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.