“Death is not an ending. It is a transformation. What dies is only our sense of identiy, which was false to begin with.” – Deng Ming-Dao


The cocoon seemed so exposed. The ants had already destroyed one that precariously hung off the patch of milkweeds. One butterfly, found dead, was not fully formed or perhaps, eaten by birds. We decided to take the remaining cocoon on the porch. I carefully cut the stalk of the milkweed stem and placed it in a vase with other flowers. I tied the milkweed leaf on the stem on day 3 after I noticed falling dead leaves, afraid the leaf holding the cocoon would be next; a delicate operation, but success! On day 10 or so at 2 AM, I noticed the cocoon changing color (as it had over it’s metamorphosis) but darker now. My butterfly was emerging. I stayed up as long as I could to witness another miracle. This was not my first birthing of butterflies. The next morning, my little buddy was next to her cocoon. My husband had placed her and the vase outside but I wasn’t ready to let go. I easily convinced myself: it wasn’t ready, it’s gonna rain really hard, the birds will eat her before she has a chance to fly away. I brought her back onto the porch. It rained really hard! She could not yet fly, as monarchs spend hours drying their wings. My husband said “how could this be? how could they ever survive? can nature be that cruel?” (we know that answer, don’t we?) My sweet butterfly lived on the porch for a day and half. This morning, i saw her on the screeen. I offerd her my finger. She climbed onto it. I opened the porch door, and walked with her to the milkweeds down the path. I placed her on the orange flower. She quickly flew off! I watched her circle the swath of flowers, up into our oak tree, then over our fence, away from view. I felt happy. I smiled. My little girl was grown and free. It’s the afternoon now and it’s raining really hard. I am trying not to focus on “oh no, what if she’s too wet?” and think instead: she’s safe under a bush. Life is impermanent. Holding on to anything is futile. I will find freedom with this knowledge.

[ Blog # 12 #SocialMediaSummerSabbatical #AntiSocialSocialMediaExperiment ]

Momma always said “Politics Is Like A Box Of Cereal” – Forrest Trump

You want a bowl of cereal. You’re craving a bowl of cereal. Something sweet like when you were a kid. Trix. Alphabits (but the ones before they changed the ingredients). Coco Puffs (only because they were not allowed in your house).

You check the kitchen cabinet and damn, you’re out of cereal. You check the pantry: Eureka! But damn damn, it’s generic bran flakes. You go to the dollar store down the street and go to the cereal aisle. There is only brand name (expired? damaged?) cereal but it’s those large tasteless rectangle wheat bars. Kinda shredded-like. (no one enjoys being sued).

You go home with your tasteless weird wheat shreds and pour a giant bowl. Your plan is to cover the damn things in as much sugar as you can, slice up some fruit on top.

Oh. My. God. You don’t have enough milk. You are not about to go to the store again!

You look at the carton, hoping for x-ray vision, gauging just how much milk is left.

Cereal to milk ratio is the meaning of life.

After giving the carton a good shake then peering inside, you realize you have to remove some of the cereal. You will have to sacrifice some of the rectangles and most of the banana. You start a second bowl with the leftovers and put it in the fridge, leaving it for “later.”(tbh= throw out)

You wait until your show comes back on before pouring the milk on the cereal because cereal to milk crunchiness is the meaning of life.

You do it. Grab your spoon and napkin first, then pour!

Perfect. The fucking milk is bad! The milk is lumpy, smelly and sour.

You dump it all out and decide to move to Italy and eat gelato for the rest of your life.


[Blog # 11 – #SocialMediaSummerSabbatical #SummerSocialMediaSabbatical #AntiSocialSocialMediaExperiment ]


How to not hold on to sanity

A458C7C6-1A34-445F-AAB7-DEF018AE0583I get into the most trouble when I try to hold on. It doesn’t matter what it is: an idea, a thought, a feeling, a relationship, an experience- none of it serves the ME in the end. What’s harder? Trying to let go? Trying to let go of: an idea, a thought, a feeling, a relationship, an experience- either way, the cluster fuck seems to be in the “trying”.

Could it be the ME is drawn to self-imposed suffering; a non-stop, commercial-free, one way fearful trip to a future that never arrives?

I live an extraordinary life and yet I wake up to battle everyday. I don’t give myself a break until hours after I’m conscious. Sometimes, I’m relieved that in 20 years I’ll probably get to punch my time card for the last time and retire to the Afterlife. I put in my time on Earth. I won’t be needing a gold Apple watch either.

There is respite. Today,

I find comfort in my  thoughts or they can be my worse enemy.

When my mind is searching around, waiting to land on the roulette wheel of emotions, I can easily fall to existential angst or the latest shooting/attack/atrocity (#Munich #CharlesKinsey #TrumpSpeech) for suffering solace. Or perhaps because the first love encounter you are writing for your character turns into a sexual assault.

Perhaps the trick is forging ahead (“just keep swimming”) and keep that augmented reality in the background.

Perhaps I have to let go of this notion.


[BLOG # 10 #SummerSocialMediaSabbatical #TheAntiSocialSocialExperiment #SocialMediaSummerSabbatical ]


Mental health, the criminal justice system, and how I blame Elayne Boosler

Yesterday, I did something out of the norm. I sent two letters out. Both to prisons. Both to men in their 20’s, serving time for violent crimes. One for 13 years. One for life. They both suffer from severe mental illness. One is a friend’s son and one is an ex-client. Neither could get proper help on the “outside”.  Neither is getting help on the “inside” – the justice system and these privatized institutions do not deal with “crazy”. Why should they?

Only 15-20% of Police forces in the country have crisis intervention officers specializing in mental health. [Nightline: 7.22.16]

I have a close friend on Twitter with PTSD who just bought a gun. She sounds angry and out of touch- a lot. Today she’s TRUMPED up by the fear mongering. We are to believe we need to treat these pockets of horrific violence militarily, not as the law enforcement or mental health issue and gun proliferation that it is. We ignore the roots and want quick easy answers.

I wonder if we’ll ever be able to connect the dots to sanity in this country?


On another Note-A Confession: I cheated this week and went onto Facebook. I went to check on a friend and came across an Elayne Boosler Game. How could I resist? I checked Twitter today too and even posted via an anonymous account. #Munich #MichaelKinsey #RNC #damn

 I still blame Elayne Boosler for my Social Media Sabbatical slide.

[blog # 9 #AntiSocialSocialMediaExperiment #SummerSocialMediaSabbatical]