Tag Archives: God

Today is January 1, 2018. I am alive and well.

Wow. Another holiday season come and gone. We now have to wait a whole year again for its return. I love this season and am always a bit blue when it’s over.

Looking back over the year, I’ll say that the most difficult thing for me is knowing that my sister is homeless and missing all her teeth except for one in the front due to crystal meth addiction.

I understand addiction. I know how all consuming it is. It’s like being in a box with one small hole in it and a radio, thinking that you’re sitting on a velvet cushion. The radio is stuck on your favorite song repeating over and over again until the lyrics become irritating and then inconsequential. The hole is the only thing that allows you to breathe.

When the box is opened, you have no idea if it’s day or night. All the new space is overwhelming and the silence, frightening. You seek the comfort of the box again and your favorite song. There’s really no velvet cushion when your certain there is.

Again the song becomes meaningless and you tire from lack of oxygen. The box will be opened again and again. You’ll become overwhelmed and seek confinement again. The rotation is endless. Then someone puts a cork in the hole. Suddenly, you can’t breathe. The person with the cork yells loud enough to be heard over the music. The person wants to know if you’re ready to enter space, breathe freely, and be given possibility one step at a time.

You pound on the box meaning yes. The box is opened. You suck down air and cry because the air tastes so good. Sadly, my sister’s box has not run out of oxygen. I pray for the day that it does.

The highlight of my year was having one of my short writing pieces be nominated for a Pushcart Prize. I’ll find out in the spring if I’ve won or not. Accolades or not, writing is a must for me. Recently, I’ve begun writing a young adult novel. I’m having a great time making things up and love when my characters direct me to places I didn’t know I was headed.

May this year inspire you to be your best. If you believe in God, to be the person God wants you to be. May we all spread love even if that’s the last thing we want to do. Good morning to the sun. Goodnight to the moon. All is well.


Today is September 29. I am alive and thriving despite everything.

I had a friend pick a Cala Lily from a stranger’s garden. The stranger, a woman with short spiky hair, opened her door as if she had been waiting for someone to do just that. She screamed at my friend; her voice bouncing off my friend’s blouse. My friend and I took off running. We didn’t stop until we got to the porch of her home. The Cala Lily remained intact. She put it into a beautiful, single flower, blue vase. I thought, bad karma. This flower is going to bring the he-be-jeebies to my friend. Her dog sniffed the air and knew this to be fact. She might burn her dinner, or worse yet, have a stinky man in plaid knock on her door begging money. If this be the case, I urged her to pay the man his asking price. This would right her karma.

I get paranoid–I’ll admit it. And filled with worries. Upon leaving the library’s parking lot, I cut off a woman who wanted to walk in from of my 4-runner. Bad karma. She knows where I park and could easily do damage to my vehicle. I imagined leaving work to find my truck’s tires slashed. Since then, I have allowed several pedestrians to walk in front of my truck, not having to break their stride in an attempt to right my karma.

True paranoia is me thinking the government has picked my ticket and are on their way to get me. They will use me rather than a rat to experiment with different kinds of shampoos and cosmetics. They will keep me in a cell, water me down when I smell, and feed me apricots. Only after watering me down, will they test deodorant on my skin. I will be released and return home after my teeth have rotted from unmarketable toothpaste.

I think the docs refer to this as delusional thinking. It doesn’t make what I think any less real. A delusion is a false belief I believe to be true to the core of my being. My medications work so well that I do have reprieves from this kind of thinking. Worry will leave me if I deep breath and allow Spirit to attach herself to God. Shadow bickers with Spirit at times, but Spirit is the stronger of the two.

Today is June 22, 2015. I am alive and well.

I am an alcoholic. My natural state is one of drunkenness, yet I’m sober 21 years. I have schizophrenia. My natural state is one of psychosis, yet I’ve been hospital free for eight years. How do these miracles happen? I allow a spiritual God in my life and take right action.

God is everywhere outside and in our personhood. I can know myself deeply and get beyond self. Self is connected to all. Self is connected to God. The more aware I am, the stronger my source of instinct and intuition. Think of the notes of a symphony. Think of trees and leaves.

God will not do for me what I can do for myself, but God will do for me what I can’t. God lifted me from my natural states of being. Today I live a joyous life.

I’ve heard it said that I need not apologize for my God. I hope that you who follow my blog aren’t put off by my faith and belief in divine intervention. The artist William Blake called what he believed in as cosmic imagination. I like this. I am free to contemplate a life filled with cosmic imagination. With this contemplation comes a belief that I call shall not want. Eventually, I get to this point.

I want a house with a fenced in yard and doggie door complete with dogs. I wish I could follow my ex and spend time with his grandchildren. They call me Auntie Kristina. I hope they don’t forget me.

My desire for things may not pass, but I will acknowledge today that I want for nothing. I have everything I need today to have a joyous life filled with purpose and meaning.

Grams and Annie, my cats, sleep on me as I write this from my bed. When I brought them home from the Humane Society, I thought they were feral. I thought they would have nothing to do with me. How wrong I was. Grams, the neediest, often pesters me for pets and needs my full attention. She bats at my hand when I hold the phone, a book, or a pen.

Cats are of God. I actually believe they are psychic. They know when dead family members and friends enter the room. I take comfort in this like I do while eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream.

Today is June 13, 2015. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my second book—–

I want to have a party with fake alcohol and see how many people act like they’re wasted; rum, not rum, roars through the thin man who pinches the breasts of the host. She giggles, then slaps him after coming to her senses–the slap smells of beef, a fingerprint left on his cheek.

I want to repay all the kindnesses my friends have shown me all their lives. A sunflower bends at the neck in welcome. I hand out handkerchiefs, love wrapped in knots of stripes and polka dots–it is simple.

I want to travel the world bagging people’s groceries. A stick of butter rubs skin with a potato in London. The jolly man in Brazil grins with green jello the color of palm leaves. Canned beets are slippery in Seattle, a banana rots at the foot of an onion in Germany. Radishes remain the dirty spice that they are everywhere I go.

I want to say meow durning a speech. All the dogs will riot when they learn the bill won’t pass the Senate; it’s a matter of people fighting while wearing helmets in the ring. The blood loss would be cut in half with the ear out of the way.

I want to believe in God. God has come to me in the form of a twisted branch in a tree three stories high. Leaves rejoice!

I want to have a story worth telling. I wake to the woman mowing the grass outside my open bedroom window, smell the grass, chamomile with a touch of honey. Paint a purple mustache on my niece’s doll. Ask her where Ken’s head is.

I want to take a cute girl to the moon. She smiles as I strap her into the card board box. The stereo explodes with the sound of flame. I tell her “close your eyes and imagine cheese.” In no time, we hear mail being dropped through the door’s slot and know we are still grounded. The moon was another dream, like cows pirouetting to Greenday’s Awesome as Fuck.

I want to go to a city where nobody knows me and act like a completely different person. My name will be Charlie, an easy name, one I will recognize on a stranger’s tongue. I will wear boots and smoke cigarettes and smile only in the grocery store from where I buy slices of cake. My downfall is butter cream, I like it on toast in  this new life of mine.

Today is June 6, 2015. I am alive and well.

The following is an excerpt from my second book. I still have yet to come up with a title. The danger of posting from my book is that I could do a repeat post because I don’t keep very good track of things. Hopefully, this is not the case. Annie, one of my cats, is tiptoeing around the key board. This always makes me nervous. Both Grams and Annie always seem to want my attention when I’m working on the computer. It does make me happy, though, that they want my attention. They are not very aloof and like to give me kisses.


Being alone is not lonely. I actually don’t have enough time by myself. Things pop up like that pop up game at the carnival where the point is to hit the pop up quickly before another pop up makes itself known.

I want to sit here writing this, but must leave for the grocery store soon. I am hungry and in need of food. And then there is toilet paper, paper towels, and laundry detergent to buy. I hate having to buy these things. i romanticize mom being here to buy these things for me. Back in the day. Ha.

Being responsible for myself has been like shining my black boots before they crack. It is a desire to take my medications properly. I am amazed that my brain has been following my wishes and that I even have the wish to stay sane. Hospitals comforted me at times. The stress of daily life was not a part of the psychiatric unit.

In considering the stress of daily life, I find myself immune to it most days. I am a willow, God resting in my limbs. I know my anatomical body can no longer grow. Height is not something I covet physically, but is something I covet spiritually.

I have a great deal to learn about God, or maybe I have nothing left to learn about God. The thing I know best is God is.

I still have times where I quiver with anxiety. A bad pitch can cause a home run. A lesson learned can elevate my spirit. A swimmer lagging 10 yards behind can suddenly be given a burst of every, out touching her competitors. To quiver with anxiety feels impossible to control. I feel blinded from light, but am able to peacefully center myself in darkness like a four-year-old watching a three-D movie who later leaves the dark theater with her glasses on because she believes her eyes are expensive and the glasses help protect them. Sight can be costly. Sight is always followed by bliss. This I have learned.

Today is March 5, 2015. I am alive and well.

I’m going to share my work with the 12 step from my 12 step program. I hope that I am not losing readers because of focusing at times on the spiritual. And I hope I’m not losing readers because I claim to be spiritual and not religious. If I’m losing you, please let me know that.

Step 12….having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

I didn’t wake up one morning and think or feel spiritual. It was a gradual process that occurred over a period of time while applying the 12 steps to my life.

I live with a God consciousness today. I am not the person I was when first waking into a meeting of the 12 step program. That person I was could have not stayed sober. As that person, I was anti-social, angry, untrusting, and completely self centered. I hated the person I had become. Drinking alcohol soothed me like a cherry lozenge placed on my tongue. After the lozenge dissolves, there is a little period of numbness. Then the numbness wears off and at times my throat screams louder than before.

God is a rhino, and a baby cub at peace with each other. God is to be found at the foot of my bed, inside my worn shoe, between the pages of books, and under the willow. God is to be found everywhere.

I wish I held God foremost in my mind 24/7. But my hat slips and I fall into fear and worry. I can tilt my hat at a different angle with little difficult. Sometimes I don’t think to do it so quickly, so I stew–a carrot once sliced is placed in water to stay fresh. When removed from water, it shrivels and dries out. I reach for another carrot from the refrigerator. There are none. I drive to the grocery store and find an abundance of carrots. Life is good.

I’m glad for the idea that we “practice” spirituality. It would not be good if someone said “be spiritual every minute of everyday or else the leg of your chair will break off and you will land on your ass. Every time.” How many times I wonder, before I break my tail bone.

I can give God a human personae. I believe God can take any form. God can be a mass of electrons at rest. God can exist in a handshake. I know if helium is pumped into a balloon, the balloon will float away, reaching into the sky.

Today is February 21, 2015. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my second book which remains untitled.

I review my day. “I continue to watch for selfishness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear.” All of these things keep me from the sunlight of the Spirit. Just as I needed to drink all the time during my drunken rampage of years, I now need to align myself with God all the time. If I am loving people, even the person who stole my laundry, I am aligned with God. It is not hard to have a full heart. It’s as simple as putting on clean clothes. Most people have plenty of shirts. Most people have plenty of socks. If they get dirty or stink, they can be changed. Just as our spiritual condition is a daily thing, so are our clothes.

My writing friend doesn’t believe me when I state that having a full heart is simple. Is it hard to turn on the tap, knowing water will come out of it? Is it hard to pause when called a freak and smile at the naysayer? Smiling is timeless; it is less than a breath away.

There are people who don’t have closets. Or homes. Or showers. I have never had a conversation with any of these people, so I don’t know if they have faith. I don’t know if they have hope. I do know God sees them, too. I do know how to have as much respect for them as I do the businessman seated on the fifth floor of the library, asking me to find a particular book.

Today is January 9, 2015. I am alive and well.

How intimate do I want to be with God? Answer, very. I want to trust that all that is placed in my path is meant to bring me back to the front door. I want to know that after going left for several days, I will go right again.

There are many kinds of bushes. Some are simply more familiar to me in the desert. They require little water. I, on the other hand, require much water. My cup runneth over all the time. The water slaps at the side of my glass. I drink heartily from the tap. It is not just bottled water that I drink.

Religion does have its place. It brings many people to God. It brings many people to faith. Many like the choir singing “Amazing Grace.” I would mention another hymn, but I don’t know of any. I don’t know of religion. I am without a church. This is neither good nor bad.

I feel free of buildings. Walls cannot contain me. The breeze is crisp like a leaf of refrigerated lettuce.

There are many stones to hold in my palm. The weight of them is heavier than a hundred dollar bill. I may want for money, but somehow the bills are always paid with enough left over to buy an ice cream sundae.

I love God. I love the hats that God wears, and that if I put on two different socks, God still smiles at me. There is room in my heart for miracles, mine and the person who stands beside me at the bus stop.

Today, it is a miracle that I’m not stashed away in some psychiatric hospital. It is a miracle that I’m not drunk and begging at the corner, liquor slopped down the face of my shirt.

I rest today knowing there are daisies. The colored kind, not just white with a yellow centers. I am exposed to all kinds of moons. And the sun, although it stays the same, feels fresh each afternoon at noon.

Grams and Annie, my baby girl kittens, sleep against me as I write this. I am at peace today. The world is large and safe. I can dash from one door to the next, but often catch myself is a slow walk, heel toe, heel toe. Dear God, be with me. I will talk with the stranger on the elevator, wishing her a good day. I will go to bed with a clean mind and a heart filled with petals. The night will move on and I will again awaken to a new day. Grams and Annie purr.

Today is December 7, 2014. I am alive and well.

My poetry and experimental writing doesn’t go over too well. It’s safer to say “I ate a bowl of soup flavored with garlic. The garlic overwhelmed the smell of burnt toast; the toast something I was going to dip in the soup. The warmth of the soup burnishing my cheeks with its heat livens me.”

I love to be livened. I love to live in joy. Pat recently asked me what brings me joy. First to mind, I said “my kittens, Grams and Annie.” After that, I was stumped. I feel like I live in joy a great deal of the time. It’s an electricity that begins in my toes, pulses up my body and exits my mouth as I breath out. Breathing in fuels the electricity, so the loop through my body begins again.

So what brings joy to my life? My friends do. I have an outstanding drop of friends who cover the entire socio-economic spectrum, who are all amazed by life, who all are empowered by love and deep spiritual beliefs. They bring me joy. Hot water in the shower, a piece of red velvet cake, wind behind my ears, fit sleep, a soft shirt, shaved legs, coffee with creme brûlée and sweet n low, thick socks, clean laundry, a place to sleep, lotion covering my body, and clean hair. All these things bring me joy.

Today is December 1, 2014. I am alive and well.

Conversations with someone other than myself……

I want to write your story. I watched as you threw your heart to the wind with your shoestrings attached. Granted the heart was made from red velvet, but it was not the shape of a child’s drawing; it was the identical shape and size to be found in anatomical books, the page pulsating when the book is closed. I listened for the message you created when your heart blew away, the laces the length of a giraffe’s tail.

Do you slice children with your eyes; mean eyes that reflect off the shine in your mind? It is this shine in your mind that keeps you vibrant. You are as vibrant as the black curls of my hair, as vibrant as the ray of sun you covet in your God box. I know that even mean people can have Gods.

Was it the dog that made you mean minded? Or did you get caught in the storm of shoppers on Black Friday? Crowds can have bad effects on people even though all you have to do is step sideways out the door to avoid the mad rush.

Which meat of the turkey do you like, white or dark?

Do you believe your heart can be saved? The shopping did take it out of you; pulled any gentleness right from your heel. You waited in long lines when all you wanted was a single candle stick for prayer. It was not the grocery store. There was no express line for fifteen items or less. And the woman ahead of you insisted on digging for change. You wanted to grab her purse and fling it to the ground. A couple of pennies may have rolled out.

I want to write your story. Know yourself, and you will know the universe. I am the stranger who holds your heart without one bloody thorn. I am the ghost who plagues shoppers with credit cards. I consume the world and the world pretends interest. I can live my spiritual truth while walking in the world. I offer you raspberries. I offer you milk. I offer you sugar. Tonight, there will be new bed sheets. Soft rather than crisp; they will mold to your body. Your alarm clock is set for six a.m. Your story begins with a flutter of your lashes as you awake.