In The Between

In The Between Search For Me In The Pauses Between My Words

In The Between
Search for me in the pauses between
my words. In the silent moments:
That’s where I hide.
Look for me beneath the lines of my
favorite books. In the between places.
That’s where you’ll find me.
Read me in the eloquence of my eyes.
In the secret stories.
That’s where I’ll be.”
Vasiliki

Finding Happiness amidst the Chaos

The search for Happiness can be long and hard if you have no idea what exactly you are looking for.

I am always reminded that happiness is relative, though never understood why.  There are many of us today who will understand why we question this and wonder how it is ever possible especially when our lives are so full of chaos.  So we search for what is Happiness and how it is possible when we are faced with so much in our daily life.

I know within the world of myself I have so much happened and not all of it is just chaos. Each day is a challenge to work through and still manage to find that little bit of happiness. Finding happiness amidst the chaos is just one step forward into true happiness. It is certainly not the fairy tales we watch on tv or read about. 

We can only find happiness through witnessing our progression in life and the small things that make up each day.  Sometimes we even have to face a day where happiness is not so evident and chaos seems to rule, however, this is the beauty of happiness itself, it comes with the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.  Happiness is found within, all it takes is to acknowledge it and allow it to flow in all that is true.

This, though is not an easy task, there is often so much happening within our lives that we have trouble seeing past the chaos and the troubles we face each day that happiness seems such a distant emotion we have forgotten to express.  There is, however, light beyond the darkness, and it will be a work in progress when it comes to discovering how to feel happiness. 

We first have to work on ourselves as a whole, through the turmoil and chaos listening to our heart and mind. We must acknowledge these before we try to work on happiness, otherwise, it will only become a forced emotion and thus turning into more chaos and turmoil. This is what I call “Fake Happiness”.

My journey into self-discovery has been about learning about who I am and understanding that a lot of my trauma, turmoil, and chaos has not always been a direct result of my actions.

Rather they have been put on me to handle and deal with. As they say “Not your fault“.   And this is my biggest vice, or rather had been. I spent a lot of my time trying to force happiness and smile that it became fake. I appeared happy outwardly, however it was eating at me from within. I still often feel empty and I am still learning how to be happy and what it means to be happy. 

At one time I felt that happiness meant you had to be big smiles, laughing, ultra talkative, moving about with pep and keeping this going all day every day.  Now, I realize happiness isn’t all about the outward expression, it’s what you feel and acknowledges within.

Out of all that I have learned, I have felt my heart grow again, I have discovered there is such thing as happiness and I find it in the little things. Seeing my Children smile each day, in my Husband as he walks through the door after a hard days work, with the cuddles I get from my pets and most importantly in myself in the realization that I have accomplished something new.  My problems have not gone away, I still need to work on those, I have just realized that they don’t rule my life.

As a reader, there will be some things that will resonate with you, and some parts that you will dismiss. This I understand, my aim is to tell my story, to show that there is hope, and with time you too can find your happiness.

Happiness is the light that surrounds you, it is the small things that make you smile and the joy that comes with it.

Blessings to you and may you find your happiness.

SS

Her Search for Lost Memories

Her Search for Lost Memories

The sun shines and the sky is blue. Birds were singing and the day had begun.

She sat peering out her window thinking of all that her life had been, wondering.   The memories she could see were just images that floated by,  memories and thoughts all mixed to create a blur of color.  To find a single thought, a single memory had long been tossed into the maze of colored lights.

It was yet another of the many moments that she spent trying to remember her past and the many memories that she had lost. To find a single image deep within the maze her mind created, and to remember where it fitted in her past was a struggle she often found difficult to understand. Somewhere harder than others, still she tried to remember.  It was important for her to do this as regularly as possible. This would help in her journey to healing.

The soul craved to fill the blank space that existed within her heart, though she loves deeply, the need to understand why these memories were tucked away so deep within the blur that was her mind.   Why is it so important to learn more about her past? To find her past was to find her truth and if she could only remember the pieces of the puzzle, then maybe she could find the peace that her heart so desperately needed.  There is so much to understand before the heart can heal and the mind will accept. With patience and gentle guidance, she will be able to work her way through the maze, discovering the memories locked away all those years ago.

Why? What is it that caused the soul to shut away pieces of her heart and mind? To discover the cause of such a traumatic past would explain the cause for locking away the memories that would allow her to feel complete.  Each step within her journey was the plan that she mapped out in the life that she chose to live long before she became the twinkle in her mother’s eyes. The memories written into the story that would be her life are all that she could be.

The journey began and her story has begun to play.

Looking back on my life I have lost so much of my memories and often feel incomplete. I DO spend a lot of time just staring out that window wondering why I have lost a lot of the memories that make up my life.  Is this really the cause of all my trauma, is it what left me deeply scared. As a child, I can not see the memories. As a teen I can possibly say it wasn’t the best, I struggled to feel anything but the crushing events that was my life.  I graduated and discovered new beginnings that have led to being my life today.  Though hurtful at times these are the memories I do have. The journey in discovering my past will take its time.

I am not sure that my past is worth further pain, and yet it is the need to know who it is I am.

It takes much strength to speak my truth. As it is to speak yours. Our lives are what they are and to accept this is part of the journey and a step in acknowledging that we are no different to any other person. Our memories for what they are, are just that our memories. they do not define us, they do not control who we can be. Our memories allow us to draw on them to teach us in becoming a better person.

Yes, I am searching for my memories not to just know them but also to discover how they shaped me into the person I am today   And most importantly to allow myself to Love the person I am, to LOVE ME. When I can do that, I know that I have the power to overcome all.   Our life is the journey and we have the power to create an amazing life.

 

Blessings to you

Ss

I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972 – a Boston man’s “Missed Connections” post on Craigslist

I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972 – a Boston man’s “Missed Connections” post on Craigslist

This is a Boston man’s “Missed Connections” post on Craigslist about a woman he met on New Year’s Eve in 1972. It was too beautiful not to share, and a great reminder that you never know why the people you meet are there…

I met you in the rain on the last day of 1972, the same day I resolved to kill myself.

One week prior, at the behest of Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, I’d flown four B-52 sorties over Hanoi. I dropped forty-eight bombs. How many homes I destroyed, how many lives I ended, I’ll never know. But in the eyes of my superiors, I had served my country honorably, and I was thusly discharged with such distinction.

 

And so on the morning of that New Year’s Eve, I found myself in a barren studio apartment on Beacon and Hereford with a fifth of Tennessee rye and the pang of shame permeating the recesses of my soul. When the bottle was empty, I made for the door and vowed, upon returning, that I would retrieve the Smith & Wesson Model 15 from the closet and give myself the discharge I deserved.

 

I walked for hours. I looped around the Fenway before snaking back past Symphony Hall and up to Trinity Church. Then I roamed through the Common, scaled the hill with its golden dome, and meandered into that charming labyrinth divided by Hanover Street. By the time I reached the waterfront, a charcoal sky had opened and a drizzle became a shower. That shower soon gave way to a deluge. While the other pedestrians darted for awnings and lobbies, I trudged into the rain. I suppose I thought, or rather hoped, that it might wash away the patina of guilt that had coagulated around my heart. It didn’t, of course, so I started back to the apartment.

 

And then I saw you.

You’d taken shelter under the balcony of the Old State House. You were wearing a teal ball gown, which appeared to me both regal and ridiculous. Your brown hair was matted to the right side of your face, and a galaxy of freckles dusted your shoulders. I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

 

When I joined you under the balcony, you looked at me with your big green eyes, and I could tell that you’d been crying. I asked if you were okay. You said you’d been better. I asked if you’d like to have a cup of coffee. You said only if I would join you. Before I could smile, you snatched my hand and led me on a dash through Downtown Crossing and into Neisner’s.

 

We sat at the counter of that five and dime and talked like old friends. We laughed as easily as we lamented, and you confessed over pecan pie that you were engaged to a man you didn’t love, a banker from some line of Boston nobility. A Cabot, or maybe a Chaffee. Either way, his parents were hosting a soirée to ring in the New Year, hence the dress.

 

For my part, I shared more of myself than I could have imagined possible at that time. I didn’t mention Vietnam, but I got the sense that you could see there was a war waging inside me. Still, your eyes offered no pity, and I loved you for it.

 

After an hour or so, I excused myself to use the restroom. I remember consulting my reflection in the mirror. Wondering if I should kiss you, if I should tell you what I’d done from the cockpit of that bomber a week before, if I should return to the Smith & Wesson that waited for me. I decided, ultimately, that I was unworthy of the resuscitation this stranger in the teal ball gown had given me, and to turn my back on such sweet serendipity would be the real disgrace.

 

On the way back to the counter, my heart thumped in my chest like an angry judge’s gavel, and a future—our future—flickered in my mind. But when I reached the stools, you were gone. No phone number. No note. Nothing.