...As my fingers find the cracks in the rock- lifting myself up.

I know I haven't posted anything in a long time.
So sorry to leave everyone hanging. My life has taken on a new feel.
The bottom dropped out -finally. You all knew it would, so did I.

All I can say about the bottom is "climbing up isn't for the weak willed, or faint of heart"...Stillness, and peace with all that is... Planning is what it's going to take. Since this is a new place for me, in more ways then one, I have decided to thoroughly enjoy the process. Give me just a few more days to gather my thoughts, take some deep breaths, and I will begin.

Not again. There is no begin again.

In case there are any who are wondering?
I am a Licensed Massage Therapist.
It was long road getting from there to here...

Peace.

My wish for everyone is deep peace. Here at the bottom I can hear every sound. Thankfully, I can even hear God's patient whisper. saying 'Peace now, Renee'.

Make peace, have peace, bring peace, give peace. Live- peace.
And, as I climb up, I am making gentle promises to do just that.

Peace, everyone.
Renee

Deal with the serious, the tussle, and the loving...let it be real. All of it.

Stop, all the mad and crazy holding on...
Just stop, and breath in some life for a second.

This constant struggle has me forgetting my needs, my womanhood, and

all that's been set aside-until things could be right in my world.

A sudden revelation 'that may never ever happen', what now?
This on-going feud with my daughter, a silence that will not lay quietly- the loudest silence I have ever known, has brought me to a craving for breaking free, for wild release.

I don't give a shit how my 'living' will be viewed by family and friends.
I need to be selfish for a while.
I've spent too many years in between, being good, being careful, being less then I am capable of, for what? My youth is almost behind me. I see the wrinkles forming on my hands and around my eyes.
Before my 30's disappear from view, I'll invest more time on my purpose, my needs, my daring, my journey.

I demand a month, a year, two years, of tussle and swing. By God, I dare any one to stand in the way of my career, my social climbing, my chasing the dream of being a published writer. My building a resort for abuse victims to come and learn what I'm learning now.

I want to give my creativity and passions- room.

If that means I leave the silence of now for a different kind, then that is whats supposed to be.

Yes, I said leave. It may be a part of this process. I can't rule anything out.


Life sucks when you give it away being responsible for others.
My authentic self is screaming 'rescue your passion woman, now, before it's too late'.
My life has lost the explosive joy, the wonder, and the allowing my complex desires to be identified and satisfied.
Almost all of my youth lost to following the rules.
I've done good, made good, been good, and now
I am just so run through from all the holding on.


It's not just my disappointment and disillusionment that fuels this blue flame, no, it is the constant threat of falling down- being seen as incapable. Come on, come on, I scream to this maddening bitch I call Mother Goddess. Come on already. Show me the lowest and the darkest so I can deal with the serious, in the dark where it lives.

I need the touch of life, the tussle with a stranger, or to swing with those I adore. You can take that any way you want to. Infer what you will, my loving is beautiful and it deserves to be unchained.

I am ready for a uprising that alters how my feet walk the path I've tread every day.
For years I wanted others to see me responsible, strong,
on purpose, and in command of my growth.

I still want the command of my growth, but without the needless acquiescence.

What is the picture of a good mother? One who denies her own spiritual path, her own sexual nature, her desires for change and purpose?
A mother who denies her own ambition,
because it just looks bad to others?
That's what I did.
I did it, to keep my daughter safe and to let her know consistency.
I wanted her to have a responsible role model.
That is why she seethes with anger at me now.
I set too much aside to be the kind of mother I believed she needed.
But, in doing so I denied her the kind of mother I was meant to be.
Oh, and her anger at me is boundless ... Well that damage is done, nothing can fix the years of the in between, but I know what to do to make things right now. The honesty of who I am, the blazing my own trail is all on me now.

I will be a success as defined by me. I will mother and rear as I see fit,
with my open heart and my best intentions- regardless of how ungraceful they appear .
My daughter will know that pushing for a place in this world is honorable.
-The holding on to the false that she witnessed me do, is not.

I will have some wild times, some existential trips, some actual wandering away from home.
I will work in the field of healing. I will give all I can to it, to my writing, and to my daughter.
I will have love in my life. My private life will be as private as I can make it, but it will for certain be- authentic. Those who get a glimpse can accept me or move on.

And, this ugly, soul crushing pact that I made long ago with conformity, capitulation, and the giving away of self is -forever broken.

I want my life back on my terms. I'll be a mother on my terms.
I will practice and write and love who I choose to love, on my terms.

That's it. No more fear, no more.
My life on my terms, letting it be real, all of it, the serious, the tussle, the loving...

Exhale.

-Renee

Blue funk, social injustice, and loving my child.

My God, I wish I could shake the feeling of dread. Seriously.
I know that the only 'things' that are ever lost are the 'things' that needed to go.
I know this to be truth.
But, what if it involves people? How is it that love and respect are lost.
I understand a 'thing' being lost but not an emotion. My relationship with my teen daughter is in some kind of death spiral. I can't find a space for her and I to be in. My child has turned into someone that I can't trust, can't understand, and simply can't please.
I miss her tremendously. I miss my child. The one who loved me...

I am in a blue funk. I am disgusted with American bureaucracy, our leaders, their agendas and how the continued gutting of the American middle class has altered the course of my life.
My daughters life.
I am embarrassed that I didn't get a stronger foothold on this life before trying to raise a child. Yet, I would never change how or why I became a mother.

The strong in our society, the high earners, don't fear recriminations from their children
in the same way as the rest of us do. Their children's educations are paid for.
Their health care is world class. Their vacations are plentiful- not much to complain
about when that's the world you get to wake up in.

I wanted to offer that world to my daughter. I hoped to show her that life is meant to be enjoyed- not a drudgery. I grew up around pinched pennies, dreams shelved, and hopes dashed. Always, it was due to a lack of money.
I swore I could break the cycle. I still believe I can. I know I can.
But, all she sees is loss, all she sees is me, losing 'things'.
Out current economy is straining anything good that's coming into my life before it can be fully realized. I just need for the bottom of this financial pit to show itself so the 'debris picking' can fully begin.

Now, her dad isn't included in this witnessing...
He never reaches, so he never falls from grace.
No effort means nothing to lose. Her anger would never extend to him. She demands nothing of him, but won't allow me an opportunity to show her that hard work and authenticity are risks that rarely pay off in the short term.
It takes time.
She demands nothing from him and everything from me.
All I can give her right now is my faith that 'things' will right themselves.

I am a risk taker. I continue trying, and pushing, and falling on my ass.
And, every time I fall I can feel my daughters respect leave.
I can feel her love for me leave.

I remember the little girl who flew on a plane with me when she was 7.
The one who used to read with me-every night.
I remember the young lady who would delight in a day out- a movie,
dinner just her, and I.

How we both have grown and changed.
How cruel life's lessons are.
How pain-filled our world has become.

I wake up everyday believing that I can make a better world for the both of us.
I believe that in the end she will see, how much I tried to whisk all the hardship away.
I know that somewhere in her critical, judgmental, grieved, pissed off at the world heart-
she loves me.

Somehow, someway, I need her to see that 'things' will come and go.

Respect, well, there's never a guarantee on that one- ever.
She either will or won't.
I can't worry over her choice to respect me or not.

Love, to me means- no matter what.

It doesn't require understanding of politics, injustice, or home finances.
Love doesn't require a place to lay ones head, or a car, or any 'things'

Love just needs a little faith, a little trust, and some hope.

I love my caustic, accusing, selfish, beautiful, amazing, intelligent,
judgmental, selectively harsh child, with all my heart.

No matter what.
-Renee

Can you sit with the debris, and learn to love the pieces?

Hard times are a fact of life.
Life, with all of it's beauty,
often presents many challenges.

These challenges seem to test our faith, our emotions, our spiritual path, our finances, our sense of fairness, our mental health, our physical health, our relationships,
and our perceived foundations.
How do you cope?

How do you keep your feet walking the path, when the "winds of change" bend you to your breaking point? How do keep your focus, your trust, and your dignity?

How can you keep love in your heart for all the good that surrounds you daily?
How do you keep centered and "in the present moment"?
When is giving up-noble?

And, even if you stay focused-recognizing the goodness in life,
what happens when you fail, anyway?
When it all falls away, what keeps you sane...ready to try once more?

When it all falls away,
and all your coping skills fail,
and your spiritual practice can't hold you,
what then?

Can you sit with the debris and learn to love the pieces?

I want to know.

Because, here's what's real for me. I really tried not to let the anger in.
I so wanted to rise above the fray after experiencing, yet another, divine insult.

I will answer one of my own questions...Maybe that is a good place for me to begin healing.

When it all falls away, and all your coping skills fail, and your spiritual practice can't hold you, what then?
I hit this wall the first time when I was 28.
I had a nervous breakdown and tried to commit suicide.
I just hit the wall of -nothing working. Everything was broken.
I was too deep into a pit of despair.

I didn't think God could reach me where I was.

I was wrong, but it took 5 years of clinical psychology, behavioral therapy, and medication to bring me back to the land of the living.

Coincidentally, I am now 38, and am hitting another wall. I feel different this time. I feel alive, and awake, and pissed off.

Yes, I have a level of despair, and I feel I've been bent to the breaking point once again, maybe even worse now, because there is more for me to lose. I am not sure how I keep functioning.

I have wild hope that seem inappropriate.
(passing my National boards, and allowing myself to be loved, really loved.)

I have little faith in the world, but I have faith in me.

I see global, epic, unfairness and find myself barring my teeth, at my Goddess.

I am holding her at arms length, because I want to slap the crap out of her.

I see myself as a woman who has beaten incredible odds, only to be stopped short at this new finish line. And, I can't hold a Goddess tenderly, that would let me be beaten, when I have done the work to clean up my mess.


I did the work.

I did it well.

I needed her blessing.

I got another obstacle.

Well, that is just bullshit.

I find myself asking- why bother? why continue trying to make a difference when nothing I've done is enough to get my good intentions on her list- to be seen as one trying. I think my outrage at Goddess is a part of my healing. I also believe it is the reason why I will survive this latest blow. But, I am tired of survival. To me, there has to be more.


I don't give up- except for the one time I gave up completely.

I won't do that this time. There is too much at stake.

I worry however, even after I somehow make this "all work out", that I might lose some compassion for myself and consequently for others, because I am sick of being strong.


Sick of my best chances, my strongest endeavors, not meeting up with a universal
just response.

I continue to stand. That is the answer to the damn question.
I stand.
But, so what?
What does it mean to withstand, anything?


I am tired of always standing. I stand for many something's
I stand for truth, and for principle, and just because I can.
I stand for love, for honor, and, for giving a shit.

But right now, I'm going to sit.
Because, standing for all of it hasn't meant a damn thing.
Right now, I need to sit with the debris and learn to love the pieces.

Frankly, the pieces are all that's left.

-Renee

St. Elmo's little something...

many moons ago...

I've always wanted to begin a post that way.
This topic can handle the joshing.
I mean, seriously, I'm not a child anymore.
Still, some experiences remind me of my youth.
Not the the parts that hurt, no, no. I have left most of that behind.
Can't carry it forever.
There just isn't enough luggage, anyway.

I am wrestling with raw ambition.
On Tuesday, I passed my National exam for Massage Therapy, and finished something that I began.

I finished.
It feels like the day I wrapped up the writing of my book, only a little different.
This satisfaction is all sweet.
The finishing of my book...a different happy, a different satisfaction.
A different completion.

On Tuesday, I just knew... a rush of excitement came over me, almost like orgasm, and I swear I couldn't stop the big, Cheshire cat grin from taking possession of my face. I cried happy tears. And, this sexy smile just won't leave.
I'm enjoying it.

I connected, I persisted, I believed, I matured,
I forced the issue. I lit the pilot light on my St. Elmo ambition.
The relief is still spreading through my limbs.

Two nights before taking the test, I took a drive with my daughter up the famous scenic A1A. I chose Linton Blvd. in Boca Raton, as our starting point. We continued through the Island of Palm Beach, ending our ride over the bridge- where the rest of us live, in downtown West Palm Beach.

A song that I haven't heard in years began to play on the radio. I made the hand gesture to my daughter that signifies please don't change the station. The song St. Elmo's Fire played good and true over the sound system. My God, I was a young woman of 15 when this movie was a ridiculous success, despite
being panned by the critics.
It is a cult classic for my generation X.
I listen through to the end
of the song, and found myself caught
inside the swirling emotions of my
vaulting adolescent ambition.

I was going to be the one in my family
to do something great, to make good,
to be a somebody.
I listened to this song everyday- for years.
It was an anthem of escape.
I took it's message of exploding hope-
wrapped around hard work, as my definition of self.

I was a climber, an opportunist,
and very, very talented.
I was also a train wreck waiting to happen.

It doesn't matter why it took me so long to come into my own.
The story is long and tinged with shame, unfairness...life.

Wikipedia defines St. Elmo's fire as:
an electrical weather phenomenon in which luminous plasma is created by a coronal discharge originating from a grounded object in an atmospheric electric field (such as those generated by thunderstorms or thunderstorms created by a volcanic explosion).

St. Elmo's fire is named after St. Erasmus of Formiae (also called St. Elmo), the patron saint of sailors. The phenomenon sometimes appeared on ships at sea during thunderstorms, and was regarded by sailors with superstitious awe, accounting for the name. Alternatively, Peter Gonzalez is said to be the St. Elmo after whom St. Elmo's fire has its name.

After listening, my lovely teenage daughter looked at me and said-dripping with sarcasm "I am just overcome with inspiration"
I roared in laughter. How could I not? She proceeded to find a song "from this century"- as she calls it. I looked over at her. I could see her wonder over me. I knew she could feel me wondering over her. We blissfully ignored the questions that lingered in the space between us. Questions that will be asked and answered, another time.

I pulled into my driveway believing I could pass
the test. Two days later, I did.
Finally coming to a tempered peace with the girl I used to be. The one who knew without a doubt she would make it, make a difference, be a somebody, make good...escape.

I can let it all go now.
What matters now is moving forward,
beginning again, with the pilot light on.
It's never to late. What a amazing revelation.
Kinda like the phenomenon of St. Elmo's fire.
Inspiration, indeed.

-Renee

Needing the basics

I'm not sure what sent me into hiding these last two weeks. Maybe it was "Eight Bells" death...Her loss affected me deeply. But, it could have started, I believe is started, when a friend wrote to me, and in a tirade that left me breathless, accused me of not being a good person.
That's really what it boiled down to, and I was just stunned.
Most of the people who love and respect me, recognize my goodness, and look past my harsher aspects. She apparently could not, and I won't pretend I'm not hurt.


I was trying to move past "all of that pain" when a cyclone hit one of the worlds poorest nations Myanmar (Burma). A nation without a recognized identity, except for the one Senior Gen. Than Shwe, the countries ruthless leader, has created for it- while his ruling Junta Party, brutally abuses the people into a numbed acceptance.

No sooner had I regained some emotional balance- tornadoes began ripping middle America to shreds. An America, that is being bled anemic by the highest profiting oil companies in American history.
Companies, that have close ties to our current President's personal financial security.

Although we are not innocent over here, our economy is coming to a grinding halt. And, even though the evening new spins the propaganda wheel, and tells us that isn't so, I would like a real number of employees who couldn't afford the gas to get to work this week. Or,the true number of Americans who couldn't purchase food, because they needed gas to get to work.
And, our current administration doesn't care, at all.
They tell you this is a mild recession. They tell you to quit your bitch- in....

Well, not to put to fine a point on the worlds mood, two volcanoes are exploding. Kilauea in Hawaii, and the Chaiten, volcano in Chile.

A volcano last erupted around 7,420 B.C., long considered extinct.

Two exploding volcanoes is just a quirk of fate, I thought- uncomfortably.

But, then it happened, a devastating magnitude 8.0 earthquake in China's southeastern Sichuan province. For a second, I felt my heart stop at the news. I felt it just skip one, two beats...
I gave a strong cough and it came back strong, but the ache in my chest just overwhelmed me.

So much sadness, so much pain. The whole world has been beaten into submission and the weight of it all pushed me down. The pain curled me into a heap on my bed, sobbing.

That is what the last two weeks have been like.
Me, filing for bankruptcy and divorce simultaneously, desperately trying to keep my apt. Even more desperate to keep my car.
I honestly know broken.

I know how the wind bends the tree to its uprooting.

I know it like I know breathing. It is the most painful lesson.
I know loss, and the horrible cosmic joke of a forced -do over.
I wrote this tonight to remind everyone, please, love the people in your life.
Love them to life, not to death.
Say goodbye and I love you, every morning, with kisses and hugs.
Say goodnight and I love you, every night, before retiring to bed.
Do it with tenderness.

Kiss your children, mates, lovers, friends, partners.
Offer hugs, and milk, and bread, and shelter.
Offer the sharing of rides to work.
Care, GOD DAMN-IT.
Because that tornado, that volcano, that cyclone/hurricane, that earthquake, that heartless government, our heartless government, is creating the need for all of us, to hold on to each other, and care.

Care about your fellow human beings.
Decide that their life is worth your caring and concern.

That's all I wanted you to know, tonight.

-Renee

The Toll Of Eight Belles

They call it "a breakdown"...I spent the better part of Saturday evening, and most of today trying to come up with a kinder euphemism then -" breakdown". It seems there aren't any other words that can accurately describe what happened at Churchill Downs, during the 134th running of the Kentucky Derby. First, let me say that I do not understand why the owners and trainers of thoroughbred horses run these majestic animals while they are so young. Second, I can't swear to it, but something is dreadfully wrong in this sport that might have something to do with breeding for speed over bone structure, that keeps causing these catastrophic, life ending "injuries".

Third, I am a reluctant fan of the sport. I see the beauty of a horse in full stride, and I cheer with unbridled enthusiasm at the athleticism of this amazing species.
And, make no mistake, these horses are athletes.

But, I believe the world of thoroughbred horse racing is filled with the pampered and selfish.
People, who are used to getting their own way, regardless of what is right or wrong for their horses.

I have to watch from afar. I am not a horse owner or a trainer.
I am not independently wealthy.

Still, I see with a clear vision, the beauty and dark aspects of this sport. Yesterday, once again, I believe we all did. Eight Belles, the proud filly, lost her life running the race of a lifetime.
She ran faster then 18 colts, and fought to catch- up with the lone breakaway clot "Big Brown".
She finished her first Derby in grand style-a very convincing second place finish.
Her handlers, trainer, jockey, and owner, had reason to be proud.
She showed true courage and strength.
She was every bit the champion who proved she had a right to hang with the boy's.

Yes, she finished the race, she placed, and as she galloped out, coming around the backstretch - it happened, the sound heard only by her experienced jockey. He knew what it was, and tried valiantly to pull her up, but she was still running her race, and she wasn't going to stop.
Her legs gave way underneath her, and on her chest she fell, and where she fell is where her life ended. The spark of her magnificent life force left "us" who love horses, stunned.

Was it wrong to run her against the big boy's? Hell no, she out ran 18 of the worlds best. But, in the stands the word's that were uttered were "It's the filly".
Some uttered oh, no, it's Ruffian all over again. And, in a profound way -some eerie similarities.
The great Ruffian also lost her life taking on the worlds best boy of that age.
And, didn't know how to stop running her race.
Her champion breeding driving her through pain. She also ran herself into the ground.

...We all sat still remembering the Preakness of 2 years ago, and the loss of the magnificent colt, Barboro.

-This week another death that begs recognition. A 30 year old- female dolphin, named Sharky died at Discovery Cove lagoon, in Orlando Florida. The cause of her death was a midair collision with another dolphin, while preforming for 32 visitors during a guest interaction program. Sharky had been in captivity for so long her trainers could not remember if she was captivity breed, or caught for the purpose of preforming and research.

In just over two months, 143 wolves have been killed in Alaska's controversial aerial gunning program. Grey wolves, de-listed as an endangered species by the second Bush administration. The special interest groups of the cattle industry claim that they lose to many head of cattle to this predator. Everyone knows that wolves take the sick and the weak. It is their natural way to insure the strongest heads of cattle survive.

Finally, a man, Stephan Miller lost his life attempting to exercise and train a "grizzly bear" known in the movie industry as a "safe and friendly bear".

All of these deaths happened because of mans interaction with animals-
it's a plain and simple truth.
It happens because we place ourselves at the top of God's list. We consider our place to be most important. But, let's humanize for just a second the truth in these deaths.

Above a horse whisperer- when a colt, a filly, a mare, a stallion, a gelding, misbehaves and become a biter or a kicker (usually from being mis-handled) the fastest way to improve their demeanor is to ship them back to their mothers. Thats right, send them home to mom. A mare will absolutely know her own offspring, no matter the age, by smell. And, she will "straighten out her child"- in a big hurry.

Wolves are loyal, intuitive, brave, and fierce mothers. They mate for life.
They love their pups intensely.

Dolphins are known for their intelligence and life long familial bonds. They find each other after storms at sea, by sound. They have a family call. They live in pods of family, that merge with other pods who have extended family members in them. They find each other. That is truly amazing.

Tonight, as I mull over the pain of Eight Belles loss, and begin to resolve my feelings for a horse I never touched, but became bonded to by heartstrings- I try to heal this place in my heart that knows how much damage humans are capable of. Our drive for perfection, our pursuit of happiness at all costs, often has a high price tag. I weep openly at the loss. And, hope that our humanity "collectively" begins to choose a pursuit of happiness that inspires us to learn from these bitter heartbreaking losses. An inspiration that presses us to protect our animal brothers and sisters, instead of using them to their demise, for our personal gain.
I pray that we learn quickly.

Goodnight Sharky. Goodnight Eight Belles.

Goodnight.

-Renee

Let me get this straight...My oh Miley Cyrus

Of all the self absorbed, bone headed, outright unconscionable things to do...

OK first, I am not a fan of the vapid Walt Disney television programing that so many of today's kids and their small minded parents are enamored of. Second, I am a huge fan of Annie Leibovitz. Third, the photographs I'm writing about are not pornographic, not erotic-not even a little. They are art photographs, of a young woman-on the edge of her womanhood. Anyone who looks at these photos and sees something of a sexual nature is a pervert. Provocative photos- yes. Sexual photos-hell no.
These photos are, in fact, beautiful. And, they certainly lend an essence of "human grace" to an otherwise spoiled, self- indulgent, young woman.

Miley should be grateful to Annie Leibovitz, because these pictures will most likely be the most important and inspired record of her youth. Nothing that Miley ever does, will ever feel like the day she stepped out of the lines that have been drawn for her. Nothing.

This is the look Annie captured in her eyes. It is Miley's recognition of infinite possibility.

I would, I think, cut off my left arm for Annie to capture a moment of complete unguarded honesty in my own daughters eyes. Because, like any mother I am fascinated by the young woman I helped bring to this earth. I would love to see just once in my daughters eyes a glimmer of the truth that her life will one day be.
A truth that most parents rarely witness. Really, be honest.

Caught forever on film, is that unguarded honesty in Miley's eyes. It is something that Billy Ray Cyrus (her Father) can't leech, or use, or manipulate.
It is something "Disney" has been unable to control or damage.

But I digress, if your going to be disturbed by "this rant" that I will, in fact, tear the "not so precious" Miley Cyrus a new ass- then stop reading now. Maybe tomorrows blog will be more to your liking. Then again, I am pretty sure I don't care.

How dare she (Miley). And, how dare this ass backwards, stuck in some kind of perverse conservative dark ages- country of ours, attack Annie Leibovitz.

Miley is old enough to discern her own level of maturity, and her own level of comfort.
I did when I was fifteen.
So did all of my friends at the time. We knew our limits. Yes, teenagers can recognize limits.
Miley allowed the photos because she needed to, and reveled in a moment of pure selfish abandon- and theres nothing wrong with the fact that she did it. That is what normal teenagers do. That is what young woman learning about their approaching womanhood do.

But, Disney is a powerful empire. With overlords who saw a "billion dollar brand" loose it squeaky clean image. The spin doctors when to work fast, but Disney executives went for her jugular, and Miley, had a choice to make at fifteen, that will define her career.
Oh and she chose badly.
This young woman has a something (not outright talent) but a something that her father never had. She is not always going to need Disney to cut her checks. She had an opportunity to break free from mediocrity, and from the clutches of a puritanical construct that truly limits her own understanding of self.

Miley's talent level is still in question, but her intelligence should not be.
She is smart enough to know that she capitulated, and did what was easy, instead of what was right. She allowed unfair criticism, possible criminal accusations, and disrespect, to be leveled at one of the premiere art photographers of our modern times- just so she could assuage the guilt of an American institution that does nothing to enlighten American youth.
(She has to be feeling like total shit right about now)
An institution, mind you, that's not even slightly reminiscent of it's brilliant past.

Miley should tell Disney to go to hell. She should take her millions, emancipate herself from her desperate, clinging, has- been father, and apologize to Annie Leibovitz, profusely. I mean it, she should grovel for forgiveness. She should also apologize to the American people-but, not for the pictures.
The apology should be for selling herself out, selling herself short, and for denying Annie Leibovitz the respect her art deserves.

Then we might see a "real manifestation" of the spectacular promise that was revealed in her gaze.

I will wait with hope that she gets her "true mistake", and corrects it quickly.
I really hope, with a wild hope, that Miley takes the bull, she sent running, by the horns and rides it to her true destiny. I hope.
- Renee

Connecting with others- staying present.

Once, not long ago, I was running errands with my husband and daughter. I saw a man who was fairly well dressed, but sitting on the ground, crumpled into himself, like the world-his world had been taken away from him.

The image was so moving that I didn't care if he had done something wrong, or if he deserved this fate. I only cared that he was damaged and shaken, violently, by an un-nameable something. I have seen that look in the mirror before, and only wanted to offer some solace.

I walked to the Dunkin Donuts which was footsteps away and bought him breakfast (it was still morning) A bagel, some cream cheese, a donut, orange juice, and a cup of black coffee--sugar and cream on the side.

I walked over to him and knelt down.

I wasn't afraid of being attacked, he seemed to numbed by something.

I asked him if he was "OK". He said "I've lost everything" I said "I don't know you, or what's happened to you, but I do know that you can think more clearly if you'll have something to eat". "Will you accept this breakfast from me"? He looked at me like I was making fun of him, so I asked him -"please let me help you, I offer no judgment, no matter how much you've lost -you belong to someone. They just want for you to be safe, I'm sure."

He took the breakfast gently and said "thank you". I put five dollars in his hand and told him that "lunch was taken care of too." He said "I don't know what to do..." I said "after breakfast, stand up- and keep standing."

He said "God Bless you"

I told him "that I hoped for God to bless him as well."

I walked away, and didn't look back.

I have wondered over this man, many times. Our brief connection sits with me in the most conscious way. I wonder is he OK-did he make it? I remember "me" during this time in my life; my worries were numerous, my thoughts were scattered, my days were long, and my mind was numb. I was a young mother of a precocious, brilliant child, and I was struggling to stand on my own two feet. I was in fact-learning how to stand.

I believe the reason I still remember this man is because he made me feel human, and needed, and awake. The memory of this stranger is in sharp contrast to the chemically induced fuzziness of my clinical depression.

I believe our connection-me reaching out for him, and he accepting my rescue-it saved us both that day.

Wherever you are today, pay attention. Get in, and stay connected to the present moment. picking through the past, or worrying over the future, robs you of "right now"

Take the time to notice your surroundings. Someone you have never met may be depending on you to notice them.

These are the things that cross my mind sometimes.

Today, for just a second "he" crossed my mind. I smiled, I shook, I stood, I stretched, then stood for a while longer... remarking on the changes in my own life. I am separated from my husband, I went back to school- finished in high style. My daughter is a lovely, occasionally precocious, brilliant, self- contained, young lady. I came out "honest" to friends and family about who I am. I broke the ice-the soul numbing experience of clinical depression, and have been in remission for more then 5 years -there are fantastic odds that I will be able to stay connected.

I know how to stand. I smiled again and threw this prayer out to the universe. "Wherever "he is" let him be standing in love, in joy, in peace.

And with that, I blessed him, letting him go.

There is a great deal of life, in this present moment that has my attention.

I want to give "today" it's due

-Renee

Transformation, and thriving on nothing more then grit.

Tonight's post is for me. If you read it and feel a connection then fabulous, but really, the grit is in my eyes tonight, it's in my teeth, and I am cranky.

This country, this amazing country -America, is one of the most beautiful on our planet earth.
But, we are a damaged, violent, conflicted people. We have no right to hold a moral compass in our hands, because we break it, usually on purpose, just to prove that we can.

The land of the free, and the home of the brave, is without integrity.
We are in the struggle of our karma and our dogma.
Many are lacking freedom, and I am not speaking of those who are rightfully imprisoned.
I am speaking of you and me.

I am talking about real freedom, not constitutional, not imagined, not legalese word jumble.

Freedom...the kind that allows you to transform your life, the kind you sometimes have to take, the ability to fill your gas tank, the ability to pay your rent, the ability to feed yourself more then fresh air, windy pudding, and grit. Our leaders are staggeringly belligerent in the face of our suffering. They are angry at "us" for daring to sound the alarms, for pushing them to listen to us; you know "us", as in, WE THE PEOPLE.

I don't know who will read this. I don't even care. I have twice this year born the stigma of shame that is homelessness. It could happen to any one of us now. It could happen to me again, but I will fight for my right to exist in this society.

I will hope, and pray, and fix my mistakes-and I will fight for my right to belong.
That is what grit tastes like. That is what grit feels like when it's in your eyes.
You can cry it out, but the taste... lingers.
I will transform my life, with or without help. I will cry the dirty tears until they run clean again. But the taste... long after 'this to shall pass', and the form my life is supposed to take -takes shape, I will show others what freedom looks like.

I will serve it to them on a plate. I will say, here "taste my grit".
The recipe was first written in the year 2000 but revised many times during the Bush Presidency.

The 2008 version is only for the strongest.
But, if you can stomach this, then you just might be able to show others what freedom looks like too. Cook it for yourselves tonight since rice and milk will soon be unavailable to most of us in the western hemisphere, cook up some sheer grit.

The transformation of this country counts on your being able to thrive on it.
So make it good. Make it count.

-Renee

Letting it come to the surface

Most of us have, a something, in our lives that we perceive as a threat. An inerrant something that we either haven't fully accepted or acknowledged. I believe this becomes an area of our lives that we study, try to make a project of.
We intellectualize it -make theory's or draw uncertain conclusions.
Like alcoholism, or gambling, or drug addiction.
I know people- so do you, who have made recovery a social endeavor,
as well as, a personal project.
Some people however, recover to a point, then (successfully) let it rest.
Thinking to themselves, "well now that I understand, I will just let it be".

I did this concerning my sexuality, and it shocks just the same.

It shocks, because, I can hear in my head...Oh, it's you again (sexuality)-Didn't I come to a conclusion on you? Are you sure I need to revisit? Didn't I agree to just let it be? I'm positive I have all the necessary information, and have done all the revealing I am comfortable doing.
I love my gay, gay, self. I am a Lesbian, Feminist, Wiccan, Mother.

End of self talk... acceptance is such a beautiful thing.

For me, my sexuality has been the project. I spent years trying to make believe it wasn't true. Then, finally accepting myself, I had to go about the the task of "outing myself" and untangling from a painful and false existence.

I am not the type to need neon signs-complete with blinking, pointing arrows- aimed at myself.


I've had no desire to advertise.
Much the same as when I was faking (abysmally) heterosexuality.

I just don't see the point of making a public display of my sexuality, my sexual nature, my sexual expression...my sexual orientation. I believe it is all private.

Well, I am right. And, I was wrong.
My privacy, and my need for it, are deeply seated aspects of my nature.

My writing is an attempt to bring all of us (humanity) to a deeper collective understanding of how fundamental honesty is to our understanding of self, and our connection to each other.

So, my privacy be damned.
It is a small thing in comparison to the atrocity of internal homophobia. And, I have some.

I thought I was "out" enough. I reasoned, I am keeping myself "safe" by only allowing those closest to me- friends and family- know that I'm gay. Is it really everyone's business? I've never thought so. I have never walked up to a stranger, or a friend, or a family member, and asked -so how is your straight sex life? I assume that if someone wants me to know, then they will offer me the information. I never asked, anyone, so, what's on your straight agenda?

Has sex, and sexuality become so base, so crass, that we need someone else's details to fill in the blanks of our own perceived threats?

I am a gay woman. I am I lesbian. I am a woman centered woman. I was born into this world with my orientation encoded into my DNA. I don't care if you like it.

But, I do care if I like it.
Sometimes, I have not.

Having someone point at me and tell me I am an abomination, because I am gay, is painful.

Telling it to myself, and not wanting to reveal my sexuality to the world around me, is far more painful and damaging.

So, I am going to wear the neon signs, complete with blinking arrows-pointed at myself,
because, it is my healing I'm after.
Because, I am not going to -let it rest.
Because, I intend to make a social endeavor of it.
This is my very personal project, and I don't care what you think about "it" or me.
I care however, how I think... I will not be threatened by my own nature, my own self.

So, if you want to be close to me, mind the neon, it's expensive to replace broken arrows.

...If you want to be close to me, then sit, I will pencil you into my gay agenda.

-Renee

The simple joy of loving life

My day has been light, and carefree. My concerns over finances and employment placed on the back burner. My national exam for massage therapy exists in the near future. Today I was blissfully in the moment, grounded and safe in the knowledge, that all will be as it should.

My worrying changes my breathing, and my ability to feel joy. I would have none of it today.

Worry robs me of a loving present. It robs all of us of a loving, connected present.
Today, I wanted my attention to be focused on those that I love dearly, on my breathing, and on giving and receiving joy-in the moment.
The bills will still be there.
The company I work for is going to abuse their power in this economy.
They will continue abusing their workforce.

My test is on my mind...but in my heart they do not sit.
My problems cannot have the place in my heart where love and kindness want to give and receive.

Give yourself a day like this.
Stop the world and make love. Roll some pennies and put a little extra gas in the car- drive just to remind yourself what freedom feels like.
Call a loved one, or a lover who is far from you, and find each other in the moment where time and distance cannot separate.
Then, love them well.

That is what I did today.
And my breathing is calm, quiet...my mood hopeful and gentle as I get ready to sign off the day.
Joy is a gift. It is blessing. Never forget that.

Blessed Be -Renee

Let me start by telling you about work

I work for a major retailer. Not the "BIG W", not the "little k" but there is a cute dog involved in many of my employer's visually stunning, expensive ads. I am also a woman in transition, 38 years of age, recently separated from a dysfunctional marriage, embarking on a new emotional/spiritual journey, just graduated from school-massage therapy.
I am ready to take -big bites.
However, because of this economy, I still work in retail to make ends meet. Which is funny really, because the ends aren't even in the same zip code- not even in the same neighborhood.
I am not sure how they can meet under these conditions.

Corporate America, is a purely driven entity. American retailers are the darling of the beastly corporate model. the "Big W" has a lot to do with the creation of our expanding working underclass in this nation.
But, the retailer with the cute dog in their ads has followed the "W" model.
Now, In the commercials we still see brilliance, and the shiny happy people.
People, who seem to have endlessly good taste. And, money.
But, most of the people who work in the stores, can't afford the merchandise being sold, which is shameful for two reasons. If the people who work for you can't afford your product or services then your deliberately underpaying them. And, most of the merchandise comes from countries, with appalling human rights violations. Why does this matter to me, a woman in transition, a woman on the edge of untold growth and acceptance into a higher stratus of American culture? Because, I have lived the devaluing of American business morals, and the undercutting of the American worker. I have lived it. I voted against it. I am vocal about the human cost, and the shame that comes from having to work for such a noxious entity.

The truth is when a major retailer buys merchandise from countries that have serious human right violations they (the company) continue to add to the abuse that creates lasting poverty in those countries, and drives many hard working Americans into poverty because the jobs that feed their families are shipped overseas.
We close factories here that produce well made products, because it costs more to make them here in this country, and because the American worker demands a decent lifestyle, and job security in return for well made products.

When the factories close many are forced to go to work at a lesser paid, less dignified, less secure service industry position, at one of these retailers. Now, I can tell you for sure how the cute dog, pretty commercial company is staying afloat during these tough times. They are cutting their work force, in the most insidious way, and they cut health care costs all at the same time.

At any given time there are new stores openings, new Managers (well paid) but the staff is barely getting 20 hours per week. Many fall below the hours needed to keep their health insurance. Many decided not to re-up their medical insurance, or their 401K's, because they needed the money back in their paychecks due to the painful slice in available working hours. Many in my store alone have become homeless, had homes foreclosed on, and have had vehicle's repossessed. The management continues to earn the same pay no matter what.
I find that almost criminal.

In this country some questions need to be asked and decisions need to be made.
Do we really want better, safer products?
Or is that just more American dissonance-we want it, but we don't want to pay for it?
Do we want to have our corporate entities be more socially responsible? Do we want cheaper at any cost? Do we realize the domino effect of our apathy, at not holding our elected leaders to task for allowing so much American business to be shipped to the lowest bidder. Are we our brothers keepers? I mean that in the most global sense.

It costs a lot of money to make the pretty commercials, and to fly the corporate officers around the globe, for the opening of another strikingly beautiful store.

It costs big money for the benefits packages- of the few, while the benefit packages of the many- disappears.

In harsh economic times like these. Should the CEO'S have to part with some of their outrageous salaries to ensure the working class isn't driven below the poverty line by company policy? I want to know what you think. I invite a response.