Beach Birds and monsters

Sometimes, the greatest of ideas become the worst of ideas. Having found myself turned into a lobster, I quickly discovered the beach umbrella at the local grocery store. “This could work” I thought, snatching it up for myself like a gluttonous pig in a cupcake shop.

Eager to put that little treasure up, I went straight to the beach, snapped it together and screwed it into the sand. Viola.. Instant perfection.

But then again, nothing is ever perfect. Neither is weather. Obviously, ignoring the gusting wind blowing ferociously off the ocean I proceeded to plop out my things in a neat arrangement under the shade of my giant red umbrella.

I opened my book and began to read, while feeling extremely proud of this new found comfort I had successfully created for myself. Without warning, as these things usually happen, the giant umbrella snapped itself loose from the pole still screwed into the sand and began to flip and roll across the beach like a paper sack. It managed to flip itself right into the lap /stomach of a woman sunbathing with her elderly Mother and Aunt who happened to be visiting from Connecticut.

I’m of course chasing behind the giant red bohemeth of an umbrella, now lumbering in somersaults worthy of an Olympic medal. I, of course can’t catch the red tumbling megalodon anymore than they can stop it’s unwanted invasion upon their relaxation. Spirited and kind, these women managed to grab a hold of the beastly creature disguised as an umbrella, although I think it might have been something they sell to make fun of tourists with.

The elderly mother quickly says, “I’m fully Vaccinated” and I reply “Yes, so am I” and think, this is what our world has weirdly become. Nevertheless the oddity of the conversation didn’t stop her from helping me wrangle that bucking bronco back to my, now disheveled things. Pissed at this monster I had created but couldn’t hide, I beat it into a ball and shoved its unruly red canvas into its easy to carry case and pitched it to the side.

I certainly couldn’t allow such a hideous contraption to ruin my perfect afternoon, so I proceeded to play it off by straightening my things and picking up my crumpled book.

Peacefulness isn’t always something I have experienced and it wasn’t then either, because the man who runs the umbrella /chair rental business for the hotel made no qualms in walking past me to say, “Those umbrellas aren’t meant for this wind, someone’s gonna get hurt” as if his umbrellas were somehow better or his intelligence keener than mine as the tragedy had already happened and he hadn’t bothered saying anything until it had already occurred. So, I’m thinking, “OK buddy, suck some sand” when low and behold the wind Goddess reached out and plucked one of his golden umbs from the sand and launched it in a tailspin.

“karma is I bitch I hear” I mutter under my breath, but I could have screamed it, he couldn’t hear me chasing his massive blue umbrella, now spinning like a vaulted spear, towards the pool.

Returning to my book, ignoring the spectacle behind me, I settle into a few good pages before I hear racket to my left. A large builded, old man of retired age has begun setting up his lawn chairs, practically next to me. His buddy, (Gerald) and two unnamed grandma ladies, show up talking as loud as lawn mowers running diesel. They begin to argue about what the concrete structure to the side of us is, although only a hotel with bad 1970s architecture, they yell about what it must be, never even considering that it might be a hotel.

Try as I might, I attempted to continue reading, but the noisy elders decided yell talking wasn’t sufficient enough in decibels and turn on music from a phone or small device one of them has carried with them. That only creates one more thing to cause them to yell at each other whilst sitting in their matching fold up chairs, all in a a row like roosting birds on a lone wire.

Gerald, loudly announced over his wife’s now humming, that the other man and his wife will be responsible for buying dinner and they did care what they ate, after which the other old man yells “What!? I can’t hear you”

His wife yells the repeated words of Gerald before he says “Okay, I ain’t got nothing to do so it’s no problem”

At this point, I have decided between old yelling grandparents, attacking umbrellas and a vicious sun that is hell bent on cooking me alive, my best bet is to seek refuge on my balcony.

I didn’t mention that I purchased some cute sodas in glass bottles did I, with no bottle opener, well I did. And, determined to open one left me with two split open, bleeding fingers and no bandages. So, I’d say that today was extremely adventurous and full of whimsical Follies designed to make me laugh, except, I’m not laughing.

I’m not crying either, but I did give the chair/business guy the stink eye and smiled nicely to the old birds who seemed perplexed at my departure.

Tomorrow is a new day and a new adventure, but one that will not begin with a monstrous umbrella named Goliath asshole.

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 ❤️

Snowwhite & the ocean oh toahs

Elephant Seal, aka oh toah. Along hwy 1, California

The world is filled with surprising moments that even for myself, I am easily dumbfounded. I’ve always had this uncanny ability with animals and when I was young my Father often referred to me as Snowwhite. That ability hasn’t changed now that I’m plenty grown up. In most cases they just appear to me, out of the blue. Sometimes, they show up as if I called them upon doing my thing in their environment. I’m not doing anything in particular, just being. Weirdly, they will almost appear tame and have even attempted to come up to me.

Typically, I refrain from those interactions as much as I want to touch, I know it’s harmful for a wild animal to have human friends, but nevertheless I’m often touched by this encounter. There’s something humbling about being in the presence of something wild and beautiful. But, even more so when it chooses you for whatever reason to find safe. There curiosity about me is mutual as I’m curious about them too. The eyes truly speak volumes.

My husband, unbeknownst to myself has almost the same gift and when we married in 2017 it became this overwhelming experience where no matter where we went or what we did we always had animal visitors showing up. I can’t say I know why or what they are thinking, but both my husband and I are in awe most of the time.

Upon traveling for my husband job which is what lead us to California, we found a lone stretch of the coast line. The elephant seals are known for the area but typically reside in certain area. However, we took to the beach. It wasn’t a perfect day as far as sun goes. It was rainy looking, cool and windy. It made it perfect as far as not seeing any other people exploring the area we had found. In fact this area was one dedicated to a certain bird. So, to say we expected finding one of these little oh toahs would be a farse.

We walked a good distance down to the beach from the road, which was deserted. Immediately, I spotted shells to collect and began gathering some for my pocket. I took a few photos before we decided to venture further down away from the rocks and then when we spotted this little guy. We almost didn’t see him there. Seals blend in pretty good with nature except for those big round eyes looking back, that’s when you know it’s not a rock.

This area wasn’t far from where they live but also not a normal place for them. There weren’t any other seals near by and being that this one was clearly a young one, it did appear strange. Although, neither of us know much about seals. We were so exceptionally close and not because we invaded his space but because we didn’t really see him until we were on top of him.

It looked at us probably in the same way we were looking at it, with curiosity. We watched each other and although I was concerned it might be frightened, it didn’t appear that way. It seemed at ease and comfortable and that gave me the opportunity to take a photo and say sweet words to it. As usual, they always appear to enjoy my speaking to them, and so did the little seal.

We moved away from him to give him space and the lityle guy made an effort to watch us as it made its way to the water and jetted off to some magical place seals frolic. However, just the warmth in its eyes is enough to be incredibly grateful to see him so closely without disturbing his safety or ours.

I’m super grateful to have so many amazing experiences and even more so with the greatest love of my life. It’s a beautiful thing to get to share these moments with another person. It’s a beautiful world and every moment is precious. I’m happy to be able to have had so many where I can just be in the moment and enjoy some little aspect that is as enchanting as it is divine.

I love those seals. They touched my heart like most animals do, but they really captivated me. And, they are such a fun backdrop to an already beautiful place, but somehow they made it even more special. Magical in a sense. I am beyond elation that I’ve had this experience and I look forward to even more strange animal encounters in the future.

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 ugly truth about a woman with a bearded butt.

WARNING. THIS POST IS A CATTY, LOW VIBRATION KINDA POST WITH MASSIVE INSULTS TO A CERTAIN UNNAMED PERSON. IT CONTAINS VULGAR WORDS AND DESCRIPTIONS. IF EASILY OFFENDED, DO NOT READ AND SKIP TO THE NEXT BLOG.

What you should know about ass bearded women.

A bearded ass is merely the epitome of lazy, fat or both. Women that take a high pride in themselves understand the importance of proper grooming especially in the ass region. One, because no one wants to see a beard peeking out between an ass crack and secondly, cleanliness is Godliness.

Often, the bearded ass woman will have a gaggle of other bearded asses and that’s not excluding they themselves are all equally fatties. In nature, fatties seem to pack up like a bag of jumbo puffs marshmallows. Let’s face it, thin, charmingly attractive and well mannered women don’t want to be seen canoodling with a hairy, beastly whale of a woman. That would be the equivalent of placing a dump next to a million dollar gated community, the property value drops.

Bearded buddies are often described as fugly, horse teethed and or having fat stacked flip flops purchased from those large chain discount stores. They love mumus, drinking beer. And, from the bottle or can no less. They often find seeking out the garage in order to have rendezvous’s with their car part salesman or beverage truck driver boyfriend, by which her teenage children will most definitely notice and report. Bearded bitches love snack time and cheap looking brick, shoebox houses.

Bearded ass fatties have the tendency to work menial jobs they got by forcing, a now ex-spouse, to pay more money for an education than the actual job is worth. And, let’s not forget how they pretend they are a scholars just because they went to college for a brief moment. Bearded butts tend to live in denial with the reality that a home depot worker makes more than they do without a degree. Whilst pretending, like a high paid actress, they put on the show of being a good mother, when in fact, they spend more time neglecting their children all in an opportunity to drink booze with other fat friends.

They are often known as dick suckers or cock gobblers verses actually being a fucker. Those fatties most assuredly swallow like the nasty cunts they are. The one thing that defines a woman of class is the simple question of swallow or spit? Only a swallower shows her true nature, trailer trash. But then again, fat women have to pull all stops because… Well.. Because they are fat.

Butt beards are known for several common traits, fat being the more obvious one and the more obscure being their gapping puss hole. Sloppy and oversized like that biggie size order of frys she’s pounded earlier in the day. They will complain they can’t feel a dick in that abyss because it would take the girth of a bologna log to fill that stinker hole. That Vag hole is like Jonas being a cock and that gapping puss the whale, swallowing it whole.

Butt beards equally have challenges of keeping their ass region clean, mostly because of that bear coat growth in their ass, but also because wiping that giganta – ass is as complicated as a rubix cube. Therfore, the slight smell of shit can be detected and or puss odor.

They typically choose m&m colored cars and love small stupid looking suvs as well as Ford focuses and dodge neons. They often have yellow kitchens, bathrooms or bedrooms as if all that cheer will brighten their gloomy shit hole life, which is an epic failure but nevertheless they try.

Butt beards equally love defending their brood of children even when caught red handed in a crime so long as that crime is against a more beautiful alpha female. Jealousy rules their world like the moon rules the tide.

Fatty ass coats love to invite grown children back into their tiny shoebox house, only to let them squat on a sofa like homeless hobo who just wandered in from the street. Clothes and filth will liter the living room like a horders house and if you just decide to be brave enough to see what articles of clothing are clean or not will most likely find is impossible. All clothing from an ass coats home will smell soured from leaving them to rot in the washer. Apparently, transferring them to the dryer is just too much effort.

The fridge will be a putrid over growth of rotten fruit, vegetables with good intentions and take out boxes. Milk cartons gone sour to old and crusty condiments will fill otherwise empty spaces and the very tinge of stink will be detected.

It’s important to note that women of this nature are often located/living in shit hole, back wood areas and typically man hate as a way to deflect their own fat asses, ugly faces and hateful attitudes. Mind set of a fatty is merely to use a man if they can catch one but they can not. If they do after say 35, it will most likely be another washed up fatty with a minimum wage job.

Bitter, bearded ass women should be avoided at all times. Go the other way, fake an emergency or out right call for help. They are not your friend and if they want to be, then you’re fucked anyway.

Disclaimer, this blog is written in good fun and fictional mirth. Any likeness to any person /persons or even affiliate is merely coincidence.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Cattiness can be cheap therapy. Especially when written.

Hypervigilent Me.

There is a moment in everyone’s life where we must ask ourselves if what we are doing is worth it. The next question, Is the action worth what you will benefit?

In my own need to avoid failure, I have chosen the route of brutal honesty. I know that if I attempt to be someone I’m not or even pretend to be accepting, have certain opinions or have beliefs I do not, I’ll most definitely fail. Why? That’s really simple for me to awnser, because I know I will fail. I’m incapable of the lie. I think it’s also because I have a strong sense of who I am and how I feel about something or an idea.

If I were to try and go against that, over time I’d end up letting the cat out of the bag. At that point, I have most likely disappointed someone in some way.

Therefore, I have to be true to myself even when the majority of people prefer the lie over the truth. And, that’s what I have found over the course of my life, people just don’t like the truth. That goes for pretty much anything and any topic.

Amazing really, but I understand it.

However, in the particular subject I’m referring I honestly have so many thoughts that it’s hard to compound them into something that is decipherable. There seems to be so many layers upon layers of emotion and just when I get past one, I find another waiting.

In a nutshell, I realize that if I’m forced to (deal/put up) with a certain individual who is nothing short of a miserable, unhappy and bitter person just so I can be around another, the choice is clear. I’ll pass on all of it.

I would like to actually write further about this in a more detailed way and I will, but for now I’m in the early stages of even understanding what has happened.

If I’m in a position to always be the target of someone’s hate then I’ll never be able to be anything more than the eye of a hurricane. I will inevitably be stuck inside the tumultuous winds around me and can never truly escape it.

Unless, I chose to never step inside the eye. And that’s where I’m at. I’m removing myself from the eye and walking completely away because in my opinion it’s just not worth the effort. In other words If I have to tolerate a heinous person just to have a relationship with another, I’d rather just not altogether. I just don’t care that much, and if it makes me a bad person so be it. I can accept it.

I have had to deal with a lot of things in my life that were challenging, difficult and at times down right ugly. Time has passed and that part of my life is over and I finally have the peace, happiness and joy I truly never had. With that being said, I can honestly say, I just don’t have in me to tolerate anything sub par. I don’t have to, and I’m not going to. I refuse to be someone’s target because they themselves can’t put there jealousy, anger and hatred where it belongs, on them. That individual, that one single person, is the very one with the problem. It’s not me. It’s them. And I don’t have to be apart of it. I can separate myself from it and I choose to.

I intend on going further with this because I think it’s important what I want to say and what needs to be said into the universe, but I do need a minute to formulate my words. I need to find them and gather them so I say it right because I truly believe that what I have to say is significant and important.

Perhaps not important to most, but there is atleast one person it might mean something to and even if they never read it, I still need to say it.

So, I’ll close for now with hopes of returning to the continuation very soon.

I’d like to thank my husband, my twin flame and greatest joy for giving me the courage to stand on my own.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Hermetic Goddess

As above, so below.

This dictum in astrology is the central pillar of Hermetic thought. Essentially, it says the map of the heavens is a map of the earth, and those who can read the heavens will understand the workings of all things on earth.

In a very simple understanding, if I can read the stars as if they were words in a journal, I would have profound knowledge written by God. It has been said in ancient text by the Myan people, fallen angels gave them the foresight to see the stars in such a way and how to decipher them. Hence, the Mayan calendar and further predictions were born. Clearly coming from their ability to read the stars.

This has made me think keenly about what it all means as my mind races to put thousands of puzzle pieces together in one quick instance. What if the map is more than just foresight of what’s to come but, quite literally, a map. What if this map has the ability to show not the “Heavens” but Heaven, itself. And, if that is possible then it also would be able to tell us more than just Heavens layout. It would tell us where God is.

Before I go further, I am aware or in the belief that God is everywhere and in everything. He is the Great matter of all things. The source of which everything began, but let’s suppose that even with that understanding we can reverse the engineering and take apart each layer of this equation. If we do that, then what we would possibly see is the proverbial “man behind the emerald curtain”. Remind you of anything? The Emerald city?

When L. Frank Baum wrote the novella, Wizard of Oz do you suppose he based anything from his writing from the Emerald Tablet?

Baum wrote about an allegorical quest to enlightenment, hence the yellowbrick road of all things to symbolize the Buddhist belief in a “golden path to enlightenment”.

I highly encourage you to actually read the book. It’s quite different from the Hollywood version, by which only highlights the outer most workings of importance in his story.

Which only illuminates the idea that for centuries, those of us in tune enough to look, can see there is something far more important in the constellations than just twinkling lights playing backdrop to the moon in the darkness of night. It’s designed, rather by a breach or on purpose to tell us something. It’s not only a map, but a key. A very important key that unlocks a doorway that most people can’t grasp it’s understanding.

I think it’s important to note here, Alchemists were the first, in a sense, to break down the information and begin to put into action. This is not meant by looking for any such map or doorway, but to attempt this through the transformation of one thong into another through the process of energy.

Alchemists faced plenty controversy being that it appeared to deviate away from religious beliefs and institutions of the earliest times. One such idea in the Alchemists book was called the “Mind the maker”. This particular section was certainly not something you dare mutter allowed in those middle age, witch burning years without putting a person directly on the stake to die by the scorching heat of fire. “Mind the maker” would suggest that God does not directly participate in our world. Instead, God projected the Word of God into our existence as something to the likes of a template to follow or as described in another Alchemy text, a computer program that the Emerald Tablet calls the Pattern. These writings are not something you san over think but let float across your mind. In doing so, if your so capable, you’ll be able to comprehend what it’s saying. I would compare that style of comprehension as the same used to read in the course of miracles. Should you over think or try to analyze too long your mind short circuits and it becomes confusing and indecipherable. In my opinion, that would only given more proof that we have the ability to vibrate at different frequencies like an antenna. Matter of fact, the very principles inside the Emerald Tablet are recognized and used in the teachings of the popularly known movement/book/film known as The Secret.

However, back to where I left off, it would be a mistake to believe Alchemists were not believers of God. In fact, they sought to unveil the divine light in everything, so to perfect it. Which of course was the truest nature of the Great Work. It begins Below, with the duality of matter.

These particular findings were indeed important to the church, but done so with great caution and discretion for certain verbiage. I stated earlier that it was “those who could read the heavens”. In my opinion that would suggest people who are not only in tune, but sighted in some way. Obviously, in those days it meant to be gifted with foresight. To be precise, that meant plainly, the ability to for tell the future or have spiritual communication with spiritual beings. Rather that be the the dead or angels it nevertheless got you the title of being nothing more than a tool to the devil. Alchemists and their studies were slightly reclusive and anti social for lots of reasons, but, it equally did nothing to help their case in being “Godly” followers or believers in Christ. Alchemists were much like the Saint Joan of Arc in the way that the Church was curiously interested in the work and knowledge but never recognized it or forgave those who practiced, minus our lovely maiden, Saint Johanne of Arc. She was one the only humans given Saint status after her execution for what at that time they deemed witch craft.

There’s a theme here. It would suggest further more that those capable of reading, deciphering or understanding these “Heavens” are either burned, crucified, shunned, banned or imprisoned.

Which brings me to question, how do we read it. Especially, if we already have that inclination, then how do we educate or per se, raise our frequency, in such a way that we not only receive divine information, but the education of translation. Is it even truly possible? Although, I strongly believe it is. I believe a certain number of us have this gift and it is coveted or would be by those who are unworthy to understand it.

Which would be the exact reason it’s not easy to do or find without being the “one” who would have enough enlightenment to do so.

This particular knowledge could, and, would, be a dangerous weapon if used improperly. I imagine that would be classified as treasonous enough to piss off a heavenly host of Arch Angel warriors bent on protecting their domains.

Again, I do ponder who might be the reader of such things. The “hermetic” reader. The keeper of the greatest secrets and yet somehow I believe without a doubt is or will mostly definitely be a feminine of the greatest divine light. A Goddess, a witch, a mother, a creator of life and also the apple of God’s affection, a female.

I will further discuss this topic in more depth, next blog post.

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.

Spent tea leaves

Definition: Spent tea leaves – those leaves (or hypothetical leaves) used and without flavor.

I’ve had many flavorful cups of tea in my lifetime. Some so full of flavor I could savor them till the last drop. I have equally had teas that merely lacked depth or flavor of any kind regardless of how long it was steeped.

More often than not, those lacking are the same ones that leave a bitter or just dissatisfied disappointment behind to only become those irritatingly stuck leaves that must be scrubbed from the fragile porcelain of my tea cup. Then again, they have equally been known to leave a pesky stain that not even the greatest of solvents can devour.

Such a pity, that is. And then, disappointment reoccurs all over again. The truth is, most of the time I have been blessed by finely tuned senses that allow me to discern when a particular brew won’t be as splendid as it sounds, but then again there is always that one that slips by and surprises me with nothing more than bland palate.

I can’t say I expect anyone other to have the same feelings about that one vile tea in question or be any less loyal to whatever ingredients have been forged together that’s “supposed” to be amazingly brilliant. However, being true to myself and incapable of faking it even for the Queen herself, I must admit it’s shit.

Let me clarify further, I may not fully understand all the ins and outs in tea mixology, but, I ‘am capable of understanding the basics. With that being said, it really doesn’t matter how strong the base leaf is, if it’s mingled with lesser quality leaves, spices and or flowers, it’s still going to be shit. In fact, those lesser quality leaves have the unique ability to completely taint and destroy the stronger leaf used as the base note.

Further more, the conclusion is starkly clear and my analogy is such, It only takes but a tiny drop of mud to obliterate, destroy and utterly ruin untouched, fresh water.

Now, if we break this down further we must take a look at the maker of thus said shit tea. It might be understandable if perhaps the maker were a random stranger by which you, yourself know nothing about, however if you should be so fortunate to actually know this particular maker of shit, then I’d say it changes everything. Don’t you?

First, and that is going on that we “know” the maker, is to examine their intentions as well as their interests. Meaning, what is it that lies just beneath the very surface of thus said person. I must beg to ask, what emotions are they hiding in the deepest facets of their mind and are they aware they have whole heartedly mislead the drinker, which of course in this scenario, myself.

I’d imagine, and that’s if I choose to guess, this person isn’t fully aware of their ill fortune. Which, I can only presume has to do with some kind of emotional attachment to the leaves in question. It is, with out doubt that those with attachments shall indeed defend those poor quality ingredients. However, before you begin to think poorly of the mixologist, you must understand they aren’t necessarily defending the blandness of its taste nor the lack of depth and flavor but more so the mixologists choices for choosing such shit to begin with.

For the most difficult part of this discussion, we may devilishly dig into the actual reasoning behind the mixologists desire to continue steeping such garbage. Well, that one is really quite simple my friends. Guilt. Pure, and not to be confused as lacking in any way, guilt.

Surprised? I know, it’s a challenge to think that something of such a lower vibration could affect someone so ruthlessly, but, as we all know, it’s quite common. Guilt, is the hidden seed hiding among the leaves as nothing more than loyalty, but it’s still guilt no matter how many times this brew is steeped and served. It will remain as it is, unfulfilling, bland and with rapid tendency to grow rather cold, most quickly.

The mixologist isn’t unaware either, that’s what makes it so divinely complicated because they do know all of the above. The thing is, they are willing to die on that hill than to accept, openly, they have created and sold a truly crappy cup of tea. And, to go a bit further with that, they have chosen to instead toss such blastedly grotesque and unpalatable concoction by holding tighter to it still.

I must add, and although, perhaps I should not, I will go on to say, the biggest mistake made by the mixologist and to plainly put it, unfathomable to allow such a tea without any true substance to permanently stain the finest bone China in the cupboard.

If I keep to the complicated and narrow path about the mixologist in question here, then quite simply, there isn’t much more to be said. But, as you would know the ways of “this” particular witch, then surely you already understand the story doesn’t end with the mixologist. No no, that would be most boring wouldn’t it?

Indeed, it would.

Try as it might, can you imagine the betrayal of the quest sipping this wretched tea? I can. It’s not pleasant. In fact, it’s most unpleasurable. It does not matter if the mixologist has upsold his/her mixings nor does it matter what the mixologist actually thinks about the brew itself on a whole. What matters most, and is of utmost importance here, in this moment, is the sheer ability for the sipper to see with their (my) own eyes the nasty stain beginning to form around the rim of their (my) favorite, and least to add, finest tea cup. If that weren’t enough then surely my smile has begun to fade when upon smelling this particular mix of spices and leaves I detect something sour. I have to admit, I expected so much more when the tea finally touched my lips. I had already imagined the idea of it swirling across my tongue and how the chords would perhaps be sour followed by notes of sweet spice but to my own shock and amazement, I tasted nothing more than the weakest hints of spent tea leaves, used and reused to the point of being useless. There is not and shall never be enough cream nor the brownest sugar or the sweetest honey that could hide that factor alone.

If that were a nightmare in the sense of taste then surely one might understand the horror when I, in fact, managed to swallow down this weakened shit without regurgitatimg on to the fine Persian rug at my feet, saw what that wretched tea had done to my beautiful little tea cup.

No longer that creamy shade of porcelain, but now stained with an ugly greenish brack stain was a hideous crack down the side, all the way to the stem. Try as I might, I carefully attempted to clean the delicate pores of the cup, now forever stained in hopes of repairing the crack when something more egregious and sinister happened in the blink of an eye, the cup merely vanished before my very eyes.

Unbelieving, I searched the pool of soapy water, first calmly, and then frantically for my precious cup. You see, it was more than special to me and not just something in which I might sample teas with or relish in its fine craftsmanship inside a protected hutch. This cup, this very special and priceless cup had been gifted by my the only love I have ever had. It was beyond precious, it held value that was irreplaceable and although I am aware an object should not hold such merit, it nevertheless was a pearl of great price, to me.

Hands empty and bare, In that moment, I realized that very bland and useless tea of no value had just consumed something quite valuable and even with that swimming in it’s bland belly, I doubt it was full. Rage, anger and unfathomable, inhuman thoughts raced in my head in a dizzying blur. Clarity regained control and then what came, and not to my surprise but the most foul curses for such a heinous act. I wanted revenge and nothing more, still do. But, if you are wondering, how might one take revenge upon the great nothingness?

It’s an enigma, you see?

That leaves me, really, with only one further look down this morbid rabbit hole and that is to the mixer himself. At first, upon viewing more closely, I thought my feelings were mirrored back. That, is of course the travesty in this situation of rotten tea and vaporized cups when I realized what I had failed to see all along.

What is tangible, and real, is not always valued as priceless. Sometimes, the priceless entity is merely the idea of something being tangible, although, simply is not. It’s that very idea, that one can value so highly, so important and precious that they have mistakenly put all their loyalty into, hoping it will return one day as something whole. But, an idea is just that, an idea. Even more disheartening is watching that person set aside what they held whole to put a protective value on an empty dream.

My beloved has si ce replaced my precious tea cup and I do love it very much, but it will never be the first. That, which, was taken from me. It matters not that the mixer tries desperately, and fails miserably to hide his secrets from me. It only matters that it still hurts my heart over and over just as it was the day I first sampled his brew and tried very much to love it, although I could not, to only have that which I loved taken from me simply because, I was the one, holding out my cup.

The moral of this story is at best, a cup with a hole in the bottom, will never be filled and a spent tea will never regain its flavor.

Thank you for reading ♥️