Letters to the dead have their own space now!

If you want to keep up with Letters to the Dead, please check out the new blog!  All future letters will be posted there and all letters posted here have already been moved to their new home. See you there!

December 12: New food

December 12 New food. You're now in love with Lebanese food and you didn't even know what it was in January of this year.



Not a new food, but a new restaurant.

I have several places I like to eat, though we don't eat out very often. My newest fave is "The Noodle House" in Asheville. Reasonable prices, fresh and interesting dishes, lots of choices without the ingredient that goes through rigor mortis first.

Sierra and I had a day in Asheville to ourselves recently. The Noodle House is a very small corner restaurant, snugged into a busy street. We blew in to an empty space, a warm haven from the cold and by the time we left it was packed with fellow travelers. The tofu is crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside, the plum sauce is pure perfection and the soups warm you to the toes of your soul. Yum........

December 11: The best place

December 11 The best place. A coffee shop? A pub? A retreat center? A cubicle? A nook?





Malaprop's.

Malaprop's where I can get a real, ceramic mug of refillable, super-yummy coffee. Malaprop's where there are cozy corners to hide and read. Malaprop's where anti-Walmart stickers and other anti-establishment type posters abound. Malaprop's where the staff are as diverse as the customers, it's warm and inviting, they host many local authors (like Patti Digh!!) and I feel my spirit relax into the flow of books and conversation.

Yes, yes....Malaprop's is my favorite hide-out as of late.

December 10: Album of the year

December 10 Album of the year: What's rocking your world?




At first, I was thinking that I should pick something that was released this year....but then I realized the challenge is simply asking what rocked my world this year. So I go back to Bright Eyes. Again and again I listen to "I'm Wide Awake It's Morning". It inspires art and words and helps me deal with internal angst in ways nothing else can. Thank you Conor Oberst.

I feel understood,

Now I’m hunched over a typewriter
I guess you call that painting in a cave

I've found a kindred spirit,

I’ve been sleeping so strange at night
Side effects they don’t advertise
I’ve been sleeping so strange
With a head full of pesticide

and all my frustration with the world is captured oh, so, well.

But greed is a bottomless pit
And our freedom’s a joke
We’re just taking a piss
And the whole world must watch the sad comic display
If you’re still free start running away
Cause we’re coming for you!

Yes, even with James and U2 and Amy Steinberg and Tom Petty and David Bowie and Nirvana and even some Black Eyed Peas (and the list goes on and on)....I still find myself reaching for Bright Eyes most frequently. The last CD I got was at Christmas time, their new release for 2007 was Cassadega and I remember listening to it and thinking "Wow, Bright Eyes grew up". :)

There's still nothing quite like the folksy, haunting sound of Emmy Lou Harris backing up Conor;

We are nowhere, and it’s now
You took a ten-minute dream in the passengers seat
While the world it was flying by
I haven’t been gone very long
But it feels like a lifetime

December 9: Challenge.

December 9 Challenge. Something that really made you grow this year. That made you go to your edge and then some. What made it the best challenge of the year for you?





There are many things I could write about here, but I'm going to keep this simple and not delve into the difficult stuff....like how I'm still learning to let go of people who are willing to use me or my talents and not be honest or decent. How I tend to assume the best in people and believe their words even when their actions don't back up the words. But I won't....

Because a really fun thing that helped me grow so much as an artist this year is body painting. I've done several shoots now and helped put together a very successful body art show. I love creating art on the human canvas and as my confidence grows, so do my ideas and abilities.

Look out 2010! You are my year.....

December 8: Moment of peace

December 8 Moment of peace. An hour or a day or a week of solitude. What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?


A moment of peace is a great way to describe how I get centered. Because I'm not the most peaceful person.....I thrive on energy, on movement and being busy and having several projects at once. Though peace can be found in the busyness as I've learned.

I find peace in my children's play, in the way they interact and find joy in their own lives. As the observer of their living and learning I find many moments of reflection and peace, a Zen state of mind and an awareness of my own connections in those moments.







I find peace in cozy bookstores corners, alone and with others. Quiet books and sips of coffee are a good place for peace to reside.




I find it in my drives to Asheville as I go up and over the mountains, in and out of sunshine and clouds, through memories and dreams.




I find peace in the documentation of life, in my writing, art and photography. I love to see life through different lenses and try to capture moods, ideas and moments. That is my practice, that is my constant and my moments of peace.

December 7: Blog find of the year

December 7 Blog find of the year: That gem of a blog you can't believe you didn't know about until this year.

I can't really write about this without mentioning Patti Digh's 37 Days blog, even though I found it three years ago. I began my online relationship with her blog in '06, and spoke with her about death and the ongoing relationship of those who are no longer with us. In Forever Hold Your Penguin Dear she touched me deeply and I responded with my own blog about death and the dying process; On Living and Dying.

I don't have much time to keep up with blogs anymore. I love blogs and posting to my own but with work and other distractions I don't get to sit and read enough.

I'm going to give kudos to my friend Frank's blog, "Blog of the Zombie Princess" because he's funny and cynical (traits I admire) and smart and he has a really, really awesome family who are every bit as lovely as he and he's doing this damn December challenge with me. That's all. OH, and his blog is named after their ship which was harbored in N'awlins for some time. They understand the South and the Gulf and hurricane season and for that alone I have an affinity for them.

Correction: Ronnie's (Frank's witty and lovely wife) blog is "Blog of the Zombie Princess" and Frank's is "Singularity".

December 6: Workshop or conference

December 6 Workshop or conference. Was there a conference or workshop you attended that was especially beneficial? Where was it? What did you learn?


Life is Good in Vancouver Washington, where I both attended and presented. I learn so much every time I get together with other unschoolers, not from the talks so much but from being present with the children and from discussions that flow around and through and over me.



My children continually help me learn how to stay present, stay connected even in the difficult moments. At conferences there is a lot of noise, fun and spontaneous ideas that swirl up. There are also overwhelmed people and negotiating and trying to simultaneously meet a variety of needs. It's not easy at times.



Being around other unschoolers helps me examine things more deeply, go beyond the surface and not rely on the tools I learned growing up. At Life is Good I got to listen to my nephew (who has chosen school) speak for the first time publicly. As the person who first encouraged my sis to look beyond school it warmed my heart to hear him share his journey as an unschooler. I learned more about him as a young man choosing his path, sharing his ideas.



I learn from watching the teens interact, share their stories and talk about their parents. I learn from the parents sharing their fears and talk about their children. I learn about myself and the depths to which I can grow as a parent. I love being around groups of unschoolers for these and many other reasons.

I also learn that I get overwhelmed easily at these events, that I sometimes try too hard and don't know when to hide. I am reminded that connecting to my own needs is important too....and that my children need me more than the rest of the world ever could. :)

Life IS good!

December 4: Book

December 4 Book. What book - fiction or non - touched you? Where were you when you read it? Have you bought and given away multiple copies?


Last year, I was sitting outside of Malaprops waiting for friends. It was post-Live and Learn conference and we were hanging out with people, wandering Asheville and having fun. I sat in front, pondering some deep things about life and relationships and other unmentionable things when I looked straight into the front window of the book store.

There it was. Patti Digh's "Life is a Verb" on display right up front. The cover was artful and everything I thought it would be. I had read her lovely blog for a while and knew there was a book coming, but something about the timing and seeing it there in front of me was like a very loud message to my heart.

I sat in front of Malaprops and started to cry. It was bringing up all these feelings about my own writing and having ignored too many dreams for too long. It was a wake-up call before I even opened a page.

Later, Patti came to our ARGH gathering at Roan Mountain in March and I finally bought the book. It's full of wisdom and inspiration, art and colorful, heartfelt stories. After her reading and signing at Roan mountain I came home and blogged about things it stirred up.

I've purchased copies for two of my sisters and one for a stranger. I don't know who that stranger is and I'll probably never know....I just asked the folks at Malaprops to give it to the next person who asked about her book. I hope they love it as much as I do.:) I've got more copies to give away, it's just that kind of book.

December 3: Article

December 3 Article. What's an article that you read that blew you away? That you shared with all your friends. That you Delicious'd and reference throughout the year.

Not one article, but several by the same person. Peter Gray is quite brilliant if you ask me (and come to think of it, you DID) and he's written so many great articles now, I don't even know which one I love the most. His blog, Freedom to Learn is even close to the name of one of my other blogs.

Seven Sins of Our System of Forced Education is one of the top, but go check them all out. He's a psychologist and truly interested in how children learn naturally and the importance of play, topics near and dear to my own heart.

Speaking of which, I've been posting my old articles written for Connections Ezine over at my Learning in Freedom blog.

Happy reading!

December 2: Restaurant moment

It started with noise and running amuck on the streets...shadowy memories following us under the streetlight's glare.




And ended at Mid-City grill in warmth of kindred spirits, happy children and an endless stream of food.



~~December 2 Restaurant moment. Share the best restaurant experience you had this year. Who was there? What made it amazing? What taste stands out in your mind?~~

There was a night of visiting friends in September. The Traaseth's had come up from Georgia and we met up with lots of other friends down at First Friday in Johnson City. After traipsing around downtown, laughing, talking, wandering in and out of art and music, some of us headed for Mid-City grill.

This is a late-night place. An artsy, eclectic gathering place that opens at 11pm and stays open all night. They have a casual, yet inspirational menu; things like deconstructed veggie burgers, handmade fries and ample flavors of cheesecake.

There were three families in all (Traaseth, Bowman and Allen), eight children and six adults that expanded over two tables. I remember laughing so hard my gut ached. When they brought the $3.50 plate of fries we all just about keeled over. It was a dinner plate (large one at that) mounded high with fries. Enough for, oh, about FIVE people.

What is joy? A group of people who have bonded together like family. Children who adore each other and sit at a table of mounded, late-night fries, smiling at one another's humor and helping each other when challenges arise. Joy you say? Crass jokes and smart-ass comments, off-beat humor and intimate stories. Food shared and discussed, plans made and re-made. Friends like family....eating cheesecake at midnight.

The Best of '09: Dec. 1st

Ren, posing with Richard Kind at "Night of 100 Stars" in the famous Beverly Hills Hotel.


I signed up for Gwen Bell's "The Best of 2009" challenge today. I'll be picking and choosing which prompts I want to answer...we'll see how many ways I can summarize 2009 before it's over. :)

Today's prompt: December 1 Trip. What was your best trip in 2009?

Without a doubt it was my trip to Hollywood on Oscar weekend in February! Not that it was all glamorous and fun but there were so many cool things that came of it and great memories we brought home. I wrote about some if it over at my Learning in Freedom blog so I'm not going to write about it again. Just go check out "My Big Fat Hollywood Weekend" post if you care.

Wednesday poetry

Stanley Kunitz is one of my favorite poets. This one really hit home tonight.


The Layers
By Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written,
I am not done with my changes.

Full Moon

Dreaming of feathers and flight,
238,857 miles beneath
cratered satellite,
laying open night's cloak,
revealing every leaf
spinning in tree
visions,
as she pulls back
and inward
and through
to dance
before the winter-trance.

Dreaming of flight and feathers,
so many miles beneath
Peary's eternal light.
Sleep dreams colliding with
awake dreams
as waxing breaks through to full.
Full of awakening to your pain,
full of awakening to your voice,
the full cycling round
and round
again
to new.

*Computer art rendered by Sierra Allen

Meet "Wild and Precious"

Inspired by the same train of thought that caused me to write the last post, I created "wild and precious"...she's still in process.

Speaking of process sometimes I forget to document it. To me, art is all about process rather than outcome. It's about getting lost in the process, about experimenting with process and not holding onto what you think a piece should be.

Allowing the art to take on a life of it's own frees you from certain disappointment. The images in my head never come out the way I imagine. More importantly, they are living things...beings that help me learn more about what Zen really means. In that spirit, I share today's process:




She began on a 16x20 sheet of 140# watercolor paper. I now remember why I detest 140# paper and long for that luscious 300# instead. After sketching the basic outline I started filling her in with Rembrandt pastel chalks. U2 is playing;

If I could throw this
Lifeless lifeline to the wind
Leave this heart of clay
See you walk, walk away
Into the night
And through the rain
Into the half-light
And through the flame



Detailing with the chalks...bringing in shadow and darkness to bring out the light.

If I could through myself
Set your spirit free
I'd lead your heart away
See you break, break away
Into the light
And to the day


Next is a layer of watercolor to fill in the background colors. I discover that most of the Grumbacher watercolors that belonged to my great-grandmother are completely dried in the tube. I set them aside for cutting open later. I feel a pang of grief for the reminder of her story having been finished.

To let it go! And so fade away
To let it go!
And so fade away
I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
Wide awake
I'm not sleeping, oh no



Then it's the repeated layering of Neopastels, chalks, pencils and watercolor. I'm also remembering why I adore Rembrandt pastels once again....the pastels my mother purchased for me in high school. Yes, they're over 20 years old and work brilliantly. Another pang of remembrance for another human I miss.

If you should ask then maybe they'd
Tell you what I would say
True colors fly in blue and black
Blue silken sky and burning flag
Colors crash, collide in blood shot eyes



She's finished for today. Walking away is so hard. 140# paper can only handle so much manipulation and water before it's overworked though. Once it's dry I can layer more color and detail in.

This desparation
Dislocation
Separation
Condemnation
Revelation
In temptation
Isolation
Desolation




Detail shot of today's finished work. I feel free...a weight lifted. That's what happens when art and words get out. I wonder what happens to people who have art and words and don't get them out. I think I would lose something vital to my existence. This post belies the true process. Because it's filled with tea breaks, fixing food for children, watching someone play a video game, becoming frustrated with color and walking away, going outside to walk the garden briefly and sigh at the mess it's become. Our processes are uniquely our own. A single post can not contain the truth of it all or the multiple songs that played in my art room and in my mind.

Find your process...be with it, whatever it is. In the color and words I find release.

To let it go, oh No
And so fade away
I'm wide awake



“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those, who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear, which is inherent in a human condition” ~~ Graham Greene

Wild and precious....

A one-way ticket to the grave. That's what we all have. I wrote about it at one of my unschooling lists and then the thought really settled in. Parents of younger children often worry about college, worry about what their children are learning, worry, worry. I understand those heartstrings being pulled so tight you want everything to be perfect for your child. I do.

But I no longer relate to the worry. I no longer understand why college matters so much to some people or judging someone on the kind of job they choose to hold. I don't care if my child makes good money or chooses to drive or not. We've got a one-way pass to the grave people. A pass that can be re-called at any time. In the words of Mary Oliver; "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

One wild and precious life. One planet filled with people who don't think like me, places I've never seen or imagined and enough mysteries to keep me enchanted for always. There are miseries we like to look away from, starving children and wars and genocide that render such a helpless feeling. Right here under my feet there is earth to till and above me stars to inspire awe. There are children who need parents and trees that need saving. There is more here than we can take in. And people are worried about college?

The product-driven society in which we live causes people to look for end results. One must graduate with good grades, get into a worthy college and then the carrots just keep being dangled from there. People are looking for measured "success", for those marks that mean you're better than someone else. It's all a big mess of competition with no real end in sight. But the end is there even though it's not about success or grades or that "good" job. The end is death.

Parents worry about college, they worry about grades, they worry about what they're child is learning...forgetting all the while that in the life they've spawned they've also spawned a death. The end result of your parenting is death. The end result of your child's ambitions, of your own is the grave. That's it.

The great part is that realizing this can be incredibly freeing. If death is the final result of all your efforts, of your child's efforts, then why not do the things you truly find exhilarating? Why waste your time worrying about things that don't matter in the bigger scheme? Why choose worry when your wild and precious life is being used up?

It isn't that college is a less worthy choice, it very well may be a choice that is best for someone. The point is that we choose what matters most and with such a wild and wonderful world available, every one of us should be choosing things that make us content, that make us feel whole and inspired. Every one of us should hold that pass to the grave in front of our hearts and minds as the impetus for no-fear. There is but one end result for all of us. But between the time you get handed that pass and the time it is re-called, there are many possibilities....many paths, many outcomes, many stories waiting for us to create them.

For parents, that in-between time can be spent building rich connections with the world around us. As our children travel with us, we can be inspired so they can see what inspired people act like. We can focus on respectful,healthy relationships and being curious about the very community in which we choose to live.

We can choose every single day to approach this gift with awe, to approach ourselves and our own lives with interest. Our children can see what passionate, interesting people look like. I want to fill up my days with good memories, great conversations, laughter, hand-holding, questions and cuddles. Not worry about some imagined future. There is no time for that. My pass might expire at any time and baby, I've got stories to create! How are you using your "one wild and precious life"?

The road not taken

I stand over the stove, as clouds of cream swirl their way through spicy Tazo Chai. Beige, tan, cumulus cloud of cream wends its way into drink, echoing the spiraling ribbon of thoughts meandering through my just-awake mind. A black-capped chickadee delights in the newly-filled bird feeder just out the morning window.

 Tea and birds, one constant in this life.

 Loving where you've landed doesn't mean you stop questioning, stop pondering the forks in the road not taken. 

We change our lives in seemingly benign choices, like making tea. People live or die and thousands of lives are indelibly altered based on decisions about where to drive today, when to have sex, who to discuss these things with and whether to buy that pair of BCBG shoes. 

 It's always those tiniest of choices that hindsight allows you to see as pivotal moments. I wonder often about where choices might lead, might have led. I wonder about the people we chose not to be with for whatever reasons existed in the past and whether the fork in the path might again diverge upon today. Whether the best choice of the past is the best choice still. I tend to stay with things longer than is helpful. This much I know. Yet it takes a friend to point it out again.

 I wonder too, about whether forgiveness means healing. People told me so. I don't know that I believe it. There's a release for certain. But some wounds are deep and forgiveness is simply letting go, it doesn't stop the scar from forming. Scars are a form of healing but there it is, with you for life. Different and raised up, something you don't erase. 

 How many times have I chosen the less messy path, the safe path? As if there really is a safe path in this life.

Old stuff

I wrote the following essay in fall of 2006. I didn't feel capable of sharing it then but here it is....three years later. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Dad called this week. I haven’t talked to him in a very long time. Can’t bring myself to call for some reason. I listen to the message, thinking it would be nice to chat with him, but I just don’t want to…there is some resistance within.

Driving to work today, feeling a bit down already about money issues and relationship issues and just general life stuff, a Nickelback song comes on. It’s called “Photograph” and it takes me back into my past in a very real way. This line especially:

“Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it,
time to say it
Goodbye goodbye
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for “

And I realized what the resistance is. Talking to Dad is a reminder of what I don’t have anymore. A reminder that everything in life I trusted as a child, is pretty much gone. The beliefs that were ingrained in me…gone. My mother….gone. Having family nearby at all times….gone. The house I lived in through high school was sold last month, my Dad and Stepmom are living in their RV and traveling. The anchor of a hometown and family is floating about, more of an idea than a reality for me.

The song was playing and I started thinking back to high school and the goodbyes I said before it was time. Kathy, Bill, Dennis, Eric…names of those that died my very strange senior year. Kathy was only an aquaintance, but her face has stayed with me, longer than many of my friends. She was murdered one night, taken from the parking lot of our school. Stacey and I were hanging out and drove right past school that very night…oblivious to the unfolding events. Kathy never got to live many of the dreams I have. She never had children of her own, never got to graduate or move away from home. She remains an image to me, of a pretty girl down the hall, putting on her brown leather jacket after school, smiling to everyone and speaking softly. Life became fragile that year. We felt adrift and alone, a band of prisoners that nobody really understood. School does that to people. Kathy’s death drove the message home.

I think about her every so often, like when that song plays on the radio. She is the symbol of “goodbye” for me, the symbol of how fleeting life is and the unknown events that play out in each of our dramas. I believe there is a place in each of us that desires the kind of security we can never have in this journey. A place that wants to know something is sure. But nothing is. The only constant is change. All that we know today, may be different tomorrow and will most definitely be different if we live long enough.

We will lose people we love. We will have goodbyes that need to be said. How well or how poorly we navigate these changes is the only thing we have control over. Letting go is an art form. I’m still learning to perfect it. Apparently I’m not doing as well as I thought…since talking to my Dad brings up resistance that is hard to understand. I have a good relationship with him. He is kind and supportive. It’s not like I have a good reason to avoid him. I think I’m just avoiding anything that reminds me of loss right now, anything that makes me feel more fragile than I already do.

Markus and I have dealt with some pretty big goodbyes, even in our relationship. I feel like so many things have happened that I’ve learned to ignore some of my emotions. Stuff them down, turn them off. Pretend I don’t care when I really do. I know it’s temporary and tomorrow I might feel differently. But for right now, I just need to feel sad for the past I can never have again. I need to open my heart to all the Kathy’s of the world that never got a chance, I need to connect with the positive parts of my life that will never be again.
I need to grieve.

I’ve been missing my Mom more every year. It’s supposed to get better, but it doesn’t. There are questions I need to ask her, so many ideas and thoughts I have to process on my own. Her own writings that I seek to interpret and understand. So many pieces of the puzzle that made me understand her better, and so many that I can’t fill in. I thought there would be more time. There’s never enough of that.

Loss is a powerful issue to face in this life. No matter who we are, or what status we hold, there is one guarantee…that we will face loss at some point. The grief that ensues can rend us powerless, gripped in emotions that are nearly impossible to define and physical pain that grips so tightly it feels as though it will suffocate. Coping isn’t on the horizon, yet cope we must. For we will face this again most likely, and again, and again. Growing old doesn’t scare me. Saying goodbye more is the thing I fear. I’ve already said goodbye more than I ever wanted to…but it will continue. Knowing that it’s part of birth and rebirth, part of the cycle we all entered at conception, does not help assuage my sadness. It just is.

I feel like I’m losing parts of myself, through the goodbyes. I had places that were sacred to me I can no longer access, people I loved I can no longer access, (sometimes I still want to reach for the phone to call my Mom) and events that will never be again. We all have those hollow places, those unreachable bits. I carve my space within that grief in order to feel more deeply. The sadness allows me to feel more joy…to feel MORE. In feeling more, I am more fully alive. So I grieve, I rage, I cry, I laugh and shout and I keep living, filling the hollow parts with more life.

I’ve tempered my passions all too often, for the sake of conformity, for the sake of not looking too crazy. To hell with it. I’m not going to worry about other people’s sensibilities (or lack thereof), that’s their issue. I am Ren. I am strong and weak and passionate and angry and deliriously joyful. I make big messes and colorful places. I am too quick to speak and slow to listen, but I’m pretty sure I love more deeply than most. I cry for the past sometimes, and even for the future, but I live for the moment. I’m pretty sure I’ll die disorganized, but definitely not unfulfilled.

Sometimes I just want to sit with a cloves and some rum, forgetting what it feels like to sorrow…sometimes I meditate instead. White sage or cloves? Which smoke will help more at the moment? Drifting smoke seems to wend it’s way between worlds, giving me a chance to feel spirit. Whatever form it is, matters not. Tonight I sit with Enya and kids, unable to fulfill the part that wants heavy metal and a run in the dark. Instead, I kiss a sweaty forehead, and listen to the shouts of angry siblings.

I curse the fact that I can’t sit here and write, uninterrupted and thank the universe for hearts that still beat. At least they’re alive to be pissed at each other.

More too much...

I was sitting here just now, listening to Pandora while sorting and trying to make sense of which clutter is important (none of it, not really) and which is willing to take a journey with someone else now. This 10,000 Maniacs song is playing and it relates so well to my last post I looked up the lyrics. Here's my favorite line:

~Spare me? dont spare me anything troubling.
Trouble me, disturb me with all your cares and you worries.
Speak to me and let our words build a shelter from the storm.
Lastly, let me know what I can mend.
Theres more, honestly, than my sweet friend, you can see.
Trust is what Im offering if you trouble me.~

Sweet darkness, shared with a caring soul is better salve than sweet words with little meaning because someone feared "negative energy".  Shared fears, shared weaknesses and dark parts are a humbling and enlightening experience. It's very different than "negative". I guess it's all how we frame it....growing and learning through the tears or letting it stop us dead in our tracks and give us excuses to not be joyful, to quit pursuing that which we love.

Troubles are part of life. Sharing them is part of friendship. Moving forward in spite of the difficulties is true strength.

Too much sugar

There are those who seethe light and joy at all times.
They, who are truly afraid.
More afraid than most.
Because they can't look darkness in the eye.
They can't admit it's pulsing right under their skin.

Yin-yang, dark-light, beautiful-ugly.
The yin-yang of me beats in my chest in my heart
and soul right down to my toes.
It is darkness and light.
How can one truly see light if they refuse the dark?
If they refuse the wholeness of themselves?
wholeness
whole
holeness
hole
One little "w" changes it all. Wholeness-darkness.
Can not refuse the ugly.
It allows that pulse, embraces it, loves beauty in dark
points of light, rays of light, shadows in sunshine

You, who are human, you who are afraid, who yearn, who dream, who feel unfulfilled and relentless and aching at times. You, who feel joy and angst and longing and desire and peace. You, who are whole...
don't be afraid of the angst and longing and desire and peace,
be afraid to ignore any of it.

Feel sad for those who seem to dwell only in light,
for they are only denying self,
denying whole,
denying connection
creating dishonesty.

Be bold, be truthful
the closer we are to honesty,
the deeper it cuts
Be bold, be honest
your voice is needed.