Disrespect is out. A.

-

 How much of me is in disrespect.

How I heal…. How I identify it…

I need to stop that cycle. 

Questioning, spinning, 

Is disrespect something that happens after you love someone?


I have the inkling to get rid of all of my stuff. Empty the boxes and go to good will.


What it takes to live cleanly.

What it takes to be myself without these crutches I used when I was hated.

Remember that gourd mom bought when my only gay friend in elementary school went to see Reba Macon type and we were so excited? The palo alto air the witch hazel crew shampoo and my mother and her red hair and the quiet rainy day when we stared at a fence with a blue birdhouse on it calm and warm inside. A Mexican antique store next to the salon….. her gourd. Red and wonderful. Like her. 

Wonderful because she loved me that day. She didn’t lock me outside to find hairpins in the dirt.



The things in my cabinet. When people were lovely to me, objects. … it’s something to ponder.

I hold sacred being treated well.


Home is a place where I am loved and respected. By me if no one else. It’s why I love home. Period. No more half saved objects with double meanings. The self love comes from me.


What do I want myself to see everyday to motivate me? I want to work and love. Work and love.

Personal life work.


I didn’t know it would be this deep and hard! Teeter totter balance beam. The stomach it is here in my 

Nervous system . My butthole! 


Level UP. 


The comfort ain’t cutting it.

The people are gone yet I still hold their things. As my mother did…

It’s sad and it needs to stop. This is not a thrift store.


I have the capacity to live the way I want to work. Without the ups of my self esteem…..


Self esteeem…. Judgements from others…..


I am Sarah I am here I am present.


Drink coffee for energy. Keep meditating. Therapy. I am open calm and loving.


Objects from people in my past who disrespected me will leave. As this home is a place of respect.

The home of my body. The home where my body is. ….. now to:


Black plastic bags for thrift store.


This of corse is the physical…. So I can live easier. 


I realize easier is also a difficult task. There’s still difficulty even in the spiritual community, ram das lectures.

I think of Barbara….. you are a Tiger pacing inside the outline of her raised cage…

Aunt sue…. Ok, enjoy it!


And the process of moving, the boxes and my past comes to say hello again.



The times we’re getting attention that was loving was easy. 

These gurus would show up I would flow and shine like a ribbon gold and blowing in the wind sunny warm wind wonderful. 


The choice for me everyday is to choose this wonderful for myself created by myself.

To glow and sparkle, no money needed. To be and change and flexibly move through change.


I am here now in Pasadena only for two months!

The boxes move as my spirit knows how much stuff I can handle.



Today it is finding moms box. It is confronting the lesson of : stuff.


The physical. The mental. The non linear healing of wanting to let go. And On the cusp of doing it.


Wanting to change and doing it are two very different things. It takes courage to put down my foot to Clear the paper wrapped around each object. To call the junk man to take the boxes, to sort and feel each thing.


I’m only keeping crystals and writing I’m finding……. Myself is this. Music posters and memories of my Jewish community family. 


Even they are gone now. What an age to shift. What an age to change.

Before 40. The disrespect is gone now.

Keep the love.

Let the love in only.

My heart. My home. With all genuine energy with all the presence I will work from the space of love.

If they or it is associated with disrespect. It’s out.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vent. Moms rug and drug container

-
Image
 Out with the old. 2006-2023  My mother bought me this rug while out of her mind on Drugs. We went to the Scandinavian furniture store on Thousand Oaks boulevard. Her minivan was tilted taking up two spaces. Before exiting the front seat with a heavy purse loud with shaking pill bottles she said one of her favorite things “the squeaky wheel gets the oil”  I knew I was in for it when she said that. It was like a cue. We were in the empty store (or I hoped) as She started yelling at me, saying I was gay with gay style and demanding sale prices that didn’t exsist. I felt guilty for her and embarrassed. Are Levi’s and clogs really that gay? She knew about Rachel. One more thing to pick at me for… No bathroom to escape to. She started to imagine scenarios where our house would have great furniture and look like a showroom. She’d just covered our house in industrial navy blue airport carpeting that week. The whole house. She put a giant roll of Astro turf next to my bed “for the ceiling of y
Read more

Note. A.A….note. Childhood

-
It’s December 2023. In the back of my mind snippets are here to organize or ponder. They float around to process quietly. I Rough draft over this time in my life. It will be art. I know the process now. How my life filters itself into art. I roll with it using my writing as a file. From parts of my body art releases itself. Kickwheel. Clay. Writing.  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s a fight brewing between us.It’s A cold fight and I cannot speak because I shouldn’t. I take herbs and stay hydrated. Keep busy. Keep focused, keep happy. Happy is a choice. I listen to Sarah mcglachlan and think about angels. Violet rabbits… totems to ground. Examples.  It’s this old family. They hate. I always was confused, it’s such a strong word. Maybe I didn’t want it to be true. How I deal is my deal…so I choose to write. In times like these I think about if anyone really can life a conflict free boring life with nothing but love food shelter and coziness. It’s a fantasy I used
Read more

The story of grandmas AA boyfriend

-
Image
 My grandfather was a short alcoholic painter with thick glasses. He had some success in the world of fine art and art academia. For a while he was Dean of Otis Art Institute, he drove a red MG-B and had a high pitch voice like Mickey Mouse. Among other quirks he had (like physical violence without hesitation) what always creeped me out, was his voice.  One day in 1960’s early 1970’s Canoga Park my mother moved in with her highschool boyfriend to avoid grandpas nastiness (her boyfriend became my father). Her brother my uncle Tim got involved in drugs and biker gangs associated with hippies like the Manson Family to avoid being home. It was During this time in desperation My grandmother Fran started taking grandpa to AA meetings. In Canoga park at a usual looking white brick church with polished floors and folding chairs it was during one of  these AA meetings when she first laid eyes on Hank. (Story told to me by cousin Doug out of my own curiosity about the Belt:) “Hank was a cowboy t
Read more