Proceed with caution.

Is this why “faith” can be intimidating? Because it makes us admit that life isn’t all about us? Ha!

What a selfless way to expect us to live and act by. How counter intuitive to everything we currently know and feel comfortable with. Otherwise, if we lived by faith, or simply in a way in which it wasn’t “all about us”, things would probably look a lot different.

We’d probably ask more questions, and too, seek more answers. 
And in turn we didn't, would this make us lazy or simply reveal that we really do not want (can't handle) the answers?

How is there still such vast separation between the black and white community, but racism doesn’t exist?

Why is the gap between rich and poor increasing, yet we are making America great again?

How is the lower class growing and upper class shrinking, yet the majority contribute 2/3 and the minority the rest?
How come medical marijuana, despite being from earth and all-natur…

Friends of

Let me start with this.

One time I had a really bad panic attack. The kind my therapist refers to as a "re-experience". I was brought to the E.R. because my friends couldn't figure out a way to calm me down and make me believe there weren't two men physically present holding my neck, with a gun to the back of my head. Nothing they said or did, brought me back to the room we were in.

As you read this you may be thinking, "that sounds like a scene in the movies when the soldiers home from war".

Well, I've never watched my life on film, but it may be an accurate picture.

My friends and I were out that night. Drinking as young single city girls do. And I was triggered. Triggers include sights, sounds, smells or thoughts that remind you of the traumatic event in some way. Damn, that's a lot of things for me when you put it that way.

Anyway, because the E.R. staff knew we had been out (obviously the group of white girls in nice clothes didn't give i…

In case of loss, please return to:

I wrote this in June 2015.
In case of loss, please return to:
To give some context as to why that matters, today, see timeline below.
Once read, that is, in combination of the two, you will either realize (like me) "holy, literal, "holy" shit, God is real". Or you might just see a timeline with multiple layers of irony, and hopefully, find the piece referenced above to be poetic.
But just remember, the antonym for "irony" is "logic".  "And experience is a better guide to this than deductive logic"

May 2018: Drove through my old neighborhood.

June 2015: 802 South Mole Street. Lived there. 
May 2018: I have just enough money to life.
I asked for money to help with my meter. It took 3 strangers and a food truck owner to get 4 quarters for a dollar.

June 2015: I had all the money and wasn’t alive.
I never had to pay a meter. And probably would have turned my face down to help too.

May 2018: Laid on the couch in center city with my shoe…

Wake Up Daughter

Why is our heavenly father so sad?
Do you not notice he cries showers on us day after day?

In this moment, I am fully present.
I am fully connected.
I cannot deny, that as I sit in the silence of meditation,
and hear the short-lived tears rolling down the cheeks of nature’s leaf’s,
He greets me.

Find comfort in my love, father.
I am with you.
You are not alone.

Like a friend in compassionate company,
feeling adequate enough to let the wall down.
To show their true pain.
As your daughter,
what is it you ask of me to console?

Connecting my heart to yours,
being that of nature and all that surrounds me.
What is it you have me feel for you,
as your blue skies are dense?

Confused in emotion.
All knowing, I hear you.
All knowing, I see you and I feel you.

To be consoling to all that is intangible,
what a high honor to be rewarded.

Anger in the strength of wind,
pushing and pulling trees as they try to resist.
Heaviness in the volume of rain,
pouring and drenching bodies as we try to escape.

Undeserving Diagnosis

When most people are diagnosed with a disease or disorder, they feel undeserving, as if unfairly punished.
When I was diagnosed with PTSD I felt undeserving, as if unworthy.
The only thing I knew about PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) was that it was a terrible brain injury many men and women who had come home from military deployments soon developed. Being a kid who was in high school during 9-11, I had seen plenty of this in my generation over the years. I even dated a Marine (god bless him) who dropped out of college, on baseball scholarship, joining immediately after the World Trade Center attacks happened in NYC. He served three tours, developing what I call, an addiction to battle and brotherhood. He would have re-enlisted again if they would’ve taken him but instead he ended up in and out of bars, overnight in jail cells, and awoken from sleep by nightmares of enemy attacks.
We met after his service, but I will never forget those nights. I will never forget the attempte…

Make America High Again

No, I am not referring to marijuana.

Although popular studies and research do seem to suggest this could be a potential revolution in the healthcare industry. One that would likely not favor the “system” but may help the people who make it up. And that just seems a little too altruistic of the industry if you ask me. Which may be part in why the US has stopped funding its medicinal research, but hey, that is not my topic of discussion (today).

We all know when someone says something like “get high” they are usually referring to recreational drug use like marijuana, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, meth, etc. The illegal stimulants. The ones you don’t need a prescription to get filled but sure as hell don’t keep in the medicine cabinet. Different from the opposing class of drugs that, while too make you feel good, are offered by your doctor and covered (to some degree) by your insurance. The ones pharmaceutical companies make in labs and, while not cheap to develop, can be incredibly profitab…

Living in Satire. Dabing for Freedom.

I used to fight for people to take me seriously. Now, I look forward to surprising people into it.
My favorite thing about the way I look is that I can be easily stereotyped. And this for me makes life so entertaining. As if I am daily on my own live TV show where I am the producer, the actor, and the writer. The world is my petri dish and society is my lifelong sociology thesis project.
I used to try and fit in. Impress. Keep up. Be socially acceptable. Only speak and look within the confines of certain cultural parameters that I thought were acceptable by my family, friends, upbringing, career, social circles, values, and so forth. I never left the High School cafeteria.
Now, I constantly find myself in situations where I think (in the last minute) “crap, other people are in this world I’ve created for myself” and I have a Homer Simpson “Duh.” moment. I seriously stopped caring. Almost to the degree in which I need a Maria Filter System of checks and balances to make sure I don’…