Girl on the street

She sits on cold, stained concrete
Seeks light she cannot find
Who is this fiendish stranger that so softly crept inside?
In hunt for beaming rays; she dreams of breaking free
Yet she’s too weak to ascend
A bird, a broken wing.

Fantasies of what it could be
Blaze like fire in her mind
Like a sunrise to the blind
Like a lover left behind
Is this a dream? Is it a sign?

She sits on cold, stained concrete
Seeks truth in webs of lies
Who is this obscure invader that so gently broke inside?
She reaches to the sky; she envisions flying free
Yet her spirits’ much too parched
A boat, a dried up sea

Dark Fuels Light

Tonight I went to my first AA meeting. The answer to your next question is no-I am not an alcoholic. However, my dad's friend Lee is. Lee and my dad go back many years. A few weeks ago, my dad received an unexpected phone call from a very drunk, belligerent Lee. After a long, dramatic night my dad and uncle found some AA meetings for him to attend.

This evening, my dad and uncle prepared to attend the meeting with Lee and asked me, out of politeness and slight skepticism, if I wanted to come. I'm sure they thought a girl like me would have no interest in attending an AA meeting. But my eyes lit up when they asked-"yes, I'll come", I said.

We arrived at the AA center-a vacant, old space wedged between a Chubby's and a liquor store (ironically). Surrounding the center was a group of lively folks-probably in their late 30's and 40's. Their smiles offset their weathered physical appearances. The first lady I met was named Sheryl. Upon meeting her, I offered a smile and said, "Hi, I'm Amy". She, in return, opened her arms and gave me a hug. Not one of those half-armed pity hugs, but a genuine embrace. I'm not sure if she thought I was an alcoholic, but I didn't care. I was captivated by the love she immediately shared without knowing a thing about me.

The meeting began. Similar to a church service, there were greetings, announcements, an offering, and a prayer. One of the gentlemen in the group introduced himself and said, "Hi my name is Mike, I'm an alcoholic. It's good to see all you fuckers". I cannot say I'll forget him.

Later, a recovering alcoholic, Steve, shared his story about his battle with the bottle. Despite is worldly success (a wife, kids, CEO) he almost drank himself to death numerous times. Through the strength of "a higher power" and an incredible support network, he overcame his addiction, although I'm certain he still struggles from time to time.

I could write for pages about the people I met and the essence of the environment. But what was so uplifting about the experience was that I felt love in each and every person I met. Alcohol has chewed, swallowed, and spit up these individuals. But they, despite their faults and misfortunes, refuse to surrender. They inspired me. If a lifelong drunk can put down a bottle, hug a stranger, and live to help others, I think it is possible for miracles in each and every one of our lives.

***
Last week, I also went out with one of my old friends, Soja.

I wish I could paint a picture of Soja's essence. She is a feisty red-haired woman that utters profanities at a cranky customers, smokes behind the dumpsters at work, and raves endlessly about Alijah, her 3 year old son, with giddyness in her hazel eyes. A woman with a delicate heart and a firey temperament, her presence never goes unnoticed.

At the age of 23, she's been through more than most people I know. She's battled the forces of addiction, endured the wrath of her PTSD father, suffered the loss of her child's father and dear baby nephew, and single handedly supports her saving grace--Alijah.

As we sat together in the midst of a hundred speaking voices, her story tuned out all ambient noise. I cannot recall where it began and where it ended; nor does she. Perhaps there was no clear beginning or end.

She speaks..

An innocent girl banging her head against a towel rack flashes across my mind. Flash. She wanders in a field of darkness, overcome by the excruciating pleasure of methamphetamine and liquid courage. Flash. Tears flow down her bony cheeks as she learns of the life that grows inside her. Flash. She's ripping her hair out, vomiting, and screaming on a cold couch. Flash. She turns down the opportunity of drugged euphoria for the sake of her unborn child. Flash. The angel cries, and she's overwhelmed with love, prepared to move forward and never turn back.

Soja would've died if it weren't for an unexpected pregnancy at the age of 20. Now, her son is 3 years old and she supports him with her menial wages. She has been clean for 3 years and volunteers at a non-profit organization for troubled teens.

I was at the grocery store today and saw her. She gave be a big hug, as did her son. She was looking for a Halloween costume for Alijah. With bright eyes, he looked up and told me, "I'm gunna be a ROCK STAR this year". I looked at him and said, "but you already ARE a rock star!" I later realized that he is, at least in his mother's life :)

Soja is such a beautiful, strong individual. She unknowingly taught me the power of turning our inner darknesses into forces for good. Instead of having pity on herself and her past, she volunteers at an organization where she offers wisdom and counsel to people who face the battles she faced; and she loves her son with all her energy and might.

It’s people like her that make the world go round’.

Cutting Through Ingrained Perspectives

Without much mental energy, what pops into your mind at the mention of “self-mutilation”? Based on the social taboo correlated to the topic, I am assuming that that puppies, dandelions, and unicorns did not dance into your stream of thoughts.

Self-mutilation is loosely defined as the intentional, direct injuring of body tissue without suicidal intent. Let’s be honest, many people think of a black haired teenager (with the swoop of hair over the eyes) cutting his arms. While this is no joking matter, I’m interested in digging deeper (no pun intended) into the nature of self-mutilation. As much as we cringe at the thought of it, I’m willing to assume that almost everyone self-mutilates is some fashion. The only difference is the varying perceptions of what it means.

In some cultures, men and women insert lip plates to express pride and identity. They walk across beds of hot embers and coals as a form of religious ceremony. There are also certain tribes that sit in hot, sauna-like rooms for extensive periods of time to "cleanse the spirit". Do they consider these acts to be forms of self-mutilation? Most likely not; however, some people immediately consider these act to be masochistic.

When we broaden our vision, we see that in other cultures, people get body piercings and tattoos. They drink until oblivion, do meth, smoke cigarettes, and consume toxic foods. There are athletes that train through unparalleled amounts of pains and injuries, and people that work tirelessly to make ends meet. Would these be considered self-mutilating behaviors? To some, yes. To others, not so much.

The point of this is not to deliberate on true nature of self-mutilation--I’m sure we have our own opinions.

The point is to expand our minds. Too often we all cling to cemented ideas and feelings about the “the way things are”, “what things mean”, and “the way things should be”. When we re-shape our thoughts, dismiss our preconceived notions, and view things from new perspectives, the opportunity for growth, creativity, connection, and empathy arises. We naturally learn to dismiss judgment and have an open mind to philosophies and modes of thought.

So, I ask once again..What pops into your mind at the mention of "self mutilation?"

Losing Someone Close To You

At some point or another, we all experience the vaporization of something we believed would forever remain solid; the disintegration of something we love. How can mere words capture such a feeling?

There are a few times I've experienced the intensity of loss. Loss of not only people, but beliefs, ideas, and dreams. They left me with dull aches in the deepest crevices of my heart. Aches that sharpened and soothed at unpredictable rates. At times, the aches were paralyzing.

While loss causes a great deal of grief and anxiety, it fosters growth, reflection, and evolution in ways that we may have never deemed possible. It teaches us to embrace the universal law of impermanence, a law we must all inevitably face at some point.

Aside from evolving in new ways, loss has taught me a few important lessons.

Upon losing someone or something we love, we automatically think that we'll never find someone/something that'll ever be the same. This is very true: we won't. However, we can rest assured knowing that each relationship; each experience in life is unique--like sunrises, fingerprints, or snowflakes. It may not be the same, but it doesn't mean it isn't equally or more beautiful. With each relationship and experience comes unique flaws, strengths, and memories. Instead of comparing, contrasting, and trying to live up to past experiences; we can welcome new experiences with an open, accepting mind. All that comes must go. Yet, if our capacity to be open minded and compassionate remains steadfast, we'll be able to savor experiences for what they are.

Loss has also taught me that everything I long to be begins and ends with me. Have you ever found yourself saying, "He/she/it brings out the absolute best in me"? While we're naturally drawn to certain people and environments, we have the capacity to be our very best in any situation. We don't need to seek external sources for something that lies within. All people and situations shed a slightly different light on unique dimensions of ourselves. Once we find a dimension of ourselves that we love, we can live it--regardless of the environment.

Loss is only part life's inevitable cycles. Sometimes we lose things faster than we anticipate or desire, but we can extract the memories, lessons, and positive aspects of each person; each situation.

Each snowflake is different, yes, but they all have distinct beauties to experience.

I ate his Clif Bar--and I am not sorry

Man, life is the master of throwing curve balls, isn't it? Last week, my new running friend vanished on a foreign trail in Boulder with wild cows, rabid coyotes, bears, and mountain lions, cold winds, and no form of communication.

With the search and rescue on their way, snot dripping down my nose, and my heart thumping at the prospect of my friend being natures supper, all I could do was shake my head and think "that punk".


I ate his post workout Clif Bar as a passive aggressive attempt of getting back at him. Am I sorry? Not really. :)


P.S. He survived without so much as a scratch. He took wrong turn and was picked up by a friendly Boulderite.

Carving Paths

In a sense, our minds are like vast forests. As we go about our day to day "hikes" (so to speak), our every decision—whether we want to admit it or not—carve distinct paths.

It’s like hiking. When we set out on un-carved trails, it seems daunting, uncomfortable, and hard. We don’t know what to expect and instincts of fear kick in.

However, after repeatedly traveling down the same trail, it becomes much easier. The trail becomes flatter, visible and easier to navigate. We aren’t as fearful, for we know what to expect.

If we are not careful, the paths create can be detrimental and unhealthy. For instance: smoking one cigarette, making one lie, one night of drinking and driving, stealing one thing, gossiping about one person. When we get passed the uncertainty and fear to try it, it becomes much easier the second, third, and fourth time. Before we know it, we’ve created an unhealthy labyrinth that we must find a way out of.

Paths can also be fruitful. For instance: exercising one time, giving one gift, making one nice comment, keeping one promise, or saving one dollar. One step is the first step of creating a positive path. Yes, it’s scary to go to a gym or to take a class for the first time. But, once we take the first step, the second, third, and fourth become much easier as time progresses.

Each day, each step, each word, each decision carves pathways for our life. What paths are you walking down?