Oh the cage that keeps you there.
The smoke that fills the air. The moon shines. Can you feel her light? Old wounds, raw. Old energy, stuck. They’ve programmed you into zombie. Old patterns. Eyes shut. Clung to the painful past. You’ve left enough to know. That your heart is your home. So fly FREE! Say “fuck you” insecurity. You’ve paid your dues. You’ve worked real hard. There’s balance available. Welcome in self love. Be a healthy, strong rock. It’s the best thing you can do. Come with me. Experience a different energy. Take a risk, take a chance. Trust your superman ability! Your soul has been washed again and again. You’ve dove the deepest depths of the sea. It’s time to rise, beautiful man. I promise magic, you will see!
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I find you to be an unhappy, ungrateful bitch sometimes.
Impossible to please. Yet he tries. He really is the greatest man. Caring, in-tune with your needs. Why must you be so hard? You say you are unhappy with your boring, unfulfilling, non-creative, repetitive job. You have nothing exciting happening. You are snoring away the last weeks of your 1 year therapy plan. He can’t fill all your needs. Yet he tries. He’s addicted and wishes he could quit smoking. You bug him about it. Yet he tries. He cooks dinner. He cleans. He keeps the house warm, everyday! He is kind, compassionate and understanding. If you choose him, you choose all of him. He’s a great choice! You whine around about this and that. Never happy with anything. Yet he tries. I’ve always been an “open-book.”
Unashamed of where I’ve been. Excited to share how my mind works. From a view looking in. The mind is so fascinating. We are surprisingly so much more alike than we think. We are human. Am I to publish a literal book, sharing my open and honest journey!? Is this the key I’ve been working towards finding all year? Have my weekly emails to my teacher, been the chapters to my book!? Is my book already written!? “My One Year Plan” by Phoebe Dykstra In this moment.
Misty tree tops. Bundled up in beaver and mink. The ocean travelling home but never to rest. Days turn to night. MaPacho breathe. Hibernation time on Haida Gwaii. In our home, a new friend. She helps me remember to play. Teaches me patience. Hugs for days. He’s whole. He’s my man. My teacher. My soul. I’m taken care of. He’s helping me become the best woman I can be. A big gust of wind. A deep belly breath. Soothing ice water waves at sea. My hands getting numb. In the village. Here to be family. Orange light shines at the cemetery. Squatted against a log. No birds around. A car sounds. I yawn. My nose drips. What’s for dinner? We picked cedar and flowers for our bubble baths before bed. If it wasn’t my biggest dream to be a world famous singer / performer, I would quit the choir.
You’d think with a previous career as a television host, interviewing the biggest celebrities on the red carpets, streaming LIVE to the world, I’d be able to confidently burst open any door, “PHOEBE HAS ARRIVED!” but instead, I park my car beyond the driveway, wait until just a minute before class (hoping our teacher is on time) then, terrified, quietly, with my head down, sneak in the door. Oh good, there’s the dog. “Hi puppy” (save me puppy!) Everyone is huddled around in groups. We all know or know of each other as this is the local choir, at our local doctor’s house! Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh. I clutch my tea and stand against the wall. I .. can’t.. breathe. This demons name? “Mingling.” I’ve been making amends with “Small Talk” by strategically placing myself into the role of a Barista. And “Being Seen” is paradoxically, what I’m going for. I look around, Michl isn’t here yet. Do you have to go pee before you start? Nope. Did you forget anything in the car? Nope. You could run! NOPE! I sip my tea. “Hey Phoebe.” “How’s it going, Phoebe?” “Hiiiiiiii” Oh good, our teacher is here. Of course, making an epic entrance, as usual. My head is down. “What If He Doesn’t Like Me” demon awake. He’s coming in for a hug. *phewf* Good, this means we can start! Front row, centre. Attent and ready to sing! Hallelujah! |
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