It’s not “what” – it’s “that”

How many people actually read this blog? How many will read it and dislike me?

Does it matter?

My ego uses those three questions to keep me off-line on a daily basis. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

I LOVE writing, it is one of my true passions. The false beliefs of “no one reads it anyway”  and “they are going to think you are just another stupid hack” and “what you have to say doesn’t really matter anyway” have kept me from here.

But not today. I have created a goal of giving attention to my writing for at least 30 minutes a day for the next 20 days.

Already I’m having to put much mental energy into reminding myself that I started this blog for my own purposes anyway. If nothing more comes of it than the practice of writing and posting on-line, that’s going to have to be good enough. My ego bucks at the idea, but True Self knows that it’s not what I write that counts at this point. It’s THAT I write.


My Mother, My Goddess

Smoky Mountains

Mother, I need You today.
I need to know my Nature
Is fed by Yours,
As Your rivers are fed by streams.
I need the strength of Your stone,
The patience of Your trees.
The sharpness of Your winter wind
And persistence of Your summer heat.
Steadiness of mountains, faith of saplings.
The sureness of migration to a southern home,
That Mother Nature takes care of her own.

Generational Burdens


Hang on to those who have fallen or passed on,

But don’t remain there with them.

Don’t allow then to inhibit your growth – it’s a disservice to your soul.


What is left with you is to be used as a source of strength.

Draw from your deepest resources, respect your own pace,

Continue to grow in all directions, in breadth, height and depth.


The mark of your ancestors you will forever carry,

They will transform into a thing of beauty to honor,

Instead of a weight to keep you small.

We’re not old enough for this

American society is not old, grown up, mature or independent or faithful enough to handle the technological advances that have and are occurring. In fact, they are making us more immature, inpatient and dependent. At least for me it’s that way.

Here’s how I know. It’s not unusual for me to have a spell of sadness or loneliness or depression as I go through my day. I have chronic major depression – so it’s normal, really. I’ve had it all my Life – except when I was a kid I was told it was called being “ungrateful” or “acting like” something’s wrong.

So, I send a text to a friend. It’s usually not an emotional spewing, just a “hey” to see if they are “there”.

Then, they don’t respond (gasp!). I go on working or sitting in front of the TV, or puttering around a procrastinated project, trying to not pay attention to how long it takes them to answer; but still checking my phone in 1 – 2 minute intervals. In my head this is going on:

“Wtf? Am I not important enough to respond to? I thought you said you cared. I though you said you’d be there. Unless you are ignoring me again – are we not talking and you didn’t tell me? WTF man!?”

And this is WITHIN the first ten minutes.

TEN freaking minutes – I‘ve taken a crap that lasted longer than that.

This is so cliché I could just kick myself, but I long for the good ol’ days . Those days when I would have these feelings – and there was no way to reach out to anyone.

Hear me?

There was no way to reach out to anyone. No method or device to use for immediate sympathy, or access to someone to “process it” with. There was a phone, but it only made phone calls and was in your bedroom – not your pocket.

So what did I do “back then” when the messy ick of being human was in my face? I DEALT WITH IT.

Those crappy abandoned, hopeless, worthless and miserable feelings that came up – I FELT THEM.

Today, we don’t deal or feel anymore; we text, email and blog about feelings and problems. But we never really sit down in the living room with our demons and challenge them in hand-to-hand combat.

No wonder we’re such a mess. No wonder I despise my weakness and inability to “deal with emotions in a healthy way.” I’ve conformed to society’s ways (again) and lost touch with myself (again).  I had more emotional savvy and self-knowledge drunk and journaling than I do now sober and surfing the internet.  This is change, but it is not growth.

It’s time for personal rebellion. It’s time to shut the laptop, leave the TV off, shut off the phone … and just sit. And breathe. And be. And feel. That is how you deal with feelings – you feel them.


There is a particular aloneness – one that is not warmed by the love of friends, spouses or children.  It’s a cold, stark aloneness that occupies my core.

It’s been as defining and ever-present as my DNA. Always there, chasing me in one particular direction or another. Sometimes I slow my steps and just let it be with me, but not for long as it’s so heavy and it hurts to carry it.

This aloneness isn’t just a feeling of sheer terror; it’s a piece of my BEING. When I’m with it, I don’t feel terrified, I AM terror.

If this is resonating with you – then you, too, have been abandoned. The experience is worse than death.

I was a newborn when abandoned by the first mother. I remember it – will always remember it, because that kind of trauma echoes throughout one’s Life.

I was not wanted. I am not wanted. It’s true – she said it to me.

So searching for her is all I have.

There’s comfort in the search. It’s familiar. I’ve spent years searching, hoping, wishing, crying, praying and “getting over it.”

In the search I find only bits and pieces of public information, but it’s SOMETHING that affirms she exists. As long as she exists, I have a very dim hope in a very dark world. I have the dim hope of a deathbed confession about the child she gave away. Then maybe I’ll get to see her one more time or maybe she’ll finally tell my brothers. And maybe I’ll finally exist.