LOSING MY RELIGION

Hav you noticed that RELIGION  has become a business! It is no longer something that is sacred it is all about that green.

I was raised a pentecostal or “holy roller” as I have been referred to as on many occasions and believe you me it is not a great feeling. I was raised with Bible being shoved down my throat and told I was going to hell at every turn.

When I left home I was a very confused girl about religion, God, and even Jesus. The only thing I knew for sure was there was a higher power that if it weren’t for it I would have died many times over.

I was shortly after exposed to several different kinds of religion and you know they all have a common thread they all believe in something more than themselves. I know there was a moment in my life when God actually clarified for me that it was okay to question my believes it was okay to question what I was raised in and draw my own conclusions as long as I was kind and humble, and believed in the power he has to save my soul.

It was an experience unlike anything I have ever seen or felt and to this day cherish those moments in the dark with my God.

I don’t adhere myself any longer to one label, pentecostal, baptist, whatever? No matter what “religion” you are you believe in something more than yourself. Which for me puts into perspective my own mortality. I know I will not live forever but I know that when I die and someone or something is offering eternity in paradise and peace forever I am going to do what I can to get there.

The way it has turned to being all about money and not the saving of our souls turns my stomach. No one has compassion anymore once certain religions realize they can actually line their pockets and buy their mansions compassion for mankind just simply fell away.

I have been watching a special on tv about the cult that is Scientology and while I agree and appreciate the work that is being done to expose them. A low simmering anger rose in me there is never a mention of God or anything of the religious aspect of what a “church” should be. I understand that Scientology doesn’t believe in all that but it makes it harder to watch when you know down deep inside that is the factor that is missing here.Being exposed to such wealthy religions make me think that the old adage is in fact, true about money being the root of all evil. It makes good been with great intentions become men of greed and self-destruction.

God is not a cult, or a “religion”. He doesn’t ask for much as we are only human after all and prone to sin. He understands this. He sacrificed his only son to the world not only so that we could be forgiven for such transgression but so that he would understand better our humanity. The wages of sin is death I understand this and that is why I try every day to be the best version of myself I can be. To me a label of “religion” is not getting me to heaven. It is not the answer to my saving grace it is the way to a spiral of corruption and greed. I may be losing my “religion” but my faith in God and myself are still in tact. That is what is going to get me to those pearly gates. I don’t care what you beleive in as long as you beleive in something!

UNTITLED

I just ran across a poem that I wanted to share with all of you it is untitled but it is amazing.

 HOW CAN YOU SAY YOU KNOW ME,

WHEN YOU’VE ONLY SEE MY SKIN,

AND NOT THE UNTAMEd WORLD I HIDE,

THAT’S STILL GROWING DEEP WITHIN,

YOU HAVEN’T HEARD MY RIBS CREAK,

BEHIND EACH PLAITED VINE,

OR SWUM BENEATH THE WATERFALL,

THAT CASCADES DOWN MY SPINE,

YOU’VE NOT BEEN HERE FOR LONG ENOUGH,

TO WATCH A NEW LIFE START,

OR FIND THE RUN-DOWN CASTLE,

LYING JUST INSIDE MY HEART,

YOU HAVEN’T CLIMBED THE BRANCHES,

THAT ARE WRAPPED AROUND EACH LUNG,

SWAYING WITH THE BREEZES,

THAT COME DANCING PAST MY TONGUE,

DON’T MARK ME WITH YOUR FOOTPRINTS,

IF YOU PLAN TO LEAVE TOO SOON,

AND ONLY WANT TO KNOW ME,

WHEN MY PLANTS ARE IN FULL BLOOM,

BECAUSE THE BIRDSONG MIGHT BE PRETTY,

BUT IT’S NOT FOR YOU THEY SING,

AND IF YOU THINK MY WINTER IS TOO COLD,

YOU DON’T DESERVE MY SPRING.

~e.h.

 

 

MY JOURNAL (LIFE AFTER DEATH)

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED ABOUT?  ______________!

Life after death or the near death experience. There are many theories of what happens when we die, it is enough to make my head spin. Some people see a white light others see a loved one that has already passed waiting in the murky shadows of death to guide them to the other side. My question is what other side? What could they have possibly seen on “the other side” that made them want to stay and yet make them come back all at the same time? What makes them weep for that moment again once they are back and alive?

There are always more questions than answers when it comes to death. Much like our birth, our death is personal. Something I deem to be private and unique. Each of us must face this journey and face it alone. Is it just a coincidence that we can never share this experience with anyone? There is never a witness to this phenomena.

Why do some see this and some don’t? See, many, many more questions? I have had a couple of different “near death experiences” Technically I never died, but death was surely counting the seconds until it could claim me. I never once saw a bright light or a dead relative there to engulf me in their long lost embrace. There was only darkness, no awareness, no memory of well anything. Is it because I didn’t actually die? Or was there something more sinister afoot?

Then the question arises. Are there really ghosts? Or is it just my mind playing tricks on me? To that question for me the answer in a round about way I have found in the Bible! Revelations to be exact. You see according to one scripture I have read about in the end of days there is no heaven or hell! Yet! Yes, I do believe they exist but I wholeheartedly believe we won’t actually experience either the fiery pits of hell or those beautiful streets of gold until the actual end of days.

The Bible verse in Revelations speaks of the dead rising from the grave to be judged by God  for our sins.This in my interpretation is that the dead lay in a waiting period until God comes back to claim his children. Yes, I understand that that does not explain why people see a white light when they have an experience but what if that is just a gift God is showing us what waits for us upon his return? Maybe some people need this “vision”  to shake them, wake them, and change their lives. It would certainly explain Ghosts! If our spirits, our essence is still earth bound it would make sense that our energies would collide every now and again. Just think thousands, no millions of years and millions upon millions dead all sharing this space. It makes for a crowded world we live in. The key word here is live!

No matter the experiences we have had while alive or dead. We need to remember it is our journey, ours alone. And while it seems like it would be very lonely it also fills me with a sense of peace I cannot explain. While the act of death itself is something we will all go through my own experience will be all mine.

I almost didn’t make it when I came into this world and I know God was at my side then as much as he is now. I anticipate the day we actually meet and all my questions will be answered but, I think I can wait a few more years for my answers!

 

HER

When she says she’s fine, she’s really not.

When she says she’s okay, she rarely is.

When she cries for not apparent reason, there is always a reason.

Just try to hold her a little tighter at night.

Remember, she has wounds that will never mend.

She has scars that she will never explain.

She has a heart that can never be unbroken.

Accept that there are parts of her you will never know.

Just love her unconditionally.

Hold her as if you will never let her go.

Dry her tears before they fall.

And never underestimate her power to love you back…

I was never one to have a journal growing up. This may seem surprising considering that I am indeed a writer. It is ironic that I never wanted to write about myself growing up and now… that is all I do. I mean I write fictional stories and poems here and there. My blog is sort of a catch-all for whatever comes out of my head.

I watched Julie and Julia last night and I actually teared up at the end. Not that it was sad or anything it’s just that. Julie had a direction when she started her blog. Like most people I follow on here there is a set theme to each and every blog they do. Hers was about food, others about flowers, some about crochet techniques, and the list goes on and on. Mine, however, is a little like my life chaotic and you never know what to expect from me when I finally hit that tiny blue button “PUBLISH”.

Maybe that is why I keep trying to start a specific kind of blog and then lose interest later. Because I am not the type to do one set thing. I don’t even want to be labeled a genre for the type of writing I do. I am the catch- all writer!

The daily prompts no longer hold appeal to me and that is scary because when I first started this blog I lived for the moment the new daily post prompt would appear. Now I am like “Oh, I haven’t checked the word today, no biggie.”

I love writing, and almost two years after starting my blog I am still at a loss as to what direction it should go in if any! I started writing for closure and to write the book that is my life and yet those goals seem to be getting dimmer and dimmer.

It’s not that I have given up writing my life story it is just that I am saddened and frustrated by its contents so far. Another reason I never kept a journal, MY LIFE WAS TOO DEPRESSING! No one wants to read that… or do they? I see why writer’s go insane they are always questioning their writing. (WE ARE OUR OWN WORST CRITICS)

I thought I was doing good for a while and then like everything else in my life I would begin something and then not finish it. I hate that writing has become just another thing in my life I do when I am bored. It is my passion, how could I possibly get bored with that. Maybe I do have some sort of OCD when it comes to certain things. I immerse myself into it losing sleep and going full hilt and then one day I wake up and the thrill is gone and I am left with nothing to say. Maybe that is the real reason I never kept a journal!

I recently discovered the plethora of my past experiences (that I can remember) just scratches the surface of me. It is as if I have peeled back the layers of onion, that is my past thinking I was at the root of it only to find more layers. Layers I didn’t even know existed. That is a little overwhelming.

This morning I found a teacher on Pinterest that actually gives you journal writing ideas. I think I am going to blog about each and every one of them. I am not setting a time limit I am not putting any pressure on myself. Let’s call it my little self- project! I hope someone reads it and actually comments. I know that you can like another bloggers stuff all day long but are you really reading it? Am I really making the difference I started out to do by revealing my past if no one is reading it? Sometimes I feel like there is no one out there that knows my pain, my writer’s block, my frustrations. Are you really out there?

So I will be doing the journal writing ideas from the person on Pinterest that is unknown. Please join me won’t you.

Day 1. The JOURNAL WRITING IDEA IS…

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED ABOUT?  FILL IN THE BLANK.

I will be writing about this question on my next post. Have a Happy Christmas Eve!

 

 

 

DEPTHS

I haven’t been able to write in a while. Everything seems to come out as garbage lately when I do write. Hemmingway said, “even if you write crap, write.” I am paraphrasing here but as much as I love his writing I can’t seem to force myself to write crap. I can’t bring myself to go through the motions the simple act of writing means more to me than that. This is not one of those things that I can “fake it till I make it” situations.

I went down to my “church” my open mike night down at my favorite bookstore last night hoping to get a smidge of inspiration. While there were some good reads and I did feel a little trickle of the old me shining through (you know the me that can write) I came to a realization about myself. Albeit  there was some very good and deep poetry I felt as if I as deep as I have gone inside myself to pull out the darkest and ugliest to write about there was still something missing.

Have I not gone deep? Is there some untapped vein inside of me that is still hiding from me? I fear that is exactly why I am not writing because what I have uncovered so far is just deep enough at the same time I feel that there are depths to me to which even I don’t understand yet, and that is scary.

How can I not understand… ME? How can I not see that there is more to me than just what is on the surface? Aren’t I the one that gets upset when others don’t look beyond that to see who and what I really am? How could this be?

I have always considered myself a what you see is what get kind of girl and yet I have been lying to myself all along. Maybe now that this realization has finally presented itself. I will be able to open the flood gates once again and write more sustenance for my soul. I just have to keep calm in the meantime and just breathe. I know it will eventually come to me. I can’t wait to discover the new depths of me…

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/calm/”>Calm</a&gt;

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/discover/”>Discover</a&gt;

DRUNK SATURDAY (MEMORIES)

Isn’t it funny the memories we remember so clearly as if they happened yesterday! Meanwhile, if you are like me I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday! However, some memories I have stored from over twenty years ago are so crisp in my mind. I can still feel the chest of my first love as he pressed up against me so intimately. I can even smell his cologne wafting through the air as if he is here. But of course, he is not!

Yet, remembering to call the damned doctor all week escapes me! Why are our memories so… fickle. Why do we remember something that has probably been forgotten by all other parties involved and we can remember them with such clarity! There are things I forget daily while, past loves and hurts still haunt me as if they are in the present. Was it that significant? Where these truly pivotal moments in my life that has actually help shape who I am today? I am sitting here drinking, reading some stuff I wrote about an old flame hoping to turn it into a novel and the sudden smell of leather transports me back to that time. The first love, innocent in all is splendor. Over 20 years ago and yet, I remember our final goodbye as if it just happened. My hands wrapped around the collar of his leather jacket. as we kissed our last kiss in the pouring rain.

I am suddenly there,  the smell of rain and leather assaulting me. Mariah Carey’s Dreamlover comes on my playlist right now as I write this and it continues to hold me in that memory as this was my first single cd I ever bought and it was around the time that I fell for him. The proverbial bad boy that only ever treated me with the utmost respect and care.

Several years older than me, I didn’t care he was the perfect first love. I just wish all girls had it so lucky with their first loves. I think of him fondly and it was a nice relationship I can look back on fondly. It helped save me in the dark times of my next relationship. That despite the start of it being all butterflies and rainbows became the most nightmarish experience of my life. Unfortunately, those memories are also branded into my mind forever. However, that first love always makes me smile. Every time, I smell leather or rain I am back there saying my goodbyes and kissing with gusto. He made me brave and a little naughty and I thank him for that…

INNOCENCE LOST

He was the kind of man that you knew was trouble the minute you laid eyes on him. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt smelling of leather and cool water I knew the moment he walked into my tiny little church he was trouble. Yet, I didn’t care!

It was a brisk October day when he walked into my life, in Church no less. There was never any excitement in my little town. It was one of those towns where everyone knew everyone. How annoying is it that every little thing you do is known throughout the whole town. Cotton fields as far as the eye could see on either end, our little town was just a pit stop on the way to the big city. No one ever came here that was important and I am sure nobody ever remembered the town name as they drove on through to their next destination.

I was Seventeen and due to having a psychotic mother, was required to bring home no less than a B in school, so of course, I was a nobody. I was a 17-year-old semi-straight A student with barely any friends, and poor to boot. I always thought if I stayed invisible no one can hurt me, no one would expect anything from me, that way no one would depend on me. I liked it that way, I learned very early on that the only person I could count on was me and me alone, that friend and friendship were just a word.

You had to earn the right to be called friend! No one I knew fit the bill. I was probably the only virgin in town at this rate. As true to small town’s reputation’s over half if not all the girls in my class were either pregnant or about to be.

That day everything changed, I still recall the way his bomber jacket smelled of leather and Cool Water. I loved the way it felt against my cheek when he kissed me. Every time I smell leather now I am transformed back to that day. The day he walked into my life.

It was an overcast October day, in the south, it was about as cold as it was going to get. With my light sweater and my long pink and gray dress, I looked like the picture of innocence. The stupid dress even had a big bow right in the front. Since puberty was taking its sweet time, I still had no breasts to speak of, so the giant pink bow not only screamed “Virgin” but looked ridiculous on my chest.

I went to a Pentecostal Church so there was always a lot going on inside that place. I was the only active building in a section of buildings that once upon a time had been a small strip mall. I still to this day, do not know what those building used to be. It was set about a hundred feet from the railroad tracks. I used to think we only had Church so loud to drown out the train that passed almost every time Church was in session.

The Choir was in full swing and my best friend, my only friend (who was at least 15 years my Senior) was singing in the Choir. The small Church had a Podium, a couple of Instruments, and a tambourine, which rounded out everything on the tiny stage. The rest of the room was filled with glaring white pews about 12 in all, they smelled of old wood and fresh paint. There was a tiny Alter shoved between the first set of pews and the Podium.

It was weird because Annie and I had met in Church just in the last few months. Yes, there was an age difference and she even had a child already, but we just clicked. She had recently married the Preacher’s son and even though he was a few years younger than her they fit together perfectly.

I stayed at her place a lot on the weekend’s due to the crazy mom syndrome I was saddled with. Not only was she physically and emotionally abusive. She had everyone that met her thinking she was the sweetest, nicest, thing ever. Coming to a breaking point, I revealed some of the craziness that I went through at home to Annie. Not only did she give me a shoulder to cry on, but she believed me!  She saw through the mask my mother put on for everyone else. She was a friend when I needed one the most, and most deserving of the word.

Back to that day I was watching and listening to the song when suddenly I smelled the overpowering scent of leather. I turned in my seat and there he was! The man that would soon change me forever! The man that would awaken every desire and fantasy I have ever had since then. He sat in the back row on the other side of the room from me. Suddenly I had these odd sensations running through my body. Was this some kind of a joke, the hottest man I had ever seen (not counting on tv) was in my nothing town, in my nothing Church, sitting there for all the world like he belonged. You know that game they used to play on Sesame Street “One of these things doesn’t belong here”. Well, he definitely did not belong.

He was all leather and all male he was the perfect description of the proverbial bad boy. As I sat there concentrating only on my breathing I couldn’t help but sneak a peak at him behind my hand. With dark brown hair and even darker eyes, he was stunning! How could everyone here just keep on singing like there was nothing going on! As if a beautiful God hadn’t just came in and graced us with his presence. I felt flushed like I was on display like I was naked and exposed. I rubbed my now sweaty palms down my dress but that just smeared sweaty streaks down the front of it. This must be where the saying “hot and bothered” comes from because I was hot and defiantly bothered.

This was it the moment that would change me forever, the moment of my sexual awakening and this was only the beginning…

MYSTIC RED

I have  been writing so much about my past that I have neglected to talk about my present and all the wonders it has held for me. Since my first book hit the best-seller list five years ago my life has been filled with book tours, fans and more writing. It is enough to make a girl of only thirty swoon. This is the first vacation I have actually taken since then and what am I doing you guessed it writing. Fame isn’t what I thought it would be I thought “yay now I am rich I can relax”, but no, I had to write one book after another just to stay on that “best seller” list. I am exhausted. It is a never-ending fight to be the one on top all the time. So when my best friend suggested I stay at her house in Maine while she went to the Bahamas for the winter I couldn’t pass it up.

Never having been here I am loving the mountains of snow and the isolation. It is just the thing I needed since I can’t even remember the last time I was alone. I ran into the neighbor this morning and she offered to show me around town later in the week. She even invited me to the local “dive bar” her words not mine. She called it MYSTIC RED. As a writer, I was not only intrigued by the fact that she called it a dive bar but the name Mystic Red. There is a story there and I intend to find out who names their bar Mystic Red.

Is it some sort of sacred name someone’s great, great, great grandfather named it? I feel as a writer I can construct an entire story on the name alone. Is it some sort of mystical name? Is this bar indeed Mystical? I am picturing one of those hole in the walls with license plates on the walls as the room decor. I see the bar itself soaked with stale beer and cheap glasses. The bartender probably some overweight ner do well. His bartending job was a “second chance” after he got early, release on parole for good behavior.

Maybe I am just being a snob here but when someone says “dive bar” as being the sole entertainment in a small town. That is what I picture. Maybe I am wrong, maybe it is a hidden treasure that will exceed all my expectations. I can’t wait to go and mingle with the simple town folk as Marta called them.

I gaze out the window and see that the snow is falling once more. It seems to never stop once winter hits in this tiny town. Peaceful in its blinding whiteness. I get the feeling that something is about to happen. I don’t know what but the writer in me is intrigued at all the possibilities. I am here for another three months I might as well enjoy it while I can. No matter what happens I will have pen and paper at the ready. I can hardly contain myself waiting for Mystic Red…

Construct

Sacred

Treasure

Mystical

WINTER

It is Winter. There is no snow yet the temperature continues to drop day by agonizing day. I can smell it in the wind and it is just a matter of time before the white stuff shows it’s fury.The witching hour is upon me and as I gaze outside I can see the frozen barren land clearly under the full moonlight.

The moon is so full and bright it almost appears as daytime in the wake of the late hour. The infertile trees shadow plays upon the ground taking on a skeletal hue with their inky blackness. Looming across the landscape as if they are trying to escape the bitterness that is Winter.

It is a beautiful sight in its eeriness. I half expect a zombie or a werewolf to come charging across the yard but alas, I know they too (if they were real) would be smart enough to stay out of this cold.

It is late and I am tired yet, the call of this cold night and all its splendor almost has me reaching for the door, almost. I just stare for what seems like an eternity through the window at the beauty I am capturing in my mind for later and how I feel in this moment.

All alone I feel a kinship with those lifeless shadows and for one brief moment, the trees and I are one. I feel their sadness, their pain, their lifelessness. I have been there I have felt sadness, pain, and most of all a lifelessness I can’t explain.

I am touched by those shadows and the eternal light that now shines upon them showing all of their flaws, their imperfections, their brokenness and yet they still stand tall and proud.

I take a snapshot of them in my mind as I silently scream at Winter for she has taken their life and with it all the beauty they once possessed. Yet, they are not ashamed they sprawl across my lawn knowing who they are? What they are? Casting beautiful shadows even in death. They know they will be alive again that the seasons will change and they will once again rise to greatness.

I guess that is the thing we all need to take from these trees. No matter how broken we are during the (Winter) just remember the seasons will change and we will once again be alive and beautiful …