Yet to Fully Break

At last, I am becoming anchored in a calmed position of new awareness. No longer romanticizing Monday morning rituals, fashioning sheets to crisp perfection, while degreasing his four poster bed.

I can still remember the overstuffed ashtrays that filled every vacant tabled edge of his apartment, strangely this memory makes me smile. At the same time, knowing the permeating dimensionality of the clutter and smell that was part of this hypnotic space has created a haunting imprint within me. I regret to report as the power of this hold lifts from me, it is leaving me emotionally disjointed.

With eyes soothed to a close, I can feel his bare feet resting on top of my naked legs. I imagine myself kneeling before him, folding freshly laundered sox’s to a tweaked perfection. With fluctuating shame, I admit in my private mind, that I habitually lust after our dead recollections. My nerves begin to tense and recoil in regret, I hate all of our razor edged memories and begin to release them one slash at a time. Yet I let them back in over and over throughout time.

Often I crave the warm and intense moments that we once shared, but those were few in comparison. As truth nears the abandon rooms of my mind, tacking reminders to it’s warm edges of denial. I slowly remember the endless activities, escapades, and events that I despised so intensely. Especially those with strangers, many against my will often ending in conclusive falsehoods. But it is the hypnotic influence of your voice and the constant wrestling between detachment and connection, conflict and heaven, no and yes. And of course one more slam, one more hit, three days running from electric to death. Addiction, regret, sex, fantasy, rushes, drugs, decay, death, filth, and rock with no soul.

To this day your vocal cords continue to twist up around my mind, a strangle hold of control. I won’t glorify my version of the stalkings as I recall them, I admit this would not be fare. They are also too painful to reflect on and present, I choose now to detach. I believe your tactics may have oddly worked, I jerk most days thinking of you. I wonder if this twisted brain wash choke hold will ever fully dissolve to an infinite fade.

Unthinkable, not one soul I know would wager that you could break the unbreakable. It has been a few 365’s. Again I ponder hard, was it the drugs? the sex? or was it simply a pile of misaligned and jumbled circumstances that happened to fall into place. Either way, I try to live by no guilt no shame no blame…

I have to ask myself, do I even hear what I am saying? do I even know what I am thinking, do I read what I am writing. I do – the loop does get thinner, it does get better, but it has yet to break.

RUNT

LOVE & POLITICS

LOVE & POLITICS

Why I choose to sit at night to do these writings I am not quite sure. It is the worst of hours for me to put thought to text. My technique is foggy. I tend to spend the next few days manipulating a post with countless spell checks and jigsaw rewrites. I am the type of soul if I have something to say, I must release it from my being before the moment is lost. There is no time for refinement, the thought can not be contained. It is an injustice to my higher consciousness. The fear of loosing the essence of the moment is immense, I have learned from my past that once the moment of a topic I feel hot on my spiritual or emotional heals has been past. And I missed and the the immediate impact of release I also lost the capture of my fevered moment. The feelings that made the moment so important at the moment. Those nudges from above or within that pushed me to speak to begin with.

I am not a professional writer, nor a trained artist in any form, I am hardly educated at all, perhaps that is the beauty of blogging and the time that we live in. We now have a convenient freedom of voice, our ability to share our opinions and visions are accessible with each-other. Not long ago, unless you had a “zine” options for communication mass where limited. Other than public access television, affordable or approachable mass media and venues where limited.

Blogging may be looked upon as a glorified form of journaling, maybe I’m projecting a little zaps from my own mind map. I would like to think on occasion I do have something worth expressing for another to think about to chew on, or have a creative dialogue.

Love and Politics
My story has shifted over time, with focus less on my personal story, more and more on the global tribe. This for me is a reflection of human revolution and what healing from trauma looks like. Primary day elections take place tomorrow here in Illinois, my message remains the same always. VOTE! Vote from a place of LOVE, not, greed, anger, fear or prejudice let your highest self guide you. No I am not telling you who to vote for, your own TRUTH will do that for you.

I will leave this short, I have very strong feelings to express they will be shown in following post. Love is the highest denominator in all matters of resolve, power and transformation for all people, all situations. Thank you for reading-

EXPERIENCE of LIGHT

ROCKETS & NESTS 4J *soft/complicated, mixed media

Thursday mornings tend to be my standard errand day, also a day when my mind and eye are most engaged with the world around me. I am 100% in love all things at the same time inspired by everything, it is almost to much to handle and nearly impossible to get anything accomplished. Between photo snaps, note breaks and formal writing stops I am lucky if I hit the market, library or dry cleaners at all.

My mid week enthusiasm may be in part due to my minimal excursions from block number 11 where I reside. Back home in New York, I walked everywhere most days, never to tire always inspired. I breathed a carnival of sensory happiness, often coming home only to spin back out for a deeper emersion. Since my return to the mid-coast of Chicago in autumn of 2013 I have become somewhat of a recluse. Thursdays are my great adventure day, where backyard tree-houses and front yard detail strike a temporary fascination streak, at times it is enough to fire up enough artistic and spiritual fuel to feed my creative need for another week.

Now that I am in my middle years, I am fascinated with the organic curves, knots, and often wicked grace of trees. Cloud formations always impress, dressed and set with back drop skies of shifting seasonal shades mystify. All of mother earths creatures, plant life, water and air retain my interest unlike dismissal of younger years. For the time being my alter of appreciation falls upon suburban lawns rather than the magnificent parks and gritty squares of the island of Manhattan where I belong. A place where structures, graffiti, art, pedestrians, clatter, filth hold me strong.

MORNING THOUGHT:
I had a funny idea one Thursday morning, as I often do. Story board visions ran through my head as I saw myself “ghosting” in the after life. Not “trapped” and suffering as in a Learning Channel ghost hunter hype series. You know, all miserable… moan, moan thud. Just the opposite, very happy, and madly in love with this globe and it’s living occupants. I, dead without regret, refusing to leave this bubbled existence without assistance from an invisible supernatural ejector seat.

From the great unknown my almighty light keepers where summoning me, like a collective of spiritual mothers with a toddler at meal time, gentle and prodding. Coaxing with sensitive yet firm vibrational ease, the messages that pulsed may be impossible to describe here. The general transmission delivered was the usual. “The time has arrived for you to ascend to new dimensions, unimagined in any book, meditation or vision within your understandings, a greater purpose is part of your spiritual evolution now, your earth journey has been completed. The time has come to leave…” None of this was spoken in global tongues, all by sensation, heat and other understanding, many of you know what I am talking about. Stubborn, as I often can be, I am prone to get in my own human way. Naturally I insisted on staying right where I was, in some strange suburban yard up a tree translucent to most determined to haunt on my own terms.

My morning, inspiration hit as my feet stepped and my mind wandered back. I remembered how I have always been fascinated by cultures, sociology, interactions between groups of all people, individual behavior, the human experience. As I passed each home between the hours of 10a.m. and noon I envisioned the expansion of life within these cabinets of brick, wood, and stone. Each home called out with it’s own language. The exterior structure and grounds sang descriptive tales of it’s cultures, families, individuals, lifestyles and critters. I became intrigued by the care and lack of that each dwelling reflected.

That is when it struck me, I want to shadow and haunt when I exit the realm of the living. Not an individual home, rather entire neighborhoods. Fluttering about while watching in silent bliss, hovering while people garden and built those humble tree-houses, perform mundane task like cleaning garages, taking out the trash or repainting shutters on luxury 3 day weekends. Oversee grounds like a mystical landscape architect with a quarter of a mile view, as trees bow in winter and spring forth in mid months of warmth.

As I stood under a great Oak Tree on the corners of Lombard and Madison Streets, with eyes shut, feet planted on cool cement and lungs filled with fresh damp air. I felt with every vessel in my heart that I wanted to experience a little bit of every life. To me this is not haunting at all, this is loving in a different dimension and nothing could be more life affirming. This is loving in the ultimate parental form, the greatest honor, not to die for ones country but to live for ones world.

To experience without the confines of human timelines, health or worry. To watch as each bud burst forth in spring from plant and tree. To bare witness to the birth of new borns, be present with birds eye view as drops of rain cascade down blades of grass during an August sun-shower. Offer comfort during moments of human duress and celebration, to whole heartedly be apart of these experiences, to learn love and wrap one in light. I don’t understand why these feelings struck me so strong or lingered as they do. Perhaps I should nurture them while I am  among the living, maybe that is all this experience of thought has been about. Funny how the mind works as we click keys and write, hammering out the spiritual subconscious through key strokes is another form of the language of light..

Ah! It just hit me wrapped up this page, should you believe as I do, this to some degree is what our Angels and Protectors experience. How wonderfully awesome this is not a story about ghosting at all, it is a story about living.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

 

 

INSIDE SAFARI

“INSIDE SAFARI II” – a private story

The sharing of my infant crib experiences is a conversation I have only afforded to a limited few through out my life. I protected these memories with hesitant thought of what others may think of this especial topic. Amidst life awakenings and what I feel comfortable calling a mid-life revival. Or what others may refer to as a “mid-life crisis.” I have ditched my concern of what my peers may perceive of my body, my adornments, word usage or personal history. Today I decided to open up about my crib connections with a distant friend for the first time do in part to one of my “electric itches.”

Before I could walk, talk or even crawl I had “visitors.”  These creatures where playful, silly and communicated without sound. Circling gently above my crib, large, soft and funny. My friends, four in number protected me, communicating through thought and vibration. Their messages and mission where uncomplicated upon these mostly night time visits. Bringing comfort to a young mortal life. Not yet able to contemplate the meaning behind the physical and emotional chaos around him. They radiated only love and safety reassuring me that I was looked after. Before I had any capacity of speech I had the capacity of love and understanding.

I believe it is true, people are born with an innate intelligence. Then many of us have our intuitive gifts “earthed” out of us. Through life circumstance and programming of intention and not. If we are fortunate we experience a personal revolution that awakens a shift. Or, we are intuitive and lead our own archaeological excursion back inwards. Taking us back to the beginning our root truths. Expanding a bigger, better, deeper, wider self. While stretching our concepts of time and understanding.

About six months back I had begun speaking with a talented artist through the Book of Faces. He happens to illustrate almost identical creatures to those of my toddler years. Never in my life have I seen anything that resembled my mystery figures in any form. Not in a sci-fi flicks, TV, or other form of art and creation.

Today I finally asked my friend about a few of his drawings. There is one in particular that is a drawing of my main visitor. I did not care how bizarre my story might sound I had an urge to speak. That meant I had to follow my guts guidance. His response was limited by design and I respected that. Although he made it clear he knew precisely what I was talking about. He also made a point that the visitors come to him. And he did not want to know anything else about them. – we each shared a “wink” moment then let the speaking rest.

I am satisfied knowing that I am not alone in my toddler coral club. Spiritual beings or hungry needy imagination, I was swaddled in love. I adore our cosmic protectors, I do believe that we all have messengers, angles or energy around us. what we choose to call them really doesn’t matter to me. Also it is pretty dam cool that I am at a point in my life where It doesn’t frighten me to say what I have experienced in life. I am grateful to recall the messages from my crib and reapply them to my life today. Safe Loved Open Guided and Free-

Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

 

INSIDE SAFARI

“INSIDE SAFARI” – private story

 

 

INTIMATE FRONTIERS

 

One of the final frontiers left on my trauma recovery trail is intimacy without thoughts of chemical crutches. Through my adventures I have come to fully appreciate, embrace, understand and honor the impact trauma has had on my sexual unraveling. As I continue to mend the last of my obscure life interruptions. My approach has remained sensitive yet expeditious to right what feels wrong within. 

Sex and intimacy are two subjects that have been increasingly seeking attention within my mending psyche. Like all matters of internal importance, when the time arrives for me to heal and release them. I experience what I describe as an electrical itch or a soft urgency. Overtime I’ve “plugged” into my own inner clatter of sub-current speak. I do my best to listen and react knowing that my higher self has prepared me to move onward. 

I then begin a sensitive and respectful process of analyzation. Followed by my spiritual and human work, whatever feels right at the time. Before I know it issues begin to dissolve and release. Once the wheels are in motion matters mend rather fast. Through this wonderful mashed up journey of mine. I have been afforded the gift of heightened personal awareness. Along with a desire to take ownership and action of what many of us call our “personal truth”. What was once a process based on fearful hesitation is now rooted in joyful anticipation. I mend most issues fairly swiftly these days. Rather than pushing them off onto endless task lists. No longer do I treat my life as a chore, I am excited to experience change. I am now a participant in my own life, no longer a by-stander. 

Since the experience of my rape in 2011. Intimacy without chemicals has been a seemingly impossible situation to conquer. I have abstained from sex for just over six months now. Living in fear of flesh, sex and slamming is not a life time solution. It is what I choose to do for this period of time. 

Sex for the time being is not worth the price of admission. Not if the cost of entry is possible death by meth. I am not against the use of drugs, let me make this clear. I am not the moral police, I think drugs can be a hell of a lot of fun. Or…

Speaking only for myself, rape and crystal meth addiction took me to the darkest of spaces. They nearly took everything from me, they both left me for dead. My body mind and spirt felt like a peasant beaten in the dark of night by authorities in a third world country. Bloody, cold, unvalued, forgotten, not even a statistic… Just another discarded gutter fag. 

CURRENT TRUTH
Messages of intimacy continue to erupt around me. In my thoughts, my art, dialogues, writings and meditations. At a gallery opening this Saturday past, the subject of rape was a topic shared in private between several woman and I. As they asked questions about my photography and the subject matter. The images are a reflection of my mending experience after my gang rape. The images specifically encapsulate the “middle space” of my healing process, post darkness. When light begins to re-enter ones life. They are about the comfort of being SAFE. The tears flowed from a few of the women’s eyes. As they shared with me their own intimate tales of assault. One woman spoke of her experience for the very first time. 

An earthy sophisticate in her early 70’s described a terrified and obviously determined 10 year old girl. She had kept locked deep within safe from family, authorities and monsters. A fragile child never allowed to be speak for all these years. I was deeply honored that she felt SAFE to share her story. I stood with her as she held my hand I shared some of my accumulated perspectives. Along with a few tools that have helped me on my path. She had no tools 60 years past in rural Indiana. “He did the crime, I received the life sentence” she confided. For me this marked the beginning of the end of a long drawn awareness cycle. Or the opening to the closing of my intimacy release.  

CONTINUED OPENING TO A CLOSE
The following evening while on a rare venture to a club here in Chicago. I was busy doing my usual hoof and shuffle. Through thud and base while gagging on “fog juice.” I was approached by an extremely good looking and sexually aggressive young man. Although I declined his repeated advances. Intimacy triggers sparked through the epicenter of my pulsing brain. In general I do not “hook up” with folks I meet in clubs. This evening was no exception, I performed my usual twirl, cocktail and escape.

Not being able to figure out my emotions of the moment. I climbed from basement dance-hall in search of cab or sub-rail to destination home. That is when I had a snap second of desire. The desire was not sex, meat to hole. Although I had a nano-nag thought about companionship. Triggered by the handsome Mr. Generation next. My side saddle urge was to score a “teen” of  little wicked Tina. Then pop a rocket into my vein, this was not about getting high. This was about the demolition of fear and emotional retardation. I thank GAG (God Angels and Guides) for awareness, this is the key to all growth and recovery to all situations in my life. Ooh, sweet golden awareness, how I love thee.

Many men I know use crystal meth to take a sexual experience to a level of epic distortions. This was not my goal, my hope was to drop my own barrier walls. To be comfortable enough to allow another man to touch me, breath on and or in me. Most importantly to allow myself to reach out and be sensually connected. “Formal” sex was not a part of my conscious check list. My other objective was to be high enough to drop my sarcasm and humor. Often my defense mechanism when uncomfortable. 

This all sounds pretty basic, right? Passionate, tender heated, embracing, verbal one on one love. Love and communication without fear, free of hesitation void of calculated actions. Not so easy at this stage of recovery, difficult enough in daily life. Nearly impossible when rank and raw. I am getting there, patience is the other golden gift. 

This is not about body parts or geometry. This is about heart, head, flesh compassion and intuition. This formula use to be a part of my core approach to connective communication. Actually, it is still a part of who I am, it always will be. I proudly own this nugget of my personality. No matter how dormant it may be during this period of my semi-muffled sexual resurrection.

None of this is new, it is all part of the life detour recovery game. I am not special with this one, millions of us do it everyday. Anyone who is a champion in this accelerated course of Trauma 101 understands these various stages or repair. We all have our own pace and our own ways of making it through. I feel the shift, I see the horizon, I feel that this current veil has almost lifted.

Many I know in formal recovery programs would react to the very thought of sex and meth as a red flag. Naturally for many it probably should be, thats not my story. For me it was a 5 second cause to pause. It reenforced all that has been coming to the surface as I continue to move through these final frontiers. I realize now how much I have restored in my life. Just how much of me has come home to this temple of flesh no longer in decay. Recovery of any form in my eyes has zero timelines. It requires love, patients and personal sensitivity. It takes as many moments as needed to pause and shift up the game plan. Write your own rules or co-author with someone you trust not with someone you are suppose to trust.

All of our stories are important just as our lives are. We share our stories so we may heal. We also share our stories because this is how we help another human being in their journey. We each have a profoundly unique message and gifts in this lifetime. We each have our own platforms to use our voice. It may not be a lecture hall filled with Ted Talks fans, a blog, or big media presentations. It may be listing to your neighbor, being sensitive to a stranger on the street. Or finally being brave enough to let down our guard and be authentic with your partner a friend or even a family member. In these days of electronics that I adore, lets not forget the magic and power each of us harness.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

 

Intimate Frontiers

Share this:

Artist Intent:

To invite the viewer to experience the intimate process of self-renewal. A moment captured here within these layered images. As layered as the emotions and the process itself. Where the foundation of the moment is based on openness, willingness and a seeking spirit. After a gang rape that took place in New York City in November of 2011, the artist finds himself safe at last in his home of current refuge. Images shot between the floor boards and box springs of his bedroom. Are symbolic of a safe shelter where once a similar setting of contrasting events took place 24 inches above.

This murky event birthed a nightmare of denial, addiction, and a full social shutdown. Distrust, loss of all hope, material goods and above all love of self and others. These same experiences also gave birth to grand opportunities to embrace spiritual, creative and emotional life change. These photos capture flashes of those moments.

Alone he is safe to explore his desires with little fear, no judgement or limits. A sense of vulnerability is unavoidable in this instant of self-love and passion. During these intimate moments he must earn even his own trust. As he literally makes love with his bed frame, the object he once held onto to save his life. Unable to embrace another man at this stage of healing. Without the crutch of chemicals from spike to vein. He companionship entangled in his own arms. Unavoidable looks of question, hesitation and fear rise to the surface of his face. Eventually comfort is found in the knowledge that all is ok…

This is not about the dark of the journey nor the light of the discovery. This is the the story of the in-between, the passionate self rediscovery of a life still unfolding and a soul healing. This is a love undone: the story of one.

Transitional Leap:
At this mid point between ages of 52 and 53. I have made a huge artistic transitional leap. Out of the 10,000 plus images I have created over the last few years. I have taken the steps and printed my first creative works in large scale. Professionally mounted and framed with purpose, care and love. This is the first I have ever seen or ever touched my own work. Which may sound strange, pieces I have sold have gone directly to the buyer. Never passing my final critical eye.

On Saturday January 30th 2016 I will participate in my first group show. My message remains the same and I never mind repeating. It is never to late evolve, shift your story should you choose and change. Never let go of your dreams and trust me when I say your words, your thoughts and your life all hold dynamic powers.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A LOVE UNDONE / A STORY of ONE

Share this:

Wishing everyone SAFE-TRUST-LOVE layered with an abundance of good fortune. My seasonal wish is for all to continue to embrace their own personal understanding of truth and limitless possibilities of life discovery.

May all of us love uncontrollably, as we fuse the seams of 2015 with 2016. Casting away the salvage scraps of 12 months past. Always a new horizon, always a new frontier-Sweet Luscious Cheers!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

Fuseing the Seams

Share this:

A YARN STORY
Is just what it implies, a pile of found fibers and a half knitted cap. My story as most know doesn’t sway far from my common theme. Beauty is where you find it, life is what you choose to make of it. The magic is everywhere, beneath the grit you shall find your glit’ and gold.

Recently I came across an expansive bag of discarded knitted carnage and puffed woolen floss. My friends and colleagues questioned where I would like it to be disposed of and how quick. My neck twist in the direction of my current thrill. Eyes popped with conceptual lust with an expected response. Beauty is where you find it. Please set all aside for me, this bag is a a must!

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

A YARN STORY

Share this:

FOOT BATH LIGHT BOX

Mercury is in retrograde and the yanks and pulls are felt within many individuals communications and moods. Usually these are golden days for me but not this time. It has been one mother f*#@ing bitch of a week. I know I have to keep going, even if I feel like snapping a few heads off. I must keep on keeping on as they say.

When the end of the day approaches, I cool down, secure in the knowledge that all human feelings pass. I chill while I create a little something to clear my mind. I enjoy a footpath, a nap, my mealtime, a dog walk and soon nighttime merges into sunrise and all previous frictions have been forgotten.

May all your stressors be fleeting, your joys be lasting and your remedies be effective.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt – lil Big R

RETROGRADE FOOT BATH