WISE QUOTES

1. “What is the one thing, which when you possess, you have other virtues? It’s compassion.”
Attributed to the Buddha

2. “Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes; and immediately they regained their sight and followed Him.”
New Testament, Matthew‬ ‭20:34‬ ‭NASB2020‬‬

3. REGARDING COMPASSION
“It’s the Greatest Human Virtue. But without Passion, it’s hollow.

Unwelled but never spent… on Oneself or Another… still separates that Human from most humans.

But Compassion Acted Upon distinguishes the human Superheroes.

Unspent compassion is ultimately, blood on the ground.

-Says a blood-shedder looking for an opportunity.”
Just Jennifer


In other words, put the compassion mask on yourself. Breathe in it. Then go out and show it to others. Please share the freedom and existential relief of compassion to all humans.

Exsanguination

Is what loss upon loss upon loss does to the human mind, body, and soul.

There are so many grieving people out there who need love or, at a minimum, a kind word.

Be nice to someone today.

Urge Surfing

Urges are where I write my poems.
Once the Urge is conceived and birthed verbally,
The wave of Distress passes and I’m free again.
Poetry is my favorite form of Urge Surfing.
So I like to make my art at The Edge.

Then again, I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie!
Call me out of practice at having fun!

MAGNUM OPUS: The Last Five

Melting Shame

MAGNUM OPUS:
The Downward Spiral of The Last Five Ends in Joy


When I get out of balance (physical pain + emotional blows with no relief),
I start getting scared.
My perspective gets distorted by my own pain,
And I can’t tell my friends from my enemies.
The problem is, 99% of the time,
I am my Worst Enemy.
So in addition to being in “pain all over,”
My thoughts have no place to land.
This creates a toxic imbalance in my body, resulting in
Me in an Extended Version of the Emotional and Physical Fetal Position,
As if warding off cosmic blows.
It’s not the LEAST BIT comforting, though.

I don’t even know how long these periods last some times.
It finally erupts into a Dark Place,
Both emotionally and physically.
I’ve never written about this before, but I have been diagnosed with a Neurovascular Disorder called Erythromelalgia.
It’s sometimes called “Man on Fire Disease” or “The Suicide Disease.”
And it’s earned its Title!
Sadly, it’s so exceptionally rare, you can’t find a neurologist whose even heard of it,
So there’s very little information out there. Which compounds my anxiety.
That’s the sad case with rare diseases.
With no Big Pharma backing, research dollars can’t be found.
It’s a disorder of the autonomous nervous system.
I “lost” the ability to release heat from my system about 5 years ago.
So, if I combine ambient heat with exertion (it’s extremely hot where I live),
I get heat stroke without realizing it.
Until I’ve got heat stroke.
Which keeps me indoors,
Avoiding life because of my fear of getting violently ill
Should I carry in too-many too-heavy bags of groceries from my car to my apartment.
It’s cooler in there, but it can be dark in there, and alone and scary in there.
Alone to feel shame at not being live like a “normal person,”
And not being able to regulate heat, can’t vent the shame
Without the shame surfacing as blushing fire through the skin
On too many parts of my body.
It’s very humiliating for me to write about,
But since there’s no cure or, in my case, effective treatment for Erythromelalgia,
And because I got off all anti-depressants, and pain meds and anti-anxiety only in emergency
And not for emotional coping,
You can see how my Poems and this blog have been my constant companions over the last year.
This was my last secret to write about,
Because it’s One Thing which has bested me
And nearly ruined me.
What with the limitations it imposes, I felt it made me “unworthy as a companion.”
So that took away my hopes for the happiness I hoped to one day find in the company of a partner.
Which used the be the “safe place where my thoughts would land” as a coping mechanism.
They have no idea how or why I acquired it (again, no research),
So they default to the overdose of highly neurotoxic chemo I had when I was 39 years old,
Fighting breast cancer.
But since I was given no “Why,”
I first switched to “Why Not” in an effort to “embrace the pain.”
That might work for some of you Mental Athletes, but this girl already HAD a frail state to begin!
Like: I was mentally and emotionally fried and too-feeling at the same time to handle “thought mastery!”
So, I decided to “burn the shame out of me,”
So I could at least feel safe inside my head.
I had to find a harbor for my mind or I would give up.
The only way I’ve been able to do this is through writing,
So I mean it when I say this blog has saved me life.
And I have discovered my own voice in the process!
It has been a 3000% net joyful experience for me,
Even if a painful and tearful one.
I’m re-writing a story without a pre-determined ending (see my poem, A Foregone Conclusion – or something like that! It was birthed in MUCHAS LAGRIMAS! Many tears!).
I actually believe in Miracles again.
I had totally forgotten about Miracles, having no recent or long term memory of them.
So anyway, final shame vented,
But I don’t care how anybody prices me!
My price is DOWN TO ME, and I DECIDED I’m PRICELESS.
That’s good enough for me!
So thank you, dear friends, for helping me discover my voice, discover my worth, and to re-grow my jaded belief in Miracles❣️

PSA: THE EMERGING STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 📛


PSA: A MOVING SNAPSHOT OF THE STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 ♨️♨️♨️

It’s not for the faint of heart,
So before you even begin to
CONTEMPLATE to
start the post,
I’ll
pre-advise you QUIT while still time;
That’s the most
WARNING I’ll provide.

I mean: I know it’s a Sunday,
But this Public Service Announcement
Comes at a high cost to ME,
So if you can’t withhold YOUR judgment
Or your morals to make the space
SO I can release the
Advice alien-ating out of
MY HEART onto MY PAGE,
Please keep your eyes on
Yours and Yours.

Not that any of respectful YOU
Has EVER even tried,
But in 2022,
Virtual and Reality are mixed,
And I’ve got a
Religious Persecution Complex
After a lifetime of abuse.

It all boils down to facts
As simple as this and that
I need be LISTENED TO!! So
“Grow up, You Old Idiot!
You’re as apparently as old as me,
So why can’t you see
That my telling YOU
Is an effort to relieve ME!?
I know ALL these pleas fall on deaf ears”
Pleads ‘Feels-Too-Muted’ Me.

Social Media; Being Simultaneously “Confusing” and “Therapeutic”

For the record, I didn’t even know there
COULD be more than two viewers
To a “Private Story!”
Maybe in your fantastical stories,
Laden with Rote Artificiality,
But not in mine, and at least for now,
NEVER in me!

LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED


LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED

At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”

SEEKING REFUGE


SAFE PLACE TO LAND?

You might not count the costs incurred,
But they won’t erase away.
They were much too great for me;
They show in line upon my face
And well within my eyes
When both are lost in pain.

I know that You can’t erase my costs,
But you COULD kiss my pain away.
At least for another day?
I’d be grateful either way.

The Bitterness of Burned

The bitterness of post-burnt
Feels a lot like toast spurned
After an eternity of tears spilled
Crying out in thirst,
Never being quenched
Parches until too pinched
Beyond all recognition,
Dried and too hurt.

PAINFULLY SO ACQUAINTED

PAINFULLY SO ACQUAINTED

I’m so well acquainted with pain,
It takes longer for an injury to tell my brain I’m in pain than it does tell my brain to tell my stomach to throw up due to the pain I’m currently IN.
I know it sounds like hyperbole, but it’s “just the facts, ma’am.”
Once I’m fully in the throes of pain,
I’m unable to do much of anything.
So if or should I EVER directly ask for help,
And I happen to mention I’m in pain,
I REALLY NEED IT.

Just a PSA.

PERFECT CARRIAGE

PERFECT CARRIAGE: MINE

A child who succumbs to miscarriage
May only exist in his host’s Imagination,
But he freely thrives in every tense:
Imagined Past,
Imagined Present,
Imagined Future, and
Imagined Perfect.

Maybe this sheds some sense
On why I’m so grateful to Tense?


SCARS IN THE SKY: Beauty Incarnate

Photo location: Home

For record-keeps, my scars
Were formed in response to
Surgical knives with scathing scalpels
Hiding under surgical sleeves
Rather than a purgical need to
Purge Contained Pain
In order to pain-relieve.
(I’m not blaming or shaming;
I’ve known Pain and understand
You simply want Pain to leave).

But Scars all look the same to me,
Therefore, their source isn’t
Significantly significant to me.
So I can be fully free
To neglectfully and insignificantly,
Ignore scar-sources and
Scarce resources because
The WHY of our afflictions
Though it Greatly costed me,
Now matters snot to me.

Clouded by the stars in my eyes,
I STILL consider Scars
Beauty’s heaviest of hitters,
And why I personally believe
Scars rock, roll and rule, too.
In fact and in fiction, I’m SO moved
Each and and every Time I Take
And use to contemplate the issue,
I have to break out a box of Scar Tissue.

Sometimes I Wish ‘True Crime’ was a Criminal Illusion


A FAN OF TRUE CRIME, BUT…

It’s confounding that those who’ve suffered reenact THEIR suffering on The Innocent.

So I’m not sure I long to know what evil sin has been inflicted upon and lurks within the insanity which indwells and fells the Dregs of Humanity.

Well, maybe in some, but not in the host of them.

I’m too haunted by the ghosts they made to even barely try to fake I quasi-understand them.


GHOST STORIES


When I’m feeling emotionally fragile, I have to stay away from ghost stories.

All of my ghosts are officially and literally dead (not to be crude, but literally IS overused these days).

My ghosts either died from the same disease which did NOT kill me (on two separate long, protracted, physically and emotionally excruciating occasions) or they never emerged from my Hostile Womb to live in the first place.

As far as ghosts go, I’d describe MY ghosts in the Letter R:
Ruthless, Relentless, and “Regular as Right-from-left Remembering.”

If not for their innocence, they would ALL be considered throughly villainous.

The Salt From Tears

THE SALT IN TEARS

Tears are important, too.

When I travel down a deep dark tunnel into a fathomless black hole of despair, I rely on my tears to remind me
I’m still a soul,
sitting in a body,
feeling sad right now.

Tears anchor and tether me; both are equally salvationary.

The Truth I Hate to Admit

Some humans possess no virtue.

The world would have been better had they never been born. Ted Bundy professed to feel sorry for people restrained by remorse.

No good acts could ever make up for some people’s evil ones. The ones who don’t spare a thought about their own good:evil ratio are the ones I’m talking about.

Sadly, they’re a waste of perfectly good stem cells and they bear no distinguishing marks.

But if you live your life worrying what will happen if you encounter one, you’re forfeiting it either way.

Also:

Remorse for violent acts eventually evolves into a More Civilized Society, absent of the traits to perpetrate said acts.

However, there will always be Aberrations.

The more complicated the formula (in this case, “humanity”), the more transcription errors.

Just a lesson from a scraped up old cat who never had any kittens.

Take it for the refuse pile that it is.

The Tragic Life of a Leaf 🍃 🍁


The Tragic Life of a Leaf

You start out green and new, as a brand new shoot, nurtured by a Loving Mother Tree, and surrounded by lush, growing sibling leaves all
In relative, naive Harmony.
You mature and grow into The Most Beautiful Version of Yourself, peaking a little too early, given the length of your Life Cycle.

After you’ve served Your Purpose (you were never told what it was), your kindly mother turns on you;
Once she nurtured you, watered you, and warmed you by sunlight.
You were whole and thriving and complete.
Now, She cuts off these vital nutrients.
All of a sudden, you’re given no light, no food, no water.
And no answers about WHY.
Your sibling leaves are going through a similar situation,
So they are of very little use to you.
Frankly, they’re every bit as confused as you.
You slowly starve and dry up until you’re officially “desiccated.”
Then, the Mother Tree drops you.
The winds of change blow you onto a completely random path,
forcing you to intermingle with leaves you don’t even know,
Making one last splash as “fall foliage,”
Which you don’t even enjoy because you look so differently than you did in your prime , you barely recognize yourself anymore.

The next thing you know, you’re 5 miles down the road, in a Stranger’s yard (not even a nice one),
Being raked into giant piles and stuffed into suffocating black garbage bags,
Kicked to the curb to ferment a little while, and then
Carted off by some rather grubby-looking men to be burned and cremated.

By that point, you welcome it.