Have you ever been dumped in a text message, DM box, or a post-it note?
Has a friend or loved one?
"breaking someone's heart on purpose should be a federal offense" - Ruby Bell
Highly Recommended!!! The "Feel Good" Hand Holder!!!
Please Purchase here to help the 'under dog' >
https://www.createspace.com/3461861
Read The Reviews!!!
http://www.amazon.com/Emergency-Repair-Kit-Broken-Heart/dp/1453635785
Portions of proceeds to will be going to ...
my mother's last wish and assist the: "Women's Recovery Association" http://www.womensrecovery.org/
Want To Help Me Donate Books To Sad People?
YOU CAN!!!
Thank for your loving support!
***
***
Friday, March 25, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
When "Love" is Around
When "Love" is around, I tend to let it in, no matter what fine specimen of Adonis walks in.
To the point I might as well wear a t-shirt that says "I'm with Uh Oh".
It never comes in wearing an "under construction" sign over its head,
consequently forcing the deconstruction of Debbie in its wake.
In some cases barely allowing me to escape its grasp alive!
When "Love" was around in the beginning it pursued me relentlessly. Taunting me in doorways and often sending holograms ahead of me to distract my attention, appearing to be shiny armor guys who really wanted a ride to the bus stop or their bar bill paid.
Ah love, Ah amore ... the stuff that Dean Martin is made of baby...
When "Love" is around it sends its warm surges through my veins and intoxicates me as I force my tiny feet into vintage shoes again. It quivers my spine and changes my mind and I flounce. That's right I said flounce. In all of my full on boa regalia I soar with my feathers on clouds and make breakfast.
When "Love" is around it tends to favor sports over my melting Puccini on a Saturday, as it leaves evidence of itself everywhere, shamelessly unaware.
Still I tend to sing in the kitchen, as I clean up the bacon grease and I never seem to mind massaging its neck.
But love likes to go first in the bathroom and forgets to bring me coffee.
It thinks I can carry half my own body weight uphill for 3 miles in 100 degree weather when I'm on my period... then thinks its okay to hand me a shovel when I have to use the restroom.
It likes to think I always taste like sugar, I'm made of rubber, pay my bills through osmosis and I'm always aware where its shoes are when I stumble over them.
When "Love" is around there is always a sense of adventure. As a spirited woman I embrace the antics and all of its foibles, knowing full well I won't be able to get a word in edgewise when it keeps me up past 3:00am.
Nevertheless, love itself will always be my hero. It has such a winning way in all its crooning even though it's spoiled rotten and often broke my heart.
One day it will claim me as its champion, because I’m sure it knows how hard I've held to the beauty of its loving essence, even when I had to wash the soap. ~
**********************************************************************************
To the point I might as well wear a t-shirt that says "I'm with Uh Oh".
It never comes in wearing an "under construction" sign over its head,
consequently forcing the deconstruction of Debbie in its wake.
In some cases barely allowing me to escape its grasp alive!
When "Love" was around in the beginning it pursued me relentlessly. Taunting me in doorways and often sending holograms ahead of me to distract my attention, appearing to be shiny armor guys who really wanted a ride to the bus stop or their bar bill paid.
Ah love, Ah amore ... the stuff that Dean Martin is made of baby...
When "Love" is around it sends its warm surges through my veins and intoxicates me as I force my tiny feet into vintage shoes again. It quivers my spine and changes my mind and I flounce. That's right I said flounce. In all of my full on boa regalia I soar with my feathers on clouds and make breakfast.
When "Love" is around it tends to favor sports over my melting Puccini on a Saturday, as it leaves evidence of itself everywhere, shamelessly unaware.
Still I tend to sing in the kitchen, as I clean up the bacon grease and I never seem to mind massaging its neck.
But love likes to go first in the bathroom and forgets to bring me coffee.
It thinks I can carry half my own body weight uphill for 3 miles in 100 degree weather when I'm on my period... then thinks its okay to hand me a shovel when I have to use the restroom.
It likes to think I always taste like sugar, I'm made of rubber, pay my bills through osmosis and I'm always aware where its shoes are when I stumble over them.
When "Love" is around there is always a sense of adventure. As a spirited woman I embrace the antics and all of its foibles, knowing full well I won't be able to get a word in edgewise when it keeps me up past 3:00am.
Nevertheless, love itself will always be my hero. It has such a winning way in all its crooning even though it's spoiled rotten and often broke my heart.
One day it will claim me as its champion, because I’m sure it knows how hard I've held to the beauty of its loving essence, even when I had to wash the soap. ~
**********************************************************************************
Monday, November 1, 2010
"Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken Heart"
(20 or so things you can do while you're waiting for time to step up and heal all wounds)
by Ruby Bell
My Pen Name is Ruby Bell, more to come on the story of Ruby Bell later.
Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken by Ruby Bell > Available on amazon!
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1453635785
"Rejection is anarchy to the human heart, blinding paths for self discovery and can put life in a stronghold"
Every single one of us has suffered from some kind of loss, or at the very least we know someone who is going through some variable of heart break. Perhaps even someone who can't stop calling you, because someone has dumped them in a cruel way.
Well after having suffered from many of my own repeated losses, I realized I just was unable to heal.
Finally, I gathered everything anyone ever told me .. and all the things I felt or needed someone to say to me during those painful times and ...
Quite by accident & then very on purpose I created this feel good hand holder for the broken heart.
It really works! I am living proof!
It has already been acclaimed by a licensed therapist and I have also been told it's something that everyone should read even if they never had a broken heart!
Please help me create awareness for the worst invisible injury on the planet - Rejection.
Book Launch party news to come soon!
Thank You all so much for your loving support.
~ djs
********
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Ocean is My Mentor
It almost seems as if I can feel the ocean screaming. I have always felt connected to the ocean, beyond connected really. The ocean is my mentor. Throughout my life it has mothered me, healed me, and sang to me.
Now, I can feel a definite change as I stare in gaping mouth at the flagrant disregard for humanity and our precious earth, by so called commerce. I watch our Atlantic Coastline taking the full brunt of humanities assault with humility it seems for now. But I know her so well. Once she lifts her head up from her fatal injuries she is going to have her say. As any mother worth her salt, she will admonish her children for having forsaken her as they kneel weeping at her feet inconsolable with guilt. Well one can only hope. We humans have taken more than has ever been our right to, from our mother earth. We have had the luxury of taking this earth for granted from the beginning of time. The very blood of her existence, water, is poisoned because of the greed of her children. Like any mother, she gives willingly, but I don’t think it will be quietly. There is a horrific lesson to learn here when we all will eventually get the “howler” on this one.
The entire catastrophe is insulting and makes me personally feel ashamed for these people in charge of such a huge responsibility. It has become painfully obvious that they lack not only integrity but the maturity to handle so great a responsibility. Oh wait that’s right, greed is never responsible for its behavior is it? Ok well let’s just say that is true. Everything in equal measure to consequence is a universal law. The one thing humanity cannot get around. Oh it may seem to for a time, but sooner or later karma washes up unto shore and makes toxic sand cookies.
Every one of us has seen mother earth take back everything that was always rightfully hers. But she has been a good mother to us. We should handle her not with fear or brute force, but with love. We have pummeled, pumped and purged every part of her precious resources. From rocks we get diamonds. We build kingdoms and legacy for generations to inherit. Our homes, our clothes our technology all gleamed from the bounty this world has to offer. Yet we still have so little regard for the life the earth gives us and for human life itself which is evident by war and neglect and worse. We can recycle, turn off lights, we can call ourselves “green” thinking we are somehow giving back. But compared to what we have already collectively taken, can we honestly say we are giving back? Sometimes the best way to give back is not to take in the first place.
The one thing every country has in common regardless of culture is the wanting of “stuff”. It sickens me to watch leaders play tug of war games over oil instead of learning how to share and embrace diversity and care for one another. Basic principles I struggled to teach my own children seem to be lost on the mighty. Now the mighty may not even have a sandbox. At least not one they’ll be willing to wiggle their toes in. We have no idea what the impact this BP event will have on our great grand kids.
I’m so confused why we don’t learn from our mistakes. For example; in the 1800’s our government gave land to farmers in what is now referred to as the “dust bowl”. These farmers were encouraged to farm the land, seems innocent enough. But in doing so they scourged the earth of its protective foliage which kept the earth from rising into dust storms in four states. By the 1930’s the area suffered long droughts. As the winds rose, they blew miles of earth thousands of feet into the air and traveled at up to hundred and fifty miles an hour. These were called “black storms” and would last up at three days at time and one of these storms hit from Alabama to New York City. The loss of life was catastrophic and some of the regions hit by these storms have still never recovered, so much for commerce, right? The government was apprised of the situation years prior but did nothing until it literally showed up on their doorstep.
The point is, we have many of these references and we still don’t learn. The precious eco systems are not going to just stay and play nice in areas we’ve “decided” to designate them in. We have wild life reserves, and call ourselves protecting forests, while our hand is still in the cookie jar with drills piercing the earth like needles digging thousands of miles for oil. How do we actually know what the impact will be because of this? The earth works in perfect and delicate balance with itself. Oil may in fact protect or rather lubricate some greater part of our planetary core. Perhaps keeping plates from shifting even more violently then they do, perhaps even assisting a greater balance with gravity as it relates to our solar system. We don’t know everything. This is acutely apparent with our situation in the gulf.
As children of the earth, we can do more to secure and preserve what is left of it. How? By shifting our priorities and changing our collective minds and value set. If we work together and value life itself over “stuff” I believe it will have a global impact on our humanity, on our commerce and its integrity and ultimately our planet.
The tongue and cheek approach our media is taking with this BP tragedy cannot in any way minimize the devastation it’s creating. Nor can there be an attempt to “manage perceptions” to the public which is what most of corporate America does. Our manufactures have found a way to put petroleum, which is a derivative of crude oil in everything we use, by “managing our perceptions”. It’s in everything from our lotions to our cosmetics. Perhaps there is no way to stop everyone from driving cars, but maybe we can do something on a smaller scale, by each of us refusing to buy products containing petroleum. Aside from alternative fuel sources, we have alternatives to other things as well. By the way, hi Jojoba and hemp oil how are yah!?!
I am just a nobody and maybe my little two cents on all of this may seem to be naïve. But we have to start somewhere and make a stand with greater intention then we have ever had before. Shame is not enough. Some loss can mean forever. If we don’t mama’s gonna get the last word. She always does.
By the way must read article in Herald de Paris “It’s Not a Spill” http://www.heralddeparis.com/?s=It%27s+Not+A+Spill
Want to see if the products in your cabinets have petroleum?
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/
Greed cannot, must not win.
*****
Now, I can feel a definite change as I stare in gaping mouth at the flagrant disregard for humanity and our precious earth, by so called commerce. I watch our Atlantic Coastline taking the full brunt of humanities assault with humility it seems for now. But I know her so well. Once she lifts her head up from her fatal injuries she is going to have her say. As any mother worth her salt, she will admonish her children for having forsaken her as they kneel weeping at her feet inconsolable with guilt. Well one can only hope. We humans have taken more than has ever been our right to, from our mother earth. We have had the luxury of taking this earth for granted from the beginning of time. The very blood of her existence, water, is poisoned because of the greed of her children. Like any mother, she gives willingly, but I don’t think it will be quietly. There is a horrific lesson to learn here when we all will eventually get the “howler” on this one.
The entire catastrophe is insulting and makes me personally feel ashamed for these people in charge of such a huge responsibility. It has become painfully obvious that they lack not only integrity but the maturity to handle so great a responsibility. Oh wait that’s right, greed is never responsible for its behavior is it? Ok well let’s just say that is true. Everything in equal measure to consequence is a universal law. The one thing humanity cannot get around. Oh it may seem to for a time, but sooner or later karma washes up unto shore and makes toxic sand cookies.
Every one of us has seen mother earth take back everything that was always rightfully hers. But she has been a good mother to us. We should handle her not with fear or brute force, but with love. We have pummeled, pumped and purged every part of her precious resources. From rocks we get diamonds. We build kingdoms and legacy for generations to inherit. Our homes, our clothes our technology all gleamed from the bounty this world has to offer. Yet we still have so little regard for the life the earth gives us and for human life itself which is evident by war and neglect and worse. We can recycle, turn off lights, we can call ourselves “green” thinking we are somehow giving back. But compared to what we have already collectively taken, can we honestly say we are giving back? Sometimes the best way to give back is not to take in the first place.
The one thing every country has in common regardless of culture is the wanting of “stuff”. It sickens me to watch leaders play tug of war games over oil instead of learning how to share and embrace diversity and care for one another. Basic principles I struggled to teach my own children seem to be lost on the mighty. Now the mighty may not even have a sandbox. At least not one they’ll be willing to wiggle their toes in. We have no idea what the impact this BP event will have on our great grand kids.
I’m so confused why we don’t learn from our mistakes. For example; in the 1800’s our government gave land to farmers in what is now referred to as the “dust bowl”. These farmers were encouraged to farm the land, seems innocent enough. But in doing so they scourged the earth of its protective foliage which kept the earth from rising into dust storms in four states. By the 1930’s the area suffered long droughts. As the winds rose, they blew miles of earth thousands of feet into the air and traveled at up to hundred and fifty miles an hour. These were called “black storms” and would last up at three days at time and one of these storms hit from Alabama to New York City. The loss of life was catastrophic and some of the regions hit by these storms have still never recovered, so much for commerce, right? The government was apprised of the situation years prior but did nothing until it literally showed up on their doorstep.
The point is, we have many of these references and we still don’t learn. The precious eco systems are not going to just stay and play nice in areas we’ve “decided” to designate them in. We have wild life reserves, and call ourselves protecting forests, while our hand is still in the cookie jar with drills piercing the earth like needles digging thousands of miles for oil. How do we actually know what the impact will be because of this? The earth works in perfect and delicate balance with itself. Oil may in fact protect or rather lubricate some greater part of our planetary core. Perhaps keeping plates from shifting even more violently then they do, perhaps even assisting a greater balance with gravity as it relates to our solar system. We don’t know everything. This is acutely apparent with our situation in the gulf.
As children of the earth, we can do more to secure and preserve what is left of it. How? By shifting our priorities and changing our collective minds and value set. If we work together and value life itself over “stuff” I believe it will have a global impact on our humanity, on our commerce and its integrity and ultimately our planet.
The tongue and cheek approach our media is taking with this BP tragedy cannot in any way minimize the devastation it’s creating. Nor can there be an attempt to “manage perceptions” to the public which is what most of corporate America does. Our manufactures have found a way to put petroleum, which is a derivative of crude oil in everything we use, by “managing our perceptions”. It’s in everything from our lotions to our cosmetics. Perhaps there is no way to stop everyone from driving cars, but maybe we can do something on a smaller scale, by each of us refusing to buy products containing petroleum. Aside from alternative fuel sources, we have alternatives to other things as well. By the way, hi Jojoba and hemp oil how are yah!?!
I am just a nobody and maybe my little two cents on all of this may seem to be naïve. But we have to start somewhere and make a stand with greater intention then we have ever had before. Shame is not enough. Some loss can mean forever. If we don’t mama’s gonna get the last word. She always does.
By the way must read article in Herald de Paris “It’s Not a Spill” http://www.heralddeparis.com/?s=It%27s+Not+A+Spill
Want to see if the products in your cabinets have petroleum?
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/
Greed cannot, must not win.
*****
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hope Lives among Us
My son Isaiah has been once again nationally honored for his contributions and recognized as being a champion of hope. The event was a celebration of the 50th birthday for The Los Angeles Department of Mental Health hosted at the California Endowment Society in downtown Los Angeles.
As I tagged along in mommy fashion, I found my heart wretched cleanly from my chest throughout the day. As I gawked in sheer amazement at his artwork for the event and the outpouring of love and adoration for my son’s shining achievements, I was struck in awe and a little bit paralyzed. Watching him charismatically weave his way as he was surrounded by celebrity as well as professionals in the Mental Health Care industry was nothing short of stunning. His bright humility, moved with sincerity warmth and kindness, neglecting no one.
We soon watched the tearful video he created in company with his mentors, which inevitably moved hundreds. >>> http://dmh.lacounty.gov/News/press_room.html
His story, as he tells it, is his testimony of hope for all he has been through and his purposeful effort to transform his pain into art.
As he talked about his trauma of being homeless or rather "houseless", it hurt to the core of my existence. He talked about our family struggle and the ripple in the water effect it had on him. In my attempt at listening as an objective observer, all I could feel was beyond grateful. Even though sequences of actual events are a bit blurred in the translation, his heart bursted through every precious reflection. It is his story and the telling of it, is his right to champion for his own healing and the healing of others as it turns out.
The LADMH and their affiliates of this event, deal personally and professionally with all issues dealing directly with the voiceless of our American society. In a land of the free, there are so many shackled and imprisoned by the stigmatism of a mental and/or emotional infliction.
The seemingly voiceless, are creating a world of hope walking with an invisible limp. All the while, the language they speak is about wellness. I was enthralled as I heard testimonies from war veterans, the hearing impaired and the physically paralyzed, to the victims who have lost family members to suicide. Every person now apart of an advocacy program mentoring others through hardships they themselves had been through.
The list is endless and came up close and personal when our Key Note speaker Mariette Hartley addressed us with her own brave and heart wrenching story. As she mentioned the term PTSD, I was capsized. Having been in stronghold from within throughout the day, her bravery unraveled my heart.
The power of her warm words made me realize how powerful my son was as she mentioned him several times having been moved by his story, but also how alone I had been feeling for years. She melted me and made me realize it was time for me to come forward.
When I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I attempted to write the about the experience of the trauma I had suffered in a paper I called Corporate Cancer. However, since then I made a conscious decision to attempt to keep moving forward, with my maimed inner self. Not because I was in denial but honestly because I felt no support for what I was going through. There simply has been no voice for it and even though I worked within the healthcare industry to support my sons, most of their young life, there was no advocacy or support. After all every mama needs a village and unfortunately the one that surrounded us was severely lacking. Sometimes it seemed there just wasn't enough "village" to go around.
The fact that my son found the resources I needed all along is not lost on me. This is so telling, the ways of the ironical vortex and how it always seems to find a through line. Needless to say, I too will be contacting these people and finally get the care I have needed for years. So in truth my son will by default also be healing his mom.
The life events and traumas which created my sons story is only one among many thousands of people who have suffered throughout the world as well as throughout history. But the difference my son makes is the voice he is willing to give to his story through his art and his generous heart and soul. My job is done. My baby son can be one of the finest human beings on the planet.
So, should I discuss the hardships we all suffered that made this so? The truth is if it could happen to us, it could happen to anyone, and often does. An entire family can fall apart from one single trauma. Whether it is a lengthy hospital stay from an illness, to a car accident, job loss, loss of a loved one, or even something as seemingly simple as a broken heart.
I could say if I hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, he could be already teaching and sitting in a bistro in Europe by now discussing philosophical art and its impact on humanity. I could talk about long painful nights in worry about my all children and my own illness. But really the truth is, Isaiah has become the person I ultimately wished him to be as I cradled him in loving sincerity. Now he is well on his own life path which screams to the universe his right to exist, much the same way he kicked while in the womb forcing me to my knees. Today he brings the universe to its knees, in souring hope. I know I don’t regret a thing, as long as whatever it was, it got him here; to these moments of triumph and understanding as he waves his banners in colorful benevolence on canvas.
Isaiah’s story began before he was even born, before I was born. But the one he tells is appropriate and timely. In response, I can only say I have always been proud to be his mother, and likely would have found him in friendship even if I hadn’t been. My testimony is I am grateful others value and love my son as much as I do. There is no greater gift for any unselfish parent.
In Isaiah’s artwork is a logo which was coined the “stigma buster”. If someone else had created such a logo during our little family’s time of trauma, there may not have even been a story for him to tell. When he was born, he looked as if he’d been dipped in gold. Now he has the heart to match. What more could a mother ask for? Thank you Isaiah, my sweet baby son, your artful banner is healing my soul.
I would personally like to thank Gina Perez with the Pacific Clinics for her warm mentoring, kindness beyond the call of uh oh from the very beginning.
My gratitude continues for Kathleen Piche, LCSW with LADMH for championing Isaiah right to the steps of everyone’s heart.
To his older brother David, my sweet son, who has never let go of his brother’s hand in caring and love.
I would like to also say thank Mariette Hartley for her beauty and bravery. She truly is a triumph of spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for embracing us.
For anyone dealing with these tragic circumstances, please never give up. I have seen for myself that there are resources and more importantly PEOPLE who not only care, but understand. There is HOPE among us.
See more of Isaiah’s beautiful artwork > http://www.dhfineart.com/
“Stigma Buster Website” > http:/dmh.lacounty.gov
“Breaking the Silence” by Mariette Hartley & Anne Commire
National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals a& families facing addiction 800-622-2255 800-622-2255).
"National Center for PTSD" -clinical care & social welfare for US Veterans/General public- http://bit.ly/3E6Y76
"Suicide Prevention Action Network USA" -opening minds/changing policy/saving lives-http://bit.ly/11h5x
"It's very hard to be useful & unhappy at the same time" ~Spencer Tracey
"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart." ~Johann Wolfgang Goethe
"Nothing and no one is a lost cause" ~ djs
* jussayn *
******************************** ~ *********************************
***
As I tagged along in mommy fashion, I found my heart wretched cleanly from my chest throughout the day. As I gawked in sheer amazement at his artwork for the event and the outpouring of love and adoration for my son’s shining achievements, I was struck in awe and a little bit paralyzed. Watching him charismatically weave his way as he was surrounded by celebrity as well as professionals in the Mental Health Care industry was nothing short of stunning. His bright humility, moved with sincerity warmth and kindness, neglecting no one.
We soon watched the tearful video he created in company with his mentors, which inevitably moved hundreds. >>> http://dmh.lacounty.gov/News/press_room.html
His story, as he tells it, is his testimony of hope for all he has been through and his purposeful effort to transform his pain into art.
As he talked about his trauma of being homeless or rather "houseless", it hurt to the core of my existence. He talked about our family struggle and the ripple in the water effect it had on him. In my attempt at listening as an objective observer, all I could feel was beyond grateful. Even though sequences of actual events are a bit blurred in the translation, his heart bursted through every precious reflection. It is his story and the telling of it, is his right to champion for his own healing and the healing of others as it turns out.
The LADMH and their affiliates of this event, deal personally and professionally with all issues dealing directly with the voiceless of our American society. In a land of the free, there are so many shackled and imprisoned by the stigmatism of a mental and/or emotional infliction.
The seemingly voiceless, are creating a world of hope walking with an invisible limp. All the while, the language they speak is about wellness. I was enthralled as I heard testimonies from war veterans, the hearing impaired and the physically paralyzed, to the victims who have lost family members to suicide. Every person now apart of an advocacy program mentoring others through hardships they themselves had been through.
The list is endless and came up close and personal when our Key Note speaker Mariette Hartley addressed us with her own brave and heart wrenching story. As she mentioned the term PTSD, I was capsized. Having been in stronghold from within throughout the day, her bravery unraveled my heart.
The power of her warm words made me realize how powerful my son was as she mentioned him several times having been moved by his story, but also how alone I had been feeling for years. She melted me and made me realize it was time for me to come forward.
When I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I attempted to write the about the experience of the trauma I had suffered in a paper I called Corporate Cancer. However, since then I made a conscious decision to attempt to keep moving forward, with my maimed inner self. Not because I was in denial but honestly because I felt no support for what I was going through. There simply has been no voice for it and even though I worked within the healthcare industry to support my sons, most of their young life, there was no advocacy or support. After all every mama needs a village and unfortunately the one that surrounded us was severely lacking. Sometimes it seemed there just wasn't enough "village" to go around.
The fact that my son found the resources I needed all along is not lost on me. This is so telling, the ways of the ironical vortex and how it always seems to find a through line. Needless to say, I too will be contacting these people and finally get the care I have needed for years. So in truth my son will by default also be healing his mom.
The life events and traumas which created my sons story is only one among many thousands of people who have suffered throughout the world as well as throughout history. But the difference my son makes is the voice he is willing to give to his story through his art and his generous heart and soul. My job is done. My baby son can be one of the finest human beings on the planet.
So, should I discuss the hardships we all suffered that made this so? The truth is if it could happen to us, it could happen to anyone, and often does. An entire family can fall apart from one single trauma. Whether it is a lengthy hospital stay from an illness, to a car accident, job loss, loss of a loved one, or even something as seemingly simple as a broken heart.
I could say if I hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, he could be already teaching and sitting in a bistro in Europe by now discussing philosophical art and its impact on humanity. I could talk about long painful nights in worry about my all children and my own illness. But really the truth is, Isaiah has become the person I ultimately wished him to be as I cradled him in loving sincerity. Now he is well on his own life path which screams to the universe his right to exist, much the same way he kicked while in the womb forcing me to my knees. Today he brings the universe to its knees, in souring hope. I know I don’t regret a thing, as long as whatever it was, it got him here; to these moments of triumph and understanding as he waves his banners in colorful benevolence on canvas.
Isaiah’s story began before he was even born, before I was born. But the one he tells is appropriate and timely. In response, I can only say I have always been proud to be his mother, and likely would have found him in friendship even if I hadn’t been. My testimony is I am grateful others value and love my son as much as I do. There is no greater gift for any unselfish parent.
In Isaiah’s artwork is a logo which was coined the “stigma buster”. If someone else had created such a logo during our little family’s time of trauma, there may not have even been a story for him to tell. When he was born, he looked as if he’d been dipped in gold. Now he has the heart to match. What more could a mother ask for? Thank you Isaiah, my sweet baby son, your artful banner is healing my soul.
I would personally like to thank Gina Perez with the Pacific Clinics for her warm mentoring, kindness beyond the call of uh oh from the very beginning.
My gratitude continues for Kathleen Piche, LCSW with LADMH for championing Isaiah right to the steps of everyone’s heart.
To his older brother David, my sweet son, who has never let go of his brother’s hand in caring and love.
I would like to also say thank Mariette Hartley for her beauty and bravery. She truly is a triumph of spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for embracing us.
For anyone dealing with these tragic circumstances, please never give up. I have seen for myself that there are resources and more importantly PEOPLE who not only care, but understand. There is HOPE among us.
See more of Isaiah’s beautiful artwork > http://www.dhfineart.com/
“Stigma Buster Website” > http:/dmh.lacounty.gov
“Breaking the Silence” by Mariette Hartley & Anne Commire
National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals a& families facing addiction 800-622-2255 800-622-2255).
"National Center for PTSD" -clinical care & social welfare for US Veterans/General public- http://bit.ly/3E6Y76
"Suicide Prevention Action Network USA" -opening minds/changing policy/saving lives-http://bit.ly/11h5x
"It's very hard to be useful & unhappy at the same time" ~Spencer Tracey
"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart." ~Johann Wolfgang Goethe
"Nothing and no one is a lost cause" ~ djs
* jussayn *
******************************** ~ *********************************
***
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Brothers & Sisters
At the request of my sister, I am back to watching the television program “Brothers & Sisters”. The show pulled me in when it first aired, for my fondness of Sally Field and for the obvious title. I stopped watching after my mother passed away because it was serious "in your face family" at the time and I just could not deal. There are elements of the show’s heart and story lines that can speak a hard reality.
Being able to relate to some of the story lines, can be like reliving them. But now, being pulled by my sister, I’m again taken in by the warmth of Nora’s kitchen, sweet banter and fast paced hydro-drama. Through Kitty’s cancer and barrage of sibling eye rolls there are the tugs that yank on my own life strings.
I suppose it’s silly to compare my family to the Walkers, because in truth we are nothing alike. We are not running for senate or together running a family business or dating people from Paris. But we are survivors, my own siblings and I. We walk the planet in testimony to it. We all have our own warm kitchens and conference call rally every now and then. But we have no one person at the helm in control like Nora. We had our mother as a touch point of comfort when she was alive, but we are all ships with our own sails and I might add, without a neutral common port.
We are blessed with a great bond and are given to hysterical comedy and music between us. But we are not very good at the hard eye rolls or the rally. When something happens of course we are all there for one another. But we are not very good at listening to each other either. So when one of us is in trouble or has discovered an anomaly, we often run rapid in judgmental terror to try to fix it, or we sail off in the direction of a disconnect button. All of us are guilty of doing this to each other. We are also extremely charismatic and have a lot to share at once, whenever we get together. Everything is always important and cannot wait, which is something we do have in common with the Walkers. Vibrating with high emotion, we also can not help but run toward each other in deep sentiment.
Above all there is always the element of surprise and our random acts of kindnesses we give each other, even though we are infected with conversation "interruptUS". In truth, we never really learned how to work together except when it comes to the kitchen or our music. It fascinates me. When we cook, it is a poem of pleasure as we gather around the table by candlelight and toast mom. When we sing, all four of us are the loveliest blend of harmony anyone has ever heard.
Now personally, I have never been very competitive. As a matter of fact, the discovery of this took me a very long time to understand about myself, coming to the conclusion in loath, even for the word "competition". So when the green eyed monster of sibling rivalry rears its tenuous head, I have mostly recoiled. In doing so, permitting my siblings the limelight of conversation or song. This gave me a deep appreciation and value for observation. Of course I have my own frustrations with each of them. But I do get my point across and my turn. We are each mini powerhouses, not to be trifled with. Even stranger to me is we have so much in common, yet we spin in separate orbits. A curse and a blessing. But, whenever we do join forces, we are together a stronghold of intention unbreakable. It is all a perfect balance of contractions and perfect imperfection. My brother and sisters and I, are so very lucky to have each other. Maybe we don’t have Nora’s kitchen as a common port, but we have four of them at any given time.
I’m glad my sister changed my mind to watch the show again. Aside from dreamy Gilles Marini and tearful moments, the show gives me warm perspective about our own little family. Maybe we are not very good at the conference call rally, but we mostly hold each other close to our heart squeezed marshmallow centers, such as we are. I would not change us for the world. We just need patience, a lot more wine and a gentler eye roll. Oh, and the listening part.
I’ll be watching … thanks kid :) *kisses & grins*
"Speak kind words and you will hear kind echos" - unknown
"The National Mentoring Partnership" -a resource for mentors & mentoring initiatives - http://bit.ly/dN9bg
***
Being able to relate to some of the story lines, can be like reliving them. But now, being pulled by my sister, I’m again taken in by the warmth of Nora’s kitchen, sweet banter and fast paced hydro-drama. Through Kitty’s cancer and barrage of sibling eye rolls there are the tugs that yank on my own life strings.
I suppose it’s silly to compare my family to the Walkers, because in truth we are nothing alike. We are not running for senate or together running a family business or dating people from Paris. But we are survivors, my own siblings and I. We walk the planet in testimony to it. We all have our own warm kitchens and conference call rally every now and then. But we have no one person at the helm in control like Nora. We had our mother as a touch point of comfort when she was alive, but we are all ships with our own sails and I might add, without a neutral common port.
We are blessed with a great bond and are given to hysterical comedy and music between us. But we are not very good at the hard eye rolls or the rally. When something happens of course we are all there for one another. But we are not very good at listening to each other either. So when one of us is in trouble or has discovered an anomaly, we often run rapid in judgmental terror to try to fix it, or we sail off in the direction of a disconnect button. All of us are guilty of doing this to each other. We are also extremely charismatic and have a lot to share at once, whenever we get together. Everything is always important and cannot wait, which is something we do have in common with the Walkers. Vibrating with high emotion, we also can not help but run toward each other in deep sentiment.
Above all there is always the element of surprise and our random acts of kindnesses we give each other, even though we are infected with conversation "interruptUS". In truth, we never really learned how to work together except when it comes to the kitchen or our music. It fascinates me. When we cook, it is a poem of pleasure as we gather around the table by candlelight and toast mom. When we sing, all four of us are the loveliest blend of harmony anyone has ever heard.
Now personally, I have never been very competitive. As a matter of fact, the discovery of this took me a very long time to understand about myself, coming to the conclusion in loath, even for the word "competition". So when the green eyed monster of sibling rivalry rears its tenuous head, I have mostly recoiled. In doing so, permitting my siblings the limelight of conversation or song. This gave me a deep appreciation and value for observation. Of course I have my own frustrations with each of them. But I do get my point across and my turn. We are each mini powerhouses, not to be trifled with. Even stranger to me is we have so much in common, yet we spin in separate orbits. A curse and a blessing. But, whenever we do join forces, we are together a stronghold of intention unbreakable. It is all a perfect balance of contractions and perfect imperfection. My brother and sisters and I, are so very lucky to have each other. Maybe we don’t have Nora’s kitchen as a common port, but we have four of them at any given time.
I’m glad my sister changed my mind to watch the show again. Aside from dreamy Gilles Marini and tearful moments, the show gives me warm perspective about our own little family. Maybe we are not very good at the conference call rally, but we mostly hold each other close to our heart squeezed marshmallow centers, such as we are. I would not change us for the world. We just need patience, a lot more wine and a gentler eye roll. Oh, and the listening part.
I’ll be watching … thanks kid :) *kisses & grins*
"Speak kind words and you will hear kind echos" - unknown
"The National Mentoring Partnership" -a resource for mentors & mentoring initiatives - http://bit.ly/dN9bg
***
Saturday, April 24, 2010
My Gifted Life
I don’t think there was ever a time I wasn’t grateful for at least something unless maybe when I was sick. Even then I still remember being awed by a pillow or moved to tears at the ice cold touch of a commode.
Throughout my younger years, there was rarely a moment I wasn’t abandoned, neglected, abused or taken advantage of. But by grace, I didn’t always know it at the time. Youth comes with it the gift of naivety, with me especially.
My mind thought in flowery ribbon rainbows. No matter what the hell was going on, somehow a little switch would flip, misfiring bullets of pain and offset them with pink bubbles. They acted like tiny shields of crystal armor, forcing my eyes toward beauty through tears to a different picture of hope and to believe in the best in people. Everything would be alright. Somehow believing even at the tender age of nine, the intention in my big heart would make it so. It did.
The channeling of cartoon noises may have doomed me to a giddy up Pollyanna perspective. But somehow I think it served me well. Perhaps it was a way of keeping positive. Also from the time I could walk, I heard music in my head. I now have a treasure trove of art songs, each one providing therapy all along the way, giving me sanctuary. Moments of art I could create like a painter paints on canvas. Only my heart was the canvas and all I needed was a pen. They alone birthed their own little world inside of me. In the face of life’s brutal realities, my mind cut me a break. The combination of trauma and fantasy, gave me the ability to create something beautiful beyond it. Even to push boundaries past everything which was locked up in my skin.
Ok, so what, my parents abandoned me leaving me with burdens much too big for my tiny shoulders. I stood tall with my three foot self and grew inner muscle. I also didn’t have to answer to them. As a result, I learned to cultivate who I wanted to be as I ran in the opposite direction of their behavior. In truth I was spared the possibility of becoming an addict/alcoholic. Even though I was not always completely dependable in every situation, I was resourceful and no one has ever had to be responsible for me.
Ok it’s true, I did wish to have someone to fall back on once in a while. But I didn’t.
Surrounded by flakey people, I cultivated my own sense of values. Even morphing inner abilities to create footholds which gave me planks of foundation I could count on. Being a nurturer, it brought me great comfort when I became the something from nothing girl.
Ok, so what, I suffered abuse. No one deserves it and I don’t think I needed an extreme experience to figure it out. But I did learn how to be a friend to myself, eventually. Now I am a cushion of comfort to others as well.
I am an extremely flawed parent, but I am honest and in the end, I never gave up. So, I thank my sweet children for loving me anyway. When I look at them, I know the world is a better place because they’re in it. Their benevolent cores raise higher banners than I could have ever waved in my lifetime. My ability to make them laugh is one of the greatest gifts to my soul, I could ever ask for.
So I never had a golden net, but I became one by default.
No one has ever had a right to judge me. My overall survival is not even by chance. I believe I exist because my heart was full of love no matter what.
So, thank you selfish controlling husbands and lovers who failed to value me. I appreciate my own time now.
Thanks mom and dad for giving me just enough of your good stuff and leaving me in charge of the rest.
Thank you so much lunatic abusers. You gave me a deep appreciation for irony, the ridiculous and absurd. Now I am the life of the party.
Thank you, sorry excuse for a healthcare vortex I once called a career. Even though you gave me a nervous breakdown, it taught me how to be nicer to myself.
Thanks to you; stupid dumb broken production company. Because of you I am finally learning how to rest. A gift of time I am using to reflect, forgive and create the life I have always wanted and didn’t realize I deserved.
The list goes on.
As for the really good stuff:
For every hand that held mine with intention of fusing hope into my heart. I am so grateful, thank you, the magic worked.
For the precious eyes of my children and all of my family and friends; I can see you and know you love me deeply. I hold you inside me. I light candles for you to be blessed and cared for. You are kissed and adored and my love for you back can fill up the universe to bursting. What gifts you are. Not just to me, but every person who is blessed to know each of you.
More of my own gifts are becoming apparent to me, but at forty nine, I don’t know where I belong or what to make of them yet. Perhaps my songs will create their own path of destiny, warming others in friendship within, they way they do for me. After all, a song can save a life, even in the face of complete devastation. I am living proof.
My anatomy screams with gratitude. Now I am not ashamed. I am raw authenticity and lucky to be alive. I give myself a little wink in the mirror. I dance in public and walk in the rain with my face up to the sky. I’m even that girl who sings in the grocery store and believe it or not, everyone smiles back and some even sing with me. Just think, the real journey has just begun … happy birthday to me ~
So blessed, so very blessed.
National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals and families facing addiction (800-622-2255 800-622-2255)
"The National School Lunch Program" -contact this agency to ensure nutritionally balanced meals for kids- http://bit.ly/cf6NrV
National Center for PTSD: http://www.ptsd.va.gov/
~ *** ~ *** ~ *** ~
Throughout my younger years, there was rarely a moment I wasn’t abandoned, neglected, abused or taken advantage of. But by grace, I didn’t always know it at the time. Youth comes with it the gift of naivety, with me especially.
My mind thought in flowery ribbon rainbows. No matter what the hell was going on, somehow a little switch would flip, misfiring bullets of pain and offset them with pink bubbles. They acted like tiny shields of crystal armor, forcing my eyes toward beauty through tears to a different picture of hope and to believe in the best in people. Everything would be alright. Somehow believing even at the tender age of nine, the intention in my big heart would make it so. It did.
The channeling of cartoon noises may have doomed me to a giddy up Pollyanna perspective. But somehow I think it served me well. Perhaps it was a way of keeping positive. Also from the time I could walk, I heard music in my head. I now have a treasure trove of art songs, each one providing therapy all along the way, giving me sanctuary. Moments of art I could create like a painter paints on canvas. Only my heart was the canvas and all I needed was a pen. They alone birthed their own little world inside of me. In the face of life’s brutal realities, my mind cut me a break. The combination of trauma and fantasy, gave me the ability to create something beautiful beyond it. Even to push boundaries past everything which was locked up in my skin.
Ok, so what, my parents abandoned me leaving me with burdens much too big for my tiny shoulders. I stood tall with my three foot self and grew inner muscle. I also didn’t have to answer to them. As a result, I learned to cultivate who I wanted to be as I ran in the opposite direction of their behavior. In truth I was spared the possibility of becoming an addict/alcoholic. Even though I was not always completely dependable in every situation, I was resourceful and no one has ever had to be responsible for me.
Ok it’s true, I did wish to have someone to fall back on once in a while. But I didn’t.
Surrounded by flakey people, I cultivated my own sense of values. Even morphing inner abilities to create footholds which gave me planks of foundation I could count on. Being a nurturer, it brought me great comfort when I became the something from nothing girl.
Ok, so what, I suffered abuse. No one deserves it and I don’t think I needed an extreme experience to figure it out. But I did learn how to be a friend to myself, eventually. Now I am a cushion of comfort to others as well.
I am an extremely flawed parent, but I am honest and in the end, I never gave up. So, I thank my sweet children for loving me anyway. When I look at them, I know the world is a better place because they’re in it. Their benevolent cores raise higher banners than I could have ever waved in my lifetime. My ability to make them laugh is one of the greatest gifts to my soul, I could ever ask for.
So I never had a golden net, but I became one by default.
No one has ever had a right to judge me. My overall survival is not even by chance. I believe I exist because my heart was full of love no matter what.
So, thank you selfish controlling husbands and lovers who failed to value me. I appreciate my own time now.
Thanks mom and dad for giving me just enough of your good stuff and leaving me in charge of the rest.
Thank you so much lunatic abusers. You gave me a deep appreciation for irony, the ridiculous and absurd. Now I am the life of the party.
Thank you, sorry excuse for a healthcare vortex I once called a career. Even though you gave me a nervous breakdown, it taught me how to be nicer to myself.
Thanks to you; stupid dumb broken production company. Because of you I am finally learning how to rest. A gift of time I am using to reflect, forgive and create the life I have always wanted and didn’t realize I deserved.
The list goes on.
As for the really good stuff:
For every hand that held mine with intention of fusing hope into my heart. I am so grateful, thank you, the magic worked.
For the precious eyes of my children and all of my family and friends; I can see you and know you love me deeply. I hold you inside me. I light candles for you to be blessed and cared for. You are kissed and adored and my love for you back can fill up the universe to bursting. What gifts you are. Not just to me, but every person who is blessed to know each of you.
More of my own gifts are becoming apparent to me, but at forty nine, I don’t know where I belong or what to make of them yet. Perhaps my songs will create their own path of destiny, warming others in friendship within, they way they do for me. After all, a song can save a life, even in the face of complete devastation. I am living proof.
My anatomy screams with gratitude. Now I am not ashamed. I am raw authenticity and lucky to be alive. I give myself a little wink in the mirror. I dance in public and walk in the rain with my face up to the sky. I’m even that girl who sings in the grocery store and believe it or not, everyone smiles back and some even sing with me. Just think, the real journey has just begun … happy birthday to me ~
So blessed, so very blessed.
National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals and families facing addiction (800-622-2255 800-622-2255)
"The National School Lunch Program" -contact this agency to ensure nutritionally balanced meals for kids- http://bit.ly/cf6NrV
National Center for PTSD: http://www.ptsd.va.gov/
~ *** ~ *** ~ *** ~
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