Daily OM

When Pain Comes Our Way

Honoring the experiences we have in our lives is an invaluable way to communicate with life, our greatest teacher. We do this when we take time at night to say what we are thankful for about our day and also when we write in a journal. Both of these acts involve consciously acknowledging the events of our lives so that they deepen our relationship to our experiences. This is important because it brings us into closer connection with life, and with the moment. Only when we acknowledge what’s happening to us can we truly benefit from life’s teachings.

It is especially important when pain comes our way to honor the experience, because our natural tendency is to push it away and move past it as quickly as possible. We tend to want to brush it under the rug. Yet, if we don’t, it reveals itself to be a great friend and teacher. As counterintuitive as it seems, we can honor pain by thanking it and by welcoming it into the space of our lives. We all know that often the more we resist something, the longer it persists. When we honor our pain, we do just the opposite of resisting it, and as a result, we create a world in which we can own the fullness of what life has to offer.

We can honor a painful experience by marking it in some way, bringing ourselves into a more conscious relationship with it. We might mark it by creating a work of art, performing a ritual, or undertaking some other significant act. Sometimes all we need to do is light a candle in honor of what we’ve gone through and what we’ve learned. No matter how small the gesture, it will be big enough to mark the ways in which our pain has transformed us, and to remind us to recognize and value all that comes our way in this life.

Source; Daily OM

Enrapture

She walks the extra mile to merely glimpse in his eyes – intense, unrevealing, sometimes smiling, always unnerving she tries hard to read – leaving frustrated, refusing to give up. Aggravating passivity moving too slowly – while admiring externally, she longs to make him move. In the same direction, on the same page, effortless chemistry, confounding logistics – languishing in lust, his and her own. Wanton desire, fantasies erotic, bring her to her knees – transform on a whim, darkened room, cumulative heat where shadows loom.

Transition

Haunted by memories
Visions…
Images…
Plague the mind
Too many minds
Loss greater than death
Dying a thousand times
Each time I think of you
And remember –

Quote of the day

“Nothing is predestined - The obstacles of your past become the gateways that lead to new beginnings.”
~Ralph Blum

Sadie / February 2002 - May 2008

This is the last picture we took of Piggy. As sick as she was, she still looked on us with love. She died this evening in her bed, with her family by her side.

Farewell my faithful friend - until we meet again….

Sunday Scribblings

#110 – Telephone

Spa day – honeydew facial – new negligee – shook her hair loose then checked herself twice in the mirror, making sure she looked just right. Then she went to him – on his turf, to make her intentions known. Something her therapist advised her to do, in order to get their relationship back in the groove.

Feeling confident and sure, she approached beguilingly – asked what he was doing, batted her eyelashes and smiled. He turned his attention her way, raised his eyebrows and smiled – reached for another boiled peanut, eyes drifting back to the race. Crushed, but refusing to let her feelings be known, she turned and walked to the bar – poured herself a Coke, then retreated to her own domain, grabbing her robe along the way.

She closed the door and dialed the number, feeling nervous as she listened to the ring. His tone was one of happiness when he recognized her voice. So glad to hear from her, having missed her – assuring her that no matter what the trouble, he was there to make everything right.

“Shall I place the charge on the credit card we have on file,” he asked – as she reached over and turned off the light – always hating this part before the illusion began.

Autumn Griffin

The seasons of our lives are well defined – born into winter we grow into spring – flourish in summer – mature in autumn – only to return full circle to winter – where we wind down and vanish.

I am autumn’s child
I do not like it
Much
Leveling off
Maturing
Feeling like summer
Longing for
Spring

Surrounded by people
All telling me
Different things
Taking everything
They can from
Me

Places to go
Things to see
Opportunities knocking
Too many
Missed
Felling suffocated
Never so
Alone

Like the raindrop
On my
Windshield
Unmoving – unyielding
No matter
How fast I
Travel

Why does it only
Stay in one
Place
To be dried
Up
Burned alive
By the
Suns striking
Rays

I hear the
Griffin calling
From which way
I do not
Know
I no longer feel
Fear inside
Perhaps at this
Moment
I’m ready to
Go –

To move or not to move

That is most certainly the question I’ve been asking for several days now.

Having troubles with the WordPress.org site and wondering if it’s really worth the hastle - not to mention that most of you seem to still be coming here. Will keep you posted as the bugs are located and destroyed or worked around.

Hopefully life will settle and I can get back to writing. My mind is overflowing and needs a good purge.

Have a great weekend!

Peace…

Piggy update

She’s back home – and NOT in a box!!

Took her to our regular vet, who was very familiar with the vet who saw her yesterday, and Byron was right on the money when he referred to him as a, German spandex wearing, bicycle riding, Saab driving, money grubbing mother fucker!

Several of the things he told me were flat out lies. Dr. Langford said he was expecting a very sick Sadie and was pleasantly surprised to see her condition. She does have heartworm disease, but does not need to be hospitalized and undergo the very extreme and very expensive treatments the other vet wanted to immediately start. She’s taking a diuretic to get rid of the fluid and an antibiotic and once the fluid starts going away, she regains her appetite and is feeling better overall we’ll start with the shots to kill and rid her of the heartworms. He doesn’t think there’s any reason why the treatment won’t be successful.

So, I’m pissed off that the shyster vet put us through that shit and charged $523 for it, but elated that our vet had very positive news, spent well over an hour talking with us about the disease and treatment, sent us home with meds and SADIE, and only charged $65.

I realize she is nowhere near out of the woods and we still have a long way to go, but I am SO relieved and feeling very, very positive.

Thank you all for your words of support, concern and understanding. I appreciate it more than you know…

Peace

Piggy

It’s a sad day in the Terry household. Took Sadie (aka Piggy) to the vet today, as she hasn’t been eating and her belly is swollen. We went to a vet here in the neighborhood instead of our regular at the beach, for convenience sake, and $523 later we walk away with the knowledge that she has advanced heartworm disease (stage 3) and her abdomen is filled with fluid, as the disease is affecting the right side of her heart.

He said she only has a matter of weeks before the disease kills her, but there are treatments we could start her on – 3 shots at $500 a pop after she’s admitted to hospital, has her abdomen tapped for fluid and started on antibiotic and Aspirin to thin her blood, before the treatment regimen is even started. And of course she might not be able to tolerate the treatments and that could kill her quicker.

We have an appointment tomorrow afternoon with our regular vet to look over the x-rays and the findings and see what he suggests and weigh the options. I am fully prepared to be bringing her home in a box, as it doesn’t seem hopeful at all and I absolutely do not want her to suffer any more than she already it – although the vet today said she isn’t in any pain, but rather is in a constant state of nausea with labored breathing due to the fluid causing her windpipe to be slightly constricted.

Tonight she rests comfortably in her bed beside my desk and her breathing is fine. I gave her a chocolate doughnut hole and she wolfed it down, no hesitation – which gave me a false sense of hope in thinking she might be feeling a bit better, when in reality she’s just a pig, but she’s my pig. I know chocolate is bad for dogs, but what the hell difference does it make now.

I miss her already and she knows it, as she keeps glancing up at me with a look in her eyes that I’ve never before seen.

FUCKING NASTY-ASS MOSQUITOS!!!

Killing me softly

She woke up one morning with an urgency to become more involved in her daughter’s lives. I call it women’s intuition – she doesn’t question it or call it anything at all. That very day she signed on for Girl Scout and PTO duty, in addition to the Sunday school class she taught two days a week, and has been stretching herself thin ever since. The feeling of urgency replaced with overwhelming exhaustion – and still she’s no closer to her girl’s than she was before, but at least she can say she’s involved.

People at work noticed a change within a few weeks, as she was sickly pale, had no energy and suffered extreme mood swings, which was not at all like her. After a few months of this routine, she started becoming sick with what she believed to be allergies, but still refused to take time off work to see a doctor – until the day she woke with sores on the back of her throat and her lips swollen with what she believed were cold sores. The doctor gave her a z-pack of antibiotic and sent her on her way – she returned to work the next day, to the horror of her co-workers, who begged her to take some time off to heal herself – but she was having none of it.

Feeling physically spent as time wore on, she somehow adjusted to her ailments and forged ahead, refusing to let anything stop her or slow her down. A few more months and it would be summer, school would be out and then she’d take a break, she kept telling herself. But something else was bothering her that wasn’t so easy to shake – something unidentifiable and somewhat familiar constantly gnawing at the back of her mind – driving her on when she hadn’t the energy to drive herself, not knowing what or why.

If she opened herself, looked deep inside, she would recognize that gnawing from her own childhood, brought on by a repressed memory of her father and his late night visits to her and her sister’s room – the look in the eyes of her own daughters, mirroring that of hers, if she’d only find the strength to see.

And while clarity loomed on the horizon, her husband feared what was happening and knew if it came down to a choice, that it would be her that had to go, so that he could continue the life he’d built in secret with his girls.

“Honey, you look exhausted,” he said as he stood in the doorway and watched her fumble with the coffee filter. He walked across the room and took it from her. “Here, let me do that, you go on and take a shower.” She looked up at him and forced a smile, not having the courage or strength to tell him she hated his bitter coffee, but thankful that he’d offered to take over this simple task, which meant she had a few extra minutes to stand in the hot shower and try to wake up.

He watched as she shuffled her feet across the floor and disappeared down the hall, and then he reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the vial, added a few drops in the bottom of the pot and flipped on the switch to brew.

Snapshot Saturday

Just a few reasons I love living in Florida…

Shampoo, Cut & Blowjob

She took her time, even though there was a reception area full of clients waiting for her – and a few were there well over two hours – just waiting and watching, waiting and watching. They didn’t give a shit if she gave a good cut or a bad one – they just wanted to spent time in that chair and then enjoy the long, leisurely shampoo she gave afterward.

They didn’t see her as a whole person – they couldn’t have. She had a thick accent and spoke broken english - face-wise she had the appearance of a vulture – with a large, thick, beak-like nose, big wide-set eyes that were positioned more to the sides of her face than the center and a thin-lipped little mouth. They were looking at her in pieces – for she had a taught body with one of those heart-shaped asses, tiny waist and perky little tits, and was maybe five feet tall.

I was astonished, as I sat across from her station, hair full of foil, looking like a freak, and watched as one man after another came and went. The one in the photo was especially hot for her, as every time she turned to get something off the table he stole a quick “real-life” glance at her ass, as opposed to the reflection in the mirror he’d been settling for.

I told her before I left, being me and unable to resist, that if she wore a skirt or shorts she’d have them lined up around the block. She gave me a quizzical look, having absolutely no idea what I was talking about, while my own stylist fell over laughing.

Perhaps that was part of her captivating charm, the fact that she was totally clueless and therefore the men could ogle her at will without worry of offending or possible repercussion n the form of an accidental slip of the shears.

Dark Waters

I was shocked, but not surprised, when I read the headline and saw the clip of the familiar faces, stricken with unidentifiable emotion for the camera. 4-year-old boy mauled to death by family Pit Bulls. What did surprise me was the fact that the dogs were what got him and not one of the fucked up adults he was born into the care of.

I’d witnessed their dysfunction, blatant abuse and disregard for several hours – as for one beautiful afternoon, we shared the same beach.

It started with the twin Pit predators – whenever someone walked too close to the truck they were chained to. They waited quietly as the unsuspecting victims approached and once they crossed the barrier, visible only to the dogs, they lunged – the chains rattling as they unfurled along the sand then clanging loudly once they were pulled taught and the hundred-plus-pound pits reared on their hind legs – balancing against the chains that were fastened to their spiked collars. Their incessant barks and snarls, glistening canines, eyes black with rage, and the owners laughing their asses off as the people screamed and took off running for their lives – it was positively sickening.

Then there was the child – his piercing screams causing the gulls to flee the scene and everyone within earshot to stop whatever they were doing and turn to search out the child in peril – only to find his greasy, fat father dragging him up the beach and stopping several times to beat his ass – declaring for the world to hear that he’s just done with the little fucker!

He was tossed on the sand like a wet beach towel where he continued to kick and scream. The mother finally rolled to one side and hoisted herself to her knees and struggled to stand. She took several agonizing steps toward the child – pale dimpled, rippling flab wiggling as she went, until she reached him, bent down, grabbed him by one arm and jerked him off the ground then dragged him toward the truck, his little toes skimming the sand, leaving a trail – the pits yapping and lunging as if he was a tasty morsel they were being tempted with.

I thought about getting their license number and making the call, but I didn’t, because quite frankly the child protective services in Florida is riddled with abusive predators just waiting to get their hands on some poor mistreated, messed-up child – so it’s hard to tell which fate was worse. So, I tried to push it from my mind, as I turned on my ipod, put on some soothing music, rolled over and basked in the warmth of the sun.

I didn’t stay tuned to listen to the details of the case, but chances are the child was dead long before the mauling began – as most times the dogs strike at the throat, killing their victims fairly quickly, sometimes instantaneously. One can only hope.

Big News - Big Move

I’m moving the blog to it’s own domain.
I decided I needed more control and by doing this, I’ll have it!
I’ll be leaving this blog up and running as is, but all future posts will be at the new site -

Wordsmith-Extraordinaire.com

Pardon the mess - construction is not quite complete, but we’re close!
Thanks so much to all of you for your support. I hope you like the new site. I do!