that one time i got kicked out of a country

Once upon a time there was a girl named Morghan. She was a fly by the seat of her pants, the " I'll figure it out when I get there," kinda gal.

So the story goes:

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I arrived home from Australia, a year and a half later, totting two suitcases that encompassed the entirety of my being. Confused, and tired, suffering that reverse culture shock thing you read about in High School Psychology class-shits real-, happening all at once. I dumped my belongings haphazardly around my bedroom, as I made a half-assed attempt to re-pack for my next ensuing adventure-a one way to South America, a mere ten days later. Based on my remarkable planning abilities, as seen throughout history, I  tactically allotted myself a whopping seven days, prior to "forever departure from Wisconsin," part dos, to catch up with everyone I cared about. "The everyone" I hadn't seen in over a year and a half. As I sat thinking this through, gazing at the walls in my childhood bedroom, fully furnished with the twin sized bed, the one whose sheets I grew up wetting, I laid on the floor, trying to wrap my head around all that was happening in life, and HOW THE FUCK I actually got back to America- for real though. It all did my head in. In a solid attempt to meditate, a fresh new skill I picked up from a trusty Aussie mate, I laid on my bedroom floor, and fell asleep. Good thing timing has a keen sense of humor.

Life looked bleak.

Let's fast forward to the goods...over the course of the next five days, Mom tries her damnedest to talk me out of going to South America. Aside from the obvious reasons- being sold into sex slavery, drug trafficking, kidnapping and inevitable murder and rape during, after, or before any of the aforementioned scenarios panned out, the icing on the cake came when she said, "you could always come to Germany with me?!"

Really.

She continues "and I'll cover your flight losses." That was one dirty deal to lay on the table, and if it weren't for my jet legged vulnerability laden skepticism, I may have said OK. Outside of that, there was an inner pull, drawing me to South America, one that was stronger than all the bribes and potential life ending outcomes. I had no choice but to continue my hustle.
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I arrive at the airport scared shitless as to what I've actually signed myself up for and how the hell I'm going to make it with the seven hundred dollars I currently have to my name. Alas, I'll figure it out when I get there. While standing in line, I overhear one of the airline associates asking the woman behind me to show proof of her onward journey. The fuck is an onward journey? Whomever says street smarts are over rated, they're lying. Channeling my inner thug, I put two and two together and began story crafting as I never knew this was a thing. She asks if a bus pass out of Costa Rica will do. The man gives her wave and she passes on. I'm next. "Ma'ma, onward journey?"

"Funny story, sir. I don't have one." The man sternly replied "you won't be flying today." Panic drowns my existence. Conveniently still using my Australian phone service, I have no choice but to access the shoddy free internet, the connect-free-for-one-thousand-dollars-and-we-will-give-you-two-minutes-free-after-this-quick-two-minute-online-survey-you'll-need-to-complete-prior-to-access. That kind of wifi. There was no way time was going to allow for this degree of dicking around, so I got up and ran for help.

There was no sugary coating dripping off my tongue as I approached the stern man pleading for help. The man reiterated his earlier statement. After laying the vulnerability on thick,that I only had seven hundred dollars to make this happen and my dire need to get on this plane, something changed in his demeanor. "Follow me," he said. We snaked around to the back office as he pulled up a chair for me to sit. We scoured the internet to find the most affordable flights or bus tickets providing the most uncomplicated country entrance.

As the mouse hovered over a bus ticket for a fifty-two hour bus trip from Lima, Peru to Santiago, Chile, I give him the green light to click purchase. Jesus. Needless to say, I'll figure it out when I get there. Finally, I board the flight, onward journey in tow.

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Arid, hot and bustling, the Peruvian night greets me.  I'm overdressed and ready to take on this taxi ride, feeling quite confident in my Spanish speaking skills. Things are looking up.

As the taxi man shuts the door behind me, what I think is Spanish comes gushing out of his mouth. All the years of Spanish failing me in two seconds. I dig deep, suck up all my pride, and let it rip. Sounding something like a five year old, all proper grammar thrown out the window into the fresh night's breeze, I weave my way through a diverse conversation, complete with facts of the dangerous areas, the ones where I will certainly be sold into sex slavery or taken. Have you seen the movie?

Hostel found, cats everywhere, culture shock ensues. Here we go.
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Travels, mountains hiked, Macchu Pichu scaled, Quechua overheard, international mates met, peculiar foods consumed- I'm finally alive!

And so the day comes, the one I deleted from my memory. I pack my bags- food made and all (health freak plus bus food don't click) - and wait patiently to board my bus. As we file onto the double-decker, I feel a new adventure coming to a head. I scan my fellow passengers, studying my compadres, whom will inexorably be family after this exodus. I'm clearly the adopted Gringa.

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ONE DAY LATER

I can't feel my ass. I have watched more Spanish films than I know what to do with. Everyone either thinks I'm lost, confused, or famous on this bus- because why else would a young white girl be on a bus like this? I've moved no further than two inches in every direction, and have woken up to the chiquitita next to me, staring, at least four times now. She seals the deal at the end of the night and hands me a homemade bracelet that says "I LOVE YOU." At least I've got an admirer.


TWO DAYS LATER

I still can't feel my ass. It's probably flat. I may have forgotten how to walk. Is that a real thing? I smell like bus, sweaty humans and chica. I'm not sure when I showered last. Brushed my teeth? This is gross.

We arrive at some Mama and Papa owned restaurant. We're given an hour to stretch the legs, get some real food and....shower? As I follow the cue of ladies into the loo, I can't help but notice the normalcy of showering in the sink. Literally submersing all available parts of one's body into the sink for the scrubbin. Brilliant. My gaze settles upon a massive barrel of water, sitting at the entrance with a pale in it. "This should be interesting...," I think to myself. Lo and behold, self flushing methodology parte uno. Good thing I'm closer to the back of the line. I can take the token Gringa card, but a dumb Gringa? No thank you. I take note....

Grab pale.
Fill with water.
Walk to sussed out toilet.
Pour water contents of pale into toilet of choice.
Walk back to massive barrel.
Refill with water.
Place pale of water on ground.
Do your thing.
Pull up pants.
Grab pale.
Empty water contents into toilet.
Flush while pouring water into toilet.

Fool proof. I got this.


After I kill the toilet situation, I'm feelin pretty capable and slightly badass. I decide it's time for an adventure. This restaurant "bus stop" is set up like a compound, concrete walls enveloping; bizarre. I push the button for the doors to open, figuring, there's gotta be a button on the other end to open to let me back in. We've still got a good thirty minutes of recess. I'm not worried.

I stroll down the sidewalk, knowing I'm somewhere between Wisconsin and Chile, and not much more. The air is fresh as my strides resemble something like a newly birthed doe, as the muscle memory in my legs attempts to wake up. Good news, I can feel my ass again. We are onto something good here. Daydreaming and soaking in the early morning rays of sunshine as I take in the foreign surroundings, thirty minutes unknowingly passes. I scramble back to the compound, trying to root myself in phlegmatic state after this shocking realization.

 I get back to the door.

No button.

Fuck.

I begin to feel like Michael Scofield in Prision Break, trying to think fast at how I'm going to either scale this wall, or...scale this wall. Option b: sit outside this wall and wait for the bus to leave. Option b looks promising if I don't get run over in the process. I think I'll climb.

Ten fraught minutes pass, surely the bus should have tried to leave by now. Then I remember I'm in South America time now. As I began staking out the best spot to spiderman this wall, all of a sudden, the gate opens. I shit my pants. I'm saved. Thank you Jesus.

 Homie opens the door like he never noticed the white girl went missing.

He lets me on the bus.

 I play it cool, and blend right in.

DAY TWO POINT FIVE

Actually kill me.

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Chile.

Somewhere between the five check points of proving I'm not a drug dealer or pack mule (or am I), I'm handed a rectangular piece of translucent paper, smaller than a post-it. I'm told nothing about it. My gum is looking like it's going to have a nice home momentarily. New bestie from the
Tour-De-South-America hands offers me a fresh piece of gum. I ablige. Old gum, new home. Weird paper safe.

Frankly, what they don't tell you is that this paper is your life line, needed for everything. Hostel stay? Needed paper. Take money out of ATM? Need paper. It was au fond, my visa to be in the Country. Small print anyone?


NEXT BRILLIANT IDEA

Go to Brazil. 

 As irony would have it, I met the Barista Trainer of my old boss in Australia, as I scoured Santiago for specialty coffee shops. One coffee nerding out session later, all the jobs are handed to me on a silver platter.

Then not a single one of them come through.

Surely, Brazil was the next Country calling my soul into its open arms.

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NEW PLAN

Wait ten days for Clara to arrive from Argentina to Chile- where I'm currently residing at her sister's place, and Carnival, reunion with Brazilian-Aussie mates, and all the Bahias have got our names written all over em!

This time, I  make sure to cross all my T's and dot all my I's. Starting with all the embassies: US, Brazilian, Ethiopian, Chinese, and so forth, I am diligent about gathering all the facts - onward journeys, visas, and so forth. I come to find no visa is necessary to enter Brazil.

Fantastic.

Clara arrives to Chile.

Clara departs for Brazil. I wish her bon voyage as I'll be seeing her in a few shy hours.

THE NEXT DAY

I arrive to the airport, early, stoked. When I finally get to the front of the line, I'm asked to see my visa. You've got to be fucking kidding me. I inform her- in my sternest Spanish - that I was told no visa was required, and to let me board already. With sense of urgency exploding from her being, she goes and has a chat with some work mates, goes and takes a phone call a few desks down, gets a compliment on her nails, eventually making her way back to me, only to sit down and carry on another chat with new work mates. About ten minutes and four phone calls later, her newly done nails pop my travel bubble and again, the words "you will not be traveling today," hit me like a semi, because this time, I needed a visa. I sprinted like a cheetah from one side of the airport to the other in search of a computer. Again, Australian cell phone service serving no purpose.

I find a 1914 Dell Computer, the size of France, and google travel visas for Brazil. I buy the first 'visa' that pops up. Four hundred dollars later, uncertain what I've just purchased, I'm sprinting back to miss thang with some arbitrary file printed off- essentially the next steps I needed to complete acquire a proper visa. Looks like it was time to pull out the dumb Gringa card, because after all, I had already earned it, from the beginning.

"You missed your flight," she whistles. Naturally. I listen as she directs me to two gents that will be able to drum up solutions for my current situation. "Repurchase your connecting flights, it's that easy," they sing. Since I'm already on a spending spree, I concur. But first, I coerce them to review my Visa to ensure, this time, I'll be able to board my flight. They assure me I've got it right this time, and they send me on my way.

I hail a cab only to be returning eight hours later. Stress oozes out of me, the thought of punching someone in the face, tickling my prefrontal cortex. Luckily, I don't. En-route back to my mate's house, all I can do is pray that the keys I attempted to jimmy under the door, are still there. Alelujah! They greet me with shiny silver smiles. Note to self, you should never become a robber. Cue overindulging in the stress related consumption of chocolate, dulce de leche by the spoon full and a substantial amount of wine into the body. That should do the trick.

EIGHT HOURS LATER

It's three am. I'm sick as a dog, hungover on chocolate, wine and dulce from the previous bad decision of hours apassed. Not to mention, I've slept two hours, and that's rounding up. I  hail a cab. I want to die. Old mate taxi is sketchy. For the first time, I think I may actually die, as my new found familiarity with the house to airport route rings no recognition. I bid farewell to my life.

Looks like it's not my time to knock off just yet. I arrive at the airport and pass my first check point sans hassle. All excitement contained, as I still have a ways to go.


I plop down, heavy and sleepy at my gate, anxiously waiting to board my flight to Sao Paulo. I watch as a flight attendant makes her rounds, as a ticket pre-check. My eyes follow her, transfixed, and she determinedly winds through the rows of consecutive passengers, approaching each for said document. She stands before me. "Visa?" she requests. I carefully dig out my veiled Visa and present it to her. Her gruff tone, heavy with skepticism, as she questions the legitimacy of my document. I gave her the footnotes of yesterdays interaction with the gents of the airline, assuring her everything was OK. Clearly it was just as much "too early," as it was for me, as it was for her, as she turned on her heel, grumbling under her breath. I board the plane. My translucent paper extracted from my possession.

FOUR HOURS LATER

I'm feelin fancy, as we roll up onto the tarmac in Sao Paulo. I've got THE water bottle and everything. All the hustle thoroughly worth it in this moment of triumph.

Portuguese floats through the air as the organized chaos of customs attempts to assemble us into single file lines. Breast puffed, cocky as a peacock in heat, I cue up. The customs homem  (man) greets me, extending his hand for collection of my documents. I audaciously hand them over. His brow furrows as he stares a bit too long at my "visa." "Wait here," he says, "I don't speak much English." Outwardly keeping my cool, I a wave of dismay cloaks my body.

A few moments later, the man returns, directing me to wait outside what looks like a holding room. I hold my breath as two police men approach me from inside the holding room. They have my documents. They ask no questions. A third man walks up. He motions for me to follow him. The panic that had a strong hold on my earlier, slowly trickled away, as I was escorted through the Airport. For a moment, I thought to myself, that perhaps, this is how things rolled in Brazil, escorting you to connecting flights? My escortee's shout pulled me out of my daydream. I couldn't sift through the Portuguese quick enough to understand what he was saying. Clearly, this was no escort service.

We arrived to a gate. I looked up. "SANTIAGO, CHILE," read the board. He pointed at a seat. I took his instruction and sat. A gorda (pleasantly plump) middle aged woman walked up. She had a warm disposition about her and a smile in her eyes. I was beyond defeated at this point, and seeing an inviting face such as hers was a hug to my soul. I melted further into the chair, as my tenacious goal slipped further and further away, like losing something underwater, elusively close, and yet, unattainable. Finally, she spoke to me, "do you know what is going on?" "I'm catchin on quick," I thought to myself, and what came out was a giant "no." Miss Gorda was the last line of defense.  It was over. I was to be sent back to Santiago because to enter Brazil, even momentarily, a visa was required, and a visa that was completely processed, unlike mine.

I had no words.

I shed one tear, a tear of defeat, as she led me down the aisle of the airplane, seat picked out and all. I settled in, knowing in a span of ten hours, I successfully made half of  my destination, and even more successfully managed to find my way back to Chile. Then it occurred to me, I didn't have my translucent visa for Chile any longer....

Too soon. I passed out.

CHILE ROUND TWO

I wake up to the shuffling of passengers collecting their overhead luggage, as a rubbed the grogginess out of my eyes. Crazy to think it was only 11 AM and I'd already gotten kicked out of one Country, and well on my way to returning to another. I grab my backpack and lug it onto my back. Like clockwork, I take my place in the customs cue, with no energy left to ad-lib any story. "Hola. Papeles?" says the kind man behind the desk. At this point, my fluency is back, all humility gone, I tell him I've been kicked out of Brazil, and I was just in Chile this morning. They took my paper when I left. We play word hacky-sack for quite some time, as Spanish turns to Spaniglish, and language turns to laughter and whaddya know, I'm brought back to the cops outside another holding office.

Two cops exit and ask me what's going on- "que paso?" After I inform them I was kicked out Brazil and there's no choice but to let me back into Chile-because I was just here- they send me back to the chipper customs officer. He must not have caught on to the severity, or even half of what I told him just occurred, as when I came forth again to rehash the same story, his eyes bulged straight out of his head, like a deer in the headlights, followed by a deep belly laugh. Actually, I think there was a repeated offense of laughter. Yeah, that sounds more like it. I didn't even have the energy to cry, so I joined him in laughter. Why not? I guess I had a good story at this point, and I still had my water bottle, proof that I was indeed in Brazil. It had to count for something. After he shot the shit at me for a few minutes, throwing out some cheeky lines, informing me of how much that would suck (you think?), how I'm trouble, and so on, he ended up letting me back into the country.

But he never gave me the translucent slip.

I realize this two days later as I'm checking into a hostel after another fatal attempt to get to Brazil.

Oh, you want that story too?

TRAIN STATION

This itch won't go away, I've got to get to Brazil. Clara is on day number two Carnival time, keeping me well informed of all that I should be a part of: dancing in the streets with locals, bright feathers and meticulously ornate masks adorning bronzed bodies, decorated in bold costumes, flaunting bare skin.

Somehow, I arrvied at the train station. I was bound and determined to find the Brazilian Embassy and get my visa sorted. Not having a relevant mobile with wifi made things quite difficult. It was time to get creative, yet again. I drew the parallel in my mind that I should be scouting for the oldest looking human in my midst. Why? Because they would obviously be the most knowledgeable- they've been around the longest. I b line towards the most elderly candidate I can find. I ask him where the embassy is located, even providing him the name of the town. He stares blankly. I repeat my question, jumbling the order of the words this time, thinking maybe it'll hit home. Blank stares. A woman approaches me and asks what I'm looking for, as I may have just found the most elderly deaf man in the room.

I repeat. She tells me to tag along with her, we are headed in the same direction. About ten minutes into our journey, she tells me she thought I was Latin, and fluent, but now that we've had more time to converse, she hears the nuances that tell her just the opposite. Perhaps that's why old man withers didn't know a lick of what I was saying. We arrive at the Embassy, having gotten lost twice in the process, to the front desk man informing us the Embassy is closed for the public for the day. Marta, my new amiga, gives them the story, her Chileano origins giving us a big one up in this pickle. Finally.

They let us through. The next lady in charge listens intently as we explain what happened, and what we need. She takes us aside at the conclusion of the story, as Marta whispers clandestinely "what can you do to help us?" The woman says that if we arrive back tomorrow with newly purchased tickets (that would be six total tickets purchased to Brazil), and a proper photo, we would be able to get me there in ten days, fingers crossed. Mind you, Clara, and the rest of our mates would be leaving four days after I would arrive, based off of our original plans. At this rate, I didn't even know if I had any money left, after buying all these wasted tickets. We part ways until tomorrow. Maybe.

Marta and I make our way back to my mate's place, as I had to get my things and suss out a new arrangement as they were headed out of town. I was planning to stay at a hostel when Marta offered her place to me. I agreed. We hustled back to pack my things, and took two cabs and a bus to lord knows where. In the midst of this transition, her daughter ended up joining forces with us. As we headed back to Marta's for dinner, she looked at my broken down soul and made a swift left. Liquor store. She was kind AND wise. Wine and beer hugged to our chests, we pushed on to get home. We talked and laughed over my travel stories as Marta finally got the entire tale. I drank the bottle of wine.

As dinner came to a close, I was cashed. My brain was fried from translating Spanish to English and speaking Spanish all day, not to mention the impromptu adventures of the last two days. I rang Clara. We talked things over and I decided I was going to have to pull out. It was a sad moment, and quite frankly, I had to take a logical stance on the matter and factor in my lack of funds, which now would have gotten me no further than a day in Brazil. It was also becoming quite clear that the Universe was trying to tell me it wasn't the right time to go-it only took three failed attempts to get this through my thick and stubborn skull.

URUGUAY 

Marta and Valentina pack me up and take me to my hostel. I decided I will spend a few days actually enjoying my time here in Chile. It's been well deserved. While out on a run, I decide I will give my friend Martin a call and see if he would like to go on an adventure, as he just recently returned to his home of Uruguay from Australia. Martin is keen. I take a look at dates, and flights, and realize this is a stupid idea. I don't even think I have checked my bank account up to this point, because I know that once I see the facts, my fun is over and it's time to head back to....America...Wisconsin at that.

I check my funds-truly, I don't even know if I do- but after another run, I think to myself, maybe it's time to start back from square one. I call Mom. She tells me to come home but doesn't believe I will come back. She finally understands how I roll. I tell her I will be coming home, but I need a few more days to play before purchasing a ticket.

Then I tell her I may stop in Uruguay first, moreso for reaction sake. I think she punched me in the face via the telephone. It hurt.

And so.

Two days later, drinks had, explorations dabbled in, limbs danced off, mates met, sleep lost, I packed my things, and boarded yet another flight, back, to, America....

To be continued....

co-dependency will kill you

Co-dependency; the inability to wholly and completely rely on yourself, to meet all of your fulfillment needs.

What it is not:

When you part from others (mate, friends, family), you don't find yourself worth, confidence and capabilities plummeting to the ground like a house of cards, questioning your existence on this earth. The difference here is that you WANT these people in your life. You don't NEED them in your life. That's not to say that you have no feelings and are detached from emotional relationships and cannot connect with a human being. It's the exact opposite of that. It's to say that your a fully functioning vessel that can hold your space, your self, your person in your own light, worth and love, knowing that you're a complete person per your own permission and unconditional love. You don't view your self worth based on the attention, gratification, and acceptance from others- reacting to how you're treated in life versus responding.

What it is:

 Have you ever thought of why you don't like to be alone?

Why you keep yourself incessantly busy, warding off alone time like the plague?

Have you ever taken a moment to reflect on all the shit - the social bits that fill up a typical day of yours: social interactions, phone conversations, events,  KEEPING BUSY FOR BUSY SAKE- yet finding no real fulfillment as you rush from thing to thing...to thing. Maybe because you find your entire self crumpling the moment silence and being come to a cross roads. Uncomfortable feelings bubble up as you wait for that cute guy to text you back, and with each passing moment, your self esteem and mind fabricate a tale of why you suck at life, and NO he doesn't like you.

Because when you're alone in your own being, the walls feel a bit unstable, and the positivity gained through social interactions now drips from your brow, as a new found negativity begins spinning cobwebs in the casing of your mind. Twisting the lies and illusions from the mind with reality. The gut wrenching pain that snake bites your throat, your heart, leaving you confused and short of breath. This, is co-dependency. 

Often times, this is an unconscious state of being, one that we don't even realize that we struggle with. It could be because we don't give ourselves the space or time to look at these things. We think that just because we are in a relationship- be it intimate, friends or otherwise- that automatically, we are given the golden token of placing every expectation and pressure onto this person, this relationship- a paradigm we are all duped into thinking is ok- is only a reflection of all the things we do not own up and give to OURSELVES.

Unfortunately, in today's society, we are raised in a way that keeps some part of us always attached, and dependent on someone/something- evident in a parent-child relationships as we age. Dad still paying your rent? Taking your car in for you? Grandma still giving you money for holidays? Ring any bells? We are just a bunch of little kids in big kid clothing, who play a really good game of 'keeping it real,' or so we think.

...until we are greeted by the silence and the inner fears, insecurities, and lack of our own unconditional love. What does this all mean? Are we screwed forever?

Don't fret. It's as simple, and as hard as becoming your own cheerleader. Filling your own tank. Knowing fully and competely who you are, your self worth and not allowing that to sway in the midst of others- reacting to life instead of responding. It's a hard process, one that takes compassion, time, love, and acceptance. But the pay off is immense. You will no longer search for your "missing pieces" in others, projecting your lack onto them, inevitably and subconsciously recreating the same lesson over and over again: find new person, search for your missing pieces within them, placing countless expectations on them, and when they cannot fill them or live up to the above- you damn their existence, and say ciao to the relationship- not realizing it's just your own lacking that is the problem.

We are the only things we can change and have control over. Therefore, the best advice in all regards, is always to look at YOU and change what needs to be changed. Becoming 100% self reliant, loving yourself unconditionally is the most gratifying place to arrive because you are finally whole. The relationships and experiences you will have with this world and the human beings in it will become real, palpable, present. All that will remain is love and complete acceptance.

the lack of integration

Have you ever wondered why the same shit continues to bubble up, smacking you in the face-year after year. The tickle of the same old patterns tripping you up in exactly the same ways they always have and still you don't "understand why?" A lot of the time, these patterns are unconscious, and so, continually get swept under the veil of 'the-shit-we-don't-want-to-look-at-because-it's-uncomfortable.' Sound familiar?

We wear this veil thinking it will serve our greater good, sacred shitless of what would happen dare we take it off. Not for one second do we think about WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF WE WOULD TAKE IT OFF! It's the same concept, just said under a different light and perspective. This slight-of-hand in the delivery of information to our own selves is where the magic happens; we get out of the way of ourselves.

We have been in the way of ourselves our entire lives. This stings. In a society where excuses and lack of personal responsibility are elusive, this is a HUGE TRIGGER to your shit. This is where I do not apologize. We give our power and control away in ways we don't even understand, but it is in the discomforts of seeing our shit arise, that we can deal with it, look at it, and INTEGRATE what it is that we are consciously/subconsciously rejecting from our authentic self. This integrative process is the pulling of the plug in the energies of our triggers. Once what is rejected from our authentic self is indeed interwoven into the trappings of our authenticity, we no longer will become provoked by triggers that are actually neutral and meaningless 'things' until our placed definition and meaning onto them calls these 'mattered things' into our mental focus. Just like inertia, our energy will continue to feed this 'mattered business,' a path known to us consciously or subconsciously.

This is why we keep things hidden-IT HURTS and takes accountability, and WORK to do something about our discomforts. If we allowed all of these hidden pieces, these unintegrated pieces of us to flow freely into the open gates of our consciousness, we would drown in their wake. We are essentially a bunch of adult children, trying to integrate what was cut off from our authenticity, per imprinting and felt-perception, at a young age. During the natural progression from baby to now-self, it all started with emotions, and ends in emotions. First, we learned to cry and express through emotions. The next phase ensue happened when we reached the milestone of seven years of age, it was time to grow up- cue the mental capacity development through education. The final phase hits at puberty. We are in the physical development of ourself. However, there is no interrogation of these stages. It's almost as though we stop one thing to carry onto the next thing, and once we hit adulthood, somewhere in there, we are like fish out of water in the understanding of our emotional selves- given up somewhere back there.

This veil is just that, a facade we have used to grow up to what is acceptable in our adult human suit, but underneath there is a land waiting to be explored. Only when we step outside of the veil that keeps our darkness safe from the light - hides ourselves from ourselves- keeps us stuck - continues the cycle of pain and unsurving paradigms alive - only then, are we able to begin the integration process into an emotionally complete, triggerless, integrated  adult human, being, in this world.

Because I'm Finally Ready to Show Up Naked to the Party.

I'm curious.

What is it about saying our truth that scares the living shit out of us?

I guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions and pair the general public with my own insecurities and fear of standing in my own power, from brain, to heart to communication of it all. As it always does, the perfect timing has shown up and painfully punched me in the face with all that no longer works for me- leaving me bloody, and bruised, confusedly gasping for air. Might I add, how all I thought was keeping me safe and protected from the big, bad world of feelings and vulnerability was frankly, the cause of my self-imposed suffering.

Is it the fear or rejection?
The fear of vulnerability?
The fear of what I've always wanted taking root and exploding my heart and soul into stardust?
Perhaps it's being too much or saying too much- letting all those weird ass things we know about ourselves- and don't accept- show up and be seen and- inevitably- judged?

For me, it's all of the above. Namely, I'm speaking to this topic in terms of myself in a relationship, as this is the only time when I'm confronted face-to-face as all my shit bubbles up, like the ugliest mermaid devil, as she lurks from deep in the sea of my soul,trying to take me captive as yet another victim in this world of victims and excuses. Why? Frankly, it's because we project outwardly onto one another, mirroring what it is we need to find/work on in our own selves. and it's hard to stomach and own that IT'S US AND NOT THEM.We can thank them for allowing them to show us what we reject in our own selves, and being that bigger than life mirror we smashed into a million pieces one day long ago when we found it. For everything we see in others, is simply a projection of what is going on, or what we are lacking in our own selves, hence our outward search party.

Over the years of hurt and pain, and shitty ass socialization from a young age- being taught to toughen up, to suck it up- as outward affection and vulnerability wasn't something that was seen as a high esteem in my family- I learned quickly how to build walls. Big, fat cement walls, guarding me like rivers to the castle of my soul that countless numbers of people have waited outside of, waiting for me to show up and let them in, yet I never had. Fast forward to my grown up life, and I've found it next to impossible, and scary as fuck to show outward affection, as I've clearly been successful at cutting off the flow of my feminine energy, and even the permission to grant myself to be that tender femininity that I so long for- because it is easier not to feel: good, bad, or indifferent as those feelings resonated with weakness and neediness in my mind. To make matters even worse, I haven't been able to see my own behaviors clearly until just recently when I woke up to this whole paradigm I've woven myself into and how, naturally, it's no longer working (but has it ever?).

As radically as I've become conscious to this new found awareness into the TRUTH of who I REALLY am (still learning, fucking hell, it never ends), an interesting parallel came into mind while running through the depths of the forest the other day, and strangely, I found clarity- punny, right? A longing to be in the ocean came forth, not an outlandish pulse to come over me, for it's a constant desire, so I chose to look at it with a microscope as big as my consciousness and bring what the truth forward of whatever that meant. What showed up is my age old connection to water, ironically,figuratively,  the same connection I cut off with my own self from my femininity and being in general. The depth, the vastness, the changing currents, the feelings, the pain, the emptiness, the fulfillment, the permission to be, the struggles, the happiness, the fucking every thing that makes me me, yeah all that shit that's in the natural flow of life, I cut off. I finally could put my finger on the reasons the presence of the ocean can unravel me to tears, insecurities, and fears, a power not a single soul has over me. I woke up to the oceans tangible source of strength, power, mysteries, and vacant spaces before I came into this world heck, I dove into. And in the same way that I woke to the ocean, I woke to my soul and the clarity surrounding the shackles I placed on myself forbidding my self to feel life. I was running with that same agony to the ocean TO FEEL- to drown myself in all that made the ocean, the ocean, not seeing the ocean was inside of me.

And so this relationship-hide-myself-in-myself-facade-bullshit would repeat itself as follows:  I would let someone into my life, letting them drink from my bright and shinning soul, then the wide-eyed moment would come where I subconsciously or consciously made the decision that I LIKED this person, and hell, the army of walls would set up shop, draping myself behind the prison of my soul, as if on point. Being was no longer in the drivers seat; it was all human. Human and thinking. As the mind is notorious for, I would let it suck me into the over-analyzation of everything, analyzing me right out of the relationship. Whaddya know? What I didn't understand was that I was projecting all my inner wounds and unhealed pains onto my partner and the relationship we had just began to create, digging a grave for the inevitable death of the ensuing relationship. Enmeshed with the past, the infant flame stoked, was suffocated into nonexistence almost as quickly as it came to life.

My curiosity finally came into play when, thank god, one not so hot moment in my life finally served as the catalyst to where I've now taken a high beam floodlight into what behaviors and actions I've been guilty of all along, AND NEVER ADDRESSED. Frankly, it scares the shit out of me to even be thinking I'll post this publicly, but in some riveting way, saying those words is like handing over bags of burdened energy, allowing them to soar freely on the wings of some magnificent bird, high into the skies of liberation. Is this that "shinning light on the dark parts of ourselves" that I read about far too often and never actually exercise, understood or internalized.......?? I think I'm on to something here....

I'm finally ready to show up naked to the party. I want all of me seen. If I'm going to get hurt, it may as well be because I showed up fully and completely, dripping, naked, RAW and scared shitless. I've realized I've always been waiting for permission in my life: permission to be me, permission to be weird, permission to be the girl with the crazy hair and the bright pants, permission to be soft and maybe not try so hard, permission to be good enough and fill up my own damn tank, permission to open up EVEN FURTHER when what I want most is to close and run away. Permission not to run away, from me, because I need me; more than anyone else needs me.  Only now have I been able to touch that pain and realize I've projected never being enough onto others because I wasn't enough in my own eyes. No validation I sought out, love, acceptance, opportunity ORRRRRRRRRRRR, etc. could make me feel anymore fulfilled- I was looking in all the wrong places- because I didn't give myself permission to feel enough in my own self. I'm understanding what it means to breathe through the pain and the suffering which is ultimately an illusion and not real.

the darkness

 “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

the pain in hiding the rough edges

I've had some shitty awareness come about
over the last few weeks.

Seeing a paradigm I thought I had transcended,
time ago.

It's the fear of letting someone see the full me,
all the cracks,
the missing pieces,
the jagged edges, and
the deep, penetrating bits.

In the ordinary relationship,
it hides its borish head.
But the time comes when
deeper intimacy is in tow,
and up the walls come.

The real me hides behind the safe topics,
the shallow bubbles, showing truth if
ears piqued hard enough. Miss a beat,
and you see nothing more than surface.

This has only come into bird's eye view
as yet again, another relationship was
trying to take root smacked me in the face
with " I don't see a future in this."

My usual response was to look at all the
things I fucked up on. Today, it's different.
It's all of the things I didn't let come out,
the person I didn't let shine after the
flood gates were opened.

And now I see it clearly. Even meditation
brought it into the foreground in the last weeks,
where I was closing up, what I wanted to change,
and being too scared and thinking too hard in what
direction, what magic way to change it. Instead of
just doing it.

I've always thought there had to be some huge earth quake
as the relationship rumbles into something deeper,
an understanding and a communication that only those
two souls comprehend. And yet, I'm seeing that is
not the case at all. I was waiting for a lightbulb to
turn on, that was already on. I was waiting for signs
to show, that were already there. I was looking for
validation when validation was already there, in self.

I was projecting all of the things I did not want, with
acute awareness of trying to do exactly not that. Now,
seeing clearly, perched from up here, I see that what is
hopefully still in front of me, is still in front of me.
That everything that I want, is not only inside me,
but in the man that finally has put an end to this
paradigm by helping me to shine light upon it.

This doesn't mean it hurts any less. The realization
that I always realize things too late. Or that, he was
just simply waiting for me to show up. All of me.
The me that captivated him in the beginning. That me.
The weird one who began to take things too sensitively
and thought it was best to start locking those misfit
pieces away. He was waiting for that to show up.

I could see the shift. I felt it, in my soul, each little
gravitational pull away. And right in time as my own brain,
and soul processes what things I needed to work on in my
relationship with him. Coincidence? I hope so...

And so I see what I want, and where I went wrong.
Where the rough edges I was trying so hard to
suffocate needed light and space to breathe,
in the light and space we were creating together.
Each one of us, Whole as we are.

The projections, as I tried to make too much sense
of unimportant happenings were the same
projections where I found the clarity of what
was.

the travesty in our illusions

If we all saw each other as one, as ourselves, we wouldn't be so shocked when someone else has a good idea.


We would be so shocked when someone else understands something we don't.


We wouldn't be so shocked when someone who ranks lower than enlightens us to something we hadn't seen before.


We are all amazing. We are all capable of amazing things.


It's a travesty that we still build these walls, walls that separate I from you, I from nature, you from I.


And we continue to build those walls, day after day.




If we could only realize that all we need is to love ourselves, and be our main man, we wouldn't seek so hard in our outer environment for the sheer glance of recognition from another. The life force, the energy, the control, the spirit and love that we give away from our own selves when we lead our lives in this way only throws stones at our glass empire. We are left in the rubble, broken and stained, wondering what else we could have done, what else we could do for that half second of acknowledgement that will never serve as a solid infrastructure to our stained glass temple.


Dust yourself off.


Pick up the shattered pieces and allow the sunlight to blast the dark shadows of failure and hurt out of them, releasing them back into the swirling blue skies. Let them go home. Accept all that didn't serve you, and rewire those light energies into your soul as yet another splatter of your own blood, a long stream on a wave of a single inhalation. Take it all in. It's all you. You were meant to be the bearer of each and every stain that has been painted onto your glass. For if one panel was missing, there would be no temple, no empire, no you.


Embrace all that which is light, and spread that light into the darkness. Fear not love.