Posted in journal prompts, transitions, writers

Pink Snake Moan

Pink Snake jpg

It has been a long while since I wrote on my blog, but my excuse is I AM writing.  It’s just crappy rough draft stuff and it is taking forever.

My journals are filled with longhand writing however. It works for me. I would even say it’s better than sex, but as an older woman, I’d be fooling myself to think that anyone is even interested. And yes, I’m pissed off. Not about the sex, about the news. Look at the news. Even when I consciously avoid the news, I’m angry. My favorite Facebook group is “Pissed Off Women Over 50.” If you want to really know what is going on, join that group. It’s like the Daily Show without the jokes about….mmm…never mind.

I’m on a low-budget retreat, you know, what they call a staycation? I’m  in my hiding place binge reading. How can I describe heaven? Just like this, right now. Heaven is binge-reading without shame or apology. No, you can’t come and visit me right now. I’m busy! I made a list of books, made time to read them, cancelled all plans except the treadmill, and plopped down with my book stack. Honey, I am stacked!

I’ll share my list with you later.

Like the illusive pink snake with the pretty eyes (not poisonous) who came to visit a few weeks ago, I’m relishing in my delicious inertia, the archetype of the languid serpent sunning itself on a rock in summer. I’m deep into long private sittings and not sharing my innermost thoughts.

I didn’t update anything. I’m sorry. Right now I don’t care. But I still love you. It’s not you, it’s me.

I decided to see what happens when I don’t do blog entries. The obvious answer is: nothing. Nothing happens. No pressure, no gain, no stress. No feedback, no public effort, no entertainment, no sharing, no drawings, no photos, no painting. No new readers. No interaction. I won’t. Hands folded across my chest in oppositional defiance. I resist. The bridge is out, road closed, gone fishin’. No challenge.  No letdown. No widgets. No sidebar. No updates. No fear. No walking the talk. No talk, period. No hype. No high stakes. No tension. No fight. No struggle. Siesta time. Budget cuts. No entry.

Nobody cares.

No pain, no gain. Oh shut up!

So if I don’t try, I’m safe. Secure. Tormented. The drill sergeant inner critic  bullies me constantly, demanding that I stay with the goal no matter how tortoise-like I’ve become.

But safety is a total farce, an illusion like a run-on sentence, a lonely old political wannabe, a buffoon wearing a hairpiece, a rogue with paid admirers riding down an escalator and boasting about how rich and smart he is. Yes, I’m pissed off! Are you fucking kidding me? You are paying attention to this maniac? He should be in show business, not politics, dummy! Everyone knows how insecure a Gemini can be, and I am a Gemini/Snake. Before you shiver at my tendency to bite, please know I don’t, well, sometimes, but it’s not poisonous. With my Venus in Taurus placement, you’d have to really be an a-hole to get me mad, but since journaling and writing can be hideously pathetic and self-absorbed, that’s my story. Don’t step on me!  I am snakey, reserved, prone to long hibernations of inactivity and solitude. Let me be in my hidey-hole just a little longer. Then I’ll come out and tell you a story.  A true story.

Did you know in Asian astrology those born under the sign of the serpent are good luck?

So, I have been writing. I’ve done a lot of writing. I’m up to age 17 in my memoir, aka ‘memeroid.’ I’ve even skipped forward and written some new pieces. Yet,  resistance is what happens when you’re at the part that you don’t want to admit. You made a few poor choices. But survived. You chose. You deal with it. Or not.

Reading other people’s memoirs is inspiring as well as intimidating.

Limbo is just another name for hiatus.

“Coming soon” is what I’m using for bait during this fishing trip. Please don’t give up on me, I’ll do my best to give you something to bite on….later. I can promise it will be as tasty and flavorful a treat as I can muster.

Meanwhile, lots of love. You haven’t heard from me because “I’m writing.”

Two part journal prompt: 1) what do you like to read?  Do you write reviews? Do you keep books that you love to read and do you ever read them more than once? Write a book review. Don’t mince words or be too polite.

2) As a writer or blogger, do you have times where you simply have nothing to say or become challenged in how to deliver your message? Do you believe in the notion of writer’s block? I claim not to have it or believe in it, and I still don’t believe in it. Write about writing.

For me a writing hiatus is an oppositional thing.

Does any of this make sense?

Posted in angels, Gratitude, poetry, transitions

In Attendance

close up the chair by the window copy


Attend a dance

Attend a party

A tender dance

I tend

to dance

tending to freedom.

I am the attendant,

Archangel Azriel.

Did 7 hours of silence, a long version of trance channeling. When a great one crosses over I don’t feel sad as much as I feel a quiet and deep presence as the soul sheds the material body. As we are in attendance, we make the journey with the loved one by holding and honoring the earthly life that transitions. Freedom!