November 26, 2014

Dear Ferguson

#ferguson #michaelbrown #officerwilson #stlferguson

Hash tag it however you doesn't really matter at this point.

The entire nation (and world if you want to put it in to perspective) is watching a group of people NO MATTER THEIR COLOR use race as an excuse to vandalize, assault and now murder in their own community.  There is no amount of justification in what has happened.  You have burned your own community and allowed politics to fuel violence and anger.  Local businesses that others have fought hard to have, some their entire lives...gone in the blink of an eye.  Local businesses of your very own family and friends.

At this point the entire world is watching people (black...white...ALL RACES) act like animals and ignorant asses.  I wasn't going to give in to the sensational reporting, or even write about it at all.
Even after watching Michael Brown's stepfather scream "Let's burn this mother fucker down" to a group of people with a mob mentality.  Why?  How could you feel good about burning your own town down? I won't link the video because it was disgusting and embarrassing for the rest of us who live in Missouri to witness.  That isn't the mentality of anyone I know, and no, they are not just "white folk".  Anyone who knows me, understands that the use of a derogatory name under my roof is absolutely not allowed, that racism is the one issue that bothers me in the depths of my very core.  I'd rather hear my kids drop the f bomb than hear them use a racial slur, even if they were repeating a "joke". EVERY SINGLE PARENT (no matter your ethnicity) has the opportunity to raise their children to overcome their adversities.

I wasn't going to write about it at all, until this morning.

I read a news story in regards to the murder of a young man just two short blocks from where Michael Brown was shot by officer Wilson.
This is taken from the Springfield News-Leaders Facebook page link to the story.  You can find them here.
It was this line that infuriated me:

"As police towed Joshua's car, his grandmother Renita Towns said she had little hope that police would investigate and learn the cause of her grandson's death.
"Police don't care — he's black," Towns said."
Mrs. Towns, how in the world can you feel good about that statement?  Even in a moment of grief and tragedy.  How can you assume that all of us mothers, sisters, grandmothers, and women would support that statement?  How can you assume that the wives and family of these officers would begin to support that statement?  I was saddened by the implied assumption.  I have sons.  I can not imagine that poor young man being murdered and if it is tied to the rumors of him being a key witness, that makes it even worse.  Because in a race fueled argument, if he were a witness, he would have stood as an example that this was not in fact, a race or hate crime.  What courage he would have had to have inside of his heart to stand up for what was right, regardless of the color of another man's skin.  That to me defines a hero.  
The police DID investigate the death of Michael Brown and to imply that they have not, is just simply wrong.  The media and the actions that followed are what have tainted this case.  

My next statement I will direct at Michael Brown's mother. 
Ms. Brown, I can't imagine your pain.  I can't imagine your suffering.  But what I can tell you is that I understand the love a mother has for her son, and that has NOTHING to do with race.  
To stand by and encourage violence in  your own community and use the cover of justice is wrong.  WRONG.  It wasn't just stated to a few people.  You stood by an angry mob and allowed those who supported you to listen to someone scream "Burn this mother fucker down".  Innocent children, elderly, families...they were all put in the risk of danger.  That has nothing to do with race.  That is a character choice.  No amount of prayer or anger or sadness can justify the amount of violence that has came from this tragedy.  The most important words in this paragraph are "innocent children".  Innocent and beautiful children who are now watching adults behave as if they are wild animals.  I can only hope that the love for the communities youngsters can overcome the violence they have been shown.  Because that is not the humane lessons we should be teaching them.  
There are thousands and thousands of mothers, of all nations, who would have stood by your side and held your hand, even if Michael was in the wrong.  No matter what the color of his skin is.  Because we all understand that we can "never say never".  Our children choose paths and there comes a point when they are old enough to stop using their circumstance as an excuse to be violent and make bad choices.  Because we all understand the love a mother has for her child.  Because in the end, you lost your son.  And regardless of our color, our history, our upbringing, as mothers we understand your pain.  How can you allow it to continue on a race basis?  How?  Because I can assure you that my children would wrap their arms around you regardless your skin color because you are in pain.   
When this happened in August, I prayed for you. I prayed that they would find the answer. That you would heal and this would not turn in to a racial unrest that would hurt anyone else.  And I prayed that the truth, NO MATTER WHAT IT WAS, would be revealed. 
Do you vote, Ms. Ferguson?  And Mrs. Towns as well?  
We live in a nation that allows us the luxury of a grand jury.  OUR peers,  I repeat...OUR... peers could not find enough evidence to even consider a trial for Officer Wilson.  And if they had, there still wouldn't be any justification for the violence that would have ensued with that decision.  
And to the violent Ferguson protesters, 
How can you justify the behavior?  How can you justify the lessons that were taught to your children in your community over the last few days?  How did you explain the burning buildings, the violence?  
I am upset by the amount of ignorance that we have resorted to as a state.  
It isn't just the black side of this coin, but the white side too.  The hateful extremists who use it as an example to sit back with their disgusting opinions on another race.  Uneducated and deliberately ignorant people who are using it as a soapbox to fuel their propaganda.  
Racial profiling, sexism and stereotyping happen on a daily basis.   I get it.  But it doesn't just happen in black communities.  It happens every time you step on a plane now, it happens every time you drive through a reservation, every time a woman shows up in an emergency room with her face rearranged by her abusive husband and every time we see a same sex couple holding happens every single day in this country.  And it isn't just white people who do it. It is our entire nation.  
I don't believe the entire community of Ferguson supports the violence.  I can't.  
The race baiting should stop, and it should stop with the residents.  The media fueled it, and the black reporters were just as guilty of it as the white ones.  
I don't believe that every person in Ferguson is racist, nor believes that this was a hate crime. 
The sad part is that freedom of speech and the right to protest have now been tainted and turned in to something ugly and violent.  Anyone who would dare stand up and support you, yet disagree with the behavior will now be afraid to do it.  The story for the history books is being written, and sadly, innocent PEOPLE, were caught in the crossfire.  
I have faith in the residents of Ferguson, no matter what their color or nationality is. I have faith that there are residents who will stand up and help rebuild a community that greatly needs love and support, and that those residents will prevail and teach their youth that race baiting is not the answer. 
Stop the violence.  
Because in the end, the only ones watching that are being affected are the children of our future.    
My child, and yours.  
Martin Luther King's words have been twisted and contorted to fuel agenda in all of this, and that may be the biggest crime of all.  Because he was a beautiful man who stood for equality and love and peace.  I'll leave you with a quote that cannot be twisted or taken out of context.
Cowardice asks the question - is it safe?
Expediency asks the question - is it politic?
Vanity asks the question - is it popular?
But conscience asks the question - is it right?
And there comes a time when one must take a position
that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular;
but one must take it because it is right.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I will provide you with a link to another blog that has links to help the community of Ferguson.  No matter your beliefs.  There are shelters, churches and food banks that are in need of help, whether it be financial or by donation of goods.  

There is also crisis counseling available to those who are in need of it.  You can visit the link here.  The website reports that it is being provided by the county.  
"For immediate mental health assistance contact the St. Louis County Youth Connection Helpline at 314-628-2929. The Helpline is staffed by mental health professionals 24 hours a day, seven days a week."



July 11, 2014

A Simple Bio

Oddly enough I sat down today to start a "bio" for The Hive Publications.  A and Paul have been asking me for weeks to get it done, and I guess that subconsciously I have been putting it off. 

"Why?" you ask.  Isn't it easy for those of you assuming narcissistic authors to write about yourselves?  Isn't that why you write?

Not really, the narcissist in us all comes out in various forms.  That word encompasses all of the human race at some point in their life. 

I hear the familiar "hmmm..." as I ponder the question you all are probably asking...the answer is already swimming around in my head and I am guessing it has to do with the fact that after all of these years of "pimping out" my writing, it's time to own it.

All of my marketing, all of my networking, all of my finally coming to a head.  I've waited for months and months to finally be in a place to accept the fact that I am, a recognized writer.  I have waited for months and months to be a part of something so powerful and it's finally here.

Now I realize that I have no actual title.  I went over to our website and scrolled through some of the other bios.  They are all so impressive. 

Some of the other talented writers and artists I am associated with, well, I just don't believe I am in the same category or spectrum that they rise to.

I have to "label" myself.  Am I a simple "writer"?  No.  Am I a philosopher or a philanthropist?  Sometimes I pretend to be.  But for some reason, I come here...I speak, and people  from all over the world listen and reach out to me on a daily basis.  It might be a post that is a year old, it might be last week's update.  I don't know why, but when I write, they listen.  They interact.  They open up with brutal honesty that exposes their most intimate feelings. 

I grew up in a single wide trailer in the literal, middle of nowhere.  80 acres of nothing.  We were poor.  We were "those" people.  A product of an immature and volatile relationship where I felt as if neither parent wanted me, and then the stand-in that followed my father was less than stellar.  I grew up fiercely protecting a brother and sister from their own father, and protecting a mother who just couldn't stop loving the wrong man. And then I repeated that mistake in two failed marriages, dragging 4 children through the midst of all of my mistakes in the name of love


I have no "home".  Although if I had to claim a hometown, I suppose it would be those dusty back roads where I spent a majority of my youth doing things I shouldn't have done along with the other misfits of our tiny farm town.  Do I use that as my "hometown"? No.  It doesn't fit.  I switched schools and homes my senior year of high school.

So now what?

I am not a recovering alcoholic, nor am I recovering from a drug addiction.  Sure, we grew up in a violent home, but that was buried years ago when I realized that my mother did the best she could do with what she ended up with, as well as my gypsy father who just, well, comes and goes.  (If the two of you are reading this, it isn't written with disdain, only the bare bones of the truth.) I've accepted both of them and am actually very grateful for the qualities we share, and the lessons I learned as a product of our lives intertwining.  I don't have any addictions, unless you count the fact that I've again picked up the habit of smoking the occasional cigarette.  The only addiction I fight, currently.  I went this entire week without smoking.   I drop the "f bomb" probably more than I should.  Okay, yes, I do. There is no probably in that statement.

I own more shoes than one normal woman probably needs to own, and then I covet them.  I have a slight obsession with photography and vintage clothing.  (Which I covet as well, just start counting those sins up...)

Maybe I am addicted to learning the lessons of loveLove.  I guess that would be another one.


Hmmm....again, nothing.

When we are children, we see the mistakes of the adults around us, and we somehow seem to think we can avoid those mistakes.  Then adolescence hits and we just KNOW that we will NEVER make those mistakes.

But then guess what happens?  Never say never. 

Life takes over.  We find ourselves in less than desirable situations, we make mistakes, we hurt and we get hurt, and then we wake up in our thirties and attempt to put the pieces back together.

I am not a yoga instructor, nor some fitness buff.  I am not a healer or a gifted spiritual guide.  I am not an awarded author, and yet I am recognized internationally.  I am not a preacher, nor do I offer any kind of meditation classes (unless you count the thousand times I try to attempt to convince my friends that it works).  I am not a full blown naturalist.  I have a nauseating obsession with figuring out the lessons behind each and every moment that passes, whether it brings pain or joy with it.

I am a hippy who has another coveting obsession with makeup.  Again, a complete contradiction, when you think of a hippy you usually don't think of eyeliner and stilettos.

 “If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.”
—Peter Handke

Well...shit.  Again. 

What the hell am I, and why do people come here to listen?  This bio is over-due.  It's time.  This is it, Tiffany.  This is the moment you've been waiting for.




Nope, I have to write this myself.  It has to be MY bio.  

“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”
—Allen Ginsberg, WD

And then it hit me.  I am real for so many (especially women) because I write from both the light and dark sides.  I don't hide behind the positive only.  I am a recovering addict from life.  I love every single moment that we are in.  Aren't we all recovering addicts of life and it's emotional roller coaster?  We crave it.  We need it.  Because when it goes stagnant, well, that is when you see someone break away from those confines.  They lose it.  They break.   Change is inevitable when life goes stagnant.  Whether by our own hand, or the forceful hand of the Universe. 

I am a mother.  I am a sister.  I am a daughter and a grand-daughter of the Cherokee Nation and the Blackfoot indian tribes.  I am a receptionist by day and a philanthropic author who touches on the philosophical side of life by night.  I recycle, when I remember.  I love astrology and the affect of the moon and sun.  I stumble through heartfelt mistakes and heartfelt moments of emotion.  I sleep next to the most wonderful man I have ever met, that I am not only in love with, but trust and respect with every ounce of my heart, and that is after tucking sometimes 5 children in to bed with a kiss and a hug and one more drink of water.  I am a teacher.  I am an artist. I am a lover, and sometimes I hate.  I live in a modest home in a modest community and refuse to drive a mini-van.  I have unfinished pieces of art all over my house along with scrap paper of emotional ramblings and poetry.

I am a liberal, and yet I am conservative.  I attempt to use soft skills in my everyday communication and encourage others to do the same.  I think before I speak, most of the time.  I have an obsession with traveling and learning.  I have a foul taste in my mouth for justice, and yet, crave it at the same time.  I am a friend to many, and they are spread out all over the world.  Not just a small crevice, but vast and overpowering miles separate us. 

I am a fiction author who pours her heart out here for the world to read. Because the world needs to see both sides of that fine line.  And because the world needs to see that someone can be vulnerable in front of others.  This blog ended up being a huge lesson in vulnerability for me, and that was a lesson I fought for years.

The fiction often blends with the realty of non-fiction.  Then we are left with the momentary confusion of deciding just how exactly that truth bleeds through.  But it does, and sometimes there isn't an explanation for it. 

Somehow I ended up here emotionally vomiting yet again on the blog.  But to be honest, it might just be one of my best pieces yet.

 “Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.”
—Enid Bagnold

No worries, A....the bio is on its way.

Visit us at The Hive Publications and watch for my interesting bio.

Live, love.


Hate 2013

It took me a long time to accept the fact that I hate you. 

It took me a long time to accept the fact that I needed too.  

Days turned in to weeks as I struggled to fight the mad dark that had buried itself deep in my heart.  

I struggled to understand how I could love and hate from the very same place, and maybe from the start. 

Bu I will let the love take more space.  And remember your gift every time I see your face.  

The hatred may never fade. 

Saying that it will is a facade. 

Someone once gave me a box full of darkness, this is true.  

And that box full of darkness was you. 

I tried to force the hatred out. 

But it wasn't until last night when I embraced the full magnitude of those I had learned to hate. 

That I finally understood, without learning to accept the emotions of hate, without stepping through the vast gate, 

Then I wouldn't fully understand what it means to love without hating you.  

If you had not given darkness and lies, 

I would have never had him, and the happiness, and the sighs. 

When you fully understand that I took your darkness, 

And learned more about my light, 

You will be the one who can't sleep through the night. 

@tiffluv78 #Pinterest #Twitter #Instagram  

June 30, 2014

Everyone's Watching...

June 30th, 2014

All poetry, lyrics and novel excerpts are sole property of Tiffany Luv Wright and The Hive Publications.


I had a very human moment this afternoon.

I've spent the last week or so in observation of not only myself and my responses to those around me, but watching others and how they behave when everyone is watching.  I guess at times we all have a tendency to put on a face.  I try really hard not to.  I mean, I get it, there are moments when you have to, it's just the way we roll as a society.

Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are.

On the way home from work I stopped at my usual gas station.  And before I get too far in to the story, I only share it because I know that everyone has a conscious and intuition, it's whether or not we use it.  Anyway, I was in line to pay for my gas when a lady wandered in to the station and asked if it was okay if she had some ice for her cup.  Of course the attendant said yes and she proceeded to fill her cup and then stopped and asked if I were heading towards Wal-Mart.  I said no.


I immediately felt the sting of my moral compass.  It was lightening fast, and in a moments decision I ran out the door and stopped her in the parking lot and asked her if she needed a ride.  She did.

It's a heat index of 102 degrees here, today.  And I almost let her walk more than a mile and a half in the heat of the day to work.  All she needed was a ride.  And the truth be told, in this society she had just as much of a reason to be afraid of me being crazy as I was of her being crazy.

She wasn't.  

Sometimes we make decisions when no one is looking.  Wrong or right, we do it out of greed, or selfishness. And on the other end of the spectrum we also do it for love of our fellow man, and respect.

There is something to be said about being led by a moral compass.  It took me a long time to accept the fact that I am a bleeding heart ( or as "M" calls me, his Tender-heart Bear ) and I need to be okay with that.  I almost let the awful news and fear that is instilled in to our hearts daily, turn down someone who needed simple help.


Some people will argue against that all day, and everyday.

When I take photographs I like to get the shots when  no one is looking at the camera.  When the kids are oblivious, or my friends are oblivious to the memory being recorded because those tiny and small moments add up.

I can't change the core of who I am.  I guess I'll always feel badly and drop a $1 or what I might have in to the "bum's" hand at the corner, but I suppose it's better than being hateful and cursing him, because after all, we never know why or how someone ended up in a situation.  Maybe that is why I'll never be rich.  Maybe that is why I will never have a multi-million dollar home or an expensive vehicle.  I don't really know.  But I do know that "good" is good for the soul.

A few different thoughts crossed my mind on my way home this evening, after watching those I work with (at my real job) work through the hustle and bustle of our CEO arriving this afternoon.  Red carpets.  Press.  The who's who in a small entertainment town...the thought was that I've worked so hard on myself and arriving at a simpler and more fulfilling life that I wouldn't change it for one bit. I didn't want to stay, I wanted to rush home and be with my family.  A cold beer under the pergola, the sound of the kids bickering over little dog greeting me with absolutely no expectations other than a simple brush across her head.

I love the dynamics of simple verses complicated.  I love the balance it takes for us to co-exist.  Every person and every piece is important.  And I recognize that.  What I wish is that everyone recognized the balance at the end of each day.  That every single person you come across is important, for whatever reason, in whatever moment.  Whether it is a lesson in patience, a lesson in philanthropy, or a lesson in anger, sadness...all of the emotions we run through as human beings.

I haven't had much time to write the last few months.  I am trying desperately to keep up with The Hive and here on the blog, no promises, but looking at a weekly schedule at this point.  Real life has seemingly taken on full speed and I don't see it slowing down.

Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.

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Live, love.


#listening #youtube #blakeshelton #whoareyou

Sometimes I think too much
and talk too loud...
Or is it talk too much and 
think too loud...
The rush of emotions can 
be unbearable...
And knock me off of my feet
My heart races...
and my soul is open
The enormous weight I carry...
of love
Is light as a feather...
and yet it takes all I have
To hold on...
i have to hold on
The self doubt is putrid...
and the insecurity a vice
The feelings come out...
in a jumbled mess
And I am still left...
with the fragments
That need sorted. 


June 19, 2014


Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.

JUNE 2014

We've had a lot going on lately around our house.  Usually once the weather warms up and the kids get out of school it's literally "go, go, go".  Lake, playing outside, errands, work, daycare, and making more of an attempt to spend time together outside is on my list for summertime.  The warm weather is almost certainly what drives me year round.  I appreciate the cold months, because with summer now being my favorite season, it helps me to remember that the cold and darker times do not last forever.  There will always be sunshine after the planet takes its time to cater to her darker mood called winter.

"The non permanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of summer and winter seasons."
Bhagavad Gita quotes  

noun, plural phi·lan·thro·pies.
altruistic concern for human welfare and advancement, usually manifested by donations of money,property, or work to needy persons, by endowment of institutions of learning and hospitals, and bygenerosity to other socially useful purposes.
the activity of donating to such persons or purposes in this way: to devote one's later years tophilanthropy.
a particular act, form, or instance of this activity: The art museum was their favorite philanthropy.
an organization devoted to helping needy persons or to other socially useful purposes.
1600–10;  earlier philanthropia  < Late Latin  < Greek philanthrōpía  love for mankind.

The recent passing of one of my favorite poets, Maya Angelou, has had me in a frenzy reading her work.  Her thought process when dealing with life is similar to mine and sometimes I find it fascinating when I think of the fact that she too, had insecurity.  And she wrote about it.  She wrote about it for everyone, but she focused on female relationships, love and philanthropy.  She wrote about the dark times and the lighter ones.  She was an incredible role model.  A writer or poet only reaches personal success when they allow them-self to write about ALL of life.  The deep and dark things, the passion, the human error, and the imperfect perfection that mankind is.  That is what catapults us on to another level of consciousness, is when you can bear your soul for the world to read, and be okay with the fact that you are absolutely standing in the center of the room naked.


capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon: a vulnerable part of the body.
open to moral attack, criticism, temptation, etc.: an argument vulnerable to refutation; He is vulnerableto bribery.
(of a place) open to assault; difficult to defend: a vulnerable bridge.

We were talking about perfection this week.  The girls and I that is, after seeing a Facebook post that made us all cringe.  Cringe in insecurity with our own bodies, and cringe for the fact that this person had no awareness of the inappropriate nature of the picture.  I was thinking yesterday about all of my closest girlfriends.  They are all different shapes, sizes, colors, and personalities.  I couldn't imagine it any other way.  I think they are amazing.  Beautiful.  Gorgeous.  And yet when I look at my own image in the mirror I struggle with the stretch marks and the issues I think I have with my own body or personality, or whatever the daily insecurity might be.  Is it that way for everyone?  I wonder about that often.  Do we all get up and literally compare ourselves to others and stare in the mirror with momentary disgust.  Sometimes I wish I could trade places with them, just so they could see how amazing they are in my eyes.  Even though the hypocrisy is that I will continue to pick myself apart, I don't want them to do it.  Funny, huh? We need to learn to accept ourselves, and as women learn to lift one another up instead of tearing one another down.  Everyone faces hard times, I think sometimes we forget that.  You step out of the darkness in to the light, and sometimes have to step back to remember to live with compassion and empathy, to understand that we all face those insecure moments.

My mother said I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy. That some people, unable to go to school, were more educated and more intelligent than college professors.

I needed to sit down and write all week.  I just haven't had the time.  I started a new book months ago and it's just been collecting dust.  I was contemplating posting a chapter of it here.  And then I decided against it, the thought of it being copied by someone else was too much.  Maybe the feedback would encourage me to sit down and open up my imagination once again, but losing this project would kill me.
So I will share some poetry this week. I hope you all have a fabulous weekend!  And as always connect with me here, and on Facebook in two different locations.
I would love to see some of your summer memories this far in to the season!  You can send them to me via email Send us your summer memories and stories by July 15th and we will compile them in to a grand display for the blog.
Please keep in mind that if you share and add the back story from the photo we will use them here on the blog for others to see.  So be particular and aware of the amount of traffic we see.

When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

The Hive Publications and my fan page.

We look forward to connecting with you.

p.s. Looking forward to celebrating a 1 year anniversary with this handsome guy!  ------------->---------> Living proof that hope and faith, and serendipity truly do exist.


: luck that takes the form of finding valuable or pleasant things that are not looked for

Live, love


When he held her as they slept,
their breathing slowly crept,
to a rhythmic union. 

He finally understood,
why the tide came to hold the shore, 
morning after morning. 

And night after night.  

copyright 2014 Tiffany Luv Wright

June 4, 2014

Blurred Images

I sat down to write again this morning, and hours later I am just now getting my thoughts out on "paper".

I thought about a lot of things today.  I tend to save pictures digitally in several places that way if an image disappears I have it in another location.  Pictures have always been important to me.  There are very very few material things that matter to me, but my pictures...they are so important to me that I have most of them in a trunk right by the front door so if there ever were a fire I could drag my trunk out the door and at least make a feeble attempt to save the images.

It occurred to me today that some of the most important images are those that are blurred.  I seem to recall the moments in more detail than the pictures that are professionally done, either from me being in front of the camera or the clear ones we as a family had done by others.  The motion pictures, the pictures taken that are blurry because I was probably laughing uncontrollably  to steady the camera, or the ones my kids have taken are the most important.   I captured moments that were so important to me that my brain has processed them and when I see the blurred images the memory is clear, not a detail is missed right down to the smells and being able to feel the air. The photographed moments that are special to me mean nothing to some, but the best part is that they mean everything to those who are important in my life.

The last time I wrote, I labeled my everyday gratitude as an epic fail, but really, it was only an epic fail because I wasn't "writing" about it.  I've been busy living it.

The images collected over the last two years of my life are some of the most important images I have.  They tell a story.   Behind the smiles and laughter there was great struggle, tears, pain, and judgement.  But there was also gratitude.  There were memories that are so profound I'm not even sure the greatest of writers or philosophers could manipulate words to describe them.

This week I also thought about the people in my life, and the ones who left by choice when I made the decisions I made in September of 2012.  I thought about a conversation I had with someone a couple of weeks ago, a conversation that should have taken place without me in it.  I thought about the kinds of people who only do the right thing when someone is watching.  For glory, for praise.  And I am so glad that there are very few of those people left in my life.  A lot of the pictures I hold dear are collected images of the people who do the right thing when no one is looking.  They do it for their own moral compass.  Those are the kinds of people that make a difference in someone's life.

We do not get very much time in our physical bodies.  It's a tough fact to face, but one that needs to be faced nonetheless.  Life is too short for petty disagreements and selfishness.  It is to short for gossip and vindictive actions.  Maybe that is why the last few months I have almost been reclusive, engaging with only the closest of the close.  

I've been attempting to compile my blog posts, attempting to write something for others who have gone through similar trials like divorce, abuse, and death.  I start it and then have to put it away until I have the courage to go back over my own words.  But here, here on my blog, the poetry and stories seem to flow effortlessly.  Maybe it is because there is no expectation.  There is no financial reward for the words or messages.  I am not sure, but what I am sure about, is that I can't stop writing.  Whether or not it puts food on the table, it is who I am.  It does make a difference.

Take your blurred images and make them important.  Take your craft, your talent, your calling and make it important.  Don't count months or days, count minutes.  Count seconds.  Make every single one count.  Live in abundance with what you already have.  There is a blessing in everything that happens to you.  It is truly our reaction that makes the difference.  Maybe you too will find that when you start living with gratitude, your memories start to matter more, they almost flow effortlessly.  There is a connection with being thankful for who and what you have to what you will receive in the future.  Because when you are rich now, you will be rich then.  Prioritize exactly what it is that you want.  PRIORITIZE EXACTLY WHAT YOU HAVE NOW.  Start collecting your own blurred images.  Focus on capturing the moment, let go of the materialistic chains, and breath deeper.

I guess it's "hippy", or "weird" "or "too emotional" (I get called that a lot!)...but to be honest, I'd rather be holding a handful of blurred images then a handful of picture perfect happiness that is fake.   And you can bet your life savings on that.

I thought it would be nice if I shared said images on this week's "come back" post.   These are some of the most important images I own right now.   They are all in line, waiting to be printed out in to another book for my family to look through, and although the images aren't really clear, I know that those in them remember those moments with as much clarity as I do.

It's good to be back.  

Live, love.  


.Live, love.

.Live, love.