misc quotes

Shooting stars, my wish tonight

For the wrongs to be put right;

For us to learn to love each other

More than love of sister & brother,

A love of ALL, not one excepted,

But goodwill & peace, ALL accepted.

~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

It seems the naughty bench was not the place to go to be naughty. Who knew? *halo* ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Sleep? Isn't that what you do when FB shuts down for the night? Oh, FB doesn't shut down for the night? So, what's this sleep thing again? ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

‎

This strength, this courage to face life just as it is, & much more left unspoken in the hidden hearts of those who suffer such judgments of unworthiness which run a wide spectrum of the shunned, the misunderstood, those held with impatient contempt barely concealed or not even attempted to be concealed, the unloved, neglected, murdered by callous busyness... are the faces etched with pain & holding sad eyes of those living all around us if we but only looked with kindness & love. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw  

Bencinya hati ini tapi aku rindu. (I hate you, but I miss/love you.) Words to a favorite song echo. The wounded heart, craving yet hating the affections of poison: A longing as deep as the knowing such as the moth has for the flame or the bird for the thorn, & just as urgent, just as deadly. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she wailed, “I should see these things coming somehow I tell myself. I never do though. And, I cry. It hurts like hell. And, I hate to cry. Sometimes I think ‘how can I be so horrible that people who get close to me or are related to me cannot stand me or be kind to me’? You say it is never about me but about them... but I am the one crying.” ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

My friend Fawad Fiaz - "The only way to truly know a person is to argue with them. For when they argue in full swing, then they reveal their true character."

I wish to add that anytime you encounter another person when the emotional side has higher sway with less self-censorship (such as during orgasm, giggly type of joy, deep sadness, weeping, terror, hunger/thirst, ill, in pain, etc.,) you see more & more of the true character. A lifetime of learning these things of just ourselves much less another being is only the beginning. AND, by Fawad's statement - I have a very long way with much hard work to go if I hope to have/be the kind of character I long to have/be. I am definitely a work in progress. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

There's more than a hole in this bucket, dear Liza. This bucket ain't got no bottom! This bucket is the need for love, belonging, kindness, healing, wholeness... esp. in the brokenhearted, the scarred by life's darksides. It is said the teacher teaches what the teacher most needs to learn. May I ever continue to learn to be kinder, more loving, gentler, & full of fairy dust. May I continue to dance even in the darkest times... esp. in the darkest times. Dance with me please. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

I died, but somehow this shell of me trudged on for years, decades. Something fiercely defied my death, would burn my inward parts, never resting, singing sometimes raucously as I, shattering, was trampled, tamped down. Taunting me to dance ever more on puppet strings, the eyes, the mocking mirth of minions of my demise, defying them all. I did dance, a macabre dance of joy, of love, of kindness, of hope in darkest dark of no light but the longing knowing of the fierceness of my heart. My dance. My way. Even climbing the puppet strings to braid them to me. I dance. I dance. Burning, I dance. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Sitting on my favorite rock overhanging the creek, leg dangling, feet splashing, the wind dancing with the light & the trees, my crying slowed finally to that calm peacefulness after a brutal storm of emotions. The hills, the forest, the creek, the stone comforted me. As long as they remained, I'd never be truly alone. Here I belonged. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

And so I reveal piece by piece my soul, spread out before eyes that can see, words & music, art & puzzle, covered with my blood, my tears, my smiles, my laugh... seemingly locked within undisclosed. No, not hidden if you know where to look & what to look for, but I will not solve the puzzle for you for I am too busy being it. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Don't you understand that I long to kiss you with my whole being, to taste even your most hidden parts & bring them out to be kissed evermore in the light of my love? ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Silken skin of palest cream, darkest brown hair now mostly snowy white sparkling with the electricity of the lightning storm, the shadows play, flirting, darting with the flashing. Eyes glow then are hidden in the dark. Moaning softly, almost singing, beckoning like a siren call of heat, the draped sheet slowly glides to the floor. A storm symphony of heat, desire. Come, my love, ride the wind if you dare. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Have you ever struggled to remember the good side of yourself? All the monsters come out to play. Have ever all the wicked misdeeds & thoughts attacked your mind & heart? Even to remember the smallest kindness, an act of love you've sown lies blank before your eyes? Me too. Then I remember I have never done anything perfectly, so even at wickedness I slip up & be good. It spoils the whole me as monster motif somehow as I burst out laughing with tears. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Tree, do you ever wonder things like why continuing living since you must live only here for 100s of years despite all done to you or around you? What have you seen, heard, thought in your tree life here? Can you teach me please, Tree? I need your wisdom. Tree? Thank you for continuing to live here & letting me live near you. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

I did not know there was any other way, only that it had to be done. I did not know it was impossible, so I just did it. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

My heart grows stronger when my focus is on my happy thoughts rather than giving in to the surrounding turmoils only. Where my heart focuses is indeed my treasure, & I want more. No! I want it all! I want joy overflowing & love upspringing. I want look death in the face & say one more time - "Not yet, old friend. Not yet." ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

I've asked this question of myself quite often through my life as a good checkpoint, inspired by a preacher's sermon about the Good Samaritan: would I recognize what I say I believe if it showed up in a different way from what I would ordinarily expect? I know we all tend to seeing only what we want or expect to see. It takes a lot of training to see more.

I want more. I want to see as much as I can. I want to understand even if that understanding burns me. I want to love and to live as fully and as deeply as is possible in this broken woman's body. I want to be me in all the many facets and ways of being me is possible. AND, I want to love as many of you as you will allow, so consider yourself hugged. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

When I love, think, speak, or do something, I do it with my whole heart. I might think better of something latter and change my thoughts/actions. But at the time, I am simply who I am as I am where I am doing the best I can with what I have. So, if I say I love you in anyway (as a friend, family, other) then I mean exactly that with all my heart. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

I am who I am, nothing more and nothing less. I am beginning to grow in ways I would not have been able to dream of even a year ago. Life is such a wonderful adventure even when it hurts the worst. As long as I can still breathe, I want to live, to love, to laugh, and to be "the me-est me I am capable of being." ♥ ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Heart stopped. Frozen tears. A sob stuck forever in lungs. Big eyes. Lips tremble. How many times can a heart stop & restart? Silent plea. Please love me. I am broken beyond repair. Love me. Pummeled pieces sweep clean to make new. Please love me. Hidden. Watching. Scared. Please. A small whimper. Please no more hurt. Just love me. Final words spoken only through big eyes. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

A sweet enigma, a puzzle, a smile. Big sad eyes seem to flash a knowing, a flirty impishness, and she is gone but remains here. Catch her if you can. She dances though broken & sings though strangled. Though she was silenced, her heart broke free. Watch her story. Hear her fly. Taste her depths. Smell the abyss, the dawn, a radiance. Feel her pulsation. Reach out to own her, she vanishes as mists in the sun. Just dance. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Bring me not the cut or picked flower if you would show me love. Bring me instead a field of wildly growing flowers to enjoy season to season forever. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Dawn oozes across the mountain, drip by drip between leaves & branches onto leaves, flowers, veggies, all. A stirring among the day creatures as the night creatures dance their sleep dance. The crows caw the time change in the in-between time of bridging all on the magic mountain as we dance life into sunshine hours. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Those quiet hours just before dawn, a haunting, a deceptive stillness, where the silence runs deep beckon me always. A mist, a fog, a drizzle, a chill, the dark. The dark is richly textured silence, visibly felt, deafeningly tasted, a moist dryness vibrantly stealthy, seductively terrifying, but tautly calm. The night, the deep night when I want to wrap you deeply into me then fly forever in the peaceful afterglow. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

A field of daisies dancing in the breeze, each one alike but not the same. Dancing freely together. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Spying an unattended cup of coffee, the raccoon climbs on the porch bench, sits comfortably upright, and drinks, savoring each swallow, even giving a contented sigh when finished. Wiping his lips with his paws, he relaxes briefly before climbing off the bench to return to the forest. The man returns & wonders what happened to his coffee. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Speaking the truth even when spoken with kindness, love, patience, gentleness, and compassion does often still get labeled by those who do not want to hear it, who cannot hear it for whatever reason, or who actively opposed its being revealed for vested interests' sake. Truth-speakers are not welcome alive among us. We tend to prefer them long dead so that we can admire them without having to listen to the whole message they died for. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

As a youth, I'd sit on our front porch at twilight to watch the fireflies rise up like a twinkling fairy cloud over the green earth. It was a very magical time of wonder. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Mangled Memories

Hey diddle dee dee the cow jumped over me.

Little Boy Blue ran off with the spoon,

And the dish got mad at the moon.

~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

misc. quotes

Foggy, chilly, spring-y day inspires the various birds to call out their mating songs as winter hides somewhere in the whited depths of the forest. A crow caws. A hawk flies for safety. Snow only dots the mountain now. But, it should still be winter. Perhaps this is only a thaw. Life goes on on the mountain. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The weather is bouncing around many choices lately from foggy & drizzlily to snowy & cold to overcast & chilly. My old bones protest, but my heart loves the view of the changes & the smell of the crisp air. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The sun breaks through the clouds. The crows caw. Silence still fills the chilly mountain air on a spring day that should still be in winter. The day is good for breathing deeply & smiling contently, love flowing through my peaceful heart. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Doing my toes, feet, & legs exercises to magical violin-orchestral music, pretending to be that fairy imp who likes to post on my behalf sometimes... flying with my mind, dancing with my heart, soaring on my magic carpet of my fancy. Come dance with me! What adventures we'll have together. Wheeee! *hug* ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Life sparked me with a hope unquenchable. Love whispered strength to carry onward despite all. My heart believed & demanded everything of me. So, here I am living, loving, believing, & dancing no matter what has come before & despite all that will come ahead. I dance the joy of my soul & sing out my story. It's a love story, you know. Dance with me? ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Who will tell my story if I don't live it? Who will hear if I don't speak. Who will know my secrets if I don't share them? Who would even want a peek? And yet my life is my story's telling. My words are merely echoed, refrained. The sparkle of joy I can give you is the spark of love unrestrained. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

You touched me deeply although you didn't know it. Your words & your intent came to my dying heart to give me hope & strength to look up again & to continue on living despite all. Your heart will forever in mine be kept. Nothing I can say or do would be adequate to tell you I love you, so I will live my love for you forever. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Today is my day, so I send love, hugs, kisses, blessings, peace, & joy to everyone. Enjoy your day & coming year. May we always love & be loved in return. May we always dance no matter what. *hug* ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Cold, rainy, overcast day gently soothes me into a contemplative quietness that feels like floating in air or water. Maybe it is how dolphins dream of flying or birds of swimming. Listening to the drizzling patterns & smelling the damp chill, my heart sings wordlessly of joys heard only in solemn silence. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Each season has its beauties & challenges, but I was not as aware of the seasonal changes as I am now. My body keeps telling me very loudly when anything changes. ouch! lol ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

It's the middle of March, but it feels like early summer instead of the end of winter. The sun is shining brightly. The cat is lounging in the sunny window daring me to put my laptop back on "his" shelf. The dog is guarding me from kamikazi flying insects. oh joy, rapture! ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

It was a perfectly good tongue, had done nothing wrong... had, in fact, minded its own business just working away in my mouth as I ate my toast. But, I still had to go & bite it. I tried to tell myself this was not going to be fun, but did I listen? NoooOOooOoo. So now my perfectly good tongue is in the tongue recovery room not doing much except hurting & trying to remind me not to do too much with it for a bit. Ouch. Bad pun too. Oh dear. lol ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Laying you down in warm caresses of tender looks, smiles, & kisses, I see your body relax, knowing the fullness of love sends you to sleep as much as watches you through the night. Sleep, my darling. Let nothing trouble you now. Only sleep. Tomorrow is enough for those racing thoughts. Peace be on you & in you now. Only that peace that comes from knowing love. Sleep, my dearest. Sleep. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The chilled fog lingers among the trees just above the mountain. A nip in the air calls me as sobs so deep to be primordial call back when inhaling. No tears. Just a numbed stillness. Peaceful but watchful. Too fey to go or stay. Perhaps the mists themselves are home - that land between. Mystery. Illusion. Alone. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The mists beckon. A fairy waltz just beyond hearing beckons. A longing too deep to name, a movement too instictual to be tamed. My heart waits. My mind says nothing, just watches attentively. The time is not yet. But soon. Soon. The scouts, the watches are always alone, listening, alert, waiting. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw  

Deep calls to deep. Blood calls to blood. Knowing, hearing on many levels always. Mists shroud the forest, my heart. Chilled, bracing, calling, beloved, longing. The Unknown Known. Home yet estranged but not a stranger. Go and stay or stay and go? The calling. Awaiting the calling. But from whom? ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Blushing but smiling, she dances the story of Life, of Love to the tabla's beat... her feet, the silver bells tinkle, the bangles on her wrists twinkle like fairy chimes. Her sari, her veil hide as much as reveal the unseen but present, felt ... the song of the river of love & life of which the music tells. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Kebaya covered with embroideries, sarong swishing as she moves carrying a tray of kueh & copi-o, the orang ulu woman has a welcoming smile that hides herself more than any veil could. She is shy, watchful, but friendly. She offers the food again as is custom.. even offers her home for sleep should it be needed. We all smile, slowly we begin talking then laughing. Friends. Family. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Ah the smell of pollen is in the air, the buzz of blood-sucking insects sing out boldly, & all kinds of creepy crawlies are mating & reproducing just as nature intended - by the ga-billions. Spring! ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Darkness hovers. Wind thru the restless forest, a sound, a roar in the stillness... imagined? The guts spill out in pain of silent anguish. Tears that never flowed, frozen into sweetness of oleanders, a poison that seeps... despair? Color drained into paleness, a ghostly glow under a hidden moon creeping nearer, strangely welcome, wanted... endless sleep? Gone but remains... forever. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Untamed but broken wild heart observes, watches, waits. Distance, space, seen & observed, observing. Slowly. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Curiosity grows. Slowly wants more. Easily frightened away or will fight if threatened. Wild hearts born to soar on the wind, rejected & die lonely if hunted down in haste. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Daffodils smile while tulips play and crocus & snowdrop dance. Jonquils sway while lilies romp and shamrocks & mayapples swing. Riotous colors & perfuming winds, the lively loveliness of spring. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Running as fast as feet can run, muscles burning, aching, heart breaking, suffocating, trying to catch up. I thought I was loved. I thought I belonged. Surely it was just a mistake to leave me. I don't know how to live on my own out in this wild world. Others try to run me down to hit or kill me. Why was I left? Alone. Left to die. Why? ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

If ever you hear a southern woman (USA) say "oh hell no," say your full name, smile, & become very sweetly polite - I will miss you. I also hope your will is finished & your life insurance paid up. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Every fiber of my being, stretching beyond known endurance, strain unbearable, thinking surely the breaking point is well past & yet another breath, another determined gritting, & onward I go. Ever onward. I can do this. I will do this. Just keep going, or rest a bit then continue. Onward. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

As long as there is life, there is hope. Some of the most deeply wounded among us carry that light of hope within them shining brightly even though they themselves may not be aware of their own shining. So, we continue onward, never giving up. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Hot & humid so early in the season seems to be foreboding of scorchers to come. I hope not because I hate competing with mother nature to see who's the hottest gal in town. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The hot, humid, sunny day with the cat basking in the opened window transforms into the hot, humid, bright moonshining night with the cat soaking in the moon beams. Sleeping in so many positions but always knowing he is the king of his window, the cat still pays attention to his human playing on the laptop nearby, listening to soothing music. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

In the chill of the rainy spring morning appearing between bouts of heat & humidity, I contemplate my growing charts, graphs, & my snippets of writings, pieces of my heart, my life. I know I am more than just what the numbers say. More than mere words could ever convey. Could even all the world's words contain & capture a human soul whole? No. Free. My heart will fly free even though my body lies captured, imprisoned for a season in my bed. There is no shackles that can hold a spirit's shine this side of death, & even death cannot extinguish love. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Cold rain sprayed in onto my sleeping face, waking me to a chill that meant easier breathing & more painful joints. Low pressure systems do that, & this one had been lingering for a few days. Breathing is my addiction, so the chill despite agony is accepted with a crooked smile & a heart longing to be fully grateful. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Open hand, open heart, & open mind are my way of holding friends' hearts, of allowing who/what is in my life to be exactly who/what he/she is, enjoying what is instead of trying to force what isn't, & even allowing free movement in & out of my life as needed. Of course, allowing anyone loved to leave hurts. Grief is real. But, I have found the grief of force or of pretend to be even harder to bear. The joy of seeing a return is worth every tear. May the best of hearts return many times into my life. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Silences in conversations are welcome little rests in the music of sharing hearts. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

The sun shines diffusely through the cloudy sky as phlox scents the forest's edge. The cat sleeps lazily in the cool spring air in the window. The dog listens to the various small forest creatures & birds, thinking fun times are to be had outside on the mountain. Me? I am enjoying the thoughts for further writing, listening to my normal wide variety of music & lovely offerings of friends online. Ah, sweet contentment, feeling loved. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

It's those why questions that seem to get to me fastest because they seem so important albeit usually unanswerable & more like a spinning of wheels in the mud. A waste of time? Not exactly. But not always as productive or as efficient a use of time as I'd like. And still I ask why. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Quiet solitude with loved ones, human & non-human, nearby is my nature. My soul must listen to the wind, talk to the trees, sing with the water, & slide on playful sunbeams. I must hear the whispers of the clouds, the song of the groundhog, & the gleeful shouts of the chipmunks. I will dance with the forest & make love to the creek. I will lie down on the mountain & contentedly sleep. Stars shine on me & keep my loved ones safe. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Fierce, fiesty, sad, knowing eyes, she looks piercingly through all before her as she lifts her scarved head, straightens her shoulders covered with the crocheted fringed embroidered shawl, & dances her broken, aging body to the pathos in life that knows no surrender, no defeat, no matter what. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

My Circassian Notes

My Circassian Notes - The Sochi Notes

"Circassians – a people indigenous to the North Caucasus, who were scattered across the globe by a 19th-century tsarist military campaign that killed huge numbers – have campaigned against the Sochi Winter Olympics, and called for the killings to be recognised as genocide. A delegation of Circassians from Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Syria, Turkey, Israel, Canada, Germany and the US has travelled to the North Caucasus to visit the historic sites of their ancestors' homeland before the Games..."
http://www.theguardian.com/world/gallery/2014/jan/24/circassians-return-sochi-winter-olympics-in-pictures




Sochi articles Concerning Circassians

Circassian priorities http://tinyurl.com/mfekeov

Circassians' Anger at Sochi Games http://tinyurl.com/ksf4k4h

Circassians return to Sochi before Winter Olympics – in pictures http://tinyurl.com/kowwtcn

Circassians to protest against selection of Sochi as 2014 Winter Olympics venue By Thameen Kheetan http://tinyurl.com/mb7urwb

Circassian Tragedy’s: 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics by Ruslan Kurbanov http://tinyurl.com/lntv8l7

Finding Sochi's Indigenous People by Mark Byrnes http://tinyurl.com/kl6zg2p

No Sochi 2014, Circassiannation.org http://tinyurl.com/msd2wte

No Sochi Olympics on stolen Circassian land? by Stephen Hui http://tinyurl.com/mbgx9c6

Russia: Sochi Olympics and the Circassian genocide by Marzia Cimmino http://tinyurl.com/n39hq4q

Sochi’s bloody history, Op-Ed by Carolyn Harris http://tinyurl.com/ls27brc

Stranded in Sochi: Turkish Journalist Detained at Airport by Fehim Taştekin, translated by Sibel Utku Bila http://tinyurl.com/kawso9horiginal article: http://tinyurl.com/ksd4vln (in Turkish)

The Circassian Dimension of the 2014 Sochi Olympics, PONARS Policy Memo No. 65 (pdf) by Sufian Zhemukhov http://tinyurl.com/mh8an3p

The Dark Secret Behind the Sochi Olympics: Russia's Efforts to Hide a Tsarist-Era Genocide by Brian Glyn Williams http://tinyurl.com/mphcn98

The Jihad of Imam Shamyl by Kerim Fenari http://tinyurl.com/k2q56ju

The People Of Russia's 'Forgotten Genocide' Return Home To Sochi Ahead Of The Winter Olympics by Harrison Jacobs http://tinyurl.com/lrf3zae

The Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics is a political tinderbox for Russia by Jules Boykoff http://tinyurl.com/pvwhnh7

The Sochi Connection: The Winter Olympics and the Circassians by Merissa Khurma http://tinyurl.com/ksrvmtf

Winter of Discontent on Al-Jazeera http://tinyurl.com/lx2bkpt 
   on YouTube - The Untold Story about the Circassian Genocide in Sochi 2014 http://tinyurl.com/m55542y




Circassian Music threads in My Sochi threads

July 23, 2013  http://tinyurl.com/m7fspud   mix traditional
October 20, 2013  http://tinyurl.com/m8zr83m   mix traditional
Pearls of Circassian Folk Music http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaG56koI690 



My Sochi threads which include more than just links concerning Circassians
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151768057827206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151772256437206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151776757132206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151788168912206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151794445907206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151804088112206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151964106987206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10151964143107206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10152146113462206
https://www.facebook.com/daphne.bradshaw/posts/10152205883422206?stream_ref=10

I seduce myself

I fell for you truly, deeply, headlong despite my caution, despite all my reasoning. I didn't want to love. I had come to a place of despair & simply wanted to finish my death process begun from birth. Or so I thought. But, my inner me ambushed me, kidnapped me, stole my eyes & my heart, & would give me no peace at all until "dammitall!" I had to pay attention to the telltale sign of renewed Life, Love, Laughter, & that effervescent bubbling that gurgles all thru me, over me, & splashes out over everyone around. Why did everyone else know I loved but me? Oh yeah, because I was being grumpy about having to admit to being willing to do the hard work of healing & the even scarier work of loving & being loved. But even in this my inner me seduced me & revealed me for being such a liar. I really secretly wanted this deliciousness even if I could not bring my grumpy self to admit that. Oh but gawd! I wanted it more than a dehydrated person in the summer desert wanted water. Give me more! More! MORE! I want it ALL. I hate when I seduce myself, but here we go for one more round despite my being a terrible liar. I thrill when I seduce me. I'll never quit. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Once the Soul awakens... by John Donohue

Once the Soul awakens the search begins and you can never go back. From then on, you are inflamed with a special longing that will never again let you linger in the lowlands of complacency and partial fulfillment. The Eternal makes you urgent. You are loath to let compromise or the threat of danger hold you back from striving toward the summit of fulfillment. ~John O'Donohue

Highly Sensitive Person Is Different Wiring

"Whatever your perception of sensitivity may be, keep in mind that telling a highly sensitive person to “get over it” and “develop a thicker skin” is an exercise in futility; they cannot change the way their nervous system responds any more than you can change the natural color of your eyes or the size of your feet."

Understanding the Highly Sensitive Person

Research psychologist Dr. Elaine N. Aron, author of The Highly Sensitive Person (1996,) defines a highly sensitive person as "According to Dr. Aron's definition, the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) has a sensitive nervous system, is aware of subtleties in his/her surroundings, and is more easily overwhelmed when in a highly stimulating environment" She also mentions this includes 15-20% of the population. She has a Self-Test, too, but it is only helpful as a list of things to ponder, in my opinion.

"An HSP is not a person with Asperger’s Disorder (formerly Asperger’s Syndrome). Whereas there is a number of overlaps between the diagnostic criteria for Asperger’s (a form of high-functioning autism) and the description of High Sensitivity, the two are not the same. An HSP may have Asperger’s, but being an HSP doesn’t mean you have the disorder; having Asperger’s doesn’t automatically make someone an HSP. Although sometimes difficult to distinguish in the short term, Dr. Aron points out those even mild examples of Asperger’s have at their core some form of pervasive developmental disorder which is simply not present in the majority of HSPs. Similarly, sensitivity to sensory stimulation or sensitive sensory processing is never mentioned in the diagnostic criteria for any Autism Spectrum Disorders, including Aspergers."
Understanding the Highly Sensitive Person

I take umbrage on that paragraph as it labels Asperger's as a disorder rather than a difference in neurological wiring, which I am beginning to think is what the different parts of the full spectrum of what it means to be alive as a human are reflecting. I think we are all neurologically wired uniquely, individuals amidst the herd. The majority, even the vast majority are wired very similarly apparently. The neurological minorities would be differently wired, but this is called normal variation amongst a population, not a disorder or a disease.

Why is this important to me? It explains how to view the world differently, from different perspectives. It provides whole new realms to experience, to feel, to explore, and to enjoy. It gives me new tools to learn and to investigate, to experiment, and to discover more about me and about the world around me. It helps me know more of how to understand and to communicate truly with another person or group of people and even with myself on ever deeper levels. It also aids me in the rapture and ecstasy of being alive and being a woman.


more on various definitions of being highly sensitive -
Synesthete? That's Merely the Beginning of the Full Spectrum of Me

or on Shameless here:
Synesthete? That's Merely the Beginning of the Full Spectrum of Me

Flowers

Bring me not the cut or picked flower if you would show me love. Bring me instead a field of wildly growing flowers to enjoy season to season forever. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Fat Sex Is Controversial?

Even before I received my book I was warned that it was controversial. I was stunned by the warning actually. It came from a long veteran of size acceptance activism. I mean, being an activist is automatically being in a controversial issue or lifestyle. If it weren't, then the issue the activist represents is already accepted by the mainstream of society, right? So, to call any area of the issue controversial by an activist in that particular field of activism signals to me that maybe the topic at hand is going into the lunatic fringes of the issue. However, with this topic of fat sex, I just could not image at the time that this could be all that controversial because the majority of people in our country (USA) are considered fat. Plus, I know that sex is not only for the minority of people. Everyone seems to be in on the act, wanting in on the act, have been in on the act, have opted out of the act, have seen the act used to sell everything from apples to cars, and so on. Sex is everywhere. But putting fat and sex together are so controversial? Please! Give me a break already.

I reviewed this excellent book here:

Fat Sex: The Naked Truth by Rebecca Jane Weinstein

I will say again: "I would most definitely recommend this book. I wish I had had it when I was about age 9 onwards to help me understand more and get hurt less in a world determined to crush me."

But what is so controversial about it? The topic itself is what I am hearing. It seems taboo to talk of fat people actually being  human and enjoying human activities, especially sexual activities. Body shaming, body judging, body mocking, and all other forms of body bullying and abuse need to stop. But, until the body bigotries stop, somehow we must find a way to live in and love our bodies as the beautiful homes we live in for a lifetime and also learn to love with our bodies in ways appropriate to our own bodies' shapes, needs, designs, design "flaws," sizes, abilities, fitness levels, challenges, or whatever our bodies are during each season of our lives.

And, I am fat, aging, mostly immobile, and with various health issues. Guess what? My body is still a wonderful home for me and deserves love from me and from those I allow into my life. And also, yeah, I'm sexy and I know it. <wiggle wiggle>

 

Petition Request: Sweden, Transgender Women Can Be Raped, Too

Rape is rape regardless of who the victim is. Rape is a violent crime that destroys another being at the core of that being. Period.

Victims can be anyone and any living being, including women, men, hermaphrodites, children, rich, poor, young, old, dying, dead, non-human beings, etc.

Rape is caused by the rapist and supported by the rape culture. It is a felony and should have the strictest of penalties in prison time.

Please consider signing this petition.

Sweden, Transgender Women Can Be Raped, Too

The Crow Dance

It was a cloudy, chilly fall day, one perfect for a drive through the fall colored mountain forest in the area. Being in a melancholy, well, a downright depressed and weepy mood, a drive to see the wonderful trees as they prepared for their wintering seemed like a good idea, except for something nagging at my heart. Being so downhearted, I ignored this gloominess, or tried to anyway, thinking it must be from the deep sadness in me. My husband was busy working to clear the garden for a coming killing frost before we would go for the ride while the dog and I worked on the porch overlooking the mountain. Of course, the dog listened to my sniffling back tears in silence as we worked. She was a wise dog and very sympathetic.

After the garden was as ready as possible for the frost, my husband went inside to shower before the ride. The dog and I continued to work when I began to notice a crow, a forest friend of mine who often came right up to me demanding his share of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, acting a bit peculiar. I watched him as he seemed to be trying to talk to me through some crow version of the Vulcan mind meld. He made me smile. But somehow this time he also alarmed my heart. I had no idea why because everything seemed as it always had been, and my crow friend seemed very healthy.

Then he let out an eery but loud "caw!"

Hundreds of crows began cawing and swooping down onto the field beside the house and just above the garden. Hundreds. Never had I seen so many crow in one place before. Never thought there could be that many in our part of the forest either. But there they were. Cawing. Laughing in a crow way. But it was a serious kind of laughter it seemed. Very orderly too. What was going on?

Then the crow began what I can only describe as some kind of circle dance or maybe a stomp. All those crows dancing and cawing fairly quietly and in order could not be real, could it? It must be some dream time something or other. And as I watched, my crow friend came back to the porch banister beside me. The dog, the crow, and this woman just watched. And, tears began to flow down my cheeks. I felt as if my heart would break asunder forever. And, we three watched.

Then it was over. The many crows began a shuffling hop and jump then flying off in all directions, and it was again just the three of us - crow, dog, and woman. My crow friend watched me intently for many minutes in silence. Then he flew away too.

I gathered up what I had been working on and returned inside the house, washed up, and went to bed. My husband came to find me a few hours later to tell me I had a phone call.

What I heard was a woman that I had befriended when I first came to the area and who worked at my son's school had been killed in a car accident at the time and place we would have been also had we taken that ride instead of my watching the crows dance. My skin felt like goose flesh. I knew deep inside that the crows had somehow saved my life.

I wondered for years if that woman had died in my place. I would cry over this thought off and on until another friend years later suggested that it was not so much that the woman had died instead of me but that she had died instead of us both meeting our deaths at that time. With that, my heart finally was peaceful. This I now felt was the truth, if truth in such things can be had.

The crows still watch and guard our mountain. The dog member of our family has since passed away. And, my hair is a lot whiter and my heart more grateful and tender.

© 2012, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

Tree?

Tree, do you ever wonder things like why continuing living since you must live only here for 100s of years despite all done to you or around you? What have you seen, heard, thought in your tree life here? Can you teach me please, Tree? I need your wisdom. Tree? Thank you for continuing to live here & letting me live near you. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Burning, I dance by Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

"I died, but somehow this shell of me trudged on for years, decades. Something fiercely defied my death, would burn my inward parts, never resting, singing sometimes raucously as I, shattering, was trampled, tamped down. Taunting me to dance ever more on puppet strings, the eyes, the mocking mirth of minions of my demise, defying them all. I did dance, a macabre dance of joy, of love, of kindness, of hope in darkest dark of no light but the longing knowing of the fierceness of my heart. My dance. My way. Even climbing the puppet strings to braid them to me. I dance. I dance. Burning, I dance."
~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Thirsting to Fly

Jeanette Winter's observation of lovers as quoted from her work The Passion is a sensual display of observation by a third party who happens to be a poetic prose type writer-thinker. She paints a vivid word picture of the nervous stage fright of a type of new lovers just meeting passion/lust. She does accurately report how many express the delighted terror of the new encounter with sexual opportunity just met - the "3 F phenomenon" of fight, flight or f*ck. Alas, too many never advance from this stage into an ever growing mature love & passion but rather become addicted or stuck in believing that this is all there is. Then when this fleeting, untamed, somewhat unpredictable spark is over, they go on to look for the next spark without even trying to build a long-lasting bonfire.

For me, the initial meeting with someone expressing sexual interest in me has felt like an attack. The delighted terror has had heavy emphasis on the terror part and little of the delight. I had been terrorized daily from the beginning of my life well into adulthood while also being "taught" to be a "good girl" at all costs or meet my destruction... as if I was not facing my destruction daily...  and so I married, have a son, faithfully dead ever since... except the inner me kept growing....

Something untamed, wild, almost fae within me thirsted to fly, knew there was more & that I was more than all I was going through. My search for my own wholeness, my own wisdom, my own "me" has been a costly way with a long way still to go. But, fly I most certainly do. Imagination is a powerful path. Dreams can be made realer flitter by impish flitter, hard work by hard work, one step at a time. Unimaginable pain can be endured if the inward vision sees the dream possible. Impossible things happen every day. Fly with me please.

“Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face-paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong.

How is it that one day life is orderly and you are content, a little cynical perhaps, but on the whole just so, and then without warning you find the solid floor is a trapdoor and you are now in another place whose geography is uncertain and whose customs are strange?

Travellers at least have a choice. Those who set sail know that things will not be the same as at home. Explorers are prepared. But for us, who travel along the blood vessels, who come to the cities of the interior by chance, there is no preparation. We who were fluent find life is a foreign language. Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back is worse.”
― Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

Fat Sex: The Naked Truth by Rebecca Jane Weinstein

Fat Sex: The Naked Truth by Rebecca Jane Weinstein with forward by Margaret Cho

This book is written in a style reminiscent of the serious but casual discussions around the fire in the student center. It also reminds me of serious informative discussions with many a wiser person. However, this topic and the related issues surrounding being a fat person, especially a fat woman, and the facts of life about love and/or sexual relationships were never discussed in a helpful, encouraging, factual, or healthy way. This book shows by example as well as with an interweaving of a variety facts that all of what I (and we in this world) have been told and believe to be true about fat people and love relationships has not been the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The love life of fat people can be quite wonderful in fact.

I would most definitely recommend this book. I wish I had had it when I was about age 9 onwards to help me understand more and get hurt less in a world determined to crush me.

26 July 2012
Update from the author:

Rebecca Jane Weinstein:

Hello friends involved with body acceptance issue! Please share this with anyone and everyone. Although the book is getting a lot a press, don't be mislead, it is a hard sell! People see it as radical, even though it is just an honest portrayal for countless people. There may be some fear in taking the leap to buy and read. Support the goals of spreading the honest struggles and triumphs of pervasive body issues. Thanks!
http://www.FatSexTheNakedTruth.com/