How Merciless Life Can Appear

Greed and Envy
Two Very Important ailments
To transform to virtues
Of jewel toned wisdom

Greed- perhaps the fuel for Envy
Envy- the philosophy of jealousy
Carefully contrived
From noting all “that isn’t fair”

What appoints us the judges
Of how things “should be”
Rather than living the knowledge
Of love from the heart

Sold on the “having”
Rather than the “giving”
Or Being or Aspiring
Drops us off to a life
Of living in the monotony
Of the gerbil wheel

Keeping us primitive & captive
To the insatiable lust
For others to tend to our care
Rather than grow our own gardens
And trusting in the destiny of our own devise.

Choosing a Therapist

It must be scary
Trying to find a therapist
Choosing from some list
Will this person
Be kooky or bright
And will one know
What they know
Is accurate

A stranger in the scant naked crevices
Of the heart of the matter.
One couldn’t help but wonder
Do they have some sort of mind power
That could read behind the anguish
Or sort through the thoughts.

Probably a bleeding, commi, liberal
Who turns one away from guns
And gets a person meditating.
Talking about feelings.

What if it’s too hard to get what that is
And feel the hollow
Of the body cavity
Burrowing through everything
The insidious shame
That shadows existence
Shielding one from lovability

If the truth be known
What will be revealed at the core
Will the tears flood out
The stains on self illusion
And will the truth really set one free?

Wish You Were Here

Rooms once connected
Are now coffined off
Into isolated containers
Of what was once shared

The pursurer
Got tired of the role
Not yet prepared to die
But knew life took a toll

The elusive one
The partner that has always held back
Escaped behind the stage
In the blackness of camouflage

Quietly the house aches and sways
Tired of the promises
From the days of energetic hope
Open to whatever, in the name of ambivalence.

The Rules of Our Game

Each couple has
Their own way
To repeat their patterns
From childhood stark lessons

Meandering through
The secret gardens
Of the palace
Of the mind

Where we all decide
Despite what wise and elders have advised
Where in the mass puzzle
We design our lives

The rules are often vague
While some are filled with repetitive, repetitive ritual and theme
Or either being the fall guy
Or the vibrant hunter

Who shall be the heavy
And the academy award performance of the victim
Can it be the aimless role
Or the frustrated organizer, like an ancient sheep herder

The rules of the game fully exist
Clouding fantasies with cast systems
And fated Karma
Convoluting expectations to wardrobes
With many try on possibilities.

Rules and roles
Not always so credible, but achievable
Vague nuances
Of what may never be consciously adhered to.

From the Little That You Knew

Trapped in the burdens
Of the roles your parents made you take
And how did you handle danger
How all did you cope
From the little that you knew,
How the world assigns us an identity
That can completely steal
One’s identity
Clear out of the ball park.

How unreasonable
Is it to have to assume
That your home life
Was the normal
From the little that you knew

Hiding and isolating
In the sanctity of a closet
Or ice skating every day
On the thinnest pieces of ice
Knowing something had to crack
And wondering if being explosive
Would change the scenery
From the little that you knew
You knew something wasn’t right

So we learn to shut the emotions off
Like hot water from rusty old pipes
We head for the darkness
Far from the protruding sounds
Hide away until the revolution is over
Or at least, the next battle lost
From the little that you knew
You understood what it would be like
To be beside yourself

From the little that you knew
Cannon balls exploded
Changing the tiny, child, terrain of your life
Just in the flick of a match
How hard it must be
To live in perpetual fear
Of annihilation

Break

Brain Alteration
Friday Night Tune up
Away goes the week
All of work is forgotten

Now who I be
Without a job title
Just a plain old soul
On the weekend path

Numb and fry
Distract and absorb
The back yard barbeque
Prevents further introspection

Dancing, spinning
Letting it all unwind
Fashioned for a whirlwind vacation
Just on a two day break

Chores await
Back to labor
Right around the corner
But, for now, it’s just free time

The Likes of X BOXES

War Games
Video Wide
Minds are sucked
Right through the screen
Never to return the same

Exciting is Enticing
Escaping is the oldest trick
To mankind
And this is reliable

Another world
With friends from far away places
Even though
They never show their faces

In Control
With power tools
Equipped with a brain
That can best assist

Talk about addictions
Is this the modern Zen
Oneness with nothingness
While thinking to have it all

The focus is enormous
Especially for those
Who otherwise live in a blur
Why not package it and sell it from the pharmacy.

Excerpt from a poem by Charles Bukowski

The balloon pops and I walk across a kitchen
On a rainy day in February
To check on eggs and bread and
Wine and sanity

(1969) from his book “The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills- check it out, great thinkers then!

I Pray For The Sick

Alone in a place
That cannot be described
Constantly in a state
Of unknown wait

Questions so important
Fade to other degrees
As new issues present
An ever more complex Picture of health

Breathing easy
Is only a bogus façade
Of assembly line pills
And generic, clinical trials

Hours of isolation
With preoccupation
With the most basic and mundane
Of physical functionality issues

People really don’t know what to say
And the “patient” is identified
To be separated
To avoid the news recipient’s guilt

It is a dark room
Blaring with giant, white question marks
Life and death
Now seem to have but a hair line between them

In the ominous depths of winter
A sprig of bloom Has to be found
Or the cave leads to a cavern
That never lets the light come in

The pride, the hidden fear
The radical change in persona
Internally and externally
Leaves the personality and identity to start anew

Run to western, molecular medicine
Or run away to the jungle mystics
The whole of existence Radically contemplated
Based on a tiny, culprit invader.

If only it were Off to normalcy
A road so less traveled
Hand wide open for a miracle
Heart embracing every humorous sonata

Motherhood

Drenched in awakening
From some kind of womb
Where life had only been imagined
From inside the room

Bright lights
Time for a debut
Enter the outside world
To a new view

Mother and father
And whoever else cares
Trying those lungs out
As they begin to stare

Let’s hope they find you beautiful
And able to properly care
To provide you with nurturance
And a life that is fair

May your parents be there for you
Tragedy and drama free
Able to put their needs aside
To be there for thee

A Visit From The Panic Attack

The panic attacked
Attacks at will
Without warning
The adrenaline spills
Over the body
Invading the mind
Superseding volition
In a way so unkind.

What are the beliefs
That trigger the body to misbehave
Rendering one
A slave
Powerlessness
Has a power of its own
An investment in feeling less

It seems so opportune
To pop an anti-anxiety pill
Praying beyond prayers
To keep you still
Running like a fox on a hunt
Anticipating ill.

All those trauma memories of the past
Stored deep within the amygdale catacombs
Securely trapping the long inhabited
Isolation, abandonment tombs

When the burgeoning fountain spouts
All the anguish of the past comes forth
Traveling rapidly to the frontal lobe
Intellectual neurons of self judgment fire off

The most unlikely thought-
To stay and embrace the fear
May foil the ominous
and leave the mind and body clear.

The Ring Finger

It is the annual anxiety
Of the wedding anniversary
The day of the year to really reflect
On “What the heck?”
How did it all begin
Was it a gust that fools rush in?
Maybe hormones at first sight
That aren’t enough to continue to delight.
Was their pain-staking time
To pretty much know the rhyme?
Did it change so drastically
When one grew while the other just fleed.
Is it such a beautiful pretense
While your ass is chain linked in the fence.
Was it patiently growing
In a field of unknowing?
Marriage devotion
What a potion
Legally bound
Making you wish you weren’t found.
But left alone to cope
Still engorged in dream and hope.

Quite Impossibly, Possible

To live the impossible
(animate those amazing
Tastes of dreams)
Is oh, so possible.

When we are impossible
We cannot be pleased
By the possible
We need it all

Make an intention
To pay attention
And give mention
To the pension diving in the soul

Impossible
Is impossible to prove
The rules dictate the brain
But freedom is the wild horse
In the heart’s domain

Women Are The Gardner’s Of Time

Women want to be girls
And girls want to be women
Young women want to be foolish
Carefree
Women approaching thirty
Often get the call to fertility duty
Men become secondary
In the line up of priorities
While women fall deeply in love
With their creation
The brand new start
To opening up the oyster of a world.

Career women soar
Rock, solid stable in going for the gold
Late middle age women
Look back in awe
Older women
Enter wisdom
Wanting to return in time
To perky breasts
And silky smooth,
Wrinkle-free faces
If only females had these smarts
And unabashed truth
In those younger years.

Maybe we can have it all
Just at segmented stages
Ripened at different times
Along the learning tree

Women let their white hair soar
Like a flag of final duty
Set free to the wind
Making way for yet a new path

Grandmothers bragging
And little girls doting in their nana’s eyes
Ready to suck up that life of tell alls
And learn to flirt in the very first year.

Can Children Be Free to Be Kids and Super Athletes?

When parents can let them be kids

and not burden them with any of the responsibilities

of working to make this magic, stardom happen.

When parents can rise above their own failed dreams

and not impose that pressure of making their life complete.

When parents can unbiasly listen

to their children's desires

even when it conflicts with their own aspirations.

Yes, but…

Holocaust of words
To comfort or placate
After a while
It makes no difference.

“I was going to, I will, I’ll try”
How about “I am in the action of-
Doing, being, serving my higher power
Responding to the better good”.

Completing, resolving
Realizing, changing
Discovering new truths
Self convicted.

Collapsing on the waxed
And slippery floor
Of unfulfilled promises
With only a mock hand to pull you back up

Machine gunned terror
Of repetitive patterns of
“one more chance”
Relegated to the fox hole forever

Amicable

No matter how hard you try
Sometimes amicable cannot be amicable.

To separate and not withdraw
Keeps the heart ache breaking

Amic- friendly
Able- can do

To open up
And welcome another

Such a high risk situation
For an undetermined prize

Could it be the gift of wisdom
Or happily ever after

Amicable can hardly apply to divorce or break-up
Amicable loathes deceit and perceived betrayal

Amicable to bright lights in your eyes
Or a mirror in your hand

Some words are funny, like that
Filled with numerous impossibilities.

For amicable
“friendly; peaceable” (Webster’s)

Bejeweled

The exquisite colors
Of my memory of you.
You were the music
I was the lyrics
And together we made a song.

In those days
We didn’t worry about compatibility
Financial stability
Or what the future might bring.

We dreamed of momentary pleasures
And only negotiated what would be more fun
Running naked in the rain
And making love out in the open

Complex and simplistic as you may have seemed
I knew you loved me
You saved me from satanic predators
You smiled at me every morning and night

Our creativity was our creation
Everything about our lives
Was moving and vibrant
Preparing so whimsically for our next adventure

Now I miss you
In the memories of who I was
A youthful time
Of young love drenched in optimism.

Parents

Still wrapped in a blanket
Sitting in the cold
Wrapped in the colors of our making
Some complex webs
Of doubt and fear
Began before we could create them-
Our lovely parents
Set the glue in place
Some are artisans,
Some enchanting inspirations
While other parents simply
Taught us chaos
Filling our rooms with poor choices
Abusive sights
And destructive guidance.
Then some were somewhere
But never seemed to be there for us
They could not be faulted
By their sufficient completion of provisional supplies
Leading us to fend for ourselves
In the emotional arena.
Why does one sibling
Seem so “special” always “the one”
Who got everything the parents had to give;
While the other child got merciless recognition
As the identified family problem.
And why do some parents emulate
The meaning of lovers
While others can barely stand alone?
And some weep vengefully with internal morose,
While others pause in gratitude,
embodied in the miracle or our existence.
The answer lies somewhere between DNA and Karma
But we stay wrapped in our blanket
Until we learn how to nourish and nurture ourselves.

So You Are Not Having A Good Day?

It is all in how you get out of bed
Stretching to slowly uncoil
Breathing deeply to let out the night
And make room for the day
Looking at the clouds with imaginary patterns
Letting the fresh air of the morning
Embrace your silhouette

Not offering up your power
To the whims of those around you
Not molding and melding
Into someone else’s wishful thinking
Opening up the curtains to possibilities
That the shower will not wash away

Shattered glass chips
Worries from the night before
Must be exonerated
Shaking out the blankets
On your pretend European balcony
Taking away the debris of the
once perseverating guilt and anguish
that may have tortured you
at least some time during the sleep.

Experience the present
Meaning all of your senses in the context of you
In order to strengthen your stance
And solidly face the day
With a brave heart
And giving and receiving hands.

Why People Stay in Relationships

1. The Greatest Generation, or the GI Generation (1901-1924)
Many immigrants marrying there or here
Not even a thought of conforming, just accepting
The way things are designed to be.
Roles are clear as glass
And no one dares break the sound barrier
Both men and women come together for pragmatics
The depth and meaning that will unravel over time
Are mostly inconsequential to the quintessential fears of sphinsterhood
And no one to carry on the name or take over the farm.

2. The Silent Generation (1925-1942)
Fifty years of bliss or just fifty years.
I think back to my parents romance
It seemed as if my dad swept my mom off her feet
And whisked her away to the marriage chapel
Without a moment’s hesitation.
Men then were decisive
They proclaimed their desires
Without any modern fears of commitment or failure.
The women beckoned to be the lady of the house
With full, swirly skirts promising eternal awe.

3. Baby Boomer Generation (1943-1960)
Moving the hips to throw out the cobwebs
Of inhibitions gone wild
Changing partners, got to taste it all
The drugs and flower power
Ease the threats of blatant military atrocities
In wars that never let one go back home.
The changing of the guard
Making divorce a normal life transition
But their hearts were basically pure
Unable to forget those they left behind
Claiming both past and present as endearing lovers
While protesting and rocking out demands for change
Men and women not sure what roles they wanted
Or even what they could negotiate.
Marriage started out “just a piece of paper”
But lead right in to the tightening moralities for the next generation.

4. Generation X (1961-1981)
Hanging on to their parents rebellious coat tails
Wanting to make things a little more chill
Rebelling with alcohol and even speed
But, ultimately returning to an ultra conservative stance
Once again fearing being alone
Or a failed marriage
Getting so individualized it is all about me deserving
There is so much forethought just to date
All the criteria carefully run through the values computer
Scientifically dating, not spending a whole lot of time with
What can I be giving
Wanting the perfect child that overindulges their lives
Culminating with the idea that the balance of man and woman needs restoration
So traditional roles can once again soar.

5. Generation Y- /Generation Next, Millennials, or Echo Boomers (1982-2000)
Texting, teching, iphones and ipads and webcams
Keeping their distance
Short and sweet
A new language without particular verbs
Slangs and hesitations in abbreviated verses
Making the real contact awkward
And no where as revealing
Confused by the world of love
It is now more of an open playing field for choices
Love comes in any combination of genders
Roles are so convoluted there is no reason to ask anyone for a dance
The world has been such a wild crapshoot of boom and bust
And everything has been seen and heard on tv or the big screen or utube
All that is left is the uncertainty of the times, the health of the earth
And the longevity of the moment.

Labor Day To The Restless

We believe mistakenly that good is unrewarded, evil goes unpunished, and that life lacks true justice. Why? Because the memory of our positive and negative actions fades over time, and when their delayed effects appear, we see them as simply random events.

Make no mistake - everything counts!

Today, pay attention to the way you think, speak and act. Every thought counts, every action counts, every word counts. (Yehuda Berg)

Keeping this in mind, how do we put that in the context of how we live our lives. How many rules do we really need to make. Our internal self regulator (conscience, morals, innate knowing) is always there. It is only when we argue with what we know is right that we end up feeling so wrong.

So why do we rebel against our true nature? Our internal voice is there for the listening. Maybe we just want to live a little. By making these dumb and sometimes drastic mistakes we are furled into action. Our world is not so sane or mundane or disdained. Some believe that if you get it all together- you are out of here, you gleaned all that you need to know. We would all die young, if that were the case, as it is said that we are born with all the blessings of wisdom and righteousness, but we quickly forget as we proceed with the dance of life.

It is only when we realize that complication is not energy fueling us forward, but rather, delays by leading us astray. Both chaos and meandering aimlessly are two forks in the same road, like switching channels, you can vaciillate between their embers. When they call it “the straight and narrow”, I wonder if rather than think of it as the boring, goody two shoes path, what if it was the direct path straight to Paradise?

A Woman Meets Her Rapist

What’s a woman to do
Years have gone by
The air of safety
Was beginning to cool her collar
Then suddenly
After marrying a gentle man
She’s randomly on line
At the local 7/11
When who is behind them
With a breath rhythm she will never forget
Her body taisered by his looming omnipresence.

She tried to tell her husband
Who is deeply contemplating
The pink or the blue Slurpee?
And the words just don’t come out
After her obvious nudging
Should she run, or blast out the message
(This is my assailant- the rapist
Who tortured me Mind, Body and Soul)
Well there might as well have been a harkening choir
As her devastation once again took place
In the most seemingly appearing calm and normalcy

So, she waits until he happily
Leaves the counter with the bright blue Slurpy-
Already decorating his beard and chin
Now she is almost embarrassed
For her rapist to think this is the caliber of man
Who might have protected her
Then she gets to the car
Remembering her initial fear
That if she told
Her father would kill him and go to jail.
She slowed down her intents
To rethink the potential replay demise

It is bewildering how those horrid thoughts
Attack in the middle of the night
The body remembers
And like a freight train
It comes speeding down the tracks
Before the brain can stop it.
The constant hypervigilence
That never lets the survivor rest
The world becomes a facade of niceties
Packaging up the every day Hell
Called Post traumatic Stress Disorder.

They are safely back in the car
They made it to the border
She quickly tells him
Like rolling tiny, pink candy balls
Floating off the tongue
And on to the motor cross
“He’s the one” she managed to shake out
Like talking through a clarinet reed
“the rapist, the guy who raped me!”
He finally put the disjointed words together
Then turned his head either feeling her anguish
Or his own shame for not having been there to protect her
Heroically, or ego sustainingly
He asks her “What do you want me to do?”
Why is he asking me this she thinks
Movie heart throbs, always know what to do, on their own.

No Lights On

He looked like a man
Handsome and rugged
An inattentive look
From a stoic face
That only shares sarcasm

She asked him
“How do I look in this new dress?”
As she does a Marilyn Monroe swoosh
Without as much as a glance her way
He says “fine, okay”.

“Are you really sure?”, she asks
Now more seriously,
“What do you really think?”
“I’ve told you a million times-
Yea, just fine, why do you need so much reassurance?.”

It is like the final drum role
She feels way beyond the days of disappointment
She had truly believed there was some substance
Not just a masculine action figure

Yearning for connection
She realizes he is completely unplugged
If she were to drain the bathtub (metaphorically containing his engagement)
Little would be released

He is confused by what she wants
And searches through a multiple choice schema
Of what might please or get her off of his back,
Let him rest his feet instead of stretching his mind

He is probably running scared
Knowing he can’t keep up with the program
But, why now, must she interrogate so deeply
He believes he loves her and comes home to her, isn’t that enough?

Confusing to a committed spouse
How a partner could be so removed
From his own self
Her only remaining question-
How disconnected was she to have not believed it sooner.

We All Have Our…

We all have our secrets
Big and small
Erased and ongoing
Stuck inside or freed

Secrets like magic potions
Disappear in daylight
Or find temporary refuge
In the distant caverns of the heart

Secrets, Lies
Lying beneath
The lip service
The shame
Spindles in the wheel of living

Silent histories
Hush them away
Run, like wild horses
Spooked in the night

Secrets to lull our dreams
Blur the truth
Stifle the future
With visions of self sabotage

We can run
But not hide or seek
It is what it is
What is done cannot be erased

Vitality and vibrancy suffer
In the skeletal cove
hoarding the past
To foretell the future.

Passengers

Do we see with our eyes
What our ears dare not hear

Do we taste with our tongue
What our skin does not feel

Do we sense with our intuition
What our reason may not think is reasonable

Do we know in our soul
That our body is just along for the ride

Learned Violence In American Homes

Six thousand acts of violence are committed every day across the United States.
Victims of rape, abuse, neglect and trauma occupy one in every eight hospital beds.
Thirty percent of all women seeking treatment in emergency departments are victims of battering.
Annually, domestic violence results in 100,000 days of hospitalization, 30,000 emergency department visits and 40,000 visits to physicians.
By proactively seeking therapy before things get too heated can prevent one from becoming a victim of crime or impulsively assaulting another. Of course, rape has many other dimensions and can mercilessly leave anyone a victim/surivior, and therefore has limited relevance to the following discussion.
When we are raised with or exposed to violence the feeling of racing adrenaline oddly becomes natural for us. With conscious awareness and a plan to learn a new way of living (without that traumatic and sometimes fatal drama), can greatly increase our quality of life while opening up a world of wonderful, fulfilling options. There is no need to get stuck in primitive emotions of rage and fear that only continue a viscious cycle of shame and regret. Professional therapists have studied these dynamics and receive extensive training in order to best assist you with tools to break the chains that otherwise bind us to the burdens of our past.

What Kind of Neighbor Are You?

Track Home Neighbors

Neighbors co-habitat
Perhaps, not exactly,
But it seems that way

They are close enough
To imagine your life
And note some relevant details

The smell of
Freshly mowed grass
Could have been your own

It is always hard to tell
What goes on
Behind closed doors

Neighbors generally say hi
Or wave, sort through mail
Or at least chat about the neighborhood

Everything with a few exceptions
Appears to be smooth and calm
As their smile escorts them back to their house

Sometimes we invite them in
For a drink, or coined conversation
Or to hope for friendship close at hand

Neighbors can cause a tale spin
With sudden news of divorce
Or tragedy or complication

We look inside our own home
Or is it just a house, like a holding tank
Until we get the strength, or vulnerability to tell our own story

We barbeque side by side
In the suburbs of our separate lives
Unless we potluck for Independence Day

Raising Your Expectations

You are always capable of creating miracles. As long as you know it and believe it. Always.
Today, raise your expectations. Be open to all possibilities. Always. (Yehuda Berg)

Right now I would like to put this in the context of the possibilites for change and growth in your personal relationships (albeit love, family, work, friendship, colleagues).

We are often afraid to change our interactions because we are not sure how else to be, or not comfortable with our own genuineness. There is an essential truth taught to therapsits which continually plays out in therapy. That is that if one person changes their behavior/interactions the whole system will change. Yes, we can run back to fear, but on the other hand, we can embrace the sacred change of allowing ourselves to speak and be who we truly are by nature. Basically, ask yourself "am I comfortable or uncomfortable with this request or interaction? Start by saying it silently to yourself, until you have practiced enough to say it out loud. Such a blissful freedom to release those words, "No, I won't be comfortable with that", no explaination necessary. People will know they can trust you whether or not they are pleased with your response. It is letting go of the fear of rejection that is biggest here. If others only want you for pleasing their needs, I beleive that is called fostering dependence being "Co-dependent". Enough about labels, you will feel self respect and you will have earned the respect of others. They will essentially have to change their interactions with you for the better, unless they are all about using, and in that case they will simply leave you alone. So today, why not raise your expectations for yourself, others will follow the best they can.

Best to You,

Carol Cole

The New Lovers

As the saying goes
“Everything is the opposite of what it seems”

Once again, it rings true.



The young are beautiful

Hard-bodied, sexy

But the essence is still asleep



The Romeo and Juliet

Trauma, drama that shakes up emotions

And compels one to rebellious convictions.



Then there is the procreating years

More obsessed with building the home

Than creating an authentic life



Children, careers

The steady buzz

Of productive, get it going feats.



Then there is the launching

And revisiting the relationship

Quieted from the long journey at sea



Looking into each other’s eyes

Ready for child-free fun

Tapered with flashback body memories from youth



Then the later years

When, if you have made it

You have that in itself to share



You savor the moments

Tender and few as they may be

Knowing what a whirlwind it all has been



You hold on to your health with gratitude

You care for and share with each other with humility

You celebrate crossing paths.



These lovers dream as one

Beyond the physicality of time

They are exquisitely entwined, bridging all gaps.

What about Confrontation?

This seems to be such a scary taboo, concept for so many people. What are they interpreting it to bring- pain, retaliation, anger, loss of love, accusation and rejection? Perhaps these were familiar patterns in the home of origin. Maybe family edicts growing up, taught; these would be the consequences and would be a sure fire way to always upset the apple cart.

I say “let’s shake it up”. If we don’t allow ourselves the freedom of our true voice and thoughts we suppress our lives away into toxic, internalized illness, and a true feeling of disconnect and alienation. Many homes have taught avoidance, numbing and denial at all costs. These may have been alcoholic families, violent households, or just very repressed, or even part of cultural norms. Not trying to impose values on anyone, but rather encourage open communication as a vital part of health and a freeing of the spirit to gain clarity. Whether the other is able to take in your inquiry negatively, or with warmth and receptivity is only one part of the equation. Just release it without expectation. If you speak your truth in a kind and dignified manner (maybe you need to write it down first, and think it through), you will not suffer with the lie, nor the lack of understanding of the situation. So why not replace the word “confrontation” with “Clarification”. Clarity prevents craziness on so many levels and lets you sleep at night, knowing you have said your peace. Perhaps you may even receive gems of warmth and understanding in the response you may engender.

Best of luck launching your courage to not stay stuck in the gagging smoke of fear.

What are you really seeing?

Our view of the world is physical and practical. Because of this, we have a limited view. We see a fraction of the whole picture. We tend ask ‘how,’ not ‘why.’ To develop our spiritual potential, we can learn to see beyond the physicality of the world.


Today, when you feel compelled to criticize or judge, ask yourself, “Do I see the whole picture? What am I missing?” By holding back and restricting this initial impulse, you can escape your shortsightedness and see the big picture
(written by Yehuda Berg)

Sunday Poem

Out on the Borderline




I walk outside my body

The mirror creates

What I think

I ought to be



I feel so young

In this burdensome image

Seduction is my draw

I will you in and suck you through my pores



I mean no harm

But I feel nothing

If not for jealousy

and abandonment



I am angry

At all those that began

My ascent into hell

And the surefire continuation of my greatest fears



I believe you

When you say you love me

And will protect me at any cost

The price I paid for the sacrifices made, incalculable



I am the perpetual victim

Losing what is left of myself

In the chaos

Of my frenzied hunt for recognition and lasting attention



Put me in your arms

Keep me safe

Through the days and nights

Of my own disasterous plight



I love you- you are everything

I hate you- you are only an object of my manipulation

You all get caught up in my seeming vulnerabilities

But then you disappoint



I have no alternative

But to slice you up

With venomous chops

As my empty insides never get filled