Raw

I’ve been diligently working on writing two very different books for over three months. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy writing enormously, possibly more than sex. This morning  (3 am here), I find myself in a stripped-down version of the movie “The Shining,” where Johnny goes nuts. Fellow writers, have any of you become obsessively possessive about your craft?  Do you dream of writing?  Do you get into your writing so deeply that if someone sighs, it shatters your concentration enough to make you want to scream at them?

I’m there right now. It’s not my husband. It’s not the phone (I turn it off when writing).  It’s MY CAT! Oy has to lay right in front of the keyboard and purr, slobber and purr some more before he jumps off in a cloud of cat hair. I’m a tough lady who’s gone through lots of horrible stuff.  You’d think I’d have the ability to easily shove the dang cat off my desk – nope, I can’t.  Attached is a picture of him.

I think I’m going to cough up a hairball.

Dr. Deb

A Monks Message

I began to watch the movie “The Holiday” around 3 am, and of course, I fell asleep. The interesting part is the dream I had.  A monk was sitting in silence with me. The setting was a small bedroom type of setting. He began to whisper things to me that I could not understand verbally. Strangely, I did understand everything he said in both my conscious and subconscious mind. He held a scroll in his hand that he was reading from.  He tried to show me something, but the “item” disappeared before I could see it.  Suddenly, we had left the room and were walking through many rooms; some had monks sitting beside us ordinary everyday people. We stopped and chatted with a few of them, and the monk finished each visit by letting everyone know I was a student getting ready to graduate, but I was choosing not to be ready.

He shared out loud that “she doesn’t believe she can be ready; therefore, she won’t ever be ready.”  We then abruptly jumped into a kitchen setting, and he finally spoke to me with words I could understand.  At one point, we both laid down on a bed to take a restful nap. I was reading things in my sleep, but I don’t remember any of them.  We both woke and went to a higher level in the building and out onto a roof paved with gorgeous stone steps. We smudged, cleansed ourselves, and he pulled out a scroll.  He tried hard to help me understand and release my fears but could not do it.  He wrapped a robe around me and told the group I would be ready soon, but I must continue to walk the path of understanding a bit longer. The monk vanished into thin air, leaving me on the roof alone to watch the sky and wonder why I wouldn’t try.

The theme of the “The Holiday” movie I had been watched was about finding self in order to live authentically. I sometimes wonder why I don’t try to live that way. Maybe I’m lazy? Maybe I’m crazy?

Sadly, it’s because I still live under someone else’s thumb. Do you?

Dr. Deb

Purposeful Anger

Anger has a purpose when
it forces us to change,
Things that made us tired of
the shallowness of games.

Anger can be creative when
through our fury, we can see,
The blame we placed on others
with whom we could not agree.

Anger can direct our focus
allowing true intent to find,
The purpose and a definition of
the actions that keep us blind.

Anger can bring awakening
to the souls who were led astray,
Replacing their reason for being
by sending apathy away.

Anger teaches many lessons
with viewpoints never the same,
As we learn to change our attitude,
to not continue shame and blame.

Here’s to hoping you get so angry you break
a bad habit instead of a flower vase.

That’s good anger!

Dr. Deb

Silent Tears

As I cry, deep inside, for one true love I am missing,
forcing tears that grip my heart to feel nothing.

With each breath, I feel past love with hugs and kisses.
Does he know? Does he remember?
Do tears fill his mind with remembrance?

My silent tears have closed my heart
and wiped his face from memories.
Yet I pray someday
He will ask if he can love me.

What would I say, upon that day?
Cry tears of amazement?
Would I simply walk away?
To say our love is gone forever?

Until that day, I cannot say
As silent tears still remain.

Dr. Deb

Wicked Winds & Wild Water

The following is a true story . . . I’ll dish it out a little bit at a time if you’d like.

The pin-pricks of itty-bitty ice bullets keep smashing into my skin as my hair wildly flies in directions humanity has not yet labeled.  Damn, it stings; but strangely, the stings feel fabulous – almost sensual.  It’s like getting goosebumps all over your body when you watch a scary movie. I feel alive with it – stimulated in some way. Powerful. Ready to begin anew in what I do. To allow the wind to stoke the fires up that reside in me. For a moment, imagine we are sitting by a roaring campfire chatting about who we are inside our hearts, and about the hidden passion we keep locked away.  If they were released, hopefully, they would allow us to live a life full of joy and self-love.

Inside me, an angel and a dragon are intertwined in mingling parts that mimic a courtship of creation. There is so much mental matter waiting to burst out of the top of my head. My hands want to rip my heart out of my chest and present it to the world – with all its emotional memories of love, hate, harm, hope, victory, and an escalating pitch of anticipation that I’m nearly at the summit of a task that, until now, has been unattainable.

The pumping of my heart feels louder with each beat. Will it explode out of me?  No, I will not allow that. The many years of waiting demands every ounce of my patience and determination – I must wait.  Why am I suddenly so silent at this moment? Because my history demands it.

Calm was never a descriptive word in my life.  For many years, my life was full of tornadic winds, fire, brimstone, dark rivers full of wild dirty water, broken down houses, and feeling homeless within many homes. My life did not provide a healthy structure to flourish and develop upon. There were very few kind, knowledgeable role models in my life that practiced nourishing, balanced, safe parenting. I did not grow up with laughter and hugs. The voices in my childhood were rarely below scream level. Most of the family conversations were garbled and indecipherable because of their copious amounts of alcohol and anger. My parents couldn’t aim for and hit the broad side of a barn normally, but their aim was swift as lightning and straight as an arrow when they decided they needed to slap and hit.

Readers, let me know if you want me to continue this true story……
email me at:
https://debbie@dengelmann.com

Dr. Deb

Bully Brain Sass-Part 1

At birth, the first power center to develop in our tiny bodies is the root chakra, known to some as the “First Life-Force Energy Center.” Its name in Sanskrit is “Muladhara,” which means “root support,” and the Greek goddess of Earth, “Gaia,” empowers it. This very critical energy center governs the physical body, our connection to the earth, and our sense of belonging on this planet.  As we come into our body, we journey into our very first involvement with our tribe, known as the “core family.” During this bonding, we experientially learn about safety, belonging, trust and survival. The state of “becoming” takes place within the first chakra. “Becoming” creates our soul’s stillness, security, and stability.  All life events between birth and age seven help determine whether the first chakra, the foundational base for all chakras, flourishes or shuts down.

Read more

Third Person Crap

I used to believe when the crap came down
I’d begin to think of myself in the third person
Then I’d step way back and gain perspective.
———————
I used to think our world had freedom of speech
Because history was written by the victors of war
Even as some folks embraced genocidal maniacs.
———————
I’ve now learned controlling generally fails
Because the nature of the universe already knew
What rocks the cradle is arrogance and selfishness.
——————–
I am a descendant of the
strong women you may have forgotten.
For we hold the stories you thought
You could never be taught.
——————–
I’m am blessed with a heart
That was birthed from a wildflower.
Tough enough to weather storms
As I continue to grow and flourish.
——————–
I am a woman with a book and a pen
I have the power to move nations.
I am a woman with a mind and a voice
I have the power to change worlds.
——————–
It appears there is no structure in chaos
As hope barely holds this world together.
You’ve read all of my prose
Pray that hope boldly takes hold.
Dr. Deb

All Shook Up

When shaken, the intense pressure within a sealed bottle of carbonated soda patiently waits for a tiny crack to give way so it can explode.  Repetitive trauma and/or stress weakens the mind, body, and spirit in the same way.  Today’s society is off the charts, with people suffering from high-stress levels and unrelenting trauma. Their body, mind, and soul really want to explode.

Many of the “shaken” folks are First Responders, Doctors, Nurses, Volunteers, Educators, and every-day people from various walks of life. The burdens and fears they bury deep within creates ill-health, traumatic memories, depression, desperation, abuse, isolation, and bullying, to name a few.  Accumulated traumas cause us to lead what Thoreau called “Lives of Quiet Desperation.”  That becomes doubly cruel if life is endured within isolation and loneliness.

Does that all mean we’re no longer healthy? You bet it does.

Please don’t hide your pain and despair….talk with someone who can help.  Please know myself and many others are sending love and light to all the people who only have darkness in their life.

Dr. Deb

One Lonely Chick

So here I am, Sandy, sitting in the grass by your memorial. This is the day you were admitted to hospice a few years back – the day before you died. Today, I brought you a white rose with a note for you to read from wherever you are. I hope you know I’m here – I sense you all around me either way. The mallards are swimming around the pond, and one female appears to have only one baby. Their reflection in the water is so serene. Do they sense pain with the loss of a chick, I wonder? My tears keep falling . . . I wish we had had more time . . . I couldn’t stop those grains of sand in the hourglass of your life.

I am so glad you are now with our sister Vic, but damn, I want you both here with me. I want justice and compassion from the Universal Planner. How could Vic die in February, you die in July?  How can that be fair in any way, shape, or form? There are still moments when I feel so very alone – like a lighthouse feels when its light burns out.

That one mallard mama waddled up with its chick.  They are standing in the grass about 5 feet away – so very cute! You and I loved to fish and watch the waterfowl, and we always got more fish than the guys did. Oh, the chick suddenly just went out into the water and is slowly swimming around “peeping.”

Just like me – swimming around all alone.  The chick is trying to find its mom, and I’m trying to find my two sisters.

Dr. Deb

Trashy

Would you use the floor of your kitchen as a restroom?
Doubt it.

Would you fertilize your garden with plastic bags?
Doubt it.

Would you eat food grown in soil full of poisons?
You might have – without knowing it.

How would you feel if what you gave to others to support their life was being destroyed by ignorance?
Think about the impact everything you dispose of has done on the planet.  Ponder, for a moment, how much of the earth has already been damaged. Will that damage come back to haunt us all?

Keep in mind, dear readers, that the above is called “cause and effect.”  It’s easy to give a title to a cause. It’s nearly impossible to repair the effect on our planet.

Dr. Deb