Let me out.
Don't tell me everything.
Started out like any other day.
Must've gave the wrong impression.
Don't you understand where I belong?

I'm not the one.


Stand again.
They say nothing comes for free.
And that's the truth- been living in a fantasy.

Slip and slide.
The head-trip heaven
Self-denial's such a wonderful, powerful thing.

I'm not the one.

The morning dove sings.
With two broken wings.
Carry me home.
I'm not afraid.

The stars in my eyes
were shimmering lies.
Carry me home.
Don't let me fade.

Stop the press
The kid's light is growing dim.
Took a month long slide
Then the world came caving in.

When you self destruct you wind up looking
for a girl or a hug
but the writing's on the wall.

I'm not the one.

The morning dove sings with two broken wings.
Carry me home.
I'm not afraid.
The stars in my eyes were shimmering lies.
Carry me home.
Don't let me fade.

Just how thick is your skin?
Just how sharp are your teeth?
Oh, you've got a lot to learn.

Is there somewhere else that I can win?
Is there something else to start over again?
From the summit's edge to the cutting room floor.

I will be afraid...
NO MORE.

The morning dove sings with two broken wings.
Carry me home.
I'm not afraid.
The stars in my eyes were shimmering lies.
Carry me home.
Don't let me fade.
Away...

My goodnight poem

To ebb and to flow. 

To be and to grow. 

To dim and to glow.

To let the heart sink and simmer below. 

Without holding it in so that no one can know. 

To let the mind float and wander above. 

That is the authentic dance of a dove. 

To raise and to praise.

To challenge the haze.

To inspire and to gaze. 

To lead by example through life's little maze.

To point towards the light while her wings are ablaze. 

When's there's more of the world and less of you to think of. 

That is the true shining symbol of love. 

The Discovery of Flight

I was fourteen years old when I first learned of my ability to fly.  I’d heard of it before, sure, but I had little faith in the idea.  In fact, I dismissed human flight at quite a young age and gave in not another thought up until that fateful day in July of 1996.

            My family and I went on multiple “family vacations” every year, from our union as a family when I was two years old, on.  We went all over the United States; always by way of road trip.  These vacations were nature-oriented, full of discovery, and never left me disappointed.  Still, I had a longing for a place I’d seen on the Discovery Channel and read about in National Geographic from very early on in my life.  Alaska.  You see, when I was four years old, my father informed my older brother, Nathanial, and I; that you had to be fourteen to get into Alaska.  “That’s the law.” He said.  My brother, being 8 years older than me, only had a few years to go at that point.  But from that moment on, it was the land I dreamt about.  As we got closer to the lawful Alaskan age, we were also informed of a new rule.  “You have to pay half of your way to get to Alaska, it’s not cheap you know.”  My father would say.  Well, paying for it meant fixing something in, on, or around the house for the entire spring and first month of summer.  “Piece of cake!” I often thought.  My folks went to Alaska every year.  Each year to a different region of the vast state.  By the time I was 14, my brother had gone twice already.  It was my turn.

            On July 22, 1996 at 2am our family drove to the Des Moines International Airport which took an agonizing 1.5 hours.  The anticipation of my first time in an airplane had come and gone.  The childish fears and defiance had no more room in my world.   The flight was smooth and sleep-filled; nothing compared to the one I was to encounter later that day.  A slight lay-over in Denver at 7am and then a straight shot to our destination.

            As the plane slowly circled down to the Anchorage International Airport, I saw the land that so perfectly mirrored the images I had seen in those dreams of mine.  Foggy clouds danced around the tips of the mountain tops like steam from a locomotive.  Everyone on the plane shifted upright and towards their nearest window.   At 2pm we had arrived.

            With smiles, the three of us exited the plane, gathered our belongings, and took to our rental car.  There was a café immediately across from the airport and we were hungry.  As we sat eating heartily, my father looked at me.  “You’re not sick of being in the air yet, are you?”  Confused, I replied, “No… why?”  “Well, because we’re going back up in about an hour.”  I was very confused at this point and a little worried and apparently so was my mother.  “Dear?  What are you talking about?”  She asked, scrunching up her forehead.  My father chuckled and said, “Not in an airplane.  You’ll see.”  Now, eager and anxious, I inhaled the rest of my food and was ready to go.  I shuffled my feet, impatiently as my parents finished their lunch at an annoyingly normal rate.  When they were finally done and we left the café, my mother and I were again confused.  Dad was walking down the road, away from our rental car.  As we called to him in protest, as though he’d forgotten what the car looked like (which was a pretty typical thing for my dad to do) he beckoned us to follow him.  I still remember how he looked with the orange glow of the sun overcast by clouds, his tobacco pipe dangling from his mouth, and the smoke from his pipe winding up and mixing with the fog as if celebrating a reunion.  “Talkeenta Air Taxi” read the old cabin-style sign on the front of the building.  I no longer had to wonder, I suddenly knew what we were in for.  I was terrified. 

            A Helicopter tour through Mount McKinley?  Was my father nuts?  We were going to die.  I just knew it.  The pilot was not a small man.  He introduced himself as Murray.  He had a large beard, like my father, yet his had not yet been seasoned with the salt and pepper of an experienced traveler.  Murray also had somewhat of a “beer-belly” this disturbed me because I instantly came up with the notion that all pilots are physically fit.  Especially a helicopter pilot.  Apparently I was the only one with the prejudice.  My mother was ecstatic.  My father was shuffling us along, as he’d already made arrangements and the tour was ready to begin.  If you knew my father, you’d know there’s no backing out when he’s made the plans.  This helicopter was very small.  This helicopter did not seem strong nor thick enough to carry the weight of its four occupants.  This helicopter was going to explode in mid-air, right in the heart of Mount McKinley.  Of this I was certain.  The pilot insisted on us all wearing goggles and headsets.  For some reason he also insisted; as did my folks, on me sitting in front with him.  Good Lord.  I silently obliged.  The take-off was rocky; my hands were numb and unusually white; probably due to the intensity in which I was squeezing both sides of my seat.  I was unaware of how fast a helicopter could elevate.  In no-time we were at a steady coast amidst the breathtaking landscape.  My hands lost their grip and my racing heart slowed to a rhythmic bass-beat.  Somewhere from ground level to here the sky had become as clear blue as the glaciers we could see below.  The river reflected the sky and the sky responded the same.  As the water and air spoke to each other; then to us, we could hear nothing but the whir of the helicopter blades.  Murray no longer had to prove to me of his flying skills.  He took us to the edges of mountains and showed us the secrets of the nature of this land.  There were 2 bears in the distance, running up the mountainside, away from something or towards it, it didn’t matter.  Murray hovered awhile as the bears faded into the snow and the clouds.  We went further through the tunnels of Mount McKinley and further through her open sky.  The clouds listened to us as we came and welcomed us by parting; as if to lead us to our next destination:  A glacier.  Murray elegantly lowered his chariot onto a large formation of ice.  He then shut of the engine and we exited onto the ice.  The silence of our surroundings was immensely more shocking once those blades were no longer spinning.  As I stood on this great mass I heard grumblings from the distance.  Crashes.  As though a century old war within Mother Nature was taking place in our presence.  As if the past allowed us in for a brief glimpse to show us just how small we really are.  The sound of glaciers left me awestruck. 

            The four of us re-entered the helicopter about twenty minutes later and headed back to the tour station; this trip no less astounding than the first.  As we hovered lower and lower towards the landing target I accepted the truth:  The realization that I could truly fly.  I’ve never forgotten that fact and re-learn it every chance I get.  Once you know what you can see when you take flight; the boundaries are endless.

Stream

What can I do to be clear here?  Why do I need to be clear and who must I clarify to, anyway?
No reason.  No one.

The depths of the darkness and despair can really take awhile to swim out of.

A true desire to be well and present can conflict with disorders, trauma, defects...  A person can have great passion for life and still be confined to the shackles of their own mind.

To be free.
To fly.
To feel.

Then to fall.

To rise again and be willing to walk.  Be willing to start at a crawl.

Is there a surrender here?

The beginning began long ago.

Get up.

Thought bubbles can burst and out will come a thousand strands of confetti filled with delusions and clouds of darkness.  These are lies.

Keep getting up.

With each layer of barb removed-- out will come more truth.  It may be ever so slow to come.  It may hurt.

To fly one must feel.
To feel one must simply BE.

To grow we must let go.

How bright the colors get when we wake up.

Wake up.

The smell of the air in a fall morning.

The hum of my heart as I sit still for God.

Every moment is a chance.  A choice.

Channel this gift.

Keep waking up.

Then move.

Forward motion is the only way towards progress.

Stop to love.  Take love with you.  Give it away.

Keep moving.

Little Bird

There was once a joyous little bird.  She chirped and smiled at everyone who passed her by.  She loved, completely.  It was easy for her to adore the entire planet and all of its creatures.  The ones tiny like her.  The pretty ones.  The big ugly ones.  Even the growly ones.  The birds closest to her had lived a lot of life and were especially unpredictable.  They did not smile often.  There was much blame and resentment and guilt towards the world around them which caused them to scowl.  To scream.  To invite hate in and to act out in fear, often.  But when the bird would cock her head and smile at them they would usually soften a bit.  She was clever as well and learned the magic of laughter very early on in her little bird life.  If she could make them laugh things would go much better.  Fiery explosions would subside quickly.  And she LOVED to make them laugh because the trees would fill with song and the leaves would shake with joy.
Soon, however, jealousy began to sprout up in the hearts of those she loved the most.  They resented her joy, her smile, her laugh.  They envied the ease of her daily life.  She was quite small.  The others were much bigger than her.  They had powerful wings and sharp, sharp beaks.  She had only her laugh and her smile.  When tensions were high and the storms would roll in the others began to use Little Bird.  They used her as a tool, a weapon, an instrument to get what they wanted or to win their battles.  Whether they were preying on her in private out of sheer madness or tethering her between each other to get their point across.  Little Bird was getting tired quickly.
Her wide-open heart began to hurt.  Too often exposed to the flames, it began to harden like theirs.  Scars from the open wounds grew around this enlarged heart, yet it would not shrink.
Her smile and her laugh remained but rather than coming from her soul and a place of truth, they started coming out as a reflex of the mind and an armor built from fear.
The bird had to pretend so that she would be okay.  She had to smile so the world would not envelope her.  She would not be swallowed whole.  Her world was at constant war.

Year passed and the bird found many more shields.  Much thicker armor. More effective weapons.  They weighed down her wings so that now she could only hop from place to place.  Always landing with a thud.
The other birds multiplied by the hundreds so her collection of protection had to increase with them.
Little Bird would lose many battles.  All of them, in fact.  But her mind had gotten her this far in life.  She had no idea she was losing anymore.  The dents and the scars and the dark circles under her eyes were just symbols of character, she thought.  Proof that she was a fighter.

The little bird forgot her name.  She forgot her home.  She forgot her heart was buried under all of this chain and sheath and metal.

As more time passed Little Bird found herself right in the middle of an epic conflict.  There was a powerful storm.  One she had never been a part of before.  The lightning and thunder played out constantly with the brightest flashes and the loudest booms Little Bird had ever witnessed.  It was flooding.  Trees were catching fire.  She was not quick or light.  In truth, she could barely move with so much weighing her down.  But she kept swinging her sword as each opponent approached, she would lash out with her weapons.  Finally her wings and her feet collapsed as her sword fell to the ground.  Little Bird's eyes closed.

"Little Bird.  Do you know where you are?"

A bright, painful light flooded into Little Bird's eyelids.  She squinted.  Blinked.  Surrounding her were familiar faces.  Smiling.  Concerned.  Someone had removed her helmet and her chain mail.
She could see more clearly but was still very unsure as to what had happened.

"It's you.  You're back," the Robin to the left of her chirped.  "You were screeching and flailing and fighting for so long.  Jumping from the branches and falling so far then climbing back up again; waving your sword around like a bat with rabies!  We did not know if you would ever come back to us."

"I had to fight.  I was surrounded," Little Bird squeaked.
"No.  It was only you.  You were fighting yourself." The Owl said.

Little Bird squirmed a bit, puzzled.  She forced herself upright.  The body armor and shield were still on.  She attempted to put them off but was too weak.  Together, her fellow birds picked her up and helped her shed the armor, at last.

Little Bird hopped a bit.  Shaky but hopeful.  Her family smiled.
"It's going to be okay.  You don't have to fight anymore."  Said the Eagle.  She believed him.  Little Bird looked down at her bright pink chest and saw her heart beating strong.  She felt it, too.  She felt the scars and began to remember that they were still there.  They were still real.

"What do I do about that?" Little Bird asked.
"Give it time." said Robin.  "You haven't forgotten your laugh and you surely haven't forgotten to smile.  Your heart will heal with time."  Little Bird caught her reflection in a puddle of rain water and saw that she was, indeed smiling.  Then she remembered her name.  She remembered her home.

Little Bird knew now that she did not have to pick up her weapons.  She did not have to pick up her shields.  With a few more hops she began to flutter her wings.  She could float a little but she could still not fly.
The Eagle looked at Little Bird and said, "The wounds are only on the surface of your heart and they will heal.  Your wings will get stronger and you will fly again."
Little Bird was okay with just hopping and fluttering for today.  She joined her friends and understood, with great joy, that she was home.

Evolve

Just jump, Kara.

Relinquish control.

Be you and be okay with it.

We are all just people.

Either floating along, swimming, or flaying in the tidal waves, frantically trying to keep the water out of our lungs.

We are exactly the same.

There's nothing different about being unique.

That's what makes us a beautiful species.  To be one among many is where the true humility is.

Jump into the world as you are at this moment.

Let all of the other stuff go.

Live in it.

Get out of the way and let the light shine through.

There are no other eyes that see a different truth.

The truth is inside of you.

Just jump, Kara.

Human Connection and Trepidation

This planet has approximately 7 billion human beings inhabiting it today.  So, when the Internet came of age and we started to communicate with each other on a regular basis from anywhere on earth at any given moment, it was very exciting.  There were so many possibilities.  And, for me, many chances to meet people from anywhere and connect.

I was 14 when AOL got really big and chatting on line became a popular way of  connecting.  These were the days of the revolutionary dial-up internet.  One day, during the summer, the mail came and I was home to bring it inside.  As I sat it on the table a bright cardboard CD case with a shiny disc inside caught my eye.  Yes, it was one of those America On Line, 10,000 free hours (or were they minutes? I can't remember).  I had just seen one of the commercials.  We had an IBM desktop computer and I had only been using it for my homework and poetry at this point.  Time to get plugged in.

I was immediately addicted to online chat rooms.  I would stay up until 5 am on school nights chatting with people from all over the world.  I built online relationships.  I lied about my identity so many times it was incredible how many people I could become.  It was intoxicating.  My parents would think I was studying but in all reality I was just in one of the many different chat rooms they had back then.  I was adventurous in front of that 18 inch screen.  Thankfully I was never adventurous enough to follow through with meeting anyone in person that I'd been chatting with online.  An interesting point from this time I should probably mention is that we lived in a smaller town in Iowa and when dial-up was the only kind of internet; you had to be in a town that had an internet tower or you had to agree to pay the long distance charges that came with the connection.  Des Moines was the nearest tower.  Des Moines was considered long distance back then and phone calls to Des Moines were limited as my father did not want to pay for anything that wasn't toll free.  There was no toll free internet.  After a month of chatting every day for about 5-6 hours per day, the phone bill came.

 I can remember these several minutes like it was yesterday.  I had a friend over to the house and we were hanging out outside but needed to run inside for a drink.  My dad was sitting at the dining room opening the mail while my friend and I stood in the kitchen talking and giggling.  My dad suddenly booms, "ANNETTE!  Get up here!  We have an emergency!" (my mother was in the basement doing laundry.)  My father then yelled at my friend to get out.  He did not normally yell at my friends and he has a deep, thunderous tone when he is angry.  She ran out of the house.  I sneaked upstairs while my mother came to see what was the matter.  I had a feeling it had something to do with me (most emergency situations did.)  Long story short, the phone bill for September of 1996 was approximately $1400.00.  I probably don't have to tell you that this AOL I had snuck onto our computer without adult consent was quickly cancelled.  There were other repercussions that need not be mentioned here.

I did have quite a struggle withdrawing from those late night chats and thinking about the people and if they missed me or thought something bad had happened.  Soon enough I was to stay in Omaha with my aunt and uncle and baby cousin as my parents went on vacation for a month.  They had the internet there and I spent most of my time in their computer room.  I remember chatting with a particular guy for days and days and then one day he wasn't there.  I got very emotional about this.  I wept at the fact that this guy, whose real name I hadn't a clue of nor face I'd ever seen.  I was heartbroken.  I thought we were in love.  This was a good sign I'd already developed quite a warped sense of relationships and romance that would follow me in different forms for the next 15 years.  Since then technology has changed and developed so much.

That is just a short, personal story about my teenage ideals, delusions, and use of the internet.  The real point is what is lacking in stories like these.  What is lacking in how we communicate today and how much contact we truly have with each other?  Human connection.  Real connection.  Facial expressions, body language, eye contact, physical touch, voice inflection, and all of the other tell-tale signs that I am actually human.

The more connected we are throughout these interwebs of social media, online forums, blogs (like this one) and email communication, the less connection we get to experience with each other.  If you're trying to share something with me via text, email, or facebook message that has any real depth of importance you are robbing both of us of the experience of human connection.  In whatever form it's meant to be at the time.  Anger, love, anxiety, fear, joy, excitement...  any number of real emotions.  If I can't look at you when you tell me how afraid you are of your own mind, I can't even give you my true empathy.  If you are interested in dating me and can only ask via text what my thoughts are on the idea, I won't get to experience your vulnerability which, in fact, is one of the first true gestures of love.

The more we let ourselves hide behind our screens the more we take away from our own human development.  Because it's ALL beautiful.  Each one of those things, when expressed out loud and in person, becomes a poetic truth that no one can alter, skew, or take away from you by trying to arrange the emphasis on the words they would choose to be emphasized rather than hearing it from your own voice and, therefore, truly understanding what you mean.

Miscommunication can happen on a face-to-face level as well, of course.  But, when I look you in the eye and tell you I'm terrified of being alone, at least I know I was not withholding the truth in my own eyes, because I was looking right at you.  I was showing you my fear.

There is a lot of trepidation with this true human connection.  I have spent half of my life creating the cement walls around me that have just begun to crack and chip away.  Emailing my best friend the truth about my thoughts and fears is much less scary then talking to her in person.  But it's cheap.  It's cheap and easy and the worth of my connectedness to life and other people is not to be in likeness to that of a dying whore. So this is my promise, to my Higher Power and to myself:  All things worth saying are worth saying out loud and, when possible, in person.

For me, it is not very plausible to say something so extreme as "I will only say everything out loud and to your face." because I am a human living in the technological age of texting, facebook, and email.  That is a fact I've accepted.  But I can do my part in making sure my efforts to be present for others is truly there.  When I'm with you:  I'm with you.  When something is important to discuss, it's discussed in the most intimate way possible.  My love for people far outweighs my fear of them today.  For that, I'm very grateful.  As it was very possible that I could have ended up a recluse, confined to my bedroom with a bottle of vodka or a meth pipe next to me and this laptop on my stomach.  Only ever seeing the outside world when it was time to work or go to the store.  Each person in my life is a gift that I may only get to keep for a short while so I shall cherish the time I have with them and limit the unnecessary distractions.

While I have made a decision to really just be ME today and discover all of the things you discover about yourself while growing up, I have also made a decision to show others who I am at the same time.  The truth.  While it all becomes more clear with less cement and iron covering it up.  Because we are incredible creatures and no matter what the truth is, continuing the practice of mindfulness and communication is what makes us stronger as a society and better in all of the ways!  
So I don't get to edit today.  I don't get to back track and delete and photoshop my life until it is presentable to others.  The revelations unfold out loud and in color.  So, that means whomever is there as it's happening gets to see it all.  It's a different path but it is the one I plan to follow.