Don Quixote madness pulses through my veins. I crave a more than real life existence and end up chasing down ghosts. Memories long gone and now up for reinterpretation. I try to make a farce of it, but recognize where I am still negatively attached to life’s narratives. I feel out the stories of childhood. I search for some kind of meaning. I end up falling fickle into the hands of my parents, asking why they made the choices they made and did they realize how it would effect me? Why do I allow it to effect me to this day? Why can’t I let the ghosts go? Am I attached to the pains and fears of the past? Are it those pains and fears that make me feel alive? Probably. Is it worth it? Is it making life work in my favor? How do I want life to work if I don’t feel like it’s working?

Maybe writing about it is the place to start.

The adventures of Don Quixote’s chutzpah surges through my brain. I crave the unbeaten path no matter how painful.

Dear One,

A time will come when you find yourself in the moment sniffing roses. You might accidently prick your finger as you linger longingly into its smell. Your finger may bleed and on cue you stick it into your mouth, sucking on the liquid, allowing the enzymes in your saliva to naturally heal that small wound. The pain of that moment was worth it though. You never smelled anything quite so raw and beautiful.

A time will come when your feet get stuck in wet sand as the ocean’s current buries you ankle deep on site. The great ancient waters force you to stand your ground as your heart lifts up into a sunset. Despite the chill, you’ll be glad to be held in between two places at once; land and sea.

A time will come when you will contemplate life and if living is worth it. And let me tell you dear one, how can life be life if it didn’t give you the opportunity to contemplate it? What is life if you don’t also understand or strive to perceive death?

You see dear one, death is part of life. Life can not be appreciated if you cannot also appreciate death. Just because life is painful right now, does not mean it is your time to leave life.

Maybe it’s simply time to honor death. Maybe when times get hard and unbearable, honor those who’ve passed before you. Ask your ancestors for their guidance. The entity of their energy still exists. Ask those who are already dead in the flesh to lovingly hold you and remind you of your light. Remember we were all once star dust.

At this time, dear one, you matter. Please know you are loved and you are safe. This life can be very hard sometimes, but please know you are not alone. You’ve never been alone. Ancestral love is always there. Love is here. In these words. In this letter.

I love you dear one. Please know love has no judgement. Nor know no limits. LOVE is ALWAYS HERE when you need it.

Love,

The Lioness of the Goddess

He wanted to play. So I did. First we played the way he wanted me to. I let him pin me and take control. When he asked me to lead I pinned him open. Layer by layer. Holding him in place by his ankles and wrists, I peeled back his skin. Needles holding open raw flesh. Burning him open down the seams. Slicing down his sides with a ratchet knife. I like playing my men clean cut. Skinning them open like I would a deer. It can get messy, but I like taking my time. I like watching them wince. Their pain completes me. Eyelids pulled out wide exposing the spherical whites around their irises, held so elegantly in a frame of red and pink flesh. Lips pulled open. Cheeks slit. Sometimes I pull teeth. Or simply place a few of their chopped fingers between molars, exposing an open mouth and wide throat. I like to play with their tongues. Holding them in the grip of tongs or my finger tips. I like to play with them pinned and cut open. It makes me feel complete. Now, time to slice open his “you-know-what” and see it inside out. That part is fun. It sometimes gets hard, but it eventually goes limp when I cut through it. Ready to play?