Musings of a Butterfly

 Ungrounded, unfounded. Tumbling, falling sensation.  Dizziness, as the body sways I feel like I am on a boat. On a path of self destruction. Just need some earth Upon which to stomp my feet To shout out to the Universe That I have arrived. And I am staying. Not going anywhere, but here at this moment. So stop with your torment. Leave me alone. Sweet escape is sometimes the spiral, Taking you downward Spinning, spinning, a vortex out of control. Round and around, arms flailing, crying out Pull me out, pull me out, I'm drowning It's easy to blame someone else Until you realize you're the only one with the power To pull yourself out of your own deep, dark, internal hell.

I am not feeling grounded. I don't know what I need to do in order to feel ok. I twisted my knee one week after arriving in Lisbon and it was quite painful and debilitating, stopping me from exploring the city as I wanted to, because the hills are so steep and so I had to rest, but didn't. Drinking excessively seemed like a good idea as I managed the pain that way. And drinks are so cheap here in Lisbon it always seems to be a good option. I spent loads of time at Le Marais, a wine bar owned by a French gay man a stones throw from my new apartment and got to know many people. Trouble was, the place was on my way home from work so I would stop in with the intention of having one glass of wine, which inevitably turned into not leaving to go home to an empty apartment until I was completely inebriated. There was a loneliness gripping my soul. I would go home and look out my window at the beautiful red rooftops and miss my kids, and miss San Francisco and the community of friends

“ Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you're allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It's like killing yourself, and then you're reborn. I guess I've lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.” Charles Bukowski said that. Let's see. I haven't written in a while. I have completely changed my life in the past few months. A mother, a daughter, a sister, a real estate agent. I had all these labels pinned to me that I didn't want. I felt apathy. I felt disconnection. I didn't want any of it. I don't really know how the course of your life changes completely...if it's just destiny or if it's something that, deep down inside you know that you have control over, just by putting out into the Universe

Afternoon Mimosas. Deep ambient rhythm on the Bose Ran out of cigarettes Want to smoke But want to quit What to do? Don't feel like walking down the hill And then up the hill And then up the stairs Puffing and panting, wishing That I had quit already.

Connecting, like magnets on that first night She hesitates; the last Bart train leaving the platform, Not wanting to leave his side First kiss, on the platform; holding on “Don’t leave me,” she thinks, “I don’t want to,” he thinks. They end up at the Holiday Inn The night, full of their desire Beautiful, endless, beautiful, Holding on. Holding on. In the bathtub, he holds her, caresses her, kisses her, Washes her, pushes her hair out of her eyes. Wet silence in the night, broken by little droplets of water when they move. Making love, endlessly, passionately. All throughout the night. In the morning they dress. She smokes a cigarette on the balcony As they watch the morning begin on the noisy city street below They go for coffee, The passion and desire of the night still fresh When her eyes lock with his, she has to look away His eyes bore into her soul, she thinks he can see her from the inside out Several rendezvous ensue. A

You see her, walking down the street. Mumbling to herself, pushing the shopping cart Wild, dirty hair; yellow fingernails, missing teeth You don't want to look at her because you are afraid Of the truth and the sadness behind her eyes You don't want to take the time to ask Because you are afraid that her truth might be yours Years and years from now. Broken promises and regrets. False truths you believed in. Caved in; torn to pieces; Pieces of you, pieces of her. You don't know which is which.

Curtains closed,  city street sounds below.  Inside, dark blue, your silhouette breathing slowly, next to me against crisp white sheets. Our bodies writhed and twisted a few minutes ago,  the need for each other almost unbearable. Thirsty; hungry, we fed upon each other, as if tomorrow may never come. Tomorrow you will go again and disappear. My want and need for you will still be incessant. But now I am good at pretending it isn't. 

Have you ever felt like you have been given a second chance in life? A kind of rebirth? A metamorphosis? Transformation? Whether it be through a conscious decision to do things differently or whether it came about during a life-changing experience? Something happened early this year that has made me rethink everything that I thought was important to me, through habit of living a life that suffocates your soul and stifles your creativity. As a single mother struggling to raise two boys I was running a real estate business that I had gone into because I wanted to help people to attain their piece of the "American Dream". Homeownership. I had previously been working on a large mixed-use development project near San Jose airport, and when that project was finished they offered me a job in Property Management at their San Francisco offices or a good severance of a few months salary and a project completion bonus, which would net me enough money to start my own real estate busi

She has no burden. She stands, at the edge of a very high, grassy cliff,  head back, face up to the sun, arms wide open, and feels the warmth of the sunlight on her face. She has long black wavy hair. She is barefoot, wearing some sort of off-the shoulder gypsy dress that ripples, long and flowing with the wind. She feels light; a tremendous joy, and dances atop the cliff, a few feet away from an enormous drop into a peaceful ocean of blue. Precarious. Joyful. She dances to the music in her head.

I read this today and wanted to share: "In life you will realize that there is a purpose for everyone you meet. Some will test you, some will use you, and some will teach you. But most important are the ones that bring out the best in you. Those are the ones worth keeping around." Its kind of elementary but sometimes that realization doesn't click until you have been tested, used, or taught something you might not have realized before. And yet, sometimes you meet someone and just don't understand their purpose for connection. I suppose I just recently met someone that I thought I had a real deep connection with and it seems to have just flittered away as though it never existed. I asked myself, "Did I do something wrong?" It's all in the eyes. Perhaps I should have understood it the last time I saw this person, whom I seem to have met during a particularly difficult and transitional time in my life. I spent some moments with this person that made me

People drift around unconsciously doing things, getting things done, thinking thoughts that cloud the beauty of the only thing that is real, and that is this moment. The simple things that happen when life breathes through you. The taste of an apple; the smell of fresh lavender; preparing a simple meal; wet grass in the morning; hearing the stillness of a moment. It is time passing by without many of us enjoying the very essence of that single moment. I am listening and seeing. I am becoming more mindful and it's changing my reality.

Windows to the soul are eyes. You reach inside and shake up the soul within. Looking through your hair. Intensely gazing. With you; enveloped in darkness, twinkling city; smiling lights Breathe in your smell; kiss you in the moonlight. Electricity when you touch, tiny impulses drum every inch of skin. Your skin on mine. My being touching yours. Falling down the rabbit hole. Stumbling speak. Crashing waves; breezy and blue; your face; a painted memory. Face up to the sun, spin around and around around like that dream that never faded. No sense of time. Hours flash by in minutes, causing dizziness. Your head in my lap. My fingers in your hair. Floating, dreamlike, with soft edges and vivid colours. Flashes of passion; your heat courses through my veins like an addiction, Feel fluttery, heart beats fast, insides warm. I ask how? You say it's your secret.