time and I lose my way
My closet awaits, more prayers will I say

Temptation comes near, a dangerous feel
I laugh at my frailty, but know that it’s real

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Unbridled lust and reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here pleading
To be what I am; I am here for the reading.

The want to know people and not invite fear
I read and I write all the words that are dear