The Story of Woman – Part 1

A fictional story based on a reality I’ve seen happen to others too often.

storyofwomanimageShe had loved hard. Like any woman who loves hard the blow of every development relating to his new life was soul crushing. More than his new life, it was their old life that she found herself thinking of constantly. She was always brought back to the innocent young lovers they had been. It was her that had thought about their plans and it was her that had dreamed about the type of life they’d build. She had known back then that they wouldn’t always be in a tough financial situation. She’d known they’d make it one day and she looked forward to the time when she could look back upon their younger years and remember that they didn’t have much but they had love. Every time she heard that song play on the radio, she thought of them living in their rundown, one-bedroom apartment having cold beer and chips. Back then, the world seemed to be filled with tomorrows and those nights it was just them, just love and just that song:

Ohhhh, we’re halfway there, ohhhh livin’ on a prayer, take my hand and we’ll make it I swear. Ohhhh, livin’ on a prayer!

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Why are we killing each other?

For What It’s Worth – Buffalo Springfield

“There’s battle lines being drawn. Nobody is right if everybody is wrong.”

We are killing each other a lot more – by the masses, because of race and sexual preference, on the street, at schools and clubs. Sure, each case can be broken down and we can often see what went wrong, but we’d be small-minded to think that changing the effect will change the cause. I’ve tried to find the root of the problem so that I myself can understand; so that I can become part of the solution. What I’ve found is that if we peel the layers back – opinions aside – we can all agree on this:

Ego has triumphed over Soul.

False Self has triumphed over True Self.



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Darkness Still (POEM)

Darkness Still
by The Lady & The Lyrics

While others search for eyes resembling the ocean,
Blue, green, light and full of devotion,
For me,
It’s the lovely stillness underneath your lids,
Dark lusting eyes the shade of a papaya seed,

Mysterious in their every gesture,
What lurks behind them a forbidden treasure,
They call my name,
Come here…

Although they make me ill at ease,
I gravitate toward them against the warning that they heed,
I don’t fight back,
You’re sorcery.