Some pic's of my tattoo in progress. LONG story behind this one...but...it's on it's way. Still about half to complete. But closer every appointment. YAY!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Just Us Two
It was just us two
On that hot summer day,
Our necks and shoulders pink
From bearing the weight of the sun.
The cold flecks of water
Tapping against our skin,
As we gleefully run through the spray
Gushing from the sprinklers
That dotted the back yard.
Your hair, pointed and dripping
Pregnant beads of water
Down your sun-kissed cheeks.
I remember the magic in your eyes,
My brother
And your popsicle-sticky grin,
When you told me we could fly
With enough belief in our hearts.
When standing on a fence post,
Outstretched arms and my face to the sky
I closed my eyes,
Leaned into the wind
And jumped heavenward.
And soar through those summers, we did.
On dreams and daylight,
And candied breezes.
Each day unlike the last,
Jubilant and adventuresome.
You were always enough for me to believe in.
On that hot summer day,
Our necks and shoulders pink
From bearing the weight of the sun.
The cold flecks of water
Tapping against our skin,
As we gleefully run through the spray
Gushing from the sprinklers
That dotted the back yard.
Your hair, pointed and dripping
Pregnant beads of water
Down your sun-kissed cheeks.
I remember the magic in your eyes,
My brother
And your popsicle-sticky grin,
When you told me we could fly
With enough belief in our hearts.
When standing on a fence post,
Outstretched arms and my face to the sky
I closed my eyes,
Leaned into the wind
And jumped heavenward.
And soar through those summers, we did.
On dreams and daylight,
And candied breezes.
Each day unlike the last,
Jubilant and adventuresome.
You were always enough for me to believe in.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day
She sat alone in the quiet,
Dusky hospital room
Chilled by the sterile, fan-swept breeze
The perpetual beeping sound of a heart monitor
Piercing the otherwise heavy silence
Across the room was the life she had born
Seemingly a lifetime ago
In reality just yesterday
Suddenly and dreadfully taken from her
Torn from her womb in a moment
Her body
Betraying its purpose,
Prematurely
Releasing the treasure
It was obligated to create
And then…
The blistering cry
That absorbed the heavens,
Gripped her heart by the root
And confined it within its owner
Mother realized she would never
Be a whole person again,
Because the largest part of her
Now, remained detached
There she lay, purple and alien
So tiny
Undeveloped,
Helpless
Entirely alone.
Chilled by the sterile, fan-swept breeze
Seeking warmth radiating
From the electronic device
That held her life in its integrity
One beep at a time they both listened
And breathed
One beep at a time.
~Cami Krueger
Dusky hospital room
Chilled by the sterile, fan-swept breeze
The perpetual beeping sound of a heart monitor
Piercing the otherwise heavy silence
Across the room was the life she had born
Seemingly a lifetime ago
In reality just yesterday
Suddenly and dreadfully taken from her
Torn from her womb in a moment
Her body
Betraying its purpose,
Prematurely
Releasing the treasure
It was obligated to create
And then…
The blistering cry
That absorbed the heavens,
Gripped her heart by the root
And confined it within its owner
Mother realized she would never
Be a whole person again,
Because the largest part of her
Now, remained detached
There she lay, purple and alien
So tiny
Undeveloped,
Helpless
Entirely alone.
Chilled by the sterile, fan-swept breeze
Seeking warmth radiating
From the electronic device
That held her life in its integrity
One beep at a time they both listened
And breathed
One beep at a time.
~Cami Krueger
Thursday, March 27, 2008
My Hidden and Undeclared Committments
She is there alright. She is always there, waiting with baited breath for the next person to approach her. Looking around the room of life, for someone she deems worthy of her request. Oh heavens, her approach someone else?! No. She is far too insecure for that. Though ultimately she would have you believe that she is outgoing and entertaining. The life of the party most people surmise. Have you believe that she is approachable, kind, thoughtful and self-aware. Though upon careful observation you might just see she is only funny within reason, only talkative at surface levels, engaging just enough to reassure herself. When topics get too deep she disappears into the wallpaper; lifeless, dead and two dimensional. As if her contribution is better kept within the image of floral display rather than expressed full of life, beaming with beauty and miraculous blossoms. As though the fragrance of her blossom is not worth the wind it is carried upon. As a flower on the wall, she can feel the warmth of the suns rays through the window, but must, by design remain stagnant and lifeless.
She stands in this space and becomes angry and resentful, selfishly seeking a way out; any way out of her self imposed prison. Her mediocre efforts, she would have you believe, are strong and persistent. She speaks of her constant effort to open that inner door that binds her in such a confining space. Upon closer observation you might see that in her frantic display of yearning and despair, she avoids entirely the already open door… as if it does not even exist. Ignored for so long, she mistakenly acknowledges to herself that it doesn’t. So she waits in misery and despair, expecting people in her life to come through and save the day for her, to point out the way. As if her self imposed limitations were their responsibility and out of her grasp entirely. As if her imaginary hero really exists outside of herself. In doing so, she reasons it is ‘me’ against ‘them’ and lives in hostility, selfishness and greed, only wanting to ‘get mine’ and to discover ‘what is in it for me?’
The story of her life is one she cannot shake. It has been woven into her so tightly that she carries it with her everywhere. She even reads it to herself, every day, time and time again – so much so that she now has it memorized and the recording of it plays automatic. She does not even have to put effort into it – the little voice is constantly reiterating the story of her life, reading it time and time again, loop after loop after loop, and many times without her consent. But to fight back with it would be too tall an order, so she succumbs to it. Besides she has learned to take refuge and comfort in the story, it is after all, the story of her life: ‘You are not good enough. Nothing you do is good enough for anyone. You do not and cannot measure up. You are not even capable of it so you should not try. Nobody cares what you have to say, or what you are up to. What you are doing has no impact on anyone. No matter what you do it will never be fully loved and accepted.’
She remains resigned to imprisonment and cynical to the hope that there is anything else even possible. As always she lives her life in order to be loved and fully accepted by herself and by others. And yet, the story she tells has her seeking for ways in which others do not approve of her or love her, and based on that, she cannot approve of, or love herself. Perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps in this prison, there is a way out. The sun shines through the window and the flower on the wall stretches forth its stem to take in the warm glory. Perhaps there is transformation right here, within her.
She stands in this space and becomes angry and resentful, selfishly seeking a way out; any way out of her self imposed prison. Her mediocre efforts, she would have you believe, are strong and persistent. She speaks of her constant effort to open that inner door that binds her in such a confining space. Upon closer observation you might see that in her frantic display of yearning and despair, she avoids entirely the already open door… as if it does not even exist. Ignored for so long, she mistakenly acknowledges to herself that it doesn’t. So she waits in misery and despair, expecting people in her life to come through and save the day for her, to point out the way. As if her self imposed limitations were their responsibility and out of her grasp entirely. As if her imaginary hero really exists outside of herself. In doing so, she reasons it is ‘me’ against ‘them’ and lives in hostility, selfishness and greed, only wanting to ‘get mine’ and to discover ‘what is in it for me?’
The story of her life is one she cannot shake. It has been woven into her so tightly that she carries it with her everywhere. She even reads it to herself, every day, time and time again – so much so that she now has it memorized and the recording of it plays automatic. She does not even have to put effort into it – the little voice is constantly reiterating the story of her life, reading it time and time again, loop after loop after loop, and many times without her consent. But to fight back with it would be too tall an order, so she succumbs to it. Besides she has learned to take refuge and comfort in the story, it is after all, the story of her life: ‘You are not good enough. Nothing you do is good enough for anyone. You do not and cannot measure up. You are not even capable of it so you should not try. Nobody cares what you have to say, or what you are up to. What you are doing has no impact on anyone. No matter what you do it will never be fully loved and accepted.’
She remains resigned to imprisonment and cynical to the hope that there is anything else even possible. As always she lives her life in order to be loved and fully accepted by herself and by others. And yet, the story she tells has her seeking for ways in which others do not approve of her or love her, and based on that, she cannot approve of, or love herself. Perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps in this prison, there is a way out. The sun shines through the window and the flower on the wall stretches forth its stem to take in the warm glory. Perhaps there is transformation right here, within her.
Moments
Moments pass by in a frenzy, unencumbered, uninterrupted. They rush through life like miniscule fireflies afloat on a swift breeze. Before long, I find myself looking back and wondering when all of those precious moments flittered by me. How did I miss them?
My gaze is generally elsewhere, and unfocused on the moment before me. I find that I tend to look at past moments with curiosity, and inquiry. What happened back then, to make such an impact in my life? What was it that I went through before, and what did I learn from it?
This line of thought, as you can imagine, does nothing for the moments that surround me. It keeps me focused in, and thus existing entirely in the past. It is as if I have gone through life as a ghost. A shadow of what my life WAS before this moment. It has given all voice to the past, and silence to my present.
I have recently gone through a life changing education that I continue to move forward with today. What I am creating and getting out of my participation in this education is nothing short of miraculous. It hasn’t been a straight shot, and just smooth sailing at all. In fact, presently I am in space of making myself very wrong. Feeling guilty, not good enough and berating myself internally.
What is different about this right now for me, is that I am aware that those conversations in my head stem from my hidden and undeclared commitment to be loved and accepted in the world.
There I said it. My big, prevailing motivation for every act I make, every word I speak, every thought I move towards – is to be loved and accepted.
While this may seem noble, let me assure you it is not.
I create so much significance on what I think, that OTHER people think about me – and then end up in a huge illusion of what they thought, said, or otherwise alluded to. I come to these conclusions, most often having not ever even spoken to them.
I’ve convinced myself throughout my life that the world was against me. That it was my duty - nay, my birthright to convince the world that I am enough. I have a mission, and it is to prove myself to the world – to prove I was smart enough, that I was pretty enough, intelligent, enthusiastic, funny, enlightened, enjoyable, loveable, etc.
And the list goes on for 31 years!!
It has never been enough. It is exhausting. I am done with trying to prove myself. I am done being 'less than'. I am finished being ‘not good enough’.
In reality – I just am.
I can accept that. And in that acceptance, comes real peace.
My gaze is generally elsewhere, and unfocused on the moment before me. I find that I tend to look at past moments with curiosity, and inquiry. What happened back then, to make such an impact in my life? What was it that I went through before, and what did I learn from it?
This line of thought, as you can imagine, does nothing for the moments that surround me. It keeps me focused in, and thus existing entirely in the past. It is as if I have gone through life as a ghost. A shadow of what my life WAS before this moment. It has given all voice to the past, and silence to my present.
I have recently gone through a life changing education that I continue to move forward with today. What I am creating and getting out of my participation in this education is nothing short of miraculous. It hasn’t been a straight shot, and just smooth sailing at all. In fact, presently I am in space of making myself very wrong. Feeling guilty, not good enough and berating myself internally.
What is different about this right now for me, is that I am aware that those conversations in my head stem from my hidden and undeclared commitment to be loved and accepted in the world.
There I said it. My big, prevailing motivation for every act I make, every word I speak, every thought I move towards – is to be loved and accepted.
While this may seem noble, let me assure you it is not.
I create so much significance on what I think, that OTHER people think about me – and then end up in a huge illusion of what they thought, said, or otherwise alluded to. I come to these conclusions, most often having not ever even spoken to them.
I’ve convinced myself throughout my life that the world was against me. That it was my duty - nay, my birthright to convince the world that I am enough. I have a mission, and it is to prove myself to the world – to prove I was smart enough, that I was pretty enough, intelligent, enthusiastic, funny, enlightened, enjoyable, loveable, etc.
And the list goes on for 31 years!!
It has never been enough. It is exhausting. I am done with trying to prove myself. I am done being 'less than'. I am finished being ‘not good enough’.
In reality – I just am.
I can accept that. And in that acceptance, comes real peace.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)