Perfection

Growth is such a fabulous thing! All the strengths, and knowledge, and resilience, and grace, and beauty! Oh, how we become acquainted with the smallest of joys amid patience and trial!! I maintain that hardship isn't so because we're in the palm of God's hand. And this means that the most important aspects of the preciousness of who we are pushes through the brokenness of our human shields as annuals push through the rich soil of a burgeoning Spring.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Lightfall

The measure by which we establish self-esteem - from the job titles we have, to the cars in the driveway and the retirement portfolios tucked away - is directly linked to the intensity of struggle we might grapple with upon any feelings of failure or worthlessness, particularly in our old age. Things shift - especially in the corporate sector; and they never shift with the general public's advantage in mind. I don't care whether one "did it right" or didn't; countless times, the appetite and tenor of "free enterprise" is not built to be viable for the long term. It is rigged, rising and falling upon false advertising, insider trading, and scams.

There was a day before the inception of Wall Street when families took care of one another; it was the foundation that sustained our homes, lands, and happiness. From the onset, simplicity and the tending to individual homesteads served to substantiate and herald the American dream. Generations of honor, learning, living, and assisting in the raising of these families, is what made America great. However, when prosperity met with the divisive and yet alluring lucrative incentives of "something for nothing" - cloaked under public trade - we essentially lost. Inheritances became either amassed or destroyed upon the whim of advertised conjecture and opinion. That is when an historic shift in everything, from our pocketbooks to the lack of contentment, overall malaise, and dispensary of anti-depressants, took a stronghold and escalated in damning proportions.

Now days, people find it normal to live on prescriptions, no sleep, little mindfulness, and a constant push to establish worth. Why? Indoctrination and media for the sole purpose of the higher echelons of corporate associations and their fat profit margins. Here we are, generations later, with more technology at our fingertips and advertised opportunity, but have been virtually enslaved by pure dogma. While we have come full circle in needing our parents to help watch our kids because of the oft necessity of dual incomes, we haven't come back to the very real point that our parents are not burdens, and that they deserve our reciprocated honor and support because it is their right and their due. We have not come back to the idea that family, and the togetherness of family, is why we work.

We should not work to establish our identities; we should honor our own intrinsic value and then work to provide both sustenance of the physical and mindful kind to our children, to make sure they are equipped with the moral and responsible encouragement and behavior to do so for theirs. Unless and until any of us younger people get this, we will move into that forlorn and tossed aside generation upon the moment our age relieves us of popular notice.

By the power and passion that fires up inside of my soul - I will not stand for it.

The sum calculation of individual worth is not found within haves, titles, possessions, or a perfect timeline and a fat retirement portfolio. An entire lifetime of experiences should not be sneered upon nor met with perceived attitudes of failure by virtue of monetary merit, the lack thereof, or social positioning.

Our parents should not have to discard their own worth nor feel as a burden to their adult children no matter their financial, emotional, or physical abilities. Ever. In this, we consign ourselves to similar futures and the often debilitating and devastating depression exacerbated by such rejection. Aching loneliness and desolation is an epidemic as much within our youth and grown children, as it is within retired generations. It's sickening poison projected by social indoctrination.

Family has become as naught. And many parents leave this earth buried by the shame of what they think they lost or didn't accomplish.

This scores my soul.

The marketing of worth under transient appeal and storefront ideals has stolen much from our homes, families, and nation. It has laid waste to everyday contentment, singular peace, and uninhibited joy. In this, I demand that we take back the original definitions. I demand that we reconsider home, family, motives, esteem, the use of our time, the thoughts that we think, and then truly reject the need for anything but the development of ourselves and our own.

Let the sum of our lives be calculated by the intensity and care with which we cherish our loved ones, the satisfactions we enjoy through exploring talents, the endless highs that sing in joy from encouraging others; let it be satisfied through sharing compassion, basking in gratitude, nourishing home, and living in faith.

Worthiness has no expiration date - neither does service or grace.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Soliloquy

I say that an innate writer never worries about a sentence or a word because it flows out of nowhere in a torrent of thought and emotion to seemingly write itself. Those who might encounter worry are "writers" who have stepped beyond the bounds of authenticity, endeavoring to express themselves outside of inspiration.

To attach worry to writing is for the impatient, the compromised, the ones who have seconded a glance towards the trappings of popularity and its shift into an ever-competitive notoriety of achievement and design. Worry, of its own accord, renounces its genome. A true writer embraces the ebb and flow of thought, releasing self and soul beyond all coherence until every ounce of material crescendos and softens, giving over to a fusion that is both fundamental and elemental. Just. And true.

Relief. Exhaustion. Elation. Completion.

There is no pretty counterfeit to an innate writer. There is no storefront game. There is no selling out nor selling short. A writer is born, not manufactured. A writer is, because she is. A writer requires not one whit of a best-seller nor a following to substantiate her positioning, regardless of adulation or recompense. Writing for a writer is a song and cadence of soul and desire, principles and ire, expression and fire. Nothing more. It is life-changing as much as it is self-sustaining - vowels and syllables unwittingly caught within a maelstrom of endorphins - prolific and crazed for release from the aftermath of frothy passion and exhilaration unto themselves. Melodies of peace and resolution, examples and restitution, ideals and absolution. Oh, yes - release.

No, my dears, a writer is.

And she welcomes the silence when her heart softens and her mind waits, her body dissolves, and her spirit sits. She welcomes the quiet as if, in similar scent and tactile pleasure, in libraries and bindings, or paper and leather, it serves to protect the countless volumes that, ever still, bury themselves in the depths of her soul and dwell within infinite pleasure.

Living Joy - This Carman GIrl

Daingneach

Don't believe in fairy tales? Well, I wouldn't want to either if it meant those of the trite, demanding, mundane, and complacent variety. That's more like flat champagne on the cheap side of warm. I'm talking about the kind of fairy tale that is its own epic adventure; it has wars, love, passion, determination, loyalty, allegiance, compassion, frailty, capitulation, wisdom, gentleness,tenderness, fire, and spirit. When there is no circumstance, situation, opinion, or force of nature that can dim the light of two people who love each other, who "get it," and who put each other and their kingdom first - well, never let that go. That is real life and it is perfect and miraculous. It is the ever-after of the best kind.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Basement Apartment, Utilities Included

This is a throwback blog post from 2009? 2010? I'm unsure. I just feel compelled to share it again for anyone who might need to hear this message. I included my TBT self because that girl - right there - came through a fire that stirred her soul into the unmatched freedom and joy she has now. <3 - Becca

Basement Apartment, Utilities Included

Fear. Communication. Discussion. Vulnerability.Those are words that many of us think we actively embrace. We talk to our neighbors; we conference with close friends. We laugh and cry, trade stories and give encouragement. But most often, when it comes right down to the very broken moments, we have no one and we feel alone. Why? Because when life has bled us to the very bottom, to the very last drop of resilience, we've already talked to our closest friends, we've already poured out our grief, cried the tears, soaked up the support. When circumstance finally cripples us to the rawest point of human pain, we feel as though we can't infringe one more time on even our family's graces.

And so we sit in the dark in the middle of the night, bleak, sad, numb, afraid. Empty.

We sit in isolation in the center of our friends, work or activities, well-dressed, well-spoken. We are the most driven, the most successful, gregarious and technically the happiest of our friends. And we are isolated all the more for our iconic, charismatic nature. Isolated because we are usually the first to offer wisdom and support to others. Our insight and knowledge base is that much more broad - and, even so, is the very catalyst that seals our desolation and inability to reach for help when we need it most.

More than that, people don't believe us because we don't look like we could be empty; we have never given cause to imagine we might court such dangerous depression. Our vitality and energy has been such that a perception of complete and total wretchedness would defy imagination. Unseemly. Unimaginable. Mistaken. No, not her. Not him.

And...

Society, when it comes right down to it, doesn't know what to say. Which is pathetic, laughable and gravely sad, really, because each one of us has not ever been immune to exactly the nature and content of these feelings. Society doesn't want to talk when it truly gets ugly. Some fear perception. Others fear labels. Others worry that the slightest indication of negativity could forever frame selves into boxes that could then be stacked with "those" people. And who are "those" people? Ah, yes. There's no such thing. Those people all breathe, act, feel, need and matter just as much as we do. The very nature of the reference indicates our shame in contributing to our own deplorable condition.

And so we sit in the dark with tears streaming down our cheeks, with obligations and a sense of responsibility too heavy to indulge in destruction, but nonetheless leaving us feeling oh-so-gravely wounded. And oh, so very much alone.

This business of people thinking that difficulty is a weakness, that difficulty is a detractor, effectively perpetuates the calamity. It exacerbates pain within, and guarantees another's. And even more, when we finally come out to the other side and wish to vehemently champion the topic, we only have the bravery to admit to history because therein lies safety and seems far more acceptable in reception than offering ourselves up on a broad slab of stone for sacrifice, critique, whispers or silence.

Even as I write this, I know that there will be those who will think that because of the content I must be sitting in the dark, wallowing in mire. And yet, the reality is that I'm writing this tonight because for some reason it has come to mind and I am compelled to put it to print now. I feel compelled to not only write this, but to push farther and faster, louder and with more entreaty for people to Talk.

Silence hurts.

No more pretenders. No more worry. Isolation. Fear. No more fruitless, debilitating need. No more with this self and society-destroying stamp of silence and tainted thought. The conversation must start now. More of us must stand up and begin. More of us must embrace the real truth -

That it is our dance with challenge that defines, polishes and illuminates the very merits of our unique talents and strengths, proving unaccountably the power of Self worth.

Some say that struggle is private. And I respect that. Some say that they are not ready to talk about issues. And I respect that, too. But what I find is that honesty in matters of vulnerability must be examined. The easiest way to define whether something is of private nature only and should remain within the confines of respect, is to ask if fear surrounds the issue. And if fear surrounds the issue, then that is the surest answer that points to an underlying dance with the lesser intention of shielding self from potential inadequacy or gossip.

When we embrace fear, then we consign others to fear; when we are fearless, we allow others their freedom. Judgment should cede control to find compassion; for compassion will find a wealth of love and transparency that can bind relationships and bring life rich meaning.

And then there are fewer people alone in the dark, aching and in pain.

And then there will be more people out in the open, sharing in collective power, feeling freedom. Campaigning for love. And fearlessly accepting their own.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Countenance

There is something to be said for waking up in the early dawn when the grace of beauty blossoms into vision, one golden ray at a time, the coffee seems to taste more invigorating, and the welcoming peace and contemplation work as dew upon green in quenching the soul, drenching it in an abundance of languid luxury for whatever the sunlight might bring.

Oh, how I love to stay up and gaze upon the moon and starlight, too. Obsessions, truly. I've found, however, that generally my posts late at night tend to dwell upon personal growth and release (related to whatever I've observed within humanity or myself for that day), while the earliest of early posts are filled with purpose and vitality and the excitement of beginnings. I'll take both, if you please, with a nary a care for the sip of wine under the shower of light of a shooting star - or a cappuccino cream at the first inhale of a fragrant sunrise. Smiles.

Drink up Life.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Blossoms

Belief retains viability while "can't" ensures its demise.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Idlewild

Deceit is fear and fear is deceit; they are both players on a stage of unworthiness and traction. Deny them, for miracles await.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Fierce

Konocti Region, Clear Lake
Lake County, California


My favorite part of this beautiful stretch of land I live in?! Its unsung rugged beauty. And while living in this glorious oasis of sweetness and countryside might most often begin with haltingly apologetic acknowledgement - oh, so unsure and very definitely misinterpreted - nevertheless, its landscape signifies a bold juxtaposition of humanity, bravely vetting itself against the scoffing snobbery of its southern counterpart, Napa.

It's as if the supercilious idiocy of the latter, while outwardly flaunting and touting appearances of luxury, will ultimately reveal itself as nothing more than a heavily makeup-caked stage madam, desperate to redirect attention from what will surely come to be a washed-up, second-rate performance, begging for yet another encore in an effort to extend borrowed time. For borders of desert scrub brush surround such territory, almost in gleeful audience, biding time until it devours these acres of pseudo self-importance, estates at a time. And no matter the arrogance or vacuous trifling of autocracy and/or east coast ownership, the tired crescendo of pandering will surely decay, only to leave them noisily vying for whatever's left of the sorely tapped reserves of any residual ground water.

At the end of the day, wells run dry, coin can only go so far, and reality will always trump perception - no matter the pomp and circumstance.

But here?! Mmmmm... the lushness of the Pacific Northwest generously grants pockets of pine and redwood, lilting and beguiling, wanting and hopeful, as if each tendril of wildflower sings a beckoning song of freedom and ease in the laughter and hues of yellow and lavender. Blissfully welcoming each cluster of pine into the presence of the oak. Merging. Becoming. Glorying. Existing. Breathing an innocence that basks within bucolic reverence.

So perfect. So ours.

Yes, our Lake County vineyards occupy hillsides upon hillsides of grape and leaf, Merlot and Cabernet, Pinot and Chardonnay, dismissing any prejudice upon the taste of their own exquisite flavor and the recognition of mountain air, mountain grown, mountain home.

For it's here that earth and sky meet the potency of the pureness of oxygen in a community of resilience unmatched; and while it might seem to present to the outside world as unschooled, untamed, unkempt, too poverty-stricken, and perhaps fodder for mockery by the self-professed and "sophisticated", it is real. On every single level. It's as if the scorched earth and the vast green of the endless meadows meld together in the same way that our community and people do - dearest friends embracing collective human kind - one that has experienced endurance and heartache and will always rise again. One that will never take for granted what truly matters and will find the diamond in the barest vulnerability of each other's souls. Triumph over heartache. Prosperity over positioning. Essence over the changing facades of power or popularity.

Yes, this is Lake County. This is God's land. And this is the place I'm proud to call 'home'.

#LakeCountyInvest #BuyLocal #LakeCountyStrong#LakeCountyWines #VisitLakeCounty

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Lamplight

"All that glitters is not gold" is not only one of my favorite quotes, but one that invites comprehension, dissection, relativity, and personal association. And so, without hesitation, I would profess that self-importance cannot ever be gained from material substance, title, or wage - because such flimsy ideals will always surely dupe the seeker. Yes, in fact, whenever I hear the term "sound mind and a pure heart" my own lungs stop still, wait, evaluate, consider, and then eagerly receive as much elemental wisdom as what cries out in reverberating and needful acceptance.

Whether wealthy, poor, desperate, or within means, the definition of true wealth actually derives its importance from the examination, culmination, fruition, and reciprocity of character, unerring values, and a belief system that cannot be bartered nor bought. And while youth and beauty can often jockey into position for dividends, perks, and/or immediate consideration, without substance, they will surely always fade into an abyss of inconsequential matter, dismissed as nothing more than meager tripe and a desperate bid for the smallest pittance of relevance.

Legacy is. While most of the world seeks Hollywood ideals, lip-injections, plastic surgery-enhanced backsides, defined abs, and anything that clings to hyped-sexuality, it's within the intangible that legacy arises and discards any and all artificial narcissism to demand more - yes, the more that would last eons of time and obtain, retain, and ingrain definitive importance.

Think about it. No, please do. And then step apart and reject the crowds.

Sometimes, while I'm driving, I think about how erratic my car would behave were I only to concentrate upon the next few feet ahead of me instead of the smoothness of a curve, 100 yards off. It makes me think that the trick in life, honestly, is to live within the distance of a goal ahead, and yet truly approach any mile-marker or curve, with a hell-bent-for-leather mindset that is able to shift in the moment, recognize obstacles, internalize meaning, consider influence, and then navigate around any rock-slides or stalled vehicles to stubbornly seek its destination.

Life is definitely a metaphor - everywhere you look. And the secret to becoming nearly always commences when difficult truths hit home. And then, no matter what - no matter where you are: in traffic, in church, in the grocery store, at work, or in the middle of family disagreement and/or anguish - I say, share everything. Do. For it's when we share our barest souls and connect with each other, that we actually build His kingdom. <3

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Barbed Wire

Reasoning begins the moment ego exhausts patience with the emotional, forthrightly insisting against the vagary of tumultuous dissent in favor of implacable standards that hail far beyond any steady stream of clamor, incendiary voices, or other disingenuous noise. Reasoning begins when the unquenchable thirst for valuations of a steadfast nature - those inviolable to persuasion, opinion, slant, or dogma - stand as pennants of declaration and founding pillars of purpose and purchase. Reasoning begins when the desire for equitable answers supersedes all fallacies of insecurity and/or pride, boldly eschewing such self-serving agendas in the sole pursuit of embracing the sacred virginity of impregnable truth.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Distance Runner

Love is fluid and unselfish; it does not retract nor retreat and would only wish for the happiness of another regardless of reciprocity. So many fail love because they seek to gain, stroking ego in what would be euphoric bliss, but yet later is revealed through the mundane of trial as no more than hollow, self-absorbed emotional intent.

To love means to shelter, be sheltered, and to give and receive in truth for always without barter or expectation. Would you love only to feel and feed the ego of self and yet remain empty? Or, would you love in the spiritual realm of eternity as it is now, will be and has been, sharing self and soul, so that you might fill and be filled? Fluently. Forever.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Tides

Miserable people cannot abide the happiness of others, while happy people cannot abide the misery of others and will continually seek to edify and support them. The former often requires an audience that would justify their ills, while the latter generally remains oblivious to ego and rides the surf and tides of mutual success without the need for a following. Interestingly enough, neither category can ever be judged upon a scale of worthiness; rather, such manifests the varied fallacies of humanity and the often woeful measures any one of us might embrace within the storms of life. Love is the answer, always. Period. And grace, meekness, gentleness, and a stalwart foundation of acceptance can and will go far as a beacon in the night. The wise man did indeed build his house upon a rock...

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Moon Tides

Of all the things that can be measured, it is truth that can't be quantified. For truth is immutable, unerring, and void of mortal accounting, checkoff dates, goal markers, or any other limiting signifier. Truth simply is; it is active, real, breathing, and eternal. And yet, while it's also simplistic and unconfined - underscoring the irrationality of the often unnecessary complexities that define human struggle - it is pure in essence, resolve, and fruition.

In nature, those who firmly comprehend the value of truth enough to commit to its meaning, realize that they cannot live with one foot within a disruptive sandbox of discord, envy, unrest, or struggle and think to dwell within the peace of innate worth. Truth insists that we step out in order to become. Its very premise denies time; it exists, basks, enjoys, and inherits eternal principles.

What does this mean? I think of Philippians 4:8: Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

Such a verse reacts with my senses and encourages my mind to meld with my heart and to then release into being all that is meant. For me. For you. For us. And that is to live large and within the miracles of simply Being.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl 

<3

Pandora's Box

I think the most damaging illness dwells within the consistent choices that disavow growth; it enables games of blame and irresponsibility, drives despondency, and only ever spirals into a deeper and deeper disassociation between personal thought patterns and the ramifications inescapably bound to culpability. We cannot fool ourselves into thinking that the world has "done it" if we fuel the deceit of failure and thus nurture apathy and dis(ease). Every single moment is one that can be embraced, owned, taken, vitalized and used as a catalyst for change. Today.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Freedom Path

Any time your soul recognizes truth it becomes an invitation to live outside of fear.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Storm Clouds

Emotions are a bottomless pit of inconsistency, euphoria, despair, rejoicing, grieving, sadness and elation. The spirit of God, however, is a well of warmth and a blanket of peace that extends forever in a perfect calm. It's an infinite solace of communion and prosperity if we would but be brave enough to reject the addictive cycles of want and need to risk for a life filled with His constant love and ever generous abundance.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Spun Fantasy

I love Fall more than I like Spring. I love the colors, the crisp cold, excuses for fires, making love, and sipping coffee. I feel alive. Vibrant. Willful. Invincible. And I think it's because the coming dormancy of winter offers a fail-safe for change; it's expectations given room to allow for creativity and flare under the quilted warmth of hibernation. And for all of my girlish affectations, I prefer the artistry of a gnarled tree to the fragility and uninspired beauty of mere flowers.

I love history, lines, dimension. I have long since been absorbed with curiosity of the old. From my youth, I blithely lived for the exploration of New England's ancient rock walls leading to obscure cemeteries from a century or more ago. I loved to sweep dead leaves from the crumbling remains of an old headstone and let my imagination dance along the edges of re-creation. Fascination. Fixated on the stories of the past and yet thoughtful all the same about comparisons of what could be. Vision. Wondering about the infant whose tiny body was laid to rest; wondering about the people who occupied the space long before I picked my way through the foliage and disturbed their domain.

And perhaps that's why I revel in the change of leaves the most. It's more than green; it's more than the sweeping salute to wind and wispy clouds on a summer day - it's representation of experience, collection, memory. The leaves tell us more about people than we think to see; for we don't recognize their beauty clearly until the fiery sunburst of a last hurrah just before they are laid to rest. We are complacent in appreciation of loved ones until something triggers the recognition of mortality. We don't give homage to the now as we should and wait for the safety of wrinkles to finally meet peace should we have the luxury to grace this world that long.

Yet children recognize it. When my youngest son was two, he said to me one day as the wind was blowing fiercely outside, "Mom, Look! The wind is tickling the trees and the leaves are laughing." And sure enough, the trees were shaking from the weight of the wind, and the more they shook the harder he laughed. "Look, Mommy. The trees are happy."

And those are the moments when I stop to appreciate the green, giddy young life inside of me and value the varied kaleidoscope of wisdom in shades of unexpected color from dear ones just departed. I will remember my ten-year-old self who idly noticed insistent green vines growing through the disintegrating remains of leaves long dead. And I will appreciate both for what they are: Lessons from nature flowing in a rhythm of time unaffected by anxiety or fearful purpose. Green seeking the light of the sun, reaching, soaring - soaking up highs and bending will to unexpected weather, day in and day out. Gloriously accepting of lifespan and generously offering welcome to the changes in sunshine, finding ways to give shade in the cycles of life.

It is humbling to think that those carefully etched pictures, done with simple crayon on paper over a freshly picked leaf, actually mirror the beautiful lines of an ancient and weathered hand. And in that there is connection. Spirit. Reverence and awareness. Veins of joy running, skipping. Laughing. Finding peace. Ageless and content in the passages of time.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Canopy

When belief teams with hope and collides with circumstance, opportunities become viable. 

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Base Camp

The very attitude of coping will always ensure the continuation of struggle. Assume your power, engage, and see to the climb. The summit is worth everything.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Reconnaissance

Power comes from the essence, understanding, and application of truth. Period. It is my unwavering belief that each of us, no matter the obstacle or condition, can live to our full potential every single day. Don't hold back. Creation is. And the only stasis of any consequence lies within the stubborn desire to hold onto the safety of the known.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Inclinometer

If we are too impatient to lead, then we have not yet learned how to follow. Those who are confident and centered in their abilities do not require recognition; they see the act of learning as an increase in power rather than a representation of inferiority.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Myths and Heroes

Writer's Note:

I have been faced with much opposition of late for my buoyant heart and soul. And what I wish to say is that every day I choose it because once upon a time I was equally devastated. Once upon a time, I could not move, speak, participate, or be. I isolated myself from anyone I knew because I was so traumatized, I couldn't even fake a smile on my face. Every nerve-ending inside of me was consumed by wrenching pain. If anyone could have died and yet lived to breathe every day, it was me.

Even so, I am a verbal processor and I began to write my thoughts. This one was written at the barest moment in my life. Raw. Harsh. Difficult. I write even now as I did then, but I write about Joy because that's where I'm at. I don't presume to make others see nor push them along to their own healing; but I share this to say that those who live in a space of freedom fought for it, owned it, became, and suffered so fiercely that it is indeed a passion to seek joy and ease for others. So, feel my heart, as it was then, so that you can appreciate the hope and future that is yours to be had now. 

I give you:

Myths and Heroes

Self-preservation kicks in on the brutal burn of a dry, painful throat, threatening tears and the unwelcome sense that heartbreak would conquer yet again. It's the self-preservation that breathes in ragged whispers of drowning agony but moves through the torment, numb almost. Scarred, wounded but ignoring the spasms of throbbing, aching grief just for the moving. Just for the forward motion to be anywhere but buried alive in helplessness.

Self checks into auto-pilot, fingers running along the edges of familiar, abysmal territory. Flipping the switch of the internal motor, still warm and heated from the friction of desire, electricity and the vestiges of what had been Joy. Lights flash on as the machine that would give solace in pounding, physical energy, fuels the thoughts which would spur action - Daring, telling, firing the bullets of determination, re-building walls and bent thereafter on shoring up the power to never to be scorched again.

Single-minded purpose closes out all else in a tunnel vision bent solely on survival, protection and the resolute, unwavering power of oblivion. No more conscious feeling. Back into the pursuit of unbreakable beauty, an untouchable fortress where nothing can breach, raise, or abandon one more time. Alone. The machine balks under the gate of strides that become longer and faster, sweat running, dripping and mingling with tears in blinding anger and yet demanding absolution and resilience.

Cannot lose. Will not lose. No pain. No pain. No pain. Running, running, running. The flexing of muscles and mind breathing in and forcing the beat of all yearning into complete and total submission, until the end of the session is marked by staccato gasps and total exhaustion. It is over. It is painful. She is shattered and bled dry.

Emotion now burned up in the fuel of activity, and yet fostering stubborn certitude as fractured particles of spirit mix in with the blackened dust of the running belt, now left far behind in the cumulative distance of blinking numbers on a display screen of stationary traction. Illuminating almost what could be the comic hilarity of a human treadmill and the cycles of pain.

And yet knowing...

She will rise another day because heritage and courage demand it and will not relent, nor accept, anything less than continuing on doggedly through - until the next go round. Defeat, perhaps. But not defining.

Even if she will never be the same again.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

(This is a shot from our family's back deck moments before we evacuated from 
the Valley Fire of 2015 in California.)

Horizons

There is not one moment of any day that we do not have the freedom to reinvent self. And that begins the moment we decide that the sweetness of life is very definitely not contingent upon what happens to us, but rather entirely dependent upon what we bring to it. Live this life. Fully. Do it. Be it. Live it. Love it.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Mustang Country

Performance is innate and doesn't crave either credit or prestige; it simply is. And remains. And will be so, regardless. This, alone, is excellence.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Ground

There is irony in current social norms; every media outlet pushes rebellion as cool - fooling a majority of parents into turning their backs on teaching core values in a mistaken attempt to maintain relevance. This compels me to pose this question: If it's mainstream and one wants to rebel, how then is conformity rebellion? How is accepting the culture of the masses individual or unique? At some point when the lows become too low to maintain the want of the highs - regardless of what they are (drugs, illicit sex, and disrespect for values being the more obvious but not exclusive examples) - when will such synthetic counterfeit thrills finally be exposed? Empty. Soulless. Depressing. Lonely. If we don't live our individual lives to the full capacity and within our own intrinsic value - what else is there? Character is the most valuable attribute and currency we have. Without character, we are nothing more than meal worms living off of someone else's day old bread.

- Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Radiant

Always reaching, flying, soaring...
Finding the elements which 
release and open our spirits
to the full potential of laughter,
love, life, joy.
Fully, yet wickedly interested
in all things that spark debate, conversation, passion,
fulfillment, wit, achievement and desire.
Seeking, living, loving, breathing-
Bliss.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Territory

Insecurities are a luxury; if any of us lived in a third world country and had to worry for our next meal, we would not even willfully address such two-dimensional ego. So really, the only pertinent question of value is: What am I thankful for today? And what will such gratitude do for my perspective, plans, and ideals tomorrow? Thoughts.


Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Our Land

Cherish who you're with and never ever stop telling them you love them. Don't be so concerned with things; they come and go. Pursue passion and talent with every breath you have for that brings contentment and the desire for others to feel their own gifts and life source. Keep your heart in the moment and your eyes bright with anticipation for tomorrow. And, above all - don't forget that the only perfect legacy that stands the test of time lives on through the sacred responsibility of rearing children and in caring for and encouraging other people. It is in this that everything you ever pursue will carry far passed death. This is a life filled with meaning. So, don't chase tomorrow's burdens; they do not matter. Instead, live today's worthiness with fierce intent - and let that be your wake-up prayer with each dawning sun.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

Chasing Shadows In Far Off Places

I saw inside of you the first time - I saw your shadowed features as if you were a spirit disinherited and dispossessed in some way, even though daylight framed an expression soft, but pensive, reflecting a man full of stature and yet one caught within the same well of longing as mine. I knew then, with trepidation and the smallest butterflies, that what I chose next would alter my life. Premonitions of fear whispered along the edges of my consciousness, daring my acquiescence and yet somehow validating that one mere caress claiming your existence into mine, would irrevocably change my life.

I knew a loss of control, a sense of having shifted into fate and yet unable to deny its compelling force for what it was, what it did, and what it allowed in ceding to the unknown. A surrender as I had never surrendered before. Bewildered thoughts were left to the buffeting and swirling of conflicting emotion as my internal direction faltered, halted and became off-base, off-kilter, off-track. Destination recast. A course set for a future and vision unwilling and unable to grant quarter to any of the perceptions that had previously shaped my thoughts or brought me wisdom. Forever changed. Potent oxygen of another kind now inhaled in my lungs, infusing my blood, and altering my pulse to erratic speeds that pumped between unwitting submission and singular apprehension.

One brief touch and my soul slid into yours and yours in mine. I felt and knew the very moment when with gauntlet thrown, magic and lore, you flaunted both the ensign of arrogance and the stance of a White Stag. Celtic blood, you said. But even so, with gravity of expression and brokering no dalliance or declination, you then extended an entreaty weighted with the heavy request that I would not only look, but see You. See Us. And This.

Love. Love like I had never known. Love - the kind that was all-encompassing, enduring and bestowed its gifts upon the few who would recognize it for what it was. Eternal. A solemn, sacred troth that unlike the elusiveness of flattery demanded of its subjects total and complete allegiance to the fires of its power, regarding all other fickle fascinations as unworthy. Discarding these with little notice into the unsanctified rubble of those who willfully would not comprehend its value for the ignorance of their own appeal.

I found your music. I heard your voice. And with helpless abandon felt my defenses shatter, tumbling down one wall after another until I was left standing with nothing but the nakedness of my heart beating rapidly in a fevered staccato, waiting for what your open perusal might bring and what it could forsake. I knew your mind, I felt your soul. I knew the boy you were and the man you had become. I felt the crippling sources of your anguish and the heedless, uninhibited expressions of your dreams. I knew the gentleness of your manner and the sweetness of your devotion, even as I knew that on a whim you might fall prey to your own demons for moments of time. Nonetheless, your spirit merged with mine, catching me breathless, taken and sheltered in arms that would stand in strength and for all time upon the integrity and yearning that ached within us both and found deliverance all the same.

And I knew a roaring in the wind as I stood my ground, having already faltered once, watching you come across the bailey towards me, your eyes seeking mine - questioning, searching, hardened but for the capitulation and supplication reflected back in my pleading petition for allowance. Surcease permitted. The air already charged with the fractured wanting and the needless, harsh blow it had cost both of us in my attempt to shore up resistance and reinforce the bulwark in denial of us, you and this. Rending, wrenching pain no more. Misplaced motive, cowardice really. One that nearly drained my life-source for the darkness that descended and threatened more than anyone or anything, the vestiges of hope that remained for survival outside of duty and misery. A heavy price for even thinking to denounce this kind of Love.

A mistake that could not, would not be made again. A sure knowledge that self-preservation from personal pain was the most selfish kind indeed. And henceforth I would under no uncertain terms, forego the damning effects of skittish weakness, my soul and my body proffered to you in full measure at all costs. And in turn, I would offer you all that I saw - A force of a man unlike any other who had already delivered the world his breath, who had sacrificed his body and spirit upon a block of chivalry unmatched, and yet never returned. To know love, unceasing and fearless, eternally bound. Chained. Pledged to one another upon a mutual hunger and a chance offering to experience joy and honor, flying the banners and pennants of our heritage in a joint claiming of all that was and would be our due.

States of grace. Rejection of heartbreak. A fluid motion into the embrace of becoming One. Reinforcing hope and capturing the dawn on this day that finally decreed vindication from all that had torn us apart. And in so doing, met the future with a consecrated oath vowed between us, proclaiming equal diligence to this commitment and the boundless joy it would bring. Drawing runes of protection, promises of intention, and sealing our allegiance and adoration in a Celtic blood exchange of holy communion and yet transcendent desire. An age old rite of divine expression in a spiritual plane as breath exchanged breath, chest to chest, heartbeat paced against heartbeat and physical joining signified a bond for all time. For always. Every trail of hands finding in each other solace, rest, love, peace, reverence, marking inscriptions of loyalty and fealty to an infinite end.

A lifetime once lost to pain, but now filled with laughter. Silence once fraught with anxiety, now basking in unspoken regard. Powerless before, yet unrestrained and exultant now. Our days of struggle, disillusionment, hopelessness and fear, cast aside in finality along with the dead rushes of disease and dormancy, leaving the delicious fragrance of fresh persuasion and unhampered ambition the opportunity to find fruition, appreciation and achievement. Long tables laden with the sweetmeats and nourishment of sated love, savoring a new circumstance and reason for Living.

The changing of the sun and the seasons of the moon no longer tracking our adversity, but casting a glow of radiance, zeal, fervor and triumph over two houses finally united in power, standing invincible against all that would have endeavored, but failed to conquer us. And still euphoric, riding the intoxicating laughter of you, I suddenly knew this moment of trembling awe, humility and a veneration too poignant to contain within the walls of my chest and yet too intimate to voice. Tears, wonder, happiness and tranquility, stealing over my heart in sighs of warmth and echoes of confirmation for all that this enduring Love actually revealed -

Within the mists of the morning dew, overcast and veiled from inquisitive eyes. Hidden in complete obscurity but for small glimpses of fleeting movement - the flash of red and the tip of an antler. You, who had watched from afar, given to all, guarded your own and encouraged their dreams. You, who had provided succor by night and battled fear by day, yet remained ever stalwart, immovable and bound to your position. Indiscernible in the camouflage. You, who had watched others reap the benefits of mornings drenched in nectar, frolicking in valleys, lush and ripe with expectations and rewarding life. You. It had always been you for everyone else. And somehow you had chosen me.

And then I knew. Then I saw as others had failed to see. For the brilliance of the afternoon sun chased the shadows away in this time-lapse towards freedom and the embrace, safety and light of our lovers' play. Countenance fully revealed for all to see, a knight worthy without question - for it was always you, Culhain. Culhain and now his muse.

Living Joy - This Carman Girl

(Written for my husband on his birthday in September of 2011.  I love you, James.  With every breath in my body.)