“…There’s A Feeling I Get When I Look to the West (and East) and My Spirit Is Crying for Leaving…”

In the last couple of months filled with exhaustion and awesomeness, (which in part brought said exhaustion) there has been the constant ache to write, and the words always lingering, asking to be (said) or written or something. But almost every time I sat to write, no matter time of day, the exhaustion won, and the words stayed hidden behind eyes that couldn’t stay open. I know the words were about anniversaries of sorts. Final goodbyes, and hellos, new and renewed. And about love because there is always love in all it’s forms, even if I’m writing about sadness. But also because love and LOVE have become such huge, real parts of my world, in ways I’ve never known, and didn’t foresee. Which is cool, and weird, as fuck.

I woke this morning to 30+ notifications of new likes on my Instagram. All the likes were for posts prior to the anniversaries of which I’d meant to write, and I was brought back to the place when darkness was still wrapped around me, but I had found my voice, if not yet light, (not yet become light) or love as I know it now. I didn’t know what the sudden large number of likes were for, until I started to read some of the posts. Surreal isn’t a big enough word to describe the feeling of reading those words, written by a version of me I can no longer imagine being. If absolute love for/from someone is the best feeling in the world, the lack of hate/extreme anger for someone toward whom you once felt those things, has to be the second best. But the one who wrote those posts was still pretty deep in hate/extreme anger, which really are masks for hurt if we’re going to be honest.

So someone found them, those posts fueled by hate which was hurt. A someone who specializes in helping those who are sex addicts, and their partners, as well as those who are experiencing domestic violence. And all those posts he found were my time of coming clean, to myself and the world, to use my voice, and be a voice. So maybe if they found those words, they found something that will help them, help THEM. Those who are where I was, or where I was by proxy. That notwithstanding, it was an odd thing to wake up to.

(It’s taking me so long to write this… they keep stopping me. The energy flowing from my hands stops me. The magick stops me, and asks me to redirect my energy to someone(s) who need clearing or healing, and I can’t not listen because more than ever it is not about me, while always being about me because as I heal {you}, I heal. But if you could let me write…just for a little bit?)

Yesterday morning’s memories brought to me by social media were so much different than today’s. I don’t always check out memories from the “On This Day” thing on Facebook, but the pic it showed me compelled me to look. It was a pic of a blue sky, and of fluffy white clouds. Specifically the photo is of a heart, and an angel, formed by the joining of, and spaces between, the two, and so lovely is said picture, I made it my (whateverthefuck is the name of the pic at the top of my Facebook page.) The horizon is one I’ve not yet seen for myself, in real life, but was sent to me as means of sharing a journey with me. Of taking me with. The something so simple, that was a something so huge. Like so much else has been in this last year, for so many reasons in so many ways…

(…if you envision me dancing in the stars it’s because you showed me I can….)

There was so damn much to say, not just from yesterday’s memories, and the anniversaries of the last couple of months, but also from having a movie day of LA LA Land, (a new favorite) and Audrey Rose, (old favorite, exquisite Anthony Hopkins, beautiful book, woo woo as fuck, sad, and gorgeous). I was deep in the vibe of love, and nostalgia for times I didn’t actually live in as this me, but am probably currently living in as others who are me, and not. I was wrapped in blankets, sipping tea, drifting between here, and there where I want to be. And words were coming to me, or ideas of them anyway.

Also there things to be said from time before, from Arizona, last year and this. Of seeing my friends, who are (were? fuck) his friends, (Chester’s and mine) and speaking of their last memories of him, and mine. Of the amazing show that was Hospice Rocks. Of how beautiful is my friend Yvette, in heart, and soul. How magic she is. How much I want to be half as good a friend to her as she has been to me. How much I admire her as a mom to Divo. (How jealous I am that a 9 year old boy has better hair than me!)

There were words also, of seeing faces I’ve known for 20+ years, and many I haven’t seen in far too long. As “back to life” and myself as I have felt in the last year, when one of the dearest faces looked into mine and said “you’re still doing it, after all these years, and from so far away, you’re still promoting music. I came to see you Michelle. I mean, I’m here for the cause, I’m here for the bands, but I came to see you because you’re still doing it.” it was as if the last little bit of myself that was laying (lying? fuck it) dormant, came all the way back. As small as was my role in this show, it was like flexing a once often used muscle, and it felt good. Because; music, creativity, shared passion, art.

(I sing from side stage, because that’s where my star shines brightest. Being the keeper of music. Supporting those who create it, in whatever way I can. ~ Random Muse.)

The music was (and is always) magic. Even the show the night before the show. Soulfly. Me in my pink shirt, and strappy sandals, amongst the none-more-black jeans and t-shirt crowd. The sounds aren’t those I crave, but the energy was breathtaking. Onstage, and off. It was people watching at its finest! It was observing people’s passion as they got lost in the moment, and the mosh pit. It was knowing my friend Donny, who has taken care of me from day 1 I walked into the bar he owned where my bands used to play, who calls me “fun waiting to happen” is still taking care of me when I’m at his venue, so no matter the crowd, I am always safe. And rarely sober! (Which is not to say drunk; reference “fun waiting to happen”)

And then it was tears, as I sat in the balcony in the venue, watching, realizing that balcony was where I was meant to be sat on September 29 just past. There where Chester and Grey Daze were to have played. …

This was all so much more poetic, and meaningful, as written in my head. But the poetry of it has waned, as the day has wanted to be focused on energy. On light, and being light. Healing, and being a healer.

This something that has become so much a part of everything and me, that as I was getting ready for the show last weekend, on 11/11, the downloads, or symptoms, or the feeling the remnants of the departure of a someone, through the filter of a heart I hold most dear, almost buckled my knees, over and over and over. And unless you’ve felt those sorts of moments, they defy explanation. But I had to ask them, or it, to allow me the night to be present. It worked that night. Today, not so much…

As I figuratively look to the west, and the east, both of which contain elements of my past and future, (for whatever any of that means) I fight to remind myself that for now I am here. For now there is contentment or even something more, which I have to choose as my reality because it is reality. I remind myself that all of this is so much bigger than me, and not just about me, although all of this is of my own design, (maybe).  I search for the value in the moments that challenge me most. Those moments are most often the ones in which I feel lonely, and when I am missing what I have never had, but have never been without. Because of the blessing and curse of a memory that makes yesterdays as palpable as right this minute, (but only the pretty parts, so thank you for that, whatever it is that makes it all so real) sometimes in the silence, the lonely is amplified.

It’s now 1:30 in the morning of the morning after the morning during which I started writing this. Its 38 degrees, and I’ve just come back from a walk meant to clear my head, ground me, tire me out, but didn’t. Instead I walked outside myself, watching as a paragraph or more (of the book, not this blog) was written, becoming a few frames of a movie, with shades of Jackson Browne playing in my ears.

In 4 days its Thanksgiving, and in a month Christmas. Dates which are often relevant, but in this instance only relevant if you are me, and have my memory, and can recount in vivid detail words, and the moments in which they were exchanged, that changed everything. “…becoming a more awesome version of yourself…”

I’m still figuring this all out. The light, and being light. The love, and being love. Because its really fucking odd to say, and odder still to feel, that I’m ready now. Ready for the parts of me that are so separate from everything here but are also not because of the oneness. On the daily I work to stay in the magic of it all, to be patient, and to act in the highest good, for the collective, and for me, which inherently includes you. Because I am ready. Ready to move (in)to where I am meant to be. Ready to not be surrounded by others fear, and vibration which I must fight to stay above, in a not snobby but real way. Ready to heal the one’s who need it. Ready to learn that craft, and devote myself to it. While writing the book. And singing the songs from side stage, figurative and real.

(I’ve no doubt that when my first book is finished, some editor will become rich, because there will be so much work for them to do!! Did I make a point? Any point? No idea. But if you’re still reading, you’re beautiful, and I love you.)


Floating Around With My Head In The Clouds

An alternate title could be “Jesus Christ Michelle, shut the fuck up already.” But I’d hate to offend anyone. Which is a lie because if you’re offended by my use of those words strung together, 200% truth is you should never read what I write. Unless you enjoy being offended. In which case, you’re more fucked up than me. (More fucked up than I? It’s 430 AM I don’t know which is correct.)

The thing is, I can’t say enough, I don’t have the answers to anything. I used to think I had some answers, which as it turns out were mostly based on what others told me the answers were. And were wrong.

From where I lay right now, which is to say in a home so new to me, as I bleary eyed stumbled to find the bathroom as the rude Restless Soul Syndrome woke me again, I wasn’t sure which way to turn outside my bedroom door, I know less than I used to. I can’t recall in which kitchen cupboard I put what. (Other than those which make logical sense. Do not make me verbally slap you because you don’t know that your dishes should go in the top cupboard closest to the dishwasher!) Outside my apartment, I don’t know where a grocery store is, or gas station, or how to get to the closest Wawa. (If you don’t know Jersey you don’t know Wawa, and I’m sad for you.)

For reasons that have little to do with being severely directionally impaired, I can’t drive to my new job without using my Waze app. Once I am at work at least twice a day I make an ass of myself wandering the halls in search of a restroom, or breakroom, I’d been to earlier. Thankfully I know the industry I’ve gone back into, and learn new software easily, but otherwise most of my days are spent learning things new to me.

I think it’s fair to say that, inside and out, 75% of me, and my life, has 100% changed in the last year. Which is great given the shit show my life had in many ways been for too long. Certainly I’m used to change with my life of permanent impermanence that to others has made me appear unstable, or irresponsible, or flakey, but these changes have been BIG. And I’m not talking geography here.

There are very few immutable truths I’ve held much of my life, those being; my kids before all else, which also means me letting them go to be who they are. If I had to choose between never hearing music again or never having sex again, I’d give up sex. (But also fuck that Sophie’s choice! It’s just to illustrate a point!) For me, blood is NOT thicker than water, and it doesn’t make me an asshole to believe this. I would have traded big boobs, and a big ass, to be a Ballerina. Most forms of math I was forced to learn in school were useless in real life, like I said they’d be! And I fit in everywhere, and also, nowhere, and I’m cool with it.

Also immutable (except those years it wasn’t) is that I’m just, me, and I actually do love me (again  now).  I’ll speak my mind clearly, other than when I stumble over my words because there isn’t (or is) eye contact. Part of me is also about struggling with when to speak, and when to not. Like, timing is everything, but there’s no time like the present. Except maybe my present being the “no time like” isn’t the same as that of someone else. Maybe their puppy is sick and they don’t have the capacity to hear my ramble. And I forget that sometimes.

So right now expansion is happening rapid fire.  Things I didn’t ask for, hope for, dream of, or even know existed, seem to be the foundation upon which I was built, but didn’t realize it until ideas found me, and said “don’t worry baby, you’re not crazy, or a bad person.” And there’s a limited audience whom I sought out to support the “not crazy or bad” thing, cause they’ve been where I (think) I am, who may get this, if it is what is, with whom I can discuss the parts of it which can be discussed. 

But for as much as it makes sense, it’s also scary if I let it be scary, and lonely until it’s not,  and in a run away as fast as you can, sort of way. Where I want to look around and be all Jersey girl and say, “fuck outta here wit dis bullshit, have you MET me? Why would I be a fitting person for this role?” But I feel like I’ve gotten a “this is your mission and you can’t not accept it” note. 

Even if I’m reading a million signs wrong, the direction I’m headed is the same irrespective of who is along for the ride, and it’s good! I will always have to be at least ok, no matter who is coming along. 

So while I still don’t have answers I now at least feel like I get myself, and my life, a bit more. Permanent impermanence has been on purpose to allow me freedom (just another word for, nothing left to lose) and flexibility of sorts. A constant quest for deeper truths without blind faith in anything or one, has allowed me to REALLY find my truths. (Work in progress)

And for those who may wonder or may need to know, each step I am making is made with integrity, love (global and specific) like I’ve never known, and highest good for all as it’s driving forces. My focus is inside me, healing my me, raising my vibration, and watching for the synchronicities as a (beloved) friend has helped me to remember to do.

So all this being said, I’m tired AF, and it’s time to get up for work. Also, I need a break from my own head, from deep thoughts and emotions that come with rapid fire transformation. I need to go out and play, to shake my ass (dance!) hear the ocean. Sometimes too, I just need to shut the fuck up, like right now.

On Being (Sleep Deprived) Light 

Long before I’d had even a glimmer of understanding of the enormity of everything that is still not, but never wasn’t, so therefore is (And to think Jean-Luc once accused me of pedantry!) there was for me, light. That which illuminated. That which is the antithesis of cumbersome/heavy. Light.

Irrespective of the place in which I am for this time, which is in shadow, and maybe I, as has often been the case in life, have it all wrong, but I think it’s now my turn. To lilluminate. To be what isn’t heavy. So from my place in shadow, I’ll be the light. Shining into places that appear scary, but really are not. Making it easier to traverse the road (less traveled) ahead. Being a cosmic cheerleader for those who need it, encouraging them to leave behind the heavy, the cumbersome, the past. 

Written from my bed again, in a night of sleep that has come in drips, and drops, after an evening of fighting everything inside me that feels overwhelmed by a call to trust in some sort of greater plan, and to trust in general. Fighting to transmute thoughts and feelings and energy which doesn’t serve me. Fighting to overcome the sadness of not being where I want to be, where I thought I’d be, tonight, tomorrow, next week. Fighting to believe loneliness won’t be forever. For whatever it means, I’ll be the light. 

There’s some sort of irony in typing this right now, into my phone, in a room with only just now the slightest hint of sunlight peeking through the blinds, without my glasses as I’d planned to sleep tonight, not write,  as with so much else in my life, just feeling my way through, and hoping I get at least most of it right. But also a little bit saying fuck it, if there are tiny mistakes, at least I wrote the thing, instead of just letting it sit untouched in the back of my mind. 

You Were Written Into The Song Of My Soul

Maybe laying here in my bed, typing this into my phone, the words bubbling once again below the surface will find their way to light, in a way they were reluctant to do when it was the couch, and the laptop, and me.

There’s a whirlwind now, circling around me. Everything is changing, inside, and out, and its brilliant, and beautiful, and I’m peacefully overwhelmed. Because I wrote maybe I need to shed skin again, and God, Universe, The Flying Spaghetti Monster, whatever,  responded with “get naked, baby!” So naked I am, in the whirlwind, at peace, overwhelmed, but not. No need to be in control of any of it, but also in control of it all because; manifestation.

And it never looks like I think it will but always looks like what I wish I’d dreamed it to be, now that I let go of what it is, or will be, and just let go. With tears of unknown origin once again finding their way to me, this time I’m not on my knees, or even surprised. This time I’m grateful. Each tear that clings to a lash, reluctant to fall, or makes its way out amongst a rush of it’s peers, is a spontaneous ritual of purification. Is a signifier simultaneously of a closure, and a further opening.

Absent all fear, the step forward, upward, sideways, whatever it’s meant to be, leaves behind another footprint in memory’s past. And I have no more answers to questions than I had when I finally chose myself that day 7 months ago, except so much now makes sense.

Whether it is a matter of heightened awareness or a quantitative rise in frequency/frequency of occurrences, synchronicities abound. And what I need when I need it, words or actions or phone calls or songs or love, reach for me, take hold of me, assure me here is where I’m meant to be. Here where I have the most incredible people in my life. And where magic(k) is everywhere.

I’m still just half a hippy, (the half that will always be well groomed, and never wear patchouli) but in my halfness I am (holy) fully in a place of knowing love more deeply, more intimately, than in any time (in this lifetime) before now.  Love generally love specifically love globally. Starting with me, for me, for both halves (still really both wholes) of me, and with love for all, even those I maybe don’t like, or for whom my first thought isn’t loving, there is love.

Where once I thought a mirror was held before me I’ve come to understand there is no mirror held but is simply a mirror. My mirror into which I reflect back as it’s mirror.  Ideas about, and descriptors of,  history lessons, and titles, none of that matters. Tomorrow, or next week or 2 months from now, it just is. (Everything of light, and bright, and cool)

This is all about me,  but it can never be just for me. While naked 11 (which is not the same naked as skin shedding naked) may appear to be some days a default setting, the absolute truth hovers more around (veiled? robed?) 8 or whatever number below 10 best expresses authenticity & transparency with some (tiny amount of) reserve, except when expressed as frequency (Hz) which makes the number at least 500.  And isn’t about appearance, and only meaningful to those (one) who hear(s) what it/I say(s).

7 months in the past and 15 days into the future are significant, but right here, and now, is where I work to stay.


Fell asleep at 3:00AM, phone in hand, typing. I guess this is the place at which the words stop.

“…So We Must Love While These Moments Are Still Called Today, Take Part In The Pain Of This Passion Play…”

Listening to:  Everything Indigo Girls (again) which started (this time) here “Galileo”

12 years ago, 2005, in the span of 5 months, my confidant, greatest supporter, in many ways my mentor, my teacher, my almost-mother-in-law become dearest friend, Roxy, 5 days before my trip to Denver to see her, lost her (2nd) battle with cancer; dear, sweet, YOUNG boy, sound engineer working with the band I was managing, Chris, just starting his career making music beautiful, was taken literally by fire; and my niece, Cristina angel completed whatever it was she’d decided to come here for, and crossed back over to where she was free from the medical mystery of a body she’d occupied for not quite 11 years, this time around. And what I thought was forever (and real, and passionate, and nurturing, and healing, and spiritual, and healthy, and everything beautiful) love, found me. I wonder sometimes, had it not been for all the death that preceded the finding of me by (love?) might I have made different choices. Maybe. But I made the choices I made, and really, who the fuck knows. And now here I am… exactly where I want to be, at my core, happier than I’ve ever been.

In 5 days, in a courtroom far away, a Judge will wave her magic wand, and the life, and marriage, formerly known as mine, will be legally, formally, officially, eternally, over. And it’s good. I have outgrown that marriage, and the person I was when in it, and the person to whom I was married. I never understood until a few months ago that people can outgrow each other, their relationships, their marriages. I got it in terms of friendships, but not beyond that. I get it now. From my own experiences, and those of some others who have, or are going through this. They don’t have to involve things such as domestic violence, and addiction, for one to outgrow the other. Or both to outgrow each other, and the situation.  Moving on, walking away, is not something bad. It is not a sign of failure, or of lack of integrity. In fact, it is likely the exact opposite of that in some cases. (Such as for someone I will be quoting later in this writing, who helped me to shift my perspective on this topic.)

In one month’s time, my littlest angel, Ari, will be ascending a level higher toward her dreams, starting out on the road-trip, that is really a (permanent) move to Los Angeles. So much everything cool, and good with that. But cool, and good, isn’t always synonymous with easy, and free of sadnesses of sorts.

In two months time, I’ll be moving, locally, somewhere. As (accidentally) as accustomed as I am to moving, for some reason I didn’t think I’d be doing so again, quite this soon. I have always been “lucky” or whatever it is that has my back in this life, so things always work out, but, this just feels a little heavy this time, which is throwing me a bit off balance.


I’m over-thinking, and under-doing, and not breathing enough, but also, breathing sometimes too much. Maybe I need to get high? Or laid? Or swim in the ocean? Take a road trip. Spend more time in meditation? Allow myself to fit into a box, and be suited to a label? Live more in this world, and less in whatever the one is that so often calls to me? Drive until I get lost, and found again? I definitely need to sing again. And to dance more often, with absolute abandon, in a crowd of people doing the same, to share that energy.


From Elizabeth Gilbert – one of my favorite authors, and humans:

Yesterday, I asked my Fear, “How are you doing, my old friend? What’s going on with you?”

My Fear said, “I’m so tired. Trying to keep everyone and everything safe has completely exhausted me. I can’t do this anymore. Somebody else needs to be in charge now.”

And then I heard Love speak. She said, “Let me take it from here, babe.”

That’s when we all started breathing again.

Elizabeth Gilbert – Love this lady


I am now self-aware enough that I have been watching myself slip into where fear, or something similar to it, which is not shiny, or beautiful, has started to be a little bit in charge again. Not fear of a something, or a someone, or an event. Non-specific fear, that I’d thought was relegated to my past as a way of life, or even just an interlude. Not to say that I don’t know what some of the “triggers” are, but, triggers aren’t inherently the boss of me. And also, sometimes triggers only have the slightest hint of a fragrance past, which strikes the chord of a memory of a something that wasn’t pleasant, so making the decision to believe that the top notes, and finishing notes, and all in between, are exactly the same as the scent of experience past, is just, stupid.

So I look deep inside myself to see what’s going on, and I look to the planets, and stars, sun, and moon, to see what is maybe their part in all of this. I wrap my arms around myself when need be, remind my me that this healing is a process, and that my shade of crazy is actually quite beautiful, and that which sets me apart. Not above, or below, but apart. I (for once) reach out to others to talk to them about it, this (slightly) off balance moment I’m having.

The origins of fear –

Knowingly putting myself into situations which may result in me getting hurt in the end. But that’s a little bit what this human experience is about in total, so I kick my own ass, widen my view, and remember that I’d be bored, and filled with regret, if I didn’t take the risks of LIVING  vs the safety of existing.

Never afraid of change, but sometimes when a lot of it comes all at once, and when at least a part of it means (physically) letting go (again) (because it has seemed sometimes that universe has wanted to say to me that my super power in this life is letting go of anyone I love, but not because they die, but rather due to circumstances I’d never seen as remotely possible) I stumble, and momentarily clench my hands to grip more tightly, instead of releasing.

Feeling a lack of contentedness for my todays, because I’m very excited for my tomorrows. I got a little high, I think, on the fast pace at which things were changing, and moving (inside, and outside of me) for a while. Instead of appreciating the calm, and matching my energy to the rhythm, and in spite of knowing that a slow groove builds the foundation, so that when the crescendo comes, it is of mind-blowing proportions, I focused on the “high.”

That my wants will be perceived as neediness. That I’ll forget, again, that “no wo/man is an island” and won’t let myself be held, or nurtured, because that means vulnerable. And that vulnerable is scary as fuck for everyone who has any amount of living under their belt, and as far as I can tell, a lot scarier for those who have experienced years of betrayal, and betrayal by everyone in their life ever sworn by lineage or deed, to protect “you.”

That I will be seen (not by anyone in particular) to be “less than” because I don’t have a plan for 2 months from now, much less 10 years from now. Because all the good people, right people, best people, have a solid foundation, a firm plan, own a house, aren’t divorced, have a college degree, and a linear career path. They also don’t feel as if their life will be incomplete if they don’t travel to certain countries. And especially by 50 years of age, they have very firm roots planted somewhere, with someone, the end.

That what is before me, which is burning inside of me to know, and has been since before I knew it was, is held by unseen forces, and just carrot on a stick, with which I will later be smacked.

I want to write about shadows (in which I am not meant to live) because I am the girl who (metaphorically) sings from (metaphorical) sun drenched mountaintops, and dances on them too, not in the shadows. But also not in spotlights. Sun light. Glitter light. Neon light. Lava lamp light. Strobe light. Because I have a primordial need, and unquenchable thirst, for all that is light, and bright, but am not concerned with getting attention. Its not that shadow dims my light, or that (momentary shadow dwelling) is forced (because it is my choice). I’m just not very good at it. So now I’ve written about shadows… without saying anything at all.

These words that are my own, which had such another meaning to me, for me, when I wrote them 2 days ago.  My lovely Bloom says “Why are you doing that to yourself? You’re missing out on the joy of today!” And I know she’s right.  So I take a night off from the weight of all I’ve been carrying, am amused by the couragesness, or craziness, of those much too young for me to take seriously, and take more shots than I mean to. I have another conversation filled with laughter, childhood memories, and connections that defy space, time, and logic.   I allow vulnerability to have a moment or 2. And then hours of poetry in the form of lyrics, and harmonies, and melodies, fill my world. And I let love take over,  recall that vulnerability is absolutely precious, sacred, holy, rare, remember I’m not in shadow, I’m bathed in light, just not in the same way I’m used to, and again throw my arms wide open, and step forward without fear, into whatever might be, in every aspect of my life. 

Listening to: Still on Indigo Girls – Below quotes are from some of their songs. Brilliant, inspiring, intelligent, thought provoking, evocative, lyricists, they are.

“Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most”

“Working through the grammar of my fears”

“The hardest to learn was the least complicated”

“Now we all are chosen one’s”

“My place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark”

“The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine”

“And when you’re learning to face the path at your pace every choice is worth your while”