Saturday, August 2, 2014


I've always had vivid dreams. It's to the point that those that don't know me would assume I went to sleep high on something. It's just a thing that's always been.

I've been in therapy, consistently, for just over a year. I was working with a doctoral student at first. That lasted about three months. Then she quit. I transitioned to a new therapist, and that was a rough start. She was a post doctoral fellow. Her fellowship ended in June.

I miss her. I learned a lot from her. The most challenging part: She was on myside. It's not something I've had very much experience with. I had a dear friend that moved away last year. He was the first person I had ever encountered that was on myside. He was on myside. I'm on myside. And I think, if I allow Him, God might be on myside too...

My dream: I was ending with my last therapist, Dr. S. She had this huge pile of papers. They were remnants of my journey; my past. "I need you to go through these, and decide what stays, and what goes."

I sat and started looking at the papers. The first few were things I had written. I moved those to the keep pile. I didn't have a clear image of everything. She pointed to another portion of the pile. "These are things I've given you. They are all about things you mentioned that we were going to talk about."

I didn't recognize everything in this pile. Some things we had never got too yet. There wasn't time. I put those in a special part of the keep pile. Those required more of my immediate attention. Many of them were short stories. I looked at a digital clock and realized it was fifteen minutes past the hour. I had forty-five minutes to finish, and there were still boxes, and boxes that required my attention.

A lady was there to help me. She had black rimmed glasses, and her hair was tied in a messy mop at the top of her head. I'm packing things in boxes that I'd like to keep with me, but I don't necessarily need to access immediately. She opens a box to help me get rid of things I may no longer need. She pulls out a teal, pullover sweatshirt that's two sizes too big. I remember that sweatshirt. It hid me well. "Seriously, have you seen this since high school? Chuck it in the trash!"

I didn't like her. She didn't sugarcoat anything.

The minutes started passing faster. There were boxes full of rugs and mats. I went to try to fold them.
"There's no time." she said. "Take them as they are, or leave them here!"

These men appeared. Movers, I think. They moved the boxes, and then Dr. S. came back. "Are you almost done? I have to go. I wish I didn't have to. I cherish the time we had together."
"I don't want you to leave. I really like having someone on my side."
We hugged.
"I'm always on yourside."


I walked forward, or elsewhere. On the side were two men in lawn chairs giving a play by play of the pile of papers, my journey. Casey Kasem was one of them. "What do you think she'll have to remember moving on Casey?"
"Writing is an incredible cathardic release for her. She can release her pain through the page, and it makes it easier for her to carry. But, and here's the interesting part, it's still living on the page."
"What colors would you use if you had to paint her future?"
"Blue that's sometimes lined in grey. Gloomy times can get her down, but she can see the sky still, and light breaking through."

Monday, June 30, 2014

The Title...The URL...explained.

The title: Relearning religion: Seeking a Savior.

My father's name is Salvador. In Spanish, salvador literally translates to savior. My father never saved me. I don't blame him. But he never saved me. Two years ago I made the decision to cut my father out of my life completely. It's one of the best decisions I've ever made, for me. It allowed me the freedom to focus on my own self-care, and self-love. It's the best for my overall well-being.

I was raised Catholic. Blame and shame are part of the package. There is a lot of guilt thrown into the mix as well. I was raised to fear the world. I latched onto religion to protect me. Care for me.

I stopped connecting with the Catholic church a few years ago. I pulled away from church altogether. It was very necessary. It also wasn't the first time I pulled away from church.

I've had years of religious education. I could educate any lay person on the "rules" of Catholicism, and what it "means" to be "Catholic". I thought I knew what it meant to be Christian. I thought they were very close to the same thing. I was wrong.

With all this "religious education" I don't recall much emphasis on the bible. I don't know much about the bible itself. I've read chunks of the book in school, but I don't understand very much of it.

Through a series of misunderstandings, I wound up at a Christian, non-denominational, worship service. The room felt very peaceful. I didn't know what was going on. There was a lot of singing. People spoke, and sang the name Jesus in worship, and praise. That's very new to me. I've frequently heard the terms God, Lord, and Christ. I rarely heard people say Jesus. Maybe I did, and just didn't notice.

I decided, just recently, that I want to read the bible. It may raise more questions that answers, but it's the path I'm on now.

The URL: embrace possible

I've been fascinated by the idea of possibility. Possible as a tangible quantifiable thing. Holding that thing close; having that thing sink it's way into my skin; containing that element inside of me; emanating it everywhere I go. It lives in light, grows, and blesses everything it touches.

I want to allow possible.

The interesting part. I've been intrigued by this P O S S I B L E for over a year now.

Someone in one of my classes had a bible passage tattooed on his arm. I went home to look it up. I don't remember what passage he had tattooed, but I found something else.

"And Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for with God all things are possible." Mark 10:27.