Posts Tagged ‘ meditation ’


The components of anxiety, stress, fear, and anger do not exist independently of you in the world. They simply do not exist in the physical world, even though we talk about them as if they do.

Deficiency motivation doesn’t work. It will lead to a life-long pursuit of try to fix me. Learn to appreciate what you have and where and who you are.

It is impossible for you to be angry and laugh at the same time. Anger and laughter are mutually exclusive and you have the power to choose either.

Stop acting as if life is a rehearsal. Live this day as if it were your last. The past is over and gone. The future is not guaranteed.

Abundance is not something we acquire. It is something we tune into.

You are doomed to make choices. This is life’s greatest paradox.


handle – one

photo by loveblushfever (c)

handle – one

eyes closed

fingers crossed


of faith

something as obscure

a tide returning

puzzle with too many missing pieces

absences filling up nothing

nothing to bursting

bursting to messy leftovers

a sink of dirty plates and tepid dishwater

objects of other

compare and contrast

non-fatal crisis management in a world of no

glass houses

made up faces

where is the parade?

eyes closed

fingers crossed

flesh be bone that breaks cleanly

not so far to fall





thoughts on…..

life and beginnings

there are no beginnings

there are middle parts that continue


sometimes searching

nausea aside

aspiration, forethought, a jumble

of feelings of towers

of places i’ve never been

they linger on a limb of my imagination

i pretend that i am this way and that

i wander onto a ledge

ever so dear and inviting

but i a am only here

right now

and you are over there

it isn’t bad arithmetic

it’s a reality

that space shall play its part

and we will be

on different planes


with our eyes closed

Charles Bukowski quote

“There’s nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don’t live up until their death. They don’t honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can’t hear it. Most people’s deaths are a sham. There’s nothing left to die.”

—The Captain Is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship, 1998


photo by loveblushfever (c)

“The lines between choice and mandate are thin because the lines between self and culture are thin, the internal and the external tightly entwined and difficult to separate.”  Knapp, Caroline.  Appetites. Counterpoint, New York.  2003.  P. 112.

To choose well or not is to enter into a mathematical discussion with oneself and even small decisions require some consideration, although the equation might take up fewer pages and perhaps there is no internal recognition of the conversation taking place.  Simple things like deciding on coffee or tea after dinner involves a fairly clear-cut set of values; do you want caffeine coursing through your body into the small hours of the morning so that sleep evades you?  Perhaps you have a long evening ahead bent over some paperwork, or just a desire to enjoy the fullness of night.  Larger choices, particularly those concerning money,  fall under this same rule of mathematics, of weighing and balancing, pros and cons.

The process of decision-making falters however, when we allow our emotions entrance to the forum.  Suddenly logic fails us.  There is nothing mathematical about the heart, after all, but it’s anatomical structure.  It is fickle, unpredictable,  steered by feelings and instincts that we hardly understand.

To be ‘free to chose’ can be terrifying because it requires us to know and to be certain of what the hell we want.  In some instances this is simple and obvious; a new pair of shoes, a magazine, water, a nap…..  Other choices are much more demanding of our time and tend to linger just beneath the surface of our day-to-day consciousness.  Specifically the art of choosing to share oneself, not the physical structure mind you, but the very core, the pieces that exist beyond our meager tangible constructions.  To be human and to be genuine and authentic, we are required to participate in this sharing, this giving and sometimes taking  (although we cannot enter into a transaction with the expectation of receiving anything in return-that would be both presumptive and selfish).  We must share with intention and purpose.  So send out invitations on bits of napkin or fine linen stationary, maybe a group email, by any means really because  regardless of how, it is necessary.

A person cannot flourish encapsulated by only their own self as witness.   We should strive to make ourselves painfully uncomfortable every so often, to choose to want to be off-balance, just barely treading water.


why has nothing to do with it

photo by loveblushfever (c)


is never a question of why

it must always be how

in what manner

motivated by…

to ask why is to miss the point entirely




photo by loveblushfever (c)



a tangle of moments

half dressed

and unsure

of where they’re going

or where they began

strewn across my bedroom like dirty laundry

lounging with whiskey and Turkish cigarettes

i stand in the doorway


it seems i am always this way

stranded in dark rooms

like islands

clutching at the proverbial straw


all the while

to answer vague and scope-less questions

on meaning




i feel like silence has its own bowl of giggles

like life happens

and everything in between is it

we make to-do lists

well i do



vacuum the stairs

water the plants

contemplate infinitesimal loathing

contemplate certain death


it’s a process

like life

and waking up and breathing and hiccuping

and imagining

nothing is everything in your life under a microscope

every heartbeat means a step forward towards…..

but no one wants to think about that

truth kills

like a cashmere sweater i wore only once to me ex husbands Christmas party

totally uncomfortable

and clinging like a stray dog

i think of falling from a precipice


but real enough

where is that line anyways?

between reality and imagination?

i collect shells from distant shores and ponder the expanse

of unlit candles

– vietta braunheim

A Rare Moment of Certain Clarity and a Room to Oneself

A Rare Moment of Certain Clarity

And a Room to Oneself


blow out the candles and draw the curtains

put away your fine china and fancy silverware i won’t be coming to dinner

instead i’ll retire into myself

perhaps contemplating the merits of existentialism

perhaps not

maybe simply enjoying a rare moment of certain clarity

or maybe reconsidering this life in secrets and shadows

hushed voices behind doors and dark glances around corners

on and on

futile but compulsory seeking a meaning with substance

moments lined up like streetlights

old loves resurface like lost necklaces and scraps of paper

a swift separation and sleeplessness stirs

colours of my youth  filter up through time and consciousness

a small autobiography of blinks sharp inhales sobs sighs

mental handshakes and other dribble

in the middle the mess and tangle of words

a feeling or two thrown in for good measure

an empty drawer

a hanger without a garment

there’s a smear of my lipstick on the collar of my shirt

that’s something i suppose

as i rifle through my sloppy clutter of afterthoughts excuses and other

damnable pieces of prose

i wander in and out of myself

like a hotel guest

always leaving my room in disarray

i beg directions from the doorman just outside the lobby smoking a cigarette

he mumbles something i cannot hear

sometimes living in the world is like this

a promise of total obscurity and anonymity

and a room to oneself

-vietta braunheim



this middle part

an overriding uneasiness

skin that feels much too tight

some foreign insect on fire under a bully’s magnifying glass

an apprehensiveness

this deeply disturbed mental landscape

i  know only in dreams

and it isn’t anything in particular

but everything in general

that sometimes illuminates this subterranean notion

that i’m ready for this middle part

to take it’s cue

and exit stage right

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