Category Archives: Adult Topics

Ending the Cycle… This Time…

I know the last few pieces have been more dark and somber. I do thank you for sticking with me through it. Yet I think it was time to lance that roiling mess in my heart. I’m hoping not to write on it again… ever… But it’s like most things in life… it’s cyclical, and the next time will be better.

I would like to share some final related thoughts as Christmas nears and I prepare to celebrate the birth of the Light of the World. Even as I write these, Zippy is scratching at his doggy bed waiting to take over my keyboard, and I have a new poem for my hubby just in time for Christmas.

First, you would think after my experience I would support gun control. I do not. No law will ever stop those hellbent on destruction and chaos from creating it. Rather I support teaching all of us–gun owners and the gun-shy alike– what responsible gun ownership and responsible gun handling look like. When you know what should be, it’s easier to recognize what isn’t. Also, I support having game plans for those in the presence of irresponsible gun owners and handlers, as well as means for reporting those irresponsible with gun ownership and handling.

Second, I encourage you to do some research on Della Reese. Ignore her days on Touched by an Angel; ignore her years as a minister of God’s grace. Find information on her abuse and survival. I found a good summary on YouTube. While my abuse was a little different (I was blessed to leave before I had marks on my body), her openness to discuss her situation and how much experience she had before picking her abuser as her partner helped me to recognize that nothing was my fault and gave me the courage to face the darker parts of my abuse history.

Third, some abusers can change. It takes Christ and a lot of hard work. If they change, they do deserve a second chance…with appropriate supports and supervision. However, the victims and survivors will have feelings that should be considered as well.

Finally, this is a hard time of year for some. I’m including some related hotline numbers and web sites. Please don’t become a statistic if you’re in a bad situation; choose life and hope and get help.

Telephone Numbers

  • National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
  • Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-422-4453
  • National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
  • National Runaway Safeline: 1-800-RUNAWAY

Web Sites


Letting Go

Author’s Note: Hoping against all hope this is the last on this topic for this year. Late fall was never my time of year; I always seemed to face tough decisions with the wrong outcome or received bad news. (Yes, I am publishing way after authoring. 🙂 )

Always different, never fitting in,
Meandering, orbiting, never connecting,
Yet somehow I found brothers and friends.

But the shackle on my finger
Locked the blinders on my eyes.
A weapon invisible in the distant mists
Barred me from taking the shackle and blinders off.

My heart was frozen…
My mind was a rock…
My tongue was a sword…

I wanted to push you away,
To protect you,
I couldn’t, wouldn’t cradle bloody, cold corpses.

I just wanted to hide in the open for a while
So your lives could shine.

I called “Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free,”
But you were all gone,
Like sand flowing over my fingers
Digging at the shore.

Some are lost, some are found,
And nothing’s coming back,
Nothing’s back for me now.

And though I’ve seen light and life and joy,
The prison door’s still open.
I crawl in,
Covered in my briny tears,
Wallowing in guilt and loss, shame and remorse.
Then push out,
Becoming a joy filled robot again.

I want to tear the prison down;
I want to let it all go;
I want to really live free with joy.

For now…
It’s only words–
Too few at the time,
Too many too late.

Rock, Paper, Scissors… Gun!

Author’s Note: In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ve been some very dark places. But I am in a good place now. So with the help of appropriate supports I am going back to the dark places and giving myself the voice I didn’t have then. This is dedicated to all victims and survivors of domestic violence, dating violence, and relationship abuse.

Rock, Paper, Scissors…
Simple child’s play.
Nerds ramped it up
Based on dark places.
Gun scares dog.
Gun burns paper.
Gun shoots lizard.
Spock disarms gun.
Rock smashes gun.
Scissors jam gun.
But that’s child’s play,
And the little girl in the woman can’t play.
She can’t come out to play.
The gun not held to her head
Jams her heart and mind.
She cries and shakes and begs:
What kills gun in real life,
What kills gun in real life?!?
Gun scares girl.
Gun burns friends.
Gun doesn’t shoot yet…
Why didn’t Jesus disarm the gun?
Why couldn’t love smash the gun?
Angels did jam the gun.
The gun blast never heard
Set off sparks in a powder keg.
Ring around the girl
Burns it all to ash
We all fall and never shine as we were meant to.
And still the ghost gun makes the little girl ask,
“What hurts gun?”

The “Adult Topics” Tag: An Explanation

I’m a writer. I love ideas. I want to share ideas. Maybe on some level I even want to learn to defend some of my ideas. So I did what every (wanna-be) writer does–started a blog. A small blog, nothing ambitious, organically growing without pushing by SEO. Early on, I didn’t even allow crawlers and bots to peek in (that’s changed). I decided a general audience rating because I don’t believe that ideas are harmful.

However, I’m a mom. I want my kids to not be embarrassed or ashamed if their friends find me and figure out it’s me. I want other parents to see my posts and maybe get other ideas (trust me, the cement wall and head banging were frustrating as I acquired double-digit midgets).

The tension I felt was the need to share ideas that might be edgier than some might like. Again, ideas aren’t harmful. It’s what we do with them that’s harmful. But to me, even more harmful, is the idea that we just can’t talk about something or explore how to handle it. The Good Lord had it right; people die for lack of knowledge. We can’t learn and grow if we can’t talk or explore ideas.

Enter my “Adult Topics” tag. It was my way of signalling to my kids they weren’t ready for that idea and I wasn’t ready with a good explanation as a parent. I might have been wrong, but they know they enter at their own risk. It wasn’t really ever about pornography or erotica–it always was about the darkness of the human heart. Things like rape, abuse, slavery are hard, even for adults. The ideas would be talked about at a higher level than they were ready for.

Hope this makes our muddy lives a little more clear.

DeadLife Standstill, Part 10

The blue-eyed warrior clan matriarch and her daughters spent the evening eating a meatless pie covered with chasm cow cheese. They talked about the things they’d done and the people they’d met.

Just a candle flick before sunset, as her daughter were clearing the plates and jugs, there was a knock at the door. The blue-eyed warrior clan matriarch opened the door. No one was there, but there was a scroll at the threshold. She knew by the markings it was from the matriarchs.

Stoically, she began to unwrap the scroll as she closed the door. The time was short; she skimmed the story to understand its instructions. They were quite bewildering.

She called her daughters. As they arrived before her, she stated “It’s time.” While making a warding sign with her sword, she reminded the girls, “Get your friends to play our cat and mouse game, the secret one from the last War Games. Have them run with you. Go to the lake where we did that War God exercise about quiet minds and where I first told you this was coming. Wait there.”

They ran immediately, and she grabbed her knapsack, stuffed the scroll inside, and departed for the little War Games grove outside of town per the scroll’s instructions. She chopped 30 arrow tree spears, building a fire with the scraps. She searched for the creature described in the scroll; she questioned the existence of animals that tolerate and chase fire.

Her heart hammered in her throat. While the children giggled and skipped out the town gate, she spied a cage in the hollow of a dying moonbird tree. Huge moonbird trees lived for generations longer than recorded time, but bugs ate the wood and weakened older trees.

In the cage were 10 beasts. They were furry, wiggly, and crammed tightly together. They exploded from the cage and circled the fire. The warrior clan matriarch was stunned; no known natural animal acted this way.

They looked like the Chaos God was playing tricks on the War God. They weren’t chasm cats or moon dogs or river rats. They looked like all three creatures melted into one creature.

The fire shouldn’t mesmerize them, and yet it did. She feared they’d never leave the fire. As she lit an arrow tree spear and moved to get some rope, she noticed the group’s confusion as they tried to both follow the torch and circle the fire.

As she rolled in dark mud to conceal her identity after nightfall, she dropped the torch in the mud. She begged the War God to hide her in this realm and the next. Through the War God connection, she was shown how to tie the creatures together so they could be led to the town gate and have the rope burn away. She was shown how to fix torches to the animals’ heads so they would chase the torches when the circle of flame was doused.

She wept silently but the mud was too thick to wash off. She tied all ten animals together, lit just 20 arrow tree torches, and tied the torches together to the heads of the creatures, two torches in different directions for each animal. She glanced at the town gate; for reasons known only to the War God, the gate was open, the Life Spice stalls were closed, and all was quiet.

She lit three more torches and doused the fire. She crept quietly toward the gate, leading the creatures. She prayed for no night watch or at least for the brown-eyed brawler who took Life Spice to be on duty.

When she got just a stone’s throw from the gate, she threw the three torches through the gate and dropped the rope lead. The creatures took off toward the town.

The warrior clan matriarch bolted. She crept through dried gullies toward the lake, glancing back only once to see the smokey orange glow. She tried to ignore the screams of the people she loved as everything she and they knew went up in flames and smoke.

DeadLife Standstill, Part 9

The door burst open as the sun peaked in the sky. Both blue-eyed daughters tumbled in laughing and giggling. The chatter made things feel normal even though life wasn’t. But they stopped suddenly and stared.

Older: Mom-mom, it’s so… empty. It’s like it’s not ours.

Younger: I don’t like it. Not one bit.

As the younger daughter’s shoulders began to quiver with the person equivalent of a grain-pile explosion, the blue-eyed warrior clan matriarch rapidly moved to wrap her arm around the younger and pull her tight. The younger daughter’s eyes began to well with tears.

Matriarch: Remember our lake trip? We don’t know what’s coming. All we know is things will change suddenly. I packed up some of our favorite things into a knapsack; it’s over by the door. We can grab it if my instructions tell us to leave.

Older: Hence the game? Leading the littles away? Is there something you’re not telling us?

Matriarch: You know I didn’t like that you found the acolyte. I was proud of you for what you did, but I felt you were both still littles yet and never should have been involved. And you’ve seen the messengers at all hours disturbing our family life. When I gave up the active warring, I expected a normal life and quiet so you girls wouldn’t have the problems I’ve seen others having.

Older: That’s a non-answer. That’s almost a matriarch trance answer.

Matriarch: It is the answer. It’s just not the answer you want.

The younger did some more deep breaths, crossed her arms across her chest like she’d seen the brown-eyed outlander warrior do when he was home, and stilled her shaking shoulders.

Matriarch: Good girl. That is nice quieting.

Younger: You know I need to know what’s happening and when. How will I know?

Matriarch: Little, the times are such I can’t do what we usually do. You’ll know when I know, and I’ll pray the War God gives you what you need. It’ll work.

The younger sighed and pouted. The older looked at the ceiling with an uninterested move of her head. The blue-eyed warrior clan matriarch knew that neither child would tolerate much more, so she decided to change the direction for the day.

Matriarch: You ladies hungry?

Both: Yes!

Matriarch: How about I make our big meal for a few candle flickers before sunset? We’ll eat together and then you’ll be free for the evening.

Older: Sounds good.

Younger: What are you going to make?

Matriarch: It’s a surprise. You both go read or play some music. Hang out around our quarters.

DeadLife Standstill, Part 8

As the moon and sun traded places the next morning, the blue-eyed matriarch looked around her quarters. It was quiet because the girls were gone.

She felt anxious. It had been years since she felt this anxious, long before she was a warrior or matriarch or War God lover.

She had learned to always travel light so her hands and body were free to fight. So it didn’t surprise her at all how so many moon cycles had passed and she had collected so few mementos compared to other townswomen.

She did have the union furs her brown-eyed outlander had given her the night they came together at the lake.

She also had the two dedication gowns for her blue-eyed daughters; although she followed the War God and dedication could only be given by an adult after the first moon cycle, she knew that she might have to foster them with Goddess of Peace followers, so she chose to follow that custom. No one liked or appreciated it, but it was her duty to ensure they would be okay if she failed in battle.

It was foolish, but she’d also kept a small wooden plaque that was given by an old teacher at her failed first union. After that union dissolved, it had hurt to see the plaque, but the old teacher was a beloved creator of art and music. Art and music often were better medicine, so she kept the plaque. Eventually, the pain dissolved.

Her younger daughter had a few scrolls because she always had a scroll plastered to her nose. She also had a reed flute and a strange shiny music pipe. The older daughter just had a small pouch filled with little pictures drawn by the towns children in the classes at the Temple of Peace.

Her eyes welled up with tears. She pulled all the items together into one large knapsack and set it by the door. The matriarchs didn’t say she couldn’t take a bit with her.

She looked around her quarters. They weren’t home any longer.