Tuesday, December 17, 2013

I Hate Christmas

I hate Christmas.

For my family Christmas was just another reason to party.

By party, I mean get drunk and high.

The images of happy families around a tree, opening piles of gifts seems as fake to me as canned snow. It was all a facade, a display to impress others who were as joyless as I was. It was yet another thing out of my grasp of which I envied and imagined was real for everyone but me.

There were few photos taken as an occasional attendee was running from the law. Gifts were sparse and booze was plentiful. At the end of the day the tables were littered with empty beer cans, the floors and couch littered with passed out bodies, and the stench of cheap beer, cigarettes and filth hung in the air.

I knew I didn't belong here. I didn't fit in. I wanted to escape. There was no way to run, nowhere to go, because my mother owned me. My body was her property to sell to her drunken friends for drug money. My only worth was to clean the messes, be her whore, and make her feel worthy.

I hate Christmas. When my child was young I wanted to enjoy it. I didn't want to ruin it for her. All of the years of trying to fit in with others, find joy in the season, decorate, erect trees with handmade ornaments and cookie baking never covered over the agony of the memories.

Now my child is grown and gone and the old memories haunt me more than ever.

I hate Christmas.

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Thursday, December 12, 2013

Black Syrup of Pain


I am dark inside and with each passing moment I an only slipping deeper into the chasm.

You reach for me seeking pink, sweet kindness, but I have none.

I am filled with poison. It oozes out of me, my breath, my words, the black syrup of death.

This is why everyone goes away. Because of the black within me.

It lurks in the shadows of my life and pounces on me when I am weak. It eats my soul and regurgitates it back into the prison of my body. The soiled remnants wallow in my mind, taunting me with who I want to be and cannot seem to be.

I will infect you with my touch. The black syrup will spill over you and cause you pain, causing you to reel backwards with disdain. I am black poison. It emanates from every pore, every cell.

I reach for the light, sunshine, goodness, in hopes to feel myself again, to heal myself again. The shroud of ugly, thick, black syrup locks me down and keeps me from the goodness that lies beyond my grasp.

I am bereft of hope. The black syrup of pain engulfs me. It owns me. It shall always be.

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Wednesday, December 11, 2013

My Time of Dying

near-death-experience
The Point of Entry to The Open Space
I sank into the bed after I told them goodbye. Christmas Eve of 2008 I died in the hospital in front of my then-husband and my daughter. I told them how hot I was getting, pulled the blankets away, began to feel groggy and somehow knew I was going.

"I love you. Take care of each other. . ."

Then I slipped away.

Before my body sank completely my soul pushed out of my chest cavity and sprung towards the clouds. The clouds were vibrant colors of orange, yellow, green and blue, flashing one color at a time. As the hum of a vibration I couldn't see changed pitch the clouds changed colors. In the center of the clouds was an opening, beyond which was The Open Space.

I was a vibration made up of three facets; a mixture of a particular tone, a consciousness and of light. The tone was my familiar pitch that I am and always have been. My consciousness was the reasoning, understanding, memory, emotions and comprehension that I've always known. My light was the essence of humanity I gained as a human being. I knew in that moment, free of my body, that I had always been the vibration, the pitch, the tone. But on my journey as a person I gained the consciousness and light.

I laughed at myself. It was all so hilarious how I had worried about all of the wrong things, cared about all of the inconsequential incidents that our days bring and all of the fears we fill ourselves with to feel real. This was real, and it was so funny how I knew it all along, yet spent so much time of my life pretending I didn't.

The opening in the clouds was coming closer and as I traveled toward it, I marveled at the clouds themselves, the puffs of gas that I had never seen before and how they worked in unison with the sound of the surrounding vibration. The gaseous clouds moved and rolled, but could barely be considered clouds by our concept of clouds as humans. These were so vibrant, alive and colorful; they seemed to be the fuel that propelled my soul of light into the next level of space.

The Open Space was far more vast than I have the ability to explain. It was limitless, but felt compact in some inexplicable way. The Open Space was the color of a reflection in a dark mirror, not a color that can be seen by human eyes, so there is no name for the color. Luminescent, vibrant, and alive, it was filled with a type of mist that moved freely, like droplets of moisture hanging in the air.

As my soul, the ball of sparkling light, was moving towards the opening, I could see countless other souls moving beyond the clouds to collect together. This was a combined consciousness, The Gathering we are all destined for. The warmth, welcoming and joy I felt was overwhelming and I found myself filled with gratitude. For a long moment I paused and basked in the gratitude, so pleased to feel safe, weightless, joyful and pain-free. It had been so long since I had been pain-free.

At the center of The Gathering was much like a sun, but instead of the rays of light moving away from the star, The Gathering was all of the souls of light coming into it. I had an understanding come over me that when the appropriate number of souls reached The Gathering, it would implode with gravity and create a new consciousness.

I was heading toward The Gathering when suddenly, my journey was over. Pulled backwards I slammed back into my thick, painful, heavy body and opened my eyes to see my daughter weeping before me.

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Monday, November 25, 2013

I'll Never Have Us


Never thought it would happen
You'd leave me this way
I turned to look
And you'd gone away

I'll never have us
I'll never have us
I'll never have us
I'll never have us

So broken and hollow
I'm left here to stay
Only nighttime will follow
'Cause you took the day

I'll never have us
I'll never have us
I'll never have us
I'll never have us


(After dreaming this song, I woke up and wrote it. I searched for it online first, because the beautiful girl singing it sounded so familiar, but I didn't find results. It was a dream.)

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Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Life to Ride


In the moment the spoken words lifted me from my seat, I knew that I had arrived. Meaningless, lilting prose spoke to parts of my soul that had been set free by unapologetic honesty. The poetry group seemed to last only moments, although the clock indicated hours. Fitting in with those who fit nowhere only reminded me that these moments are too few in my life.

I'm tired of trying to fit in. I don't want to be weird, or to stand out; only honest about my purpose. I want to act natural, feel natural, live natural, be natural, in my own world. And no, you can't be part of it. This is only for me.

Mounting my motorcycle Gracie I realize she belongs to me, with me, under me, between my thighs. She roars with delight as I stroke her throttle and bring her soul to life, the way she brings mine to life with each mile. She was once forgotten, forsaken, neglected and alone, the way I had been. We found one another by happenstance, the way one finds a penny in a parking lot. I wasn't looking for her, but there she was. Taking her meant parting with my good friend Katie, but my soul knew the time was right. I seized the moment.

Gracie roars on misty streets in the moonlight, harmoniously weaving through the manholes and streetlights, tickled to simply be in motion. She wishes we could ride farther, longer, faster, but she does not complain. She waits ever so patiently at the curb, under the streetlight, for my next approach.

She knows I need her, I want her, I love her. With the turn of the key, the ignition sparks my heart, charges my desire to chew yellow-striped asphalt and swallow wind. She rumbles between my legs with anticipation of our next road, hoping there is no destination, only a life to ride.

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Thursday, September 12, 2013

Brewing

I'm climbing the walls, coming out of my skin.

No real reason. At least not outwardly. Or something obvious, evident, clear.

Something is brewing within me, deep inside, where things tear apart the fabric of my existence.

I've been through so many changes the last few years, I fear I cannot take another right now. I don't see any way to avoid it. How can I avoid something from within?

I'm waiting for change. I see it on the horizon, regardless of my wishes for peace, calm and serenity. Change still lurks just beneath the surface.

Ready or not, I'll take it, stay on course, and grow.

But Jesus Fucking Christ, I would sure love a break.

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Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Scars

kawasaki
Grasp the bars
Kick through gears
Let the wind
Dry my tears

My rolling tires
Ride so far
Take me away
But not the scar

The pain inside
I left behind
Cleared away
From my mind

Though miles heal
Wounds you made
The scar you left
Just won't fade

Scratches in
My paint & chrome
No matter how
Far I roam

Scars remain

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About Sash


People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)