I try to rouse others to find their truths by writing about my own! Yoga, meditation, and aromatherapy teacher. Author of 5 books — thriller, healing, poetry.
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i’m in a house. it’s not my own. mom isn’t home. rain storm. it won’t stop. i’m no longer in the house but now in the rain. i’m soaking wet. i’m back inside, yelling MOM. no reply. i’m all alone. i’m soaking wet.

a wolf is chasing me. i can’t…

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So the ultimate question that haunts me to this day is quite simple yet disturbing to contemplate too harshly: Who am I?

I don’t even fucking know…

My friend reappeared into my life, from whence she left about a year ago. Her response to who I am these days?

“Who…

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a poem

i love you.
not in the conventional sense that i choose you over anything else.
not in the way most people love,
putting their hearts on the line and wishing for forever.

i love you in the fucked up way i know how to love.
im there for…

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She inhaled deeply at the longing memory of him, only to exhale a subtle goodbye, letting it hang all too heavy in the air for the next passerby to be hit in the face with its harsh intent.

She looked in the rearview mirror but only for one second before…

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“It is the great mass of mankind, the mob, the people, who create the permanently bad times. The world is only the mirror of ourselves. If it’s something to make one puke, why then puke me lads, it’s your own sick mugs you’re looking at!”
Henry Miller

I used…

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“The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful some not. Still we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.”…

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“My name is Octavio Coleman, Esquire and for more than 40 years, I have given my life, my spirit and my vital energy in pursuit of one endeavor to illuminate the oneness which lays hidden in plain sight right before your eyes and under your nose. To highlight the illusion…

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How do I tell you…

that i’m dying.
dying to live.
dying to make memories.
dying to dance in the streets under the glows of the rising moon.
dying to call upon you as if you’re my one.
But we’re all dying, so what’s the big fucking deal?

How do I tell you…

that i can’t stop thinking about you…

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