Obispo Chronicles

Hobos.

By definition, Hobo is a homeless person, tramp or transient. Although, I’ve never heard anyone in a nane calling fight use hobo in place of tramp. However, I might remember that definition about the Hobo word. And, try it out one day if I just so happen to run into a situation where I might need to throw out “You trashy Tramp” and incert “You trashy Hobo”.

In light of a Hobo, I’ve made several observations this week, which brings me to this very thoughtful conclusion. There are several types of Hobo varieties. Don’t be alarmed.

Today, for example was a young Hobo giving himself a sobriety test across the crosswalk. Clearly, a good samaritan. He took it upon himself, to check his ability to drive his shopping cart in a safe manner without having to be pulled over or ticketed. We call him the go getter.

Then you have the out right crazy, that’s the one who is either male or female and chooses to randomly talk gibberish to no one, or anyone, but seemingly no one in particular. They are often dirtier, smell and stay to themselves. Usually they are seen with a deck of cards for some rumy or solitaire.

Next in line, The day jobber. This is the man or woman, but women particularly like this one best, unless of course it’s a dude with a cute dog. They sit at intersections, stop signs, red light and under passes with signs announcing some mean to their end, covid, divorce, lost job, traveling needs gas. They usually appear clean, and have shoes of a decent nature, indicating their day job Hobo is paying off.

In this demographic, there are mostly white or Caucasian hobos. I have seen no Asian, Hispanic or Black hobos. And, although they exist I’m sure the Asian hobo is as rare as a unicorn. But, then again, I don’t actually know.

Back to the variety. The mid class hobo. This is the one who has been lucky enough to score a shopping cart in which he or she can shove their rolling house down sidewalks and dead center in the street to only wave a fist if you politely honk for him to move because he has forgotten the roadway isn’t a good place to stop and trim your toes nails.

The upper Hobo not only has a shopping cart but the luxury of a county issue blue or green tent. He or she keeps it tucked inside the shopping cart for easy travel or has set up under an over pass, near some orange trees in case of a light snack later. This hobo is very territorial and doesn’t particularly want lesser hobos entering their “gated” community.

Sad sap. This is the hobo that puts on the most pathetic face, the one where they appear beaten down by the hand of God and shunned from ever entering heaven. They hope to guilt you for their sad shunning and foil a 5 spot out of you before that light turns green. The typically have a card board sign with an equally pathetic message proclaiming some horrible circumstance in which they have been given the worst possible outcome in the history of the world. They vary from a little dirty to ąlot dirty and even clean. It’s a crap shoot.

Trash master. This hobo is the one who pretends to be a city worker with a walking stick and garbage bag. He or she, mostly he, picks up trash while giving merry salutations to drivers whilst picking up trash and cleaning for some unknown reason. They usually wear suspenders and have a shopping cart or wagon hidden near by.

All of these hobos are ones I have witnessed personally and in multiple settings so that I could make a pattern in their behavior enough to formulate this post. These are not figments of my imagination but real hobos. I have not posted pictures as not to invade privacy but if in the future I should have the permission of thus said Hobo, I shall post a photo for viewing.

There are many more hobos and some in a genre all their own but I do find them fascinating, especially the good samaritan type. I equally like to be a good samaritan and give them the obligatory guilt money just in case it’s Jesus undercover or they actually need the money for food or some good weed. Either way, I do my part whilst observing.

I hope you enjoyed reading about Hobos and will join me in the future for further things of interest.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Real talk. Non Fiction.

On a serious note.

I typically try to find humor in even my worst experiences because somehow that makes it easier to digest. But, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t a lasting affect or a serious situation just because I made light of it. Matter of fact, I never discuss this or talk about it openly. I do talk, but that’s only when asked or I feel the need to say something in order to help someone else. I don’t like classifying myself as a “survivor” or any other title. I’m not special by any means that made me “Survive”. In a sense, I don’t think I did survive. But let me get to the root of this.

I’m the… (I really hate saying this) survivor of mental and emotional abuse or more commonly known as NPD. I didn’t know I was suffering from abuse when I was subjected to it. I only knew I thought I was in hell, dying or going crazy. It took 15 years of solid therapy, twice a week. I still have my struggles, but ultimately I have overcome a great deal of it. My husband of roughly 4 years, has been the biggest thing in my life to finally heal that wound. He gave me the stability, strength and courage I needed. By doing that, he allowed me to have a safe place to live, free of fear.

The part I never expected was where I began to re-emerge into the girl I had once been. I did not know that I had tucked her away to protect her from the most heinous stuff, but I had. Therapy could never have done what he did. His love for me, alone, was the driving force to healing. However, because of that it allows me a bit more ability to talk about it. I don’t ever want it (abuse) to be the only thing that defines me.

For some, their tragedies become how they help others, and its an amazing thing, because those people are saints in every way. I certainly wouldn’t want to take away or deminish their journeys, but for me, I choose to just be me.

No ropes, chains or signs. No titles or signifying marks, just me. I want to be the person outwardly that I should have always been, without abuse scrawled across me like graffiti. It’s always difficult to remember, especially when I discuss it detail even though I have overcome it. Some things you just don’t forget and it’s hard to not cry about it. It doesn’t hurt the way it did. Instead of pain or fear, it makes me feel such sadness for the time I lost. It makes me have a great sadness for that young girl I was and the one who suffered for most of my adult life. It saddens me, and I cry for my daughters who had a very broken mommy as they grew up. It saddens me because I can not change it no matter how hard I try.

What I can do, is move forward without looking backwards. I can be this person I am destined to be and a whole mom to my adult daughters. And although it’s not the same as when they were young, this is what we get now. We can make it through just about anything because we made it through hell and back. That part, I know is true.

I was fortunate to not have been the victim of domestic violence. I was not hit, beaten or physically tortured and I won’t say I think that’s better because I honestly don’t know that suffering, but there were times I wished my abuser had hit me instead of the psychological warfare I was hit with every minute of the day for 10 plus years. It’s hard to fathom when it’s happening to you what’s going on, because it’s so foreign.

I didn’t grow up in an abusive home, I didn’t know anyone who had been abused this way, which made it difficult to recognize. It’s not like anyone knew what it was until it was way too late and by then I was out of the relationship. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

I still have PTSD. I don’t think it ever goes away fully. I have chronic anxiety and I take medication that has helped with that for some years now. Had I not found this particular medication, I don’t think I would be capable of functioning. The anxiety had gotten so bad I could barely leave my home for a few years. I missed school functions, movies, birthdays and outtings with friends because the anxiety had crippled me completely.

Trust me when I say, I hated myself for the invalid I had become. I had often viewed other people like I had become as weak, pathetic and lazy. I knew that wasn’t the truth and I couldn’t make the anxiety stop if I had wanted to because God knows I tried. I had horrible panic attacks that made me think I was suffocating to bouts of fatigue so bad I could barely get up to dress myself.

In the worst part of my abuse, I developed an eating disorder so badly that I have permanent liver damage, including damage to my digestive track, colon and bowels. Anorexia was a severe, and near dead problem for me that lasted a course of 15 to 18 years. To this day, ( I’m a healthy weight now), I still struggle with forms of body dismorphia. I am however, the most happy and comfortable I’ve ever been in my entire life. Peace is nice, when you’ve never had it. Happiness and joy is too.

I remember vividly, a few years ago before I married my current husband, praying to God that I before I died I just wanted to know what it happiness felt like. I didn’t know and the thought of not knowing what actual joy felt like inside me, made me devastated to no end.

Thankfully, I have been given that gift again, and, I can remember that feeling from when I was a very young girl. It’s truly something. It’s life changing when you are filled with joy and happiness that isn’t manufactured but real. There are few words for it and none that describe it best, because a feeling isn’t always tangible, but this feeling is the one that healed. This feeling inside me now is the one that truly set me apart from who I was, and I am.

Emotional abuse is more than just abuse of the mind, it’s an attack on your spirt, your soul and everything you’re made of. It tears you apart, layer by layer until it devours you whole. It changes you in a way that you won’t even recognize your own self when you take a good long look at that face staring back at you in the mirror. It’s the worst punishment, a human being can inflict on another that doesn’t cause death or blood to flow. And it’s 190 % real. It’s not lip service and when someone complains about things in a relationship with any person, friend, spouse, parent, listen. They may actually need you to see, what they themselves can not.

I have known women who have suffered as I have and were by far less fortunate. If they didn’t wreck their lives in an irreversible way, they ended it. It’s warfare of the worst kind.

I decided to share this much because I think it’s important to atleast say out loud, these things happened, they are very real and they can be life altering.

People who have NPD, narcissistic personality disorder and BPD, borderline personality disorder are abusers through mental illness. They need professional help. If you know someone who may fall into those categories, look them up, especially covert and overt narcissism, seek help for them. Check on the people closest to them. Most likely they will be in denial, but don’t give up. I would have been grateful to have been pulled from that sooner than later.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Black Widow Oblivion

This is another fictional story from The black widow series. Enjoy. All characters are just figments of my imagination. Any or all resemblance to an individual is merely coincidence.

She (the black widow) sat hours in her easy chair, oblivious to the world around her, including her children. She furiously stretched her mind into the massive organ it is by spending countless hours crushing candy as if it were her only reason to live. She spent every waking moment doing as little as possible just so she could crush those striped candies into a big win.

Without a care in the world the widow crushed candy all the while ignoring her husband as if he never existed, whilst her children were raiding the pantry for every sugary, carb loaded treat they could find. Laundry was piled into mountainous heaps in the garage as if the washer itself had violently vomited them across the floor. Which isn’t surprising since the clothes often smelled so putrid and so sour it would make you gag if you smelled them, thinking they were clean.

The widow was typically in a real maddening hurry and had no choice, but to run over the laundry with her car. She never had a problem rolling over those stacks of dirty jeans, t- shirts, towels and underwear like speed bumps in the car line at school. She couldn’t be bothered with that stufg, she was just too tired. She wasn’t even going to be able to cook because she was so tired. Besides, she really needed to get to her easy chair and crush candy.

She spent so much time engrossed in candy bombs that she never saw the beautiful bombs chasing around her very ignored husband by her back. They snickered and laughed, asking him why he was even with her. They loved coming to her parties where she tired to sell some kind of plastic bowl or scented waxy shit because the widow loved to drink. And, when she did… They would go on the hunt for that sexy husband of hers that she didn’t even know she had. She would sit on her sofa, pounding beer from a bottle, laughing about menial things no one really wanted to talk to her about. That gave the perfect little out for a friend to slip out to the garage.

The widows friend spotted the highly attractive husband in the garage. He had been hiding from the cats in the house when one, bad, little kitty escaped. She pawed and nipped hoping he would play. The kitty friend told him the widow never had to know, meowing like a cat in heat.

To be frank here, this sort of thing happened quite often. But, as fate would have it, the widow wouldn’t have noticed. She couldn’t have because, she was so very very busy. Busy making ass imprints on the sofa with her dildo, that is….

It was obvious she didn’t want her husband like the babysitter did. And, she couldn’t possibly want him like those women at church who loved their fitness training. They frequently invited him over for some cross training, if ya know what I mean…

The widow sure loved the energizer bunny, while her closest, and dearest friend was still fantasizing about the time she had her way wity the widows husband. Of course, the dear friend never told the Widow, but then again, she never told the widow she had once warned her husband before their marriage not to marry her because she was a user.

Which of course, all of that said was true. The woman couldn’t do a thing on her own, she needed him to do everything for her or slave her children out. She couldn’t clean the house and she couldn’t cook, and she certainly couldn’t do laundry anymore than she could clean her ass. She was busy you know and that was a chronic problem, but then again so was her month long periods too.

Behind her back people whispered. She thought she had snowed them all including the congregation at her church, but her husband had been two steps ahead the whole time. He never let an opportunity go without sharing to the Pastor and other deacons about her “personal issues”.. Like the one where she puts her ass print on the sofa…

Unbeknownst to her, he forwarded her emails she sent him, photos of food rot crusted in the fridge, laundry stacked in the garage and filth everywhere she never cleaned. He recorded her cussing like a sailor and let the pastor hear what she really sounded like when no one was listening. He even sent the church, the most damning email of all, where she admitted to all her egregious acts.

One day, her husband decided that he had never loved her and put her to the curb. He had only felt sorry for her little snot nose toddler she had when he met her and against his better judgment stayed for the rug rat. But, that rug rat had grown up and it was time. He hadn’t found her attractive for years and years. He couldn’t stand her voice anymore than he could stand her, so… he left.

She thought she had won. She gloated around town like she had just taken him to the cleaners, except he didn’t want anything she got. Andvthe best part was he had the last laugh. He had bested her in her own playground.

Every week she went to church after he left, and told the poor abandoned wife tale, they placated her and then snickered all over again. They laughed and made fun of her knowing she was the liar and fake that she was. They knew, because her husband made sure to let everyone know the truth, just before he divorced her. In fact, she may never have known what all those sideways glances were actually for and probably wouldn’t have wanted know either.

She had been made a fool in her own backyard. If it couldn’t get any worse for her, it did when her son began telling the world about her drunken escapades with men from dating apps. She thought no one knew, but everyone knew. Her place of employment knew, her church, her neighbors and even her so called friends.

The black widow had been stripped of her power and dethroned. Her crown was stripped and she had to sell the big house, trade in the mom mobile and take the demotion in front of the entire world and God.

Thank you for reading ❤️

The Artful practices of a Witch

THAT WHICH IS BELOW CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS ABOVE, AND THAT WHICH IS ABOVE CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS BELOW, TO ACCOMPLISH THE MIRACLE OF ONE THING, THROUGH THE MEDIATION OF ONE MIND, SO DO ALL CREATED THINGS ORIGINATE FROM THIS ONE THING THROUGH, TRANSFORMATION.

Witchery is most often misunderstood and typically by those with the inability to think bigger than their linear worlds allow. If a person, such as myself decides to understand the world in its complexity, and, all for the sake of enlightenment, then I must see the things that are undeniably in front of me.

The spiritual aspect is the greatest one, and if anything, it’s the single most important one altogether. Communication to Source/G-d, goes way beyond the act of prayer by simply bowing a head and talking to what most people think of as an empty space. I’ve heard countless times different people explain that they hope God heard their prayer as if be wouldn’t for some reason or walk away from prayer as if it was a request tossed into a box fof review. In other words, talking into a phone without ever waiting for someone to awnser.

Witchery is far beyond the “casting” of “Spells”. A person must actually have an intuition first and that’s a whole different conversation, but it essentially begins with a very intimate, two – sided conversation between source/G-d and the “witch”.

These conversations and the sheer ability to do it, set you apart from the rest. And, witchery, and not necessarily Wiccan as that’s a completely different form, is derived from those gifted enough to tune into our higher being. We use that as a medium or backdrop into which we create energy for healing, growth and really, a million other categories.

Christianity, and when I say that I loop that as most people following or categorizing themselves under that title, not the actual meaning of of being Christian, with that said, in my opinion, Christianity is like the warning label on a hairdryer. It stands as those ridiculous instructions written for simple minded people prone to stupidity and require a certain set of rules to follow. They are the same people who never take the time to ask the question, “what if there was more?”

“What if, (I) can actually use the G-d energy to work through me like the early Alchemists did, and or mistakenly labeled as magic?” “What benefits could I have from healing others, growing herbs and (i. e. poisonous plants) for the sake of healing tinctures and other compounded apothecaries?” Or even “Can I change the structure of a persons emotional state, spirit or outlook just by fixing a special tea or prepared nourishment ?”

The awnser to that is, yes. So, by using the G-d energy through direct communication and conjuring if the mind (power of thought) we can manifest powerful things. These conjurings, in most cases have been life changing for many people. Some even without their own knowledge and that goes to say there are some out there working magic unbeknownst to themselves and unknown to those they encounter. In modern terms we become doctors, herbalists, artists, green witches and even house witches. There are by far plenty more titles in specific genres or areas in which we work but for now I’ll just labeled the easiest to understand.

I think it’s also important to understand the meaning of, that which is above is like that which is below. I think it should be studied and pondered, not as scripture but as divine insight into something greater than it was even originally written about. Insights, communication and enlightenment often comes when we least expect it and it is with the trained eye and ear that we recognize it when it comes to us.

So, if you have done this and study this you will find that Heaven and Earth mirror each other, over lapping. Again, this particular subject is another separate conversation, but essentially the mind is the conduit that powers everything, the engine. That includes energy around us, and, those of us skilled enough that they can manipulate that very exact and precise energy into what we need it to do.

I’ve written a few times before about the ideas inside the popular book titled the “Secret.” However, that book was based from the anonymously written book “A Course in Miracles”, as a kind of… compendium to the written stories in the Bible. Let me clarify that it’s not as a second book of the Bible or even considered as one but more like the instructions to the Bible that are missing.

I have used these practices for quite some years in exactly as I spoke, art but more so in the teas and soups to achieve healing in different forms with 100% success. All of which is documented in my grimoire, in great detail. These writings are private and only used or shared through me to another witch. I do not publish them in any way. Why? Because they are my spells, specific to me. Most are instinctual and created from that very spiritual center inside my being.

It’s important for every practicing witch to do these things on her own, in conjunction to deep meditation, G-d energy and communications. It’s a deeply spiritual experience and truthfully, most people aren’t capable of doing the work it takes to get to this place. You, She, the practing witch, must shed her skin in a sense, to rid herself of earthly baggage. This, is a huge undertaking, and only when this has been done can you move into a spiritual, light worker or witchery workings.

It came naturally to myself and my work only took intent focus. Others, it takes longer but if the call is there, you will be successful.

Thank you for reading ❤️

The Southern Oracle

In Alchemy, First Matter is the source of all things. It’s the very essence of changing all things light and dark, manifested and unmanifested in grand pattern of transformation. Essentially, I’m the first matter in the Southern Oracle. The oracle itself, is not only a great story being told through these series of paintings, but also a phenomenal transformation into something visual and tangible. In this way, I’m not only the First Matter but the Alchemist. Welcome to my laboratory.

The Southern Oracle is not only an exceptionally personal body of work but on a whole the entire embodiment of myself without all the identifying details. These paintings are equally composed with components of creation, the four seasons, the four elements and Quintessence. Which, in my head takes a complex entity and simplifies it. To further explain this concept, let me start with the focal point of my story.

There are many names for us, and as I have discussed this topic before, many times, I never put it in conjunction with my work. Throughout the ages we have been labeled, Divine feminine to Goddess and one my favorites, Pythoness as well another charming one, Witch. But, what we really should be called is, Creators. We were given the womb, the gift to create life and do it is that a woman is divine in nature naturally but then there are those of us who are further gifted with sight, touch and power. We, are the true Alchemists in nature. Meaning, we can take many things of different components and use a form of transmutation to yield into something far greater than it began. We have one hand inside the below and one in the above.

Essentially, we are all witches. We have celebrated our abilities by healing, governing our power through silent manipulation and creation. We use our hands to manifest a sacred energy from crown to root and whisper words that only the animals hear. We are not only chosen, but we are rare. What we don’t do is wear black pointed hats, ride broom sticks or pray to the devil. That, of course is all myth and has been highly disputed as nothing more than masculine propaganda in order to dethrone what it sacred, divine and holy.

THE WHITE PHASE.

We understand that our “power” our “magic” comes from understanding the overlapping of two worlds. One in the ether and the other here, earth. We walk between the two, pull divine energy, hear the messages for translation and celebrate our sisterhood. We are not only unique, but yet also have a great purpose. In this world, we are the very last threads in the very special, and required, balance.

Perhaps you’re wondering how a series of paintings could be based on such a big concept? That’s because, as I stated before, the complexity is also and equally, simple. Very few minds are capable of understanding such knowledge through imagery, most of which is lost to the common person as nothing more than a “Pretty painting”. However, there are those special enough, in tune enough enough, to see the very obvious symbols, symbolism and placement of the images in such a way they instantly read the otherwise obscure message, clearly. The real question is, can you?

Once, or twice in history, we were sought out, hunted and murdered for being advocate of the devil. We were believed to be under demon influence or practice dark magic in which God and the mighty band of Archangels were our enemies. That, couldn’t be further from the truth. Hence, the white phase. Call us what you like, I prefer my first name, however, we have always walked along side the Angels in the light. We seek our wisdom, strength and healing from God as well as we silently play shepherd to the sheep filled world.

These paintings are the most truest representation of not only myself, but my sisters. We hold sanctuary in each other and almost instantly find one another like magnets drawn together by force. I honor them, myself and all those before us. I do so because for once, I am exactly as I was meant to be and I am so much more than just an painter or any linear label.

I welcome you to find enlightenment through a higher vibration. I encourage you to seek the things only slightly hidden for those are the things we must all take a moment for.

To know the secrets of the universe, first you must go to Source, the First Matter, God and… BE STILL AND SILENT WITH ME AND YOU SHALL KNOW.

Thank you for reading ♥️

With balance, I’m only whole because I have the greatest strength in my entire existence. I have been forever reunited with my twin flame. There is no greater love. In that way, the Universe has righted itself.