Thursday, April 15, 2010

Blessed Is the Match

Blessed is the match, consumed in kindling flame.
Blessed is the flame that burns in the heart's secret places.
Blessed is the heart that knows, for honors sake, to stop its beating.
Blessed is the match, consumed in kindling flame.

By Hannah Senesh

Saturday, April 10, 2010

I've Got a Right to Be Wrong

Today just wrap your arms around yourself. Go ahead, do it. Love on your sweet imperfect self, sway back and forth, and dance to this little tune by Joss Stone. When I first started developing a real SELF, this song made me smile from the inside. She says, "I've got a right to be wrong. I've been held down too long. I'm flesh and blood down to the bone, not made of stone. I gotta sing my own song. I might be singing off key, but it sure sounds good to me." Gotta love it! We are human beings. We are supposed to make mistakes. We are supposed to sign up for crap, then halfway through realize it's crap and change our mind. We have the right to change our minds halfway through the crap. We have the right to have unconscious selfish motives, then forgive ourselves and ask God for healing. We have the right to mistakes and to be wrong. Enjoy this, friends, and give yourself some sweet love today.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Happy Thoughts, Happy Thoughts

O Sisyphus, O Tantalus

So there it is, the fact of life,
a heart is not so hard to break.
And twisted, tragic irony
will indeed a good story make
but won't seal the eggshell
cracked and bleeding blood-red yoke –
thus the breaker and the broken spoke.

O Sisyphus, I feel your pain –
despite myself, I lift the rock again
and beat myself over the head:
he said, she said, I thought… I wish
I had not forgotten to bury the dead,
to take out the trash, and sleep
where I chose to make my bed.

Time heals all wounds but those that fester:
like Tantalus (of tantalizing)
the fruit still beckons, aggrandizing
dreams of what may have come to be
had Hubris not yet taken hold,
made me reach for all that gold
when all along we shared the Midas touch.

Irony, you stupid bitch, I'll tear your heart
out of your chest, just let me rest
and think these happy thoughts;
happy thoughts not to forget but overlay
the spite, the void, the shame, those days
I bit off more than I could chew
and lost a tooth, and took it out on you.

By Anonimous Mistake at

Photo above found at