Sometimes it's best for her not to watch, but instead, to hold space and energy which will be needed to help clean up the aftermath.
When I was a child growing up on Sam Fife's cult compound in Alaska, we did not have electricity or plumbing. As a result, we used the bathroom in chamber pots and outhouses. We also did not have toilet paper. Our toilet paper was often a Sears magazine with anything that wasn't "proper" for us … Continue reading The Outhouse and a Sears Magazine
"You're crazy." How often have you heard this phrase thrown around, either flippantly, in jest or to victim blame someone who has overcome or is recovering from abuse? I heard this often as a post-cult teenager and well into my adult years. While I was actually dealing with the behavioral aftermath of being an extremely … Continue reading Born Crazy: A Video Poem
I am recalled to this video piece, Throat Lumps, linked below, from my poetry book, Dusted Shelves, that on days which celebrate the essence of love, my heart sits silently with the unloved; the child who has never felt a hug, the ones neglected and the humans dejected by lack of connection or touch. Don't … Continue reading This Day Always Leaves Lumps In the Throats of Some
I do so love to laugh. I love cynical, dry humor. I'm your "Running With Scissors" or "Mary and Max" type gal. Give me a dysfunction giggle any day. I get it all the way. In the midst of laughter I feel a seriousness settled into me. I don't have time to play around. That … Continue reading Life Is Serious