How Many Pierce County Deputies Does It Take To Stop Domestic Violence?

   Really, that is my question. How many Pierce County Deputies does it take to stop a domestically violent individual? It's a question we should all be asking ourselves.  The answer seems to be "It's directly proportionate to the number of influential people you know." This is a special kind of algebra.  Power+Money*(enablers)=abuser>victim(evidence+abuser's prior bad deeds)=She's crazy liar.

  Another question: How many times do you think abuse victims are ignored and abusers allowed free passage? How many victims of this misuse of power are there? I will keep asking that and if you have any experiences you would like to share, just message me. This is a pattern. The common way things are done here. They're far too good at this, across the board, for it to be the anything else.

  When Deputy Larson responded to my 911 call, on July 10th, I recognized him. I told him that he had responded to my first call back in 2009. He immediately denied this. I wasn't surprised. It is far more common that I, remember a deputy coming to my home, than that same deputy remember me, some four years after the fact. I repeated myself and he firmly stated that no calls had ever been logged from that address, he had already checked. I repeated that he had.  He mentioned my phone number, and I realized the error. I had used the house phone number the first time. I explained that to him. He let that point go and moved on.

  It didn't strike me as odd, until much later, that a Deputy responding to a domestic call would argue with the victim about an occurrence of abuse, or that he wouldn't want to take pictures, that the prosecutor would later claim never to have received them, even though they were made part of the Domestic Violence Restraining Order evidence through filings with the court.  I have never before heard of such a concerted effort of a civil authority to refuse to do it's given job. I wouldn't believe this, if I were not living it. Let me tell you, it scares me. How easily everything can be ripped from you by those who are sworn to protect you and that you could be labeled "crazy" a "troublemaker" or "drug addict" whatever name makes treating you as less than will do. It's a bit of redirecting, not worthy of those who undertake it.  However, in taking this action they underscore my position.

    After I became aware my daughter was appearing at my ex-husband's side, my hurt...not a big enough word-my anguish knew no measure. I tried to explain my daughter's history. I had facts, records, texts and phone calls. No one cared. It didn't serve their narrative. If you think that stopping the selling of drugs in Gig Harbor is a priority, you are sadly mistaken. As long as addicts say the right things, they are free to continue as they like. I worry every day that my child will not live long enough to overcome her demons and I am filled with the helpless rage only a parent of an addict who is battling the system knows. I love my child, I am done enabling her. If the only way to help her is to expose the truth, so be it. I am never giving up on her or on truth. Never.

   I requested the recording of that first call made in 2010,  made at a time when I still believed that he didn't mean it. That he loved me. That it would never happen again and that he was sorry.
  I received a letter back from the 911 records department. It stated that it no longer existed. That call was  important because my, then husband, admitted attacking me on it. He promised to fix "this" and begged me to hang up the phone. The operator heard him, she and I talked about what he said and where he was in relation to me. She wanted to know I was attempting to get myself to a safe place. I was on the phone with her when he yelled that he loved me and then left the property.  Well ahead of Deputy Larson. I filled out a statement that time and I made this video, in case something ever happened to me.

  I sent it to my daughter, for safe keeping in March of 2009, incase anything should ever happen to me. Never guessing she already had a deeper relationship to my, then, husband than I could have ever believed.  I wrote about trying to get away from him four years ago. Well before July 10th, 2013.

     I tried to get this video I made after that attack in March 2009, submitted into evidence during the hearing for a DMVRO in 2013. I was denied this, because as I was told, Pierce County Superior Court didn't have the ability to view videos in their courtrooms. Just-ruminate on that one for a moment. That's how my entire case has been handled. As if, they believed I had found a way to go back in time and created every document which proves my abuser's guilt, because apparently I have conquered the space time continuum in order to plant these events beforehand or rather...after, which then became before, due to my time jumping, so I made it all up and they were then free to ignore me, belittle me and to refuse to uphold the laws of our state as well as Federal ones.  Not only does this create a nice package, it also is more plausible than the wild thought that they are dealing with a man whose history of abuse and assault was simply repeating itself. That is totally not believable.

     It will happen again. He will do it again and we will all have known that he was capable of whatever it is he does next.  Pierce County will be culpable. They already are.

   My abuser called the Sheriff's department before me on July 10th. To let them know I would be calling. He knew that, because I had told my daughter. I will attach the text messages between my daughter and myself. These are not new, I turned them over to the Sheriff's department. I gave them my phone with access to everything on it. Also, my computer. These things have long been out there.  Her credibility is easily brought down by her own words. Though it pains me to do so. You can compare her many conflicting statements and those of my abuser, which have changed constantly.

   I am told it's because my youngest daughter appeared with my abuser, every time he spoke to the police. That's why they believe him and not me. In over ten different interviews, or contacts with Pierce County Deputies she was present as his "stay out of jail card," his claim to honesty every single time. My child, 24 years old, an adult, but still -my daughter.

  There is no name, no form of expression that can measure the depth of my anguish, my deep what? Sadness? Loss? We humans haven't invented anything to affix to this ache that does it justice. No parent should ever know this betrayal. To know that your child...my child, not only knew what my husband was, but that she actively lied for him, against me- He beat me and she knew it. She was personally enriched for her actions. This is a mother's worth set down for all to see. One, wait two cars, one Apple laptop, various cash payouts....it is a long list the trade for parent for property.

   So, when Deputy Larson made his second visit to our residence in July of 2013, when he said my bruises "weren't too bad," when his main focus was not on what happened to me, but whether I believed my husband had been cheating, I had yet to see the game at play. I find it hard to believe that these actions were standard procedure, Deputy Larson's actions or those that came after him.  No more so than when Deputy Kreis chose not to "check" to see if there was still a RO out against my abuser when he met him at the marital residence, to not notify me of a break in, for not doing a welfare check when the Deputy discovered my abuser on the property with a garage door that was obviously kicked in. Correct police procedure was not followed so many times that these officers and their superiors are either inept or willfully derelict of duty. Which is it?  These things were done you see because the matter had already decided, I was the liar, my abuser the victim. No matter how often he continued to break the law, or how much proof I brought forth, they were never going to change from that stance. It became the official line, damn be the facts. And because, I refused to accept their predestined decisions, I would not bow my head I am made the example of. No. I will not accept this either. Never. You see this is my life. This is all I have.

   When a person finally scrapes up the courage to tell what has happening to them, and let me say, it is a hard thing to do. The worst things that a Deputy can do is to not believe them, to express an attitude of clear distain and ridicules damaging. It's emotionally, mentally devastating. When a Deputy mocks me on Facebook- it is jarring. I stay out of Pierce County as a rule now. I don't feel safe there.  I have been ridiculed for expressing that too. However, when it becomes acceptable in Deputies' minds to treat any member of the community in such a manner on social media, can you honestly say you think that this same deputy would treat me better in person? I prefer not to gamble on that one.  He has a system set up to ensure whatever he does or doesn't do, is deemed acceptable. That, to me is frightening.

   I myself, filed a complaint with Sargent Davidson about Deputy Wulik. I haven't heard back from him or anyone else for that matter. The newest stance seems to be to ignore me until I go away. This will be buried in the newsfeed soon enough. Until my abuser hurts someone else of course-then all of this will be seen as a revelation. Isn't that the way it goes here? Why have one victim when we can make multiples? Just give it time.


    On October 1, 2014 my abuser appeared suddenly on the back deck of the marital home.  I had notified his attorney earlier in the day I would be bringing a motion if he did not pay his full support. He had already let it be known that he had no intention of paying me. He stormed up the backstairs, after parking in his friend's yard and sneaking through the back way to the house. He yanked open the french doors already screaming at me. I ran to the doors and tried to keep him out as he tried to gain entry. He was calling for my dog in a menacing sing-song voice. He grabbed my arm and twisted my right wrist, which had been on the door handle and yanked the door forward into me and then back, then closed the door on my hand. I yelled at him to leave in a panic. He said he was visiting his dog.  My dog Edgar, coward under the dinning table. Edgar had been the past target of this man's wrath and he would not, thank God, come out from hiding.  He finally left after yelling "I am going to be telling you to pack your sh*t and get out of my house in a month c*nt".  I called my mom and she came right over, convincing me once again to call the Sheriff's Office. I was hesitant.I felt they weren't going to help me and they didn't care what he did to me.  But I did, because she is my mother. I try now to honor her.

Bruising on hand and scrapes October 1, 2014

The pictures here were taken of my right hand. it depicts the bruising on my hand and several abrasions and a puncture, which were bleeding still when the Deputy responded, I showed him my hand. He wasn't interested. He took no report and oddly, wasn't wearing a name badge. My mom and Stepfather were there and witnessed his lack of response. Which is why my mother insisted I document it myself. That deputy had a partner with him, in a different kind of uniform. I admit I did not see if he wore a name tag. He held back and the first Officer took the lead. I was once again frightened at my abuser's audacity and with Pierce County Sheriff's Office lack of response to it. Frankly, I was just so...shell shocked and felt hopeless that they would ever help me. My mother became a bit firm with the Deputy asking this man would have to do to me before a deputy would stop him. No answer.

The deputy did say that if I had an active restraining order that "he could do something about this." When I tried to express my fears he replied "You married him". The universal justification for all abuse, right there. Crazy, liar, drug user and the all time gold standard of reasoning it's the victim's own fault...I asked for it. I married him, that is tacit consent right there.

   I have photos and videos and witnesses and medical records, still that's not enough. This man has a long history here, in Florida and several other states as well, not enough.  I am being called a liar and I am living in fear? This is a new and the cruelest form of abuse so far. No one should have to go through this. 

   This is never going to be alright and I am going to keep proving it happened. That I be heard until someone sees the truth. Until my name is cleared and my rights restored. And until Pierce County learns to stop revitalizing it's victims. 

   I have requested copies of the police reports surrounding all of these incidents. To post them here. So far I have received nothing. In some cases I have been told nothing was filed, which is odd considering I have copies of the complaints I filed, sent to me, blind copied, via the County's web sight. So I know they have them, and know they exist. Also, before they went radio silent to me, I heard from 3 sergeants and another bureaucrat within the Pierce County Sheriff's Department, they contacted me in response to that paper trail.  It exists. I have just been denied access to them, so far. 

   I have no idea how this abusive individual maneuvered his way around the system so well, however it will come out.  In every incidence he came after me, he contacted me.  The more I try to prove I am telling the truth, the harder Pierce County attempts to paint me a liar. I am not going away. Not ever. I have value. They are wrong, I am not crazy, I am tenacious. To a fault. 

  

  Also, it's not appropriate that our county has dragged me through the mud and denied me my civil rights, as well as my right to my own property, and my right to a fair hearing, among the multitude of other things that they have now done.  And to do nothing would be to accept it. That I can't do. I myself, question the resources and manpower that have been spent to keep this harassment of me going. How many meetings, background searches, lawyers consulted and the like? You have a right to know, and the why to the thing. These our our employees, and this is our money they are using against us. I didn't sign off on that did you? Do we now have a fund used to denigrate victims with impunity? This needs to be investigated, all of it. We are all deserving of some transparency and honesty in the actions of our civil servants. Please, use your rights to Freedom of Information and request copies of all documents involved. They may try to stonewall one, but they can't stonewall all.

  When Ed Troyer socializes with Deputy Wulik's band....and Deputy Wulik gets a free pass on bullying victims on social media, that is worth noting. When multiple deputies train with the man who supplied guns to my abuser and neither is prosecuted, that is worth noting. When my daughter's drug dealers are offered to Pierce County Deputies on a silver platter and they choose to not pursue them...you deserve to know why. Don't let anyone try and tell you that Pierce County is tough on opiate dealers. Not as long as they turn a blind eye, refusing to gather evidence that would harm the case they themselves are trying to trump up against a victim, who they refuse to see as one. 

 A woman should never have to suffer these horrible series of events upon finally finding the mental and physical resources to ask for help. To say "he hits me. Help me, please." She most certainly shouldn't be made the target of the system which touts itself as the solution to Domestic Abuse. 

  Not much has changed. Does that make you angry when I say that? Imagine being a victim and having to find it out it hard way. I hope you never find yourself here. Hiding, alone, marred by lies and innuendo. I pray that if you ever need help, a safe haven, you are granted it. Without judgment or recrimination. I hope these things, but I also know they will not happen on hopes and prayers. And so I write. I have to. This is all I have. Nothing has changed, but it will. It has to. Because we all matter and God is watching.. 

Again, especially in our present times, let me reiterate, I am pro law enforcement. They have dangerous, stressful occupations. I appreciate the good officers. However I am not going to be silent to abuse of power, I can't. 

The Whys

Well here we are....again, wringing our hands and crying out why?

   We are created to explore the whys, to look for answers. It is the way we learn, move forward...move on. However, some times there is no why that can encapsulate the event. Today is such a day. There is no fault. This is not about selfishness or weakness it is about an extreme pain so great that a soul pleads to be let loose its mortal bonds. It is simply too much.

  What do we learn? What do we take forward from this? Well, firstly, I remind myself of the only cure I know of. One not found in a bottle. One no drug pusher sells.... HOPE. 

I pile up all my reasons for being here...and not... I set my accounts down and total up sums of love, subtracted from fear, added to trials, multiply failures and tally it all and so far, hope wins out.

As long as there is hope all is not lost. 

But what if it were lost? 

Which is the folly? 

  In this great void that we try to fill up with noise and people, details and objects, all to keep us from admitting, we do not know anything. 

Death makes children of us all. 

  At times like these we clasp tight to our beliefs, our religions, our educations and brandish our chosen weapon. Flailing desperately at the unknowable. Shadow boxing is all we can manage. For what? Nothing can be changed. There is no great prize for unpuzzling another's reason. Sometimes there simply is no why that can be put down in a public square to be nodded over and commented on. So all present can quietly agree to the details and outcome. False reassurances.....

We are still such silly children.

  It no longer matters why. Depression kills more than any other cause of death. Know this. Please keep fighting cancer and HIV and throw your passion at these hard battles, but understand this....

just because a heart beats, a body breathes, does not mean all is well and we should go forward in gratitude. It does not mean that we do not suffer the same burdens as another's disease. 

There are no bandaids for this kind of pain.

  This is not a fish tale, a time to compare wounds or labor pains. It's not a contest to see who is the strongest or hurts the most. There's no debate. 

  Go your own way and do not trespass on another's struggle. Those whose anguish goes beyond what can be quantified on a glass slide or distilled down to a justifiable physical measurement, still emotionally bleed. 

  There are no marks set. No stage four depression. Coded words to be murmured behind raised hands. An acceptable diagnosis that will impart from one to another, the exact level of mental pain, physical anguish that has caused this outcome. 

  We are all still children and sometimes there is no answer to the whys.

My Battle

  One of the hardest things, the battle I lose most often is the one I wage with myself. I try daily to live in a place of peace, to be kind and to wish harm on no one. Most days I am fine- then there are the days the battle is lost and I find myself, always in tears on the emotional battlefield angry with myself for falling into that pit of anger and hurt that leads me to push those I love away and to strike out at those that do me harm. It is not that I wish to wound them, I simply wish to be left alone, to be left in some semblance of peace. I wish nothing more than to hide.

  I would much rather spend the rest of my days in solitude than in battle. I grieve the pain that I have caused, intentionally or not. I shame myself over my own cross words. The thing I despise most about being different, being broken, is that my first response to any threat is always to take up my armor. I am ever in the warrior position, even as I desire only to be the peacemaker.  I try. I fail.

I do not have the skill set. I so envy those that do.

  I have been told that I am fearless. That I am brave. I am not. When I am frightened I take my cue from the puffer fish and balloon to my full height of 5'1" and my attitude, I am sure adds a few more inches as well. I make noise, push out. It is all that I know. I must change. I must learn to be softer, to stand back. How will I learn this?
 
  I sit here writing these words and I am filled with a great fear. I know I must grow past this and yet I am unsure that I can. The small voice within me, the one the warrior protects protests. "This is how I have survived. If I let go of this shield the world will swallow me whole. I can't"

  The thing I want least to do in this life, the one thing I will not pardon myself for is hurting others.  To be willfully unkind is a wicked thing.  I inadvertently brush up against other's feelings often. I am brisk and forward, I have no tact. I hear these things from others and I try to soak their words in. To make alterations in myself, but my tongue is quick and healing from sharp words is slow. I am at a loss. I must grow past my own limitations so that I am not here again, in tears, failing and cursing my own survival system.

  There must be some way to breach this dark place that I find myself continually rounding back to. But how? That small voice beseeches me "I stayed quiet so long. I kept it all in and now, I simply cannot" how can you ask that of me? There is a balance I must discover. I must master my own fear and my reaction to it. This is going to be hard, all good things are. I will fail. I will fall down. This is life, bad things are going to happen. I will learn to live in peace anyway.

Trading Time for Time

 I haven't been here for a while...Life, it happens to us all.

  We are all time traders of one kind or another. I realized this fact while writing all the words that have come before this post. It was a wonderfully flawed, strong soul who started me on this journey and it is he who has continued teaching me still- even as he is years now gone from us.

  I sat in a room for weeks that seemed like months- at other times as -minutes with that soul in his last times on this Earth within the confines of a body that ultimately failed him, as all of ours will. I was there only as a supporting role. I was an in-law, an out-law, one of many that were in attendance.

  I had no pent up hurts or slights held as if treasures tightly to my breast, no unresolved issues with this man who could no longer make amends. I had known him when, in those waning years, he had too much time and so he traded it for sorrows. That painful place where memories are open wounds that never truly heal. We had held hands as he cried over his own falsehoods, his short temper and long grudges. Ashes all.

  I listened as he poured out his failures, the ones that haunted him. This was a strong man, a force in all things. I sat while he bowed his head to hide his tears. I myself am strong in my own way, I too have held firm, but there is nothing in this life that prepared me for it- when a mighty one became humbled, sorrowful of his own nature and completely...filled with regret for his own sureties which he later realized were in error. He could name off dozens, they took up his hours and gave him nothing worthy in return.

  I cannot speak for the others who shared that soul's last days. I would never presume to. As for myself, he gave me a gift it would take me years to fully discover and though it cannot be insured or measured, it is the most treasured thing I own, and I do own it.

 Recently, I was honored to be included in a small private gathering, in the company of souls who were heading down that same path as had been traveled with that other man. Again, it was another Patriarch, one who had been massive in his presence and now his body had been abandoned by his knowing mind. Leaving his own family to become time traders.

  We all do it, we look back over things, some good -others not, to do so we must give up the present. We are linear on this plane. We are free to thumb through our past, we can linger over hurts or joys all that we choose to, for a price. Time is still going forward, whether we wish it to or not. Choose well.

  The day will come when our hourglass simply will no longer turn for us. Where ever we have chosen to allow our thoughts to meander, whatever time we have traded, will be etched in stone with a name and a date. We will be carried forward through others who will be trading their own hours in our memory. Be worthy.

 The cavern between that first great man and some who loved him was never transversed. It was not to be. I saw the pain it caused, but I could do nothing. He could not lay down his shield and they saw no choice but to leave with one more strike from a dying man who never laid the blow. Let it go.

  There is a great honor, a spiritual renewing, in helping another being in the twilight hours, when they are neither child nor adult, but a new being too heavy to carry and to helpless to leave. We must learn to see them for what they are and also to understand that this is a natural progression, one that we all must go through, not in regret for the ravages of disease or the rages of discourse but as a step toward something more. Have hope.

 It is a new kind of time trading. There is something healing in these precious moments of caring for one who can no longer do for themselves. Be open.

 Grace is found in these times, if we choose to acknowledge it. Hands that once wielded great power at last tremble without control. Eyes once judgmental, all knowing, are lost to things unseen. It may be too late for the apologies we all feel we are entitled to, the endearments we did not receive, kind words withheld, but we can free those very things from our own moorings. In holding those once capable hands, let go of any slights. Give your time and you will gain doubly.

  It is a very easy thing to say, but they do not know me, they do not recognize me and to walk away,  with no more resolutions gained. It misses the point. It is no longer about "them", it is about us, me, you. It is about watching over the watcher and comforting the once mighty. It heals us.

  In nurturing our those in our present we can release the bitter past. It does not mean that the suffering was less than or that you are giving in. It takes the greatest strength, when finally finding oneself with the whip in hand and deciding to let it drop. Righteous indignation is never right. It is a thinly veiled attempt to excuse one-selve's own behavior by laying the blame with another.

  I believe that God is within us all. We see this most clearly in the very young and again in the oldest among us. They are not our burden, they are our salvation. There is no greater trade of time than one that blesses both the giver and the receiver and by lovingly caring for one who has done you harm, as we all will do, you free yourself. Be Free.

  I send you love and as always, hope. Live in grace given and it will be received. This is your life. Bad things are going to happen. Live anyway. Love hard and hold fast. We all trade time. Trade wisely.

   I am asked many times how can I forgive, because I wish to be free. Because it is a gift I ask for everyday and I will never get what I refuse to give. Because I want to be more than a set of stories, blog posts and news clippings. Because I am trading time for time and it is good.

With great love to SP, DSP, JD, CM

The Salt and the Sweet

I am sitting here, either too early in the morning or too late at night, my cheeks aching from smiling too much...if there is such a thing. There have been many changes in my life in the last year, some painful and others wondrous. This latest one is by far, both the most surprising and rewarding. I really do not remember when I first noticed it. That thrill you get when something special happens, be it a unexpected, yet appreciated compliment or maybe an much treasured gift. Only, now it is not about things that happen to me, or for me, rather it is the sheer joy I feel in watching someone else fulfill their dreams. I have had the honor of witnessing several wonderful souls reach their goals of late and it is a glorious thing.

 I know that two years ago, or so, I would have been "happy as I could be for them", but I would be secretly comparing my life, my goals to theirs. I would be looking for ways to discount the value of their efforts in order to appease my own feeble ego. I no longer do that. I read a quote a bit ago and it really touched me. It convicted me and I could not deny my own image when I saw it reflected within the adage: "Your light will never shine brighter by blowing out another's." Oh, well...there I was...right there...Well I mean, I have vacationed in denial before, but somethings you just have to own.

  So, instead of seeing the place where the needle may have slipped, where the craftsmanship could have been slightly improved, I celebrated the confirmation of the possible. The beauty in the creation. If someone else could do it, then it could be done. If it could be done, then I could do it. And in the mean time, how cool was it that someone I had watched pour themselves out, struggle and stretch to grow into what they would need to be to achieve their goals, reached them.
I had the freedom of no excuses. Of owning my place and the power to change it. How amazing is that?

 My soul is made happiest now by doing things for other people. Whether it is a big thing or a small one, and it matters not, if they ever know I did it. It is the simple act of giving, of serving from one soul to another. I am in love.

  That is exactly what this is. I am hopelessly and unabashedly in love with the lightness and joy my soul feels when I let go of myself and concentrate on someone else. It is the most marvelous thing. It is a delirious, drunken, headiness that I can only compare to seeing my children's beautiful faces for the very first time. It is something spiritual. Something my soul is doing of it's own accord. I hope that you are well. Life is hard, bad things are going to happen. Hang in there, because there will always be good, if you cannot find it, be it. It is life's salt and sweet. And I try to always, always, remind myself, when given the choice, be kind. I have never regretted being kind. 

Silence

 In every circumstance there is a lesson. I find myself often asking no one in particular, why? And on most occasions of late, the answer has been the same. Silence.  Whoever it was that stated silence is golden, lied. Silence is a sharp knife on tender flesh. It is an endless, aching quest unfulfilled. A hunger unquenchable, a void too great to be breached.

  It is pain and sorrow too great to be spoken. Silence is a weapon cruelly turned on a beloveds soul.
It is an echo unanswered. A careless, wanton heart with a fickle beating. Muffled, intentionally, quieted to inflict a demon's desires on freshly formed love. A forced kiss from dry lips. Dust laid thick on words of adore.

 Silence is a mourning of all things lost. A sentinel, ever guarding dark things. It carries more grief than tears can measure. It will awaken you from the deepest of sleeps to bid you listen, forever listen. Waiting for a message that will not come. It demands your attention but gives nothing in return.

I have tried to parse it out...the what and the how of it. I plot out waypoints, looking for a star, some far off light to show where I have gone astray. I make attempts to understand, to give atonement, appeasement to this stranger who has taken up residence without invitation.

  Silence is not moved. It will be neither coddled nor bullied.  Eviction notices pile up at its door and still it persists. Accusing in its attitude, as if I were somehow the interloper. I can reason out any puzzle, pairing up things in their proper order, but I do not understand silence's game. I search endlessly through tomes and words left by those far wiser than I can ever hope to be. Yet I come away with nothing..

 There is no place named silence on any map that I have found. Rest assured, I have looked, in hopes of finding its secrets. What is to sit in this place so empty? Is it something I have lost? Was it never really there? Endlessly my fevered mind cries out for the why.

  Silence will not be banished by a crowd. No, it will sit patiently at your shoulder biding its time.
For silence is not ruled by any clock or timetable. Its schedule is its own and it will not be swayed from its coarse. You may put it off for a scant hour or two. Silence smiles slyly, nodding to itself secure in its knowledge that it will linger long after your last visitor has gone.


 Silence is its own cruel master and its demands are high. Silence has weight and measure, can be felt yet goes unseen. It slips in and out of a room at will.

  So, here I sit with my jagged edges that will not stay in place and a reckless heart too loyal for its own good and I wait. Silence and I will keep house until its purpose is clear. I am adept at waiting it is my strong suit and so I wrap myself in this cloak of nothingness and give my companion its due.

 Finally it whispers, a soft sound of a voice unused to it's own tone. "Be still and know", not every lesson is meant for me. I am merely a witness, a small bump on a long road that someone else is traveling. In this I find great comfort. Silence also holds grace and I am thankful

Sloth

The Smallest Bird is Sloth.   While the others vied for power , Sloth could not be bothered.  He refused to grow in stature,  instead he honed his energy on escaping the carrion's glower.  In fact so tiny was his form  and so easily was he missed  he neither flew on his own wing  nor hunted his own grist.   He kept himself perfectly still  until the watcher's eye grew bored,   then slowly ever so  he would latch onto another  bird and ride as if a lord.  He was a trickster of another sort  using no slight of hand  It was by doing the very least that he took grew to take command. The toll of this was very high   and of course it brought him low .  He had no choice as to what he ate   nor where he chose to go . Too weak to hold himself aloft he was sure to someday tumble.  His body was too soft, his achievements too humble.

                                                     

Philip Seymour Hoffman Has Died

   Philip Seymour Hoffman has died. We have all lost more than can be put into words. He was quietly, elegantly, perfect at his craft. So much so, that we forgot it was an act, a character and not the man himself. I first saw his brilliance as Freddie Miles, in The Talented Mr. Ripley and he made the movie.  I can see him so clearly all these years later, understated, powerful, dressing down Matt Damon with a glance and a few careful words. There was something in his presence, he was more aware then the others. You would lean in to hear him speak. He had a way of delivering a line that let you know he knew things, secrets, the names of the demons that plague us all.

   As with any great gift comes equal parts sorrow. All genius must be fed on suffering, and Mr. Hoffman was not spared. You need never have had to see an interview he sat for, or talked to him in person, it was written in the set of his face. It was in his eyes when he played the role of the questionable Father Brendan Flynn, in Doubt. He had  easily access to a reservoir of pain to draw upon. And he drank it in huge gulps, so that we could all believe in whatever story he was telling us at the time.

  Philip Seymour Hoffman has died. He cannot be revived or replaced. He has left us, abandoned, alone. His talent came at a high price, too high. Do not allow anyone to drag his name or reputation low because of the circumstances of his passing. Mr. Hoffman knew the names of so many demons because he lived with them. We only caught a flash, a small glint of their shadows, however he faced them straight on and they set their teeth upon him, one needle prick at a time. Their jaws became unhinged to take in more of him and leaving him less. Emptied at last.

  For those who cannot find mercy, stop looking for fault. It is no treasure, and it buys nothing of value. No one has lost more, or suffered as much, as Mr. Hoffman himself.  Please see it for what it was, this was a theft. He lost all of his tomorrows, his hope, everything that he could have been and done. Gone.

  Philip Seymour Hoffman has died, and with him, so has his demons. It was a brutal and valiant battle, in the end it was a draw. They took his life and he took his leave.

 

The Struggle

The Struggle

There will be hard times.
Bad things are going to happen.
Keep going

Acknowledge the struggle
face it squarely
and plot its demise.
Find its weaknesses,
instead of your own.

Struggle brings Worry
an uninvited guest
do not be hospitable.
set no place for
worry at your table.
Give it neither your
words or your tears.
Leave it to starve.
Worry well fed is
Depression unchecked.

Struggle is meant to refine
do not let it define you.
Struggle is a gift.
It is a lesson to learn.
A taskmaster
Know your part.

Struggle comes to teach you
that which you do not wish to
learn, but what you must to
be complete.

Struggle is the answered
siren's call your soul sent out.
It is a dealmaker asking
"what will you give me
in trade?"
Barter well.

There will be hard times.
Bad things are going to happen.
Keep going.