Wednesday, November 18, 2009

the blessing of giving ...

He had his hand out as I exited the grocery store ... pushing a cart filled with flowers & all the ingredients to put Thanksgiving left overs in the fridge for my sons. Perhaps a silly thing to do in the middle of July, but we were celebrating our new home together and the best gift I could think of was to cook for them.
As I saw the man, I dipped into my pocket and thought, whatever comes out, he can have it. As it turned out it was a hundred dollar bill. He looked at me with such shock it sent a lovely chill through me. Then much to my surprise, he insisted on helping me load my groceries into the car. Not a word was spoken between us. I just looked into his very kind eyes filled with pain and humility.
As I drove off, in my rear view mirror, I was very grateful to see the man leave his perch by the door of the store and walk away. I never saw the man again but often think of him, in hopes he is putting Thanksgiving leftovers in his fridge for his kids somewhere. Upon my return home I told my sons about the man and let them know they'd have to wait two more weeks for the new back packs for school. Both of my sons eyes filled with tears which I thought were disappointment, but instead they embraced me in a huge hug and said; "mom, you are so amazing." What price would anyone pay for a moment like that I wonder? The reaction from my sons was priceless to me.
All of my children and I, were no strangers to hardship and unforeseen circumstances. As a single parent, there were always continued struggles, but I was what my kids called a fun mom. My objective however, whether in humorous adventures or deep discussion, was always to show them compassion for things outside themselves and the little grove we had, and to have some perspective. Perhaps this was what gave them the sensitivity they have for others. I once came home from work, to find my youngest son entertaining what a appeared to be a homeless person in our living room. What would YOU do?? Well I thought I had taught them a bit about discernment too, as well as how to keep us all safe and to be protective of their mom.
In this case it turned out as a lesson for me, in learning to trust in my son and the things I had shown him in our talks and by example. Which I must say is one of the most profound gifts I had ever received as a mother. To be able to trust in your child's judgement, heart and sensibility. My children are grown up now and are amazing treasures to the earth and my greatest contribution to humanity. In every moment I choose to give, in teaching them, I received more abundance than I could have thought possible. They now lead in their own ways, in heart and example. By the way, those Thanksgiving left overs gave delicious a whole new meaning that year ...

"Resources For Homeless Persons" - & "Homeless Shelters & Soup Kitchens"-

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Salted Wounds

As I woke up on the bathroom floor, I realized I must have either hit my head or fainted. Pulling myself up I got to my feet. My head felt wet and throbbing and I could not stand on my left foot. Turning on the bathroom light, my heart jumped at my reflection in the mirror. Aside from looking like a raccoon with my makeup running, my face was swollen like a balloon. I had a black eye and a small gash to the head on the right. Upon further inspection, bruises to legs and arm, one was pretty nasty looking, the size of a saucer. Quietly opening the bathroom door, the house was dark and still except for the snore. I wondered how long I had been in there.

Hobbling in attempt toward the living room, it all came flashing back in vivid heart wrenching. It was supposed to be a surprise. I'd have the tree all decorated by the time he got home from work and he would walk into wonderland. What a joke that was as I looked at the brutalized tree in it's fallen glittery bits, broken all over the carpet. I'd never seen anyone do that before. Just take an eight foot Christmas Tree and use it as a weapon. Pain shot up through my foot as I forgot, not to put weight on it. I likely came out of it pretty good considering, but it was clear I was going to have to go to the doctor this time. Feeling terrified at the thought of having that conversation with him, I began to shake and decided to let him wake on his own.
I sat and cried, not because he hurt me, but because I just didn't understand how he could forget to love me. Was I so starved for any appearance of affection I was willing to take anything to get it? The very thought of this threw my body into convulsing sobs all over again in self loathing.

Coming back to my senses I looked around the living room. Gazing at the fallen tree I thought how very much alike we were in this moment. A beautiful broken disaster. I remembered then my mothers Christmas Trees and then the one I drew on a cardboard for my siblings, after they had left us. They forgot to love us too. How does that happen? How do people just leave or fly into rage if they say they love you? Was it all connected? So many questions came to my mind in an attempt to puzzle it out.

After he woke up, there were the typical apologies that found their way to the conclusion that it was all my fault. I also ended up with a concussion, walked with a cane for six months with a torn ligament and had to wait to go back to work until the eye healed a bit. Adding salt to the wound, I knew he was never going to change, it was up to me to change. It was then I realized I would leave and never come back. I would never allow my children to move into this house. Even if I didn't think I deserved better, they did.

This was a decision I had to continue to make over several years before I realized the choices I had. Requiring me to dial back my threshold for pain. It took even longer to come to the revelation that I could create my own choices. Life didn't just have to happen to me. My life was for me, not against me. No one had ever even said the word "choices" to me until I was well into my thirties. Had I understood this during the years of abuse I had subjected myself to, I would have called the authorities. Safety, security and love is a right to every human being. The choices others make for themselves in behavior or lifestyle is theirs as well. For me it was a long journey to discovery, but I am one of the lucky ones in this regard.

Although I'm battle worn, many others don't come out of these circumstances with their lives, let alone their dignity. Nicole Simpson is a tragic example. It doesn't matter what walk of life a person comes from. Domestic violence, psychological abuse and even worse atrocities happen daily. Even when it bewilders our minds at the how or why of these horrors, it can't and mustn't stop us from creating awareness and putting an end to it. This starts in our own homes and in our own hearts by example in the decisions we make. But there is much more to do beyond the perimeters of ourselves. We can all make an effort to educate and spread the word of hope. Had someone done so for me, I may have been spared many years of torment and neglect.

The lives of others can be spared now with the many more resources and advocates available today. Respect is the key element missing in human exchanges manifesting abusive behavior. If humanity had pure respect for itself, there would be no war or even a reason to put locks on doors. No one person has the answers. The resolve of humanities issues, requires a collective awareness and the will to create like minded consciousness. It can happen like a snowball and gain momentum the more we combine our understanding and unify intention. I've watched prejudice fly out the door in the face of tragedies like 911, where people do come together and unify for a moment in time. I believe it's possible for us to do the same, for the sake of love itself, for humanity forever.

We hurt ourselves when we hurt each other. We love ourselves when we intend the highest good for each other and back it up with loving action.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who believed in "The Golden Rule"; "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" guess what, I still believe.

You are not alone. Call, don't wait: Domestic Abuse Hot-line & Resources:
National Domestic Violence Hotline>
National Coalition Against Domestic Violence>


Thursday, October 1, 2009

What's a Twitter?

If my son had come home from school asking this question, I would have likely believed his school friends had come up with yet another expletive. Or there was going to be some required homework on my part, in order to answer him. *grin* Something I often found myself doing during my children’s high school years.

But he’s 24, and as he hovers over my shoulder in baited curiosity, I laugh at his response as I show him my Tweet deck in all its buzzing glory. “Wow, What IS that?” he gasped. Prior to this moment, I had been subjected to all manner of assumptions about my online activities of late, having been too busy on Twitter to bother trying to explain, which would also require further diagnostics for my own self discovery regarding it.

By the way, It was quite novel for anyone to see me glued to the computer, the telephone no, they were used to that. Being an extremely social person and having had a high profile career most their life, my children were unfortunately subjected to my constant barrage of phone activity. While my work and my writing often found me at the computer before, they were curious to see me now so engaged in laughter and intensity. So in order to refute what otherwise would have been left to imagination and to avoid additional inquiry, I stopped everything (as mothers do) mid stream, and attempted to explain.

When I got past the quirky tools, the system dialogues, rules of 140 characters or less, and novelty of celebrity interactions; I showed him how Twitter is an online community full of some of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege to meet. There is heart, etiquette, understanding, compassion and caring which all took me quite by surprise.

I happened upon it purely on a fluke. Having gotten laid off my job in the entertainment industry. I thought it might be a good resource to network and find possible future employment. I had no idea I would find a life! By this I don’t mean a virtual life, because much of it has more meaning than that.

Intention is everything in all things. People can feel the intentions of others through time, space and distance. Twitter is no exception to this rule. The intentions of support and caring bleed through the cyber box and into real time, real life experiences for all of us. Twitter has become a tool for us to connect not only with people we may not have otherwise met, but to also cultivate awareness of issues for all of humanity. People all over the globe are coming together in these exchanges in order to communicate and assist hard and meaningful change for others. From celebrities, wealthy socialites to the homeless, they all have a voice. Many are championing causes on behalf of the sick and those affected by catastrophic life events. Some are mentors who bother to take the time to share their life experiences in hopes of making a difference.

I started out cautiously with mere funny banters with others a little at a time. As I began to friend some truly gifted and amazing people I became less leery and more revealing about myself and my personal interests. To my ultimate surprise, others appreciated my contributions of flavor and in site which had not otherwise been apparent to me.

I must also say, it took being apart of this community to realize how disconnected and unaware I really was even through all of my own life experience. The difference Twitter has made for me was the broad spectrum perspective of communal effort. The people I engage with are without prejudice or discrimination and are open and welcoming on all fronts. Rarely this is found in our neighborhoods, schools or work places.

Though the Twitter community is no stranger to controversies, the choices afforded about them expand globally. Each user initiates their own level of responsibility according to their own ability and resources as well as the life experiences they bring. Culminating active and worthy solutions for others in doing so and often finding resolve. Even bridging real life communities in some cases one tweet at a time.

While my friends there have often seen me refer to myself as the-girl-box, in initial jest, I have had to back step my own poke in fun at this. It amused me at one point to coin the phrase, but after having the opportunity to cultivate my own friendships that are truly meaningful to me, I have since realized there really is no box. It is a soulful transmitter, reaching hearts, connecting dots beyond a time and space continuum in higher purpose.

So, no sweet son, it is not a glorified chat room. Though I couldn't have told you what a chat room looked like until now, for now I am often lead by the hand to chat rooms from friends here for all manner of reasons. Charity events and fund raisers, blog radio shows and the like. I have even lead others to fun things as well, that some have found delight in.

The one thing I've neglected to say is there is pure love with those whom I have found on Twitter. Pure and unconditional. In our world of technological rampage, economical downturns, and societal breakdowns, there is something wonderful this way comes in cyber world. Authenticity can be found in anything you bring authenticity to. Like attracts what is like minded in the physical world, as well it does in what appears to be a virtual world.
A profound blessing for me is to now see the difference I can make with my energy and contributions.

A cord was struck in me long forgotten until recently. As a young girl I was a "wave the banner" kind of girl. Attending "No Nukes" at the Hollywood Bowl on what was called Survival Sundays and "Save the Whales" events were a regular part of my routine. When life changes occurred, I sadly had to put down my banners and attend to my own survival. Now as a direct result of being a viral part of the Twitter community, dear friends are not only helping me to heal old wounds but showing me how I can help heal others. So I'm personally blessed to have an opportunity to soon pick up my banners again, but now on a much more universal scale. As a matter of fact something very important is about to come out of me that may have the potential to help a lot of other people. Not something I would have ever expected to happen.

So, what's a twitter? Not a video game, honey. Nor a toy to be played with or taken for granted. It is a place where lives come together to share in hope, in love and inspiration that once upon a time didn't have this platform. It is a place where people honor and respect each other no matter what walk of life they come from or where they are going. We can't help being drawn to it. Some of us, me included can't help our obsession with it. Twitter Name: @SchuggaJoy

Where ever it is friendships are born so sacred is the meeting place.
After all, we are all only human. ~djs


Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Feed Me ... part 4


“The little girl bent slowly to gather them. Careful to not let any of the tiny delicate pearls escape her. She lingered, looking at it thoughtfully. Then her little body shook with tears as she blew. Like fairy lights they glimmered in the air as her tiny will forced them off the pod, scattering her wish into the great universe. Wiping her eyes, she looked down at her dirty sock crunching down into her shoes. As she tried to adjust it, she peered behind. There they were her younger sisters and baby brother trailing behind. She waited for them to catch up. As she took her brothers hand she noticed his was nearly as big as her own which came to discussion the rest of the way home. Having no key to the apartment, the door was always unlocked until they got home. Upon opening, the air was cold and strange smelling, like old potatoes. It was dark and felt damp. She moved away some trash to clear a path for them to get to their bedroom. There was one trundle bed and a TV. They all gathered immediately around the TV she looked to scrounge something for them all to eat. They worked their way through a box of graham crackers, a box of Jell-O and some peanut butter. Then she attempted to get everyone cleaned up and washed faces with the wash cloth. This always led to fighting and everyone started crying again. Not really knowing how to calm her siblings down she forced them back to the TV, or played cuddle games and at last resort, she sang. In this dark and dismal place a sound of sweetness carried. Four melodic tiny voices sang themselves to sleep. As the little girl thought of her sweet sisters and baby brother she cried in her blanket so they couldn't’t hear her. Her tiny heart lurching in hope of her wish flower for their parents to come back and love them. That night she dreamed she fell asleep behind the cereal boxes in the grocery store.”

Closing the door quietly, so as not to disturb his mistress, the ancient one shuddered. He knew he shouldn't’t have gone so far so soon, but he could not help himself. This wondrous creature enchanted and delighted him and restored hope for his very existence. The beauty of her struck his core stirring a much forgotten desire. “Oh how little she does not yet know” he thought. Her very existence, her survival brought him back … feeding him … with her unquenchable need for him. He pondered longingly over her delicate strength, fusing himself to her very essence. “My little one who shouldered so much shall soon be unburdened except for me” He thought. Throughout time he waited for her as he waited for no other. He saw her at first conception and knew she would be his hope, an unspoiled precious one without an ounce of greed. It pained him greatly to know of her suffering. But only this could have brought him back to his divinity forever. Even though he already knew he just had to pull another memory from her that night, to watch it come off her lips. Her sweetness pulled at him. Lifetimes of his treasures wasted on vanity and unworthy prowess tormented and depleted him. But now here she was. It excited him just to think on it. He stood silently outside the door and could feel her steady breathing as he inhaled the beating of her heart. He wanted to go back in and envelop her. But her rest is crucial and he knew she would not rest and he can easily over stimulate her. He waited in aching as he had waited for so long. At last, at least she is here and he knew what he would do when she awoke.

He thought carefully as a rush of sensations came over him, then from deep within his pocket he drew a tiny withered seed … that once came flurried at him on a tiny wind from a wish flower ...

Passion itself has his own peril, but can also be fed from broken …

the blessing continues ...


Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Feed Me part 3

Streaming tears … I upped from pillows in an aimless direction, wildly flinging my gown out of my way, so I could run … then stopped suddenly … in the blur washing over my eyes .. I was not in the place I thought I was. … Confusion took over the terror although I could still feel the treacherous pain coursing through to my bone. What was it, where had I gone? I stumbled a bit … Then there it was, the relief of the warm sensation coming back … walking from my bedroom I could still feel it working it’s miraculous way through me calming the piercing pain like a soothing elixir. The sweetness of the sensation was now becoming palatable as I allow it in welcoming.
He’s still here. Whatever had tangled me up in the night was a dream. Oh how real it seemed like so many others. But how should I dream so now, with a whisper so softly crooning in my ears as I fell off to sleep … only to be plummeted off into wretched sorrow …

“… walls replete with sadness crying all around me, lying in heaps at the bases, weeping women. But their tears were falling up the walls as if trying to send the ache up into heaven itself. They went on for miles these poor souls and the room seemed to go on forever. How beautiful they were as I watched them in pensive curiosity. Some in long billowing skirts others in old muslin. I could not see their faces for all of their lovely heads were covered and turned towards the walls. The sounds of their torment began to overwhelm and I began to scream and cry out … as I fell to my knees in shaking they started to turn towards me. My screaming stopped abruptly in gazing, wide eyed wonder at what I saw … all of the faces were my own, the eyes looking back at me were mine, looking at me imploringly to not succumb but to rescue me, or them or us. Beauty once cherished now discarded and held captive in grief. The sound of it rang loudly in my ears. Like a symphony gone horribly wrong screeching … I began to run to them and away from them even flinging myself to the floor in an attempt of escape. As I did so the pain only intensified and I thought we would all be ripped to shreds from it … “

No wonder I jumped awake, anyone would with a dream resembling a John Malkovich moment! Quivering … I walk back to my bedroom to take notes, clearly these dreams are the ravings of a mad woman. Or they are trying to tell me something. I certainly have no intention of going back through my own portal for discovery. Aghast at how these horrors find their disruptive way into my sanctuary. Pangs of hunger rumbled, but I had no desire for actual food, when another wave of pleasure washed over me. The warm wonderful glow of knowing he is there is satiating. In preparing for the day I begin to ponder; dreams, secret things our minds feel in fears not acknowledged. Or it could be a safe way to reveal unhealed wounds with some passivity. The tiny child within me recalled yet another dream that lived in real time which required passivity on some level to survive the trauma. A pang welled up in my throat. The sound of weary women weeping everywhere haunts me as I force myself into the moment. I can feel the essence of my ancient master calling me into this new day. Eagerly, my heart is open in immediate anticipation. So many blame my poor dear for their inability to contain themselves when he is around … not his fault for he always tells the truth. His mighty secret will soon burst from me and heal them all in my telling of it. As the warmth of the current tenderness inspires me, my dream is set aside but not forgotten. Feeling refreshed and excited, I allow the crooning energy to call me out. I can feel you passionate stranger. Oh how delicious is your recipe. Almost a distinct impression that someone was going to make me dinner. Knowing full well there are others who are hungry too waiting for me to share. My abundant cup overflows to sustaining in the care of this glorious company, with no sign of foreboding dream as we sit down to dine, I am supplicated … leaning in to dare a glance across the table … my eyes are finally met … And to the sound of his voice … Passion burns a hole ... right through my veins … feeding me more from broken ….

to be con't

Friday, September 11, 2009

Feed Me .. continued

Curled up on the lap of Passion … would seem by it’s implication to be a contented place. But in fact it is quite the opposite. Having crooned me unto the lap of him, I realized my state and began to reel in laughter in the face of irony itself as well as to my house guest. “Come, you now, oh wicked one? For I was bent with repose on my steady need of NOT needing you, a discovery which was long overdue! You know this! You were there and then disappeared taking everything I so adored about you, with you. So now you come to shake me awake as if I had been sleeping. Which I was, but I had made a decision for sleep. I was pretty much the sleeping beauty of humanity, lying in wait for the desired ever lasting slumber. Sleeping has its perks you know. For one, you want for nothing BUT sleep. And in sleeping, one needs less. Which goes a very long way to having “green planet” if you know what I mean. For another it is calm. It is uneventful. Zero drama, which is highly underrated by the way. But you would know nothing of this. Isn’t this right you willful creature? So now I’m awake and compelled into longing, for longing itself. With an unquenchable need to create and to love with complete, unabashed abandon. Simply because you exist! You are enchanting me ... so enchanted I am. Perhaps, being what you are, knew this thing about me. Even knowing what glorious music will come of it among other things. You also knew full well, how I would respond to you, like a pied piper bringing others with me into your intended adventure. As it happens, my ancient friend I have. I am lit from within. Here I am on your alter of turbulent fire which is sure to consume me and I don’t care. I celebrate your mastery of human desire. For you knew I was sick, like so many others hungry and aching while sleeping, for this exact knowing ness by which you have graced my doorstep. It is the complete ecstasy of absolute passion for your sake alone. Because desire get’s exactly what it wants always. The poor human heart cannot help its desires ever. It is the trick of treat you start out with isn’t it? Even weary wounded sick, stupid dumb broken me, still could not help the desire of my own heart. How exclusively wonderful you are. Oh how you know me so well. I just want to ... ” In response to my rant I was stopped in mid sentence by the most passionate kiss I had ever tasted ... and decided to make us both dinner. …to be continued ... unsteady as she goes ... djs

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Feed Me

Feed me from broken, you ancient fire … which tapped on the shoulder of my soul and shook me from slumber … the place it has touched is seared and swollen and has taken me unaware … consumed I stand now breathing nothing but desire … to what do I owe this great honor to be so visited. Angels with wings with much better deeds have less. Yet compelled, devour I ... hungrily every golden glimmer of this awakening honeyed light. Slowly traveling, these droplets by design, bleed into my quivering bones. The course they use ... appears to create rivers as they fill me and I am taken.
My captor seems to take great amusement in watching me writhe in the pain and pleasure. Whose source I cannot see clearly for my eyes, turned within ... in watching wonder. Wounds once scarred over, are now openly gaping and throb. For this nectar has opened me up. Moaning escapes my lips and surprises me. Paralyzed I try to reach for a limb, for some sense of myself and feel no hands. I am suddenly not my body and am becoming my captor’s glorious essence and fall in abandon. On the floor of this mighty kingdom I lay in complete surrender. Rushing in pulsing surges as this surgical master feels me naked, I wait in aching need. Fevers shiver as I am eagerly fed more by this ancient one. I can feel the tender hands upon me into every secret place. My body rises in urgency of its own accord. Longingly supping like a newborn in this swaddled place, a rapture of joy bursts through my skin. The power of this skillful attention to me forces my eyes up and I am plunged into the brightest blue. The gaze washes over me, as the tears purge me, into further depths … I am bathed in light and begin to dance as I am lifted above the earth high and reaching, casting colors in prisms as it coos and woos me … and in my ears a familiar voice in laughter says “see, I’m not finished with you yet."

And so I write; “Oh you elusive character. Where the hell have you been? Look, I know I didn’t come to the door when you knocked those last few times, but you had your own key. How you love the excitement of the chase. You are in fact the very encasement of a tease. But how you croon and I have missed you. It’s about time you showed up, I was beginning to wonder where you had gotten to. Planning on staying a while? I see you brought a suitcase. “Then I proceeded to curl up on the lap of Passion … the ancient universal fire, my new roommate as well as what’s for dinner … to be continued ~ djs



Monday, August 31, 2009

An Embrace of the Heart

...makes all the difference in the souls journey to it's highest potential, With all of the many "words" I have written in song, prose, scribe & scribble, I am forever awestruck by one singular simple truth with every one of these expressions; it is never enough. The human heart and all it's complexities bewilders humanity enough to run from itself into a lack of authenticity. My fault is, through all of my own bewildering experiences, I have been constantly running against the flow of the excepted path. Rather choosing to run to myself whenever in the world I could find my last breadcrumb and steal it from the waves of life which were amused in washing my trail away. As irony would have it, I would be gifted with authenticity as a direct result of this upstream journey. Others craving authenticity are attracted to it and I cannot help but give it away for it really isn't mine but universal truth. The difference we can make to someone else, makes all the difference in the world of possibilities. It is the difference hope makes. It is the difference between a choice of life or death, love or hard neglect. We are warm and held up by everything we are given by those who embrace us truly. To lose my footing now was like a gift in a strange way, for an encouraging soulful embrace has prompted my response to these things, which otherwise would not have been written.. Having the faith of a friend is a treasure and a responsibility in equal measure. To express the imagery here feels like an excavation in my attempt. The treasure, you hold close and deeply while working to be worthy of it. The embrace is the key that unlocks the piece of hope that says you already are worthy of it. Music has the ability to translate these emotions as nothing else does. But even music cannot take the place of an embrace of the heart. This was in fact the missing link in my discovery in my engagement on this earth. The one thing that makes everything I hear matter to me. To feel my heart embraced. It happens to many who tend to give too much away misguidedly loving and reaching out for that that one thing not even knowing what that one thing is. It is what every single person wants and needs to survive and thrive well and nobody even knows it consciously, To be embraced in their heart. I feel as if I have been given a great secret, a mystery solved. This is singing to me now with all the intention and passion it inspires. I can hear music in everything, from the noises in the street, the wind in the trees, in water and even in the way I can feel the very heartbeat as I am endeared to someone. But I have never heard music like this before,"in an embrace" When I hear a melody, it permeates my soul first, so if you are plugged in, you can hear them too. The melodies. You can feel them, they will torment you, bleed you out and they will purge things and flush things. But I now see how it can lift and move things standing in the way of love and adorn you with the finest regiment every heart deserves which is the essence of love itself. This is what I found in one embrace, where strength can be found, where love abides. A friend found a miraculous way of revealing this to me in one moment, in one willing embrace of a tender heart ...


Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The Scattered Heart

I left my heart in San Francisco and in a dumpster bin
Found a piece of it in No Ho and another in Marin

In a box back stage at Poly & at the Orpheum
At the Beach in Venice and the Dresden Room

I left a trail of heart crumbs along a desert road
In a tent in the Sierras and once in a commode

On a birthing bed and in a wishing well
How many places could they go I really couldn't tell?

It took some time to scatter ... this tiny little heart
The shards like glass escape so well ... far reaching and apart

Pieces found in drawers, in some pockets and a book
Some more were found in bars, and one was on a hook!

Tell tale glimmers found in corners even as I swept
On rocks and in the ocean and in all those secrets kept.

Underneath a bed, in a dojo and a pool, another little shred was found perched up on a stool!

One was on a lounge chair taking in some sun! One was in my pillow poking me in fun.

I had to chase one down the street as it was picked up on a shoe
It kicked up dust in blinding lust and down the sewer flew!

Some were in New York, Catalina and Bel Air, off a boat in Palisades can’t take me anywhere!

New Orleans and Vegas and even Malibu, Ohio and Route 66 even got me too.

In cracks and paper bags from Puccini to the Cure, if I have them all I really can’t be sure.

I gathered all these pieces in my skirt just like a shrew, took them back to dollhouse to try to find some glue.

Pieces like a puzzle this silly mass of glass....
was spread about the dollhouse floor ... for years until at last ...

One barren summer took to bliss ... a cauldron fired up a kiss, the music wafted through the air and all my pieces brewed in there … I could see them in the pot, glistening jewels made of my lot, how long I stood there in my gaze ... in watching wonder magic glazed. It shook in violent rapture as my eyes dropped in some tears, the mixture took them captured as if purging ancient years. A surge of passion rushed and moaned ... in joyous laughter sculpture groaned. And there it was like stories told ... no more glass ... but made of gold, my heart … in love and strong to hold.


Friday, August 21, 2009

Stuff My Mother Gave Me

My Mother gave me glamour, wit and bounty tables, fresh cut flowers, Half Moon Bay and Christmas wrapping labels.

Fenton glass and recipes, singing in the car. Midnight mass, and snowball fights and banter at the bar.

Baby Ruth Bars, Weeping Willows, reading until dawn. Humming Birds and music boxes fishes in the pond.

Random acts of kindnesses, tootsie pops and rolls, band aids, candles, folding hands, and simple sounds of home.

Shiny knights in armor holding court inside my head, pretty sheets and pillows to tuck me into bed.
Bubble baths and perfumed powder, the cuteness of a poop.
Planting seeds in flower pots and smoking on the stoop.

Paintings of the ocean and a forest pink. Banana curls and baby baths in the kitchen sink.
Words to live by, incense, purpose from the pain, pebbles, crayons, paperdolls and a love for rain.

A road less traveled, a love for sex and the telephone, a life unraveled, galleries and an ice cream cone.

Savory from the kitchen wafting flavors from the brews, years of tears and candlelight and pretty little shoes.
Keys and open windows, giggles in the dark, Jeopardy, the paper and a change of heart.
Mistletoe and rosaries, white gloves and Halloween, cheesecake tote bags, Snoopy and Montana hills serene.

Tinkling bells and sisters and baby brother too; serenity prayer, and elegance, a willingness to do.
Seashells, music, coffee, pearls, a ring of black hills gold, the golden gate, a treasure chest and a story still untold.

A love for words and painted toes, failing teeth and eyes. Matching scarves and sweaters, and homemade pumpkin pies.
Books and dreams and center stage, and Cachuma Lake, Looks & schemes & lollipops a prayer my soul to take.
Elves in doorways swinging, magic, music, strife, change, sofas, pots & pans, she also gave me life.
A heart that’s full of singing, and a crystal bird, dark and scary places, a chance to now be heard.
The beauty of her eyes and laughter, chips from benchmarks made, embrace I ever after all the things she gave …. A will to make a difference to light now from the cave. ~djs


Thursday, August 13, 2009

A Little Something for Mama,

Well it's been 3 years now since I was able to kiss you. That last kiss and the feeling of your sweet powdered cheek is a burned memory in my mind. Through all of our talks at the table with coffee and cigarettes looking into your bright ocean blue eyes, it occurs to me now that I still have so much more say and so many questions to ask you. Your arms are forever reaching mom, and sometimes I can even smell your perfume. What would you say to us now if you could? Your children want and miss you. I know in those last days I was unable to sing to you the way you knew I could, my voice just wouldn't come out. But since you dipped your lovely toes into heaven things have changed. Is that you running interference from your new perch? I wonder. Our lives have all been so turbulent and all the pains are still healing. But you were right about forgiveness, it is the key to everything. You earned our forgiveness and more. One of last things you said to me was to forgive myself. I suppose I could interpret that in application to so many things even pertaining to you. How many nights did I cry for your children and my own. But you likely know this and so much more now. I wish I could see you. We were like girlfriends you said once. But it was much much more, we were the essence of broken women everywhere clinging to each other in hope. By design our ability to forgive laid a foundation for hope in a most unexpected way. We have you, mine have me. Now there is magic in the air mama, and I am even writing music again. Your birthday is tomorrow. As I feel fall approaching in my bones it used to bring us all so much joy to pickup the phone and discuss our recipes and plans of gathering. The truth is I feel the essence of you every single day. Your aura of celebration is best described as "companies coming". It's one thing to have flowers on the table, quite another to make them feel magnificent. Thank you for giving me that glorious gift because I have it too. You even found a way to give us our own bridge. I am keeping my promise to keep us together as you wished it and will continue. You are so loved, and we keep you close to us. With all this said, I wanted you to know about a very special song I wrote for us for you and for me, and for the children we have both cradled and cried over. Because I believe it was the truth in your deepest heart what you wanted for your children and what I hoped for as well for mine. I love you, your daughter Debbie


Tuesday, August 11, 2009

"My life is the backdrop for the beauty in my soul, while my heart bleeds it's artistry unto the canvas in song" djs

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Love Holds on Tight

It's time to bring our angels home, these we won't lose, no weapons made of love can be refused. djs, Welcome home Ling & Lee, Hold Your heads up high.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Love First Above All Things Makes A Difference

Note: Editor's Choice Award Library of Congress

For Prose and Peace

Where is comforts nodding head,
as seeds of darkness seek to spread
foreboding vines of wretched dread..
of certain fear of conscience led

To speak the words of hurt and woe
Bleeds the heart for wound to show
to haunt the soul and make it so
the peril that makes weak to grow

Make it loud the love in song
to the right inflicted wrong
to play the part of sadness shrill
completes the prick of poison’s will

Raise the gate to save the fair
to grow enough of good to spare

The whims of doubt may have their place
but not inside of loving’s space

Author Biography;
Debra Joy was born in Old Hollywood California in 1961. Raised in the San Fernando Valley, her mother was a beauty queen and her father was a hair dresser to the stars. As the the oldest of two sisters and one brother. The first nine years of her young life were that of glamour, fun, and the sweetness a childhood should be. She began to take care of her young siblings at the age of nine when they tragically lost their parents to alcoholism. The sad four, were discovered alone by authorities, separated and thrown into foster care. She didn’t know it then, but this was the beginning of a journey for her that would take her from the arms of contentment, and lead her through the anguish of loss and abuse unto a path of strength, discovery, purpose and hope. At 12 years old, she was first introduced to Shakespeare and became lost in the wonderment of theatre, renaissance fairs and stage. Having found success and escape through the arts, she still felt there was more to learn and became interested in metaphysics. She began to also read self help books in order to face and assist the healing of her past hardships. In her late teens to mid twenties she was married twice and had four gorgeous children of her own. However, the demise of those relationships created even more heartbreak and she began to focus even harder on her own enlightenment and self discovery. Throughout, she was able to lift her heart up with her writing and found great creative solace as well as resolve.
Since the late seventies, Debra Joy has been an inspired writer with an amazing body of work spanning from over 2000 works of poetry and over 300 songs and lyrics. ~ hayes productions

My current projects include an embodiment of songs for a few musicals soon to be championed, a handbook called Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken Heart, lyricist in company with renouned composer Richard Currier and an autobiography in hopes of assisting awareness and prevention of child abuse and abandonment. I recently became a contributor/ mentor for an independent music team called "The Collective", a group of extremly talented musicians with a desire to create change and make a difference through music and intention. Other humanatarian efforts include voluntary charity work for Clean Water for Africa, assisting in the first ever 24- hour Twitterthon with Kirstie Alley and (Aquathon). Can also be found on Twitter, posting in promotion of humanatarian efforts in various feeds and repostings in the Twitter community. So much more to come .. stay tuned..