The Wednesday Corner With Fycsene Shields

the secret keeper:

Love the experience of reading the first post and the artist Niamh Clune chose on the re-open of The Wednesday Corner. Fycsene Shields talent lies in many aspects from drawing to writing. She includes a tenderly written poem, I thought, at first, she was the poet behind the words. No, I was mistaken. I hadn’t read close enough the name of the poet. The poet touches your soul. The experience of reading and viewing what Fycsene Shields creatively offers had a powerful effect on my emotions and mind. Niamh Clune made a great choice to bring her On the Plum Tree. What a powerful description to finding a way through the pain of lose and how creative a path to discover what is within and around you. To find the spirit contained within not just the rock but her transformations of everything around her into something magical and memorable. I am moved by her written words and the images she placed in my own mind and the ones she shared in her amazing drawings. The poem touched me. It is so tender and moving. Thank you for sharing your experience, Fycsene Shields. And thank you Niamh, you made a great choice in Fycsene Shields to re-open The Wednesday Corner. A wonderful and an emotionally filled post. The tears of joy is a reassuring ending in the words of the artist who wrote them. Loved the experience of reading and viewing all and its powerful effects on ones emotions and thoughts. Life is a mixture and balance of emotions and moments changing so quickly sometimes. We try to adjust but it is difficult at times. Creating is a great way to find our way through. Thank you both. Do take a trip over and experience the specialness of this moving post on The Wednesday Corner On the Plum Tree. Jk the secret keeper

Originally posted on Plum Tree Books Blog:

It is a few weeks now since I posted a Wednesday Corner, due to the spectacular crash of the hard drive on my computer. I apologise to all those who have been waiting patiently for me to post their pieces. I have a lot of catching up to do.

However, I have great pleasure in introducing you to artist and poet Fycsene Shields.  Many thanks, Fycsene for your lovely piece. I know that you have suffered tragedy, and it is to people like you who find their way through such dark times that many of us turn when we are in need.


How many times a week do you feel inspired?

By Fycsene Shields

Have you felt the pure and fulfilled satisfaction of creating something beautiful?

Not something which is useful, or which will sell, but something which, by looking at it, brings a feeling of pleasure? Magical words…

View original 558 more words

Laughing Louder Part 2

Laughing Louder Part 2
Scenes That Make You Laugh
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
With Assistance from Shawn MacKENZIE
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Posted On Saturday 10th August 2013
SPECIAL REPOST OF Lightness Of Being
Lightness of Being

Sometimes you just need the cure of laughter. This is one of those moments.

I speak rather subjectively on all of the material I chose for this post. I hope it works for everyone who watches. Laughter is so necessary in everyone’s life. Everyone has a different sense of humour. I hope my choices make you all laugh. With Good Spirit I offer This Up For You and For Shawn and Myself To Bring Some Needed Laughter Into Our Life at This Moment.

Starting right out with the funniest scene from the film Tootsie — The Reveal. If you haven’t seen Tootsie, where have you been? You definitely need it in your life. Brilliant concept. Brilliant acting by Dustin Hoffman. A stellar cast of characters and fantastic actors playing the roles.

“Because I think I am an interesting woman when I look at myself on screen. And I know that if I met myself at a party, I would never talk to that character because she doesn’t fulfill physically the demands that we’re brought up to think women have to have in order to ask them out. — There’s too many interesting women I have…not had the experience to know in this life because I have been brainwashed.” – Dustin Hoffman [From an Interview Dustin did about Tootsie and why he felt he had to do the role of Dorothy Michaels and play a character in the soap opera Southwest General.

Tootsie (1982) Dustin Hoffman – Reveal Scene

What’s Up Doc? Two researchers have come to San Francisco to compete for a research grant in Music. One seems a bit distracted, and that was before he meets her. A strange woman seems to have devoted her life to confusing and embarrassing him. At the same time a woman has her jewels stolen and a government whistle blower arrives with his stolen top secret papers. All, of course have the same style and color overnight bag. The accidental mix up of four identical plaid overnight bags leads to a series of increasingly wild and wacky situations and a chase through the streets of San Francisco. Starring Barbra Streisand, Ryan O’Neal, and Madeline Kahn, plus an amazing cast of very funny actors.

What’s Up Doc? Part 1

What’s Up Doc? Part 2

Foul Play. One of my favorite scenes from the movie Foul Play. It shows Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase racing to the Opera in order to foil a plot to assassinate the Pope. He is attending a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado. Inter-cut throughout are scenes at the Opera House with Dudley Moore conducting the orchestra. This is a combination Comedy, Mystery and Romantic Thriller. It was a huge hit in the Summer of 1978. Directed by Colin Higgins.

Foul Play (1978) “The Race To The Opera” [*uncut]

The following comes from Monty Python’s film Life With Brian. Sacrilegious for some, hysterical and rather delightfully pleasant for others. No intention of offending unless you are lacking any sense of humour and find nothing funny about anything at all. I might say, “Go suck an egg. They are quite good cooked, pealed and a bit of salt sprinkled on them.”

Monty Python — Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

If you are familiar with Mel Brooks, he has created some of the funniest films, one of which is The Producers. I laughed so hard after seeing the scene where Bloom flips out. Bloom is played by Gene Wilder and his soon to be cohort in crime is played by Zero Mostel. This scene never ceases to amaze me. Every time I watch it, I cannot help but to laugh.

The Producers — Bloom Flips Out

Mel Brooks tries every chance he gets to insult, put down, humiliate any notion of Hitler and the Nazis. In this video clip he gets the Fuehrer really good. If you think you cannot laugh at something hysterically funny about Hitler and totally destroying his Aryan imagery and fucked up cruelty and make him a laughing moron, then pass this video by, otherwise laugh your a** off. Keep in mind the premise of this film is to find the worst Broadway Show possible so the producers can oversell their production and collect millions when it flops. Well, see for yourself what happens. It truly will shock you into hysterical laughter.

Springtime For Hitler — The Producers

Now for something completely different.

Not from a film but just Madeline Kahn, on stage with backup orchestra, singing a surprisingly funny song. You’d be surprised how it will make you laugh. Couldn’t resist adding it.

Madeline Kahn — You’d Be Surprised

This video of the Lumberjack Song is one of the funniest skits Monty Python has ever put on their show. It is something you can listen to often and it still makes you laugh.

Lumberjack Song — Monty Python

Madeline Kahn does a Gracie Allen to George Burns’ as straight man. If you are a Burns & Allen fan you will love this routine. Guaranteed to laugh out loud.

Madelyn Kahn & George Burns

I hoped you found your laughter and some peace of mind, heart, body and soul. Jk the secret keeper

May All of Life & Nature Find Protection from the Tragedies of the World.
May All Living Beings Find Their Wishes Coming True & Peace Covering the Whole World Over.

Motion Set At Confusion

Motion Set At Confusion
Written By Jennifer Kiley
Written On 9th August 2013
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created Friday 9th August 2013
Posted on Saturday 10th August

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick 855x960

Abstract Fluid Acrylic Art by Mark Chadwick

Motion Set At Confusion
By Jennifer Kiley
9th August 2013

Motion set at confusion
Blurring the thinker
With muddled perceptions
Visions not thought
Before clouding
The mind with fog
Opening doors
With no key holes
Entering rooms
Hiding memories

In stubbornness to be right
Distortions are recalled
Jumbled up feelings
Planting false senses
No attachments involved
Realities not real
Start stalking the truth
Hunting down lies
Destruction invented in minds

Vacate my head
Decease planting false visions
Leave reality alone
It belongs only to one
Desist in tampering
Playing psychic doctor
Credentials exceed limits
In this territory

Strength must be found
Undoing the damage caused
Tampering with beliefs
Complicate insecurities
With lies to protect lies
Begin the game of sacrifice
Trampling a person’s sanity
Darkness is blind evil
Match up exceeds power
Challenge has been accepted
Lost by resignation

Finally know identity
Words never can touch one
Whose strength exceeds any power of influence
Traps were set and sprung
Tested theories so weak
Allowed to enter the psyche
Chancing potential damage
Rescued before lies were set in stone
Fooling is not within power
Don’t see identity
Beyond authority
Power’s expanse
Its scope reaches farther limits
Will never touch with weakness

Power has been rejuvenated
After experiment failed to take hold
Bait was wasted
Practice on the weak
Shame on demonic demonstrations
The craven need for power
For total control
Letting go of the need to hold tight
Freedom is so much more enticing and inviting
The soul when free gives more to the dreamer
Without dreams are the broken ones
Healing and will continue to grow and heal
A continuous process learned through accepting
The serendipity of life and releasing the stronghold of death

When death comes will float into the ether
Until then will freely live life
Accept identity
All of one
Share with those love and trust
Love that grows within
That surrounds with sweetness
And renewal
Animals are the renewal of all things
The universe is a playground
Being alive
Accepting imperfections
Stop trying to steal identity
No longer welcome
In this world
It is over
Go away
Join the harmful ones
Trying to steal the innocent in all of us
You are a member of that gang now
Going to leave on life’s journey
You are not invited

© jennifer kiley 2013

“To Create Is To Destroy.”
— Jennifer Kiley-Letters of Import

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley  (c) jennifer-kiley-2013  968x863

Flamme Abstrait de Couleurs par j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Didn’t Know My Own Strength — Whitney Houston

Quotation for Confusion:

“The things other people have put into my head, at any rate, do not fit together nicely, are often useless and ugly, are out of proportion with one another, are out of proportion with life as it really is outside my head.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions

You Are Not Alone — Michael Jackson

Gatsby’s Story Will Never Be Over

Gatsby’s Story Will Never Be Over
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Photographs by Shawn MacKenzie
Post Created Tuesday 30th July 2013
Posted On Wednesday 31st July 2013
[born] Gatsby 2011 [died FIP] 29th July 2013

Gatsby-mum  to Poe  Parker  Carter  three kittens born 22nd April 2012

Gatsby-mum to Poe Parker Carter three kittens born 22nd April 2012

My meeting Gatsby for the first time was a wake up surprise. Shawn walked in while I was sleeping. Told me she had a surprise. I had wanted another kitten after our wonderful Spootiepaws died a short while back from cancer. Her death broke my heart. She was there with me in the late nights of writing and creating.

Gatsby with a promising look. We were going to love her and give her home for the rest of her life.  668x504

Gatsby with a promising look. We were going to love her and give her home for the rest of her life.

When I woke up, Shawn placed a cat carrier on the bed, opened it up and out jumped Gatsby. Of course, that wasn’t her name then. She was so affectionate, wanting to be pet over and over, rubbing both our hands, Shawn’s and mine. I have never seen such enthusiasm of love be so demonstrative immediately, seconds after meeting me.

Gatsby relaxing 951x772

Gatsby relaxing

What a surprise. I estimated her to be about 6 to 8 mos old. A kitten in all her playfulness. Surprise! I was so happy to have another member to our family and felt such immediate love for her.


Now we have a naming process in our home. We keep saying out names, seeing if they fit. We make lists. Give them time to sink in. Rate the names in a hierarchy. I am an avid F. Scott Fitzgerald fan and I love his book The Great Gatsby. Now you have to know we name all out animals, particularly cats with the first letter of “S” — it’s a peculiarity or eccentricity.


Confusing at times when you go to call one of them in particular. We have Sanji, Soyer, Spike, Sigmund, and Schroeder. We did have a Stuart Vincent Little, who lived a full life, and mentioned Spootiepaws earlier. Our parrot is named Saki, also. We do have a degue named Squeak and two chinchillas named Sagan and Sundance.

Sanji-an ally amongst the rest. Acted like a big brother.  Watched out for the wee ones.

Sanji-an ally amongst the rest. Acted like a big brother. Watched out for the wee ones.</em>

We went off course, though, when Gatsby arrived. We broke with tradition. Somehow, Gatsby’s name came up. I’m sure from both Shawn and myself. The rest of the list is gone from my mind now. I use to call her momma, or mother. She was like NaNa in Peter Pan. She kept us all in line. And she really did rule like a protective mother. She only let Sanji downstairs for the first months of her kittens lives. But I am getting ahead too soon.

On April 16th 2012 we found out from the vet Gatsby was pregnant

On April 16th 2012 we found out from the vet Gatsby was pregnant

We felt after a week the vet should give her a once over for her health. When Shawn got home she told me the “good” news (to me it was) and Shawn just wasn’t so sure about that idea. She wanted to give the kittens away after they were born and old enough to leave home.

Gatsby looking very pregnant

Gatsby looking very pregnant

I pouted. No way. I was going to do that. We came to a compromise eventually, I would let one of the kittens go to another home. (Secretly, no way was that going to happen.) Shawn didn’t want that either after we got the contest going for the kittens, when would they be born and how many. Niamh Clune won the when and I won the how many.

First day babies were born April 22nd 2012

First day babies were born April 22nd 2012

In the middle of the night on the softness and cushiness of the bed, Gatsby went into labor on April 22nd 2012. OMG the sound shattered glass. We both, Shawn and I, sat around Gatsby, trying to reassure her and assist in anyway possible. With each birth, the pain diminished. She was so efficient cleaning up each one immediately after they were born. All three were so tiny and so adorable.

Gatsby and kits sleeping on mat in new bathroom with sun shining in on them. They loved that spot   684x516

Gatsby and kits sleeping on mat in new bathroom with sun shining in on them. They loved that spot

This was the perfect moment to put in my pleas. We have to keep them. We were for one brief moment going to give the orange one with the most white away. No way. Not if either of us had a say. We gave them names. So they would start out life with some sort of individual identity.

Gatsby clan snuggling  676x849

Gatsby clan snuggling

The only old name that I recall was Scout. Scout became Carter aka Sparky & for a short while a nickname of Spanky. But now he is the Little Prince Carter. And we were going to choose him to be the one to give away.

Babies and Gatsby snuggling on floor in living room

Babies and Gatsby snuggling on floor in living room

I fell in love with them all, but most of all, I fell in love and so did Shawn, with Carter, the smallest and the grandest of Gatsby’s children. Carter has a posture like someone Oscar Wilde would write about in a play as a grand character. We never did give any away even though some people kept wanting to take Carter.

Baby Carter in his first box by himself

Baby Carter in his first box by himself

He was our charmer. He will always be our charmer. The sweetest of natures ever to be present in a Little Prince of Orange and some white. The eyes melt your heart. Carter’s eyes are so soulful. He was the slow starter, so he had to fight harder to do everything.

Prince Carter attempting to wink as he is sitting proud and brave in his favorite cat carrier.  766x577

Prince Carter attempting to wink as he is sitting proud and brave in his favorite cat carrier.

They all loved their mother intensely. The other two were given the fine names of Poe (b/c I am a Poe addict) and Parker, for the many Parkers, i.e Dorothy Parker.

Poe is 2 1/2 months old

Poe is 2 1/2 months old

Carter was named after a Wendy Wasserstein character in her play Uncommon Women. They may be names of woman but they are manly names just the same even if the boys are just so sweet. Carter is definitely metro-sexual.

Babies with Gatsby snuggling. Carter is the one with the white on top in center

Babies with Gatsby snuggling. Carter is the one with the white on top in center

Parker is the tough outer skin but with gentleness inside.

Parker with Sundance one of our chinchillas

Parker with Sundance one of our chinchillas

Poe is the super-demonstratively-most-affectionate kitten of them all. He could be pet for days and he would not want you to ever stop.

Poe at 3 1/2 months

Poe at 3 1/2 months

For the first month of their life there regular spot was usually with Mom Gatsby or on my lap or chest, sleeping soundly. Now I thought that would instill there wanting to continue the tradition when they got older, Nope. They like to sleep on beds and feet but no laps except Gatsby and that lap was Shawn’s. I rather tried to protect the egregiously overlooked cats that Gatsby confined to upstairs. So we were always having a struggle with balancing insecurities and tempers. I loved Gatsby and wanted her to love me.

Gatsby clan snuggling  785x592

Gatsby clan snuggling

Then there was the first night I was left to babysit. The kittens were maybe just over a week old at the time. Gatsby was feeding them on the bed on the first floor. Shawn was at her writers group. All was going well. I kept an eye on them while I made myself a pasta dinner. I put the sauce on in the microwave. Homemade, my own recipe. The water was boiling. In with the pasta and salt. I went back and forth to be sure all was okay with the kits and mom.

Gatsby being gutsy hiding the babies while I wasn't looking. Who Me.   681x607

Gatsby being gutsy hiding the babies while I wasn’t looking. Who Me.

Well, I left the room one too many times. A 15 second stir of the pasta so it wouldn’t stick ended up with me entering the room they were cozy in. Surprise! They were GONE. DISAPPEARED. OMG!!! I looked and listened for sound of any kind. Gatsby hid the kittens. WHERE??? I was starting to get just a touch frantic looking every place possible. Called Shawn, got her cell – voice mail – left frantic message – COME HOME RIGHT AFTER WRITERS GROUP ENDED — KITTENS MISSING. That was the vocal message. No response so I sent an urgent text. Still no response.

Privacy Please

I united pasta to sauce and put in a covered dish and proceeded to look for the little guys some more. Finally, I found them. They were as far out of reach as possible behind my reclining chair, which was kitten proofed. It was a dangerous spot to crawl into and impossible to get anyone out from under. Thank goodness we foresaw that possibility.

Gatsby so proud of herself. I couldn't eat until I found her hiding place  784x591

Gatsby so proud of herself. I couldn’t eat until I found her hiding place

Ok, how was I going to get them out? I couldn’t reach with my arms. Too deep. Way back. Smart. I thought they are sleeping on a towel we placed behind there where the cats liked to sleep. I tried easing the towel out. No luck. A cane. A wooden cane. I used it ever so gingerly and was able to retrieve each kitten one at a time. Keep in mind, once I had a kitten, I could not put him down or Gatsby would take him someplace else to hide.

Gatsby Parker and Poe  882x665

Gatsby Parker and Poe

Eventually, I had collected them all. Never even woke up. So here I am with an arm full of kittens. I could actually hold them all in one hand if held against my body. I got my food. By now it was cold spaghetti. Not bad. With the kittens asleep in my left hand I placed the pasta bowl on my lap and with one hand, my right, I eat my dinner very carefully. It tasted good and I was hungry after all that excitement. It wasn’t over though.

Gatsby nursing kids. That's what she wanted to do so I told her she could get in my lap and do it there. She took me up on the offer while I ate and we all waited for Shawn to return   796x600

Gatsby nursing kids. That’s what she wanted to do so I told her she could get in my lap and do it there. She took me up on the offer while I ate and we all waited for Shawn to return

Gatsby kept wanting to take the kittens away from me, but I wasn’t about to let her hide them again. Told her if she wanted to, she could climb onto my lap and feed them while I held her and the kittens. She seemed to like this idea. Told her I wasn’t letting them go until Shawn got home and set up a deep box behind my reclining chair, with lots of soft cloth to make a bed. Gatsby could have her space and keep her kittens safe in that place and after all she was the one who chose it.

Gatsby clan snuggling  785x592

Gatsby clan snuggling

Well, to come to an end of this saga, Shawn did just that after she got home. I relayed the story to her. So that is where the kittens spent most of their sleeping and nursing time. Only one entrance that Gatsby had to protect. They came out several times a day to be held and socialized with us and the other cats when Gatsby would allow them to come near her charges.

Bungalow for Gatsby clan. They sacked out here often  656x584

Bungalow for Gatsby clan. They sacked out here often

The rest of the story was all about balancing the hierarchy and trying to stop aggression between who was going to protect who. Sanji was Gatsby’s ally. He is a very large Black Maine Coon mix.

Sanji the big brave Big Brother and Protector for Gatsby to keep her babies Poe Parker and Carter safe and give her reassurance

Sanji the big brave Big Brother and Protector for Gatsby to keep her babies Poe Parker and Carter safe and give her reassurance

No one messes with him so that meant no on messed with the kits and mom. But she actually took care of any transgressions herself. She was one fierce M*ther F@#ker. I wouldn’t want her mad at me.

Gatsby with Poe Parker and Carter looking right at you   1036x780

Gatsby with Poe Parker and Carter looking right at you

Eventually, all settled down and everyone could come and go except Soyer. She was constantly in a state of WTF. She didn’t know when to feel safe. We tried to reassure her. I was on her side and Gatsby was with Shawn. Soyer was originally a stray wild kitten that Shawn gave me as a coming home present from the hospital. It took her a long while to catch her and bring her inside.

Gatsby clan on stove vent  815x633

Gatsby clan on stove vent

Now that Gatsby is no longer with us, Soyer is the only beneficiary. I am sure she will not miss the animosity. But the rest of us feel her loss in a painful and really sad and tearful way. She gave us the present of Carter-Poe & Parker, who I sometimes like to call Patrick. I have odd nicknames for a lot of the animals. They respond so they don’t seem to mind.

Carter and Gatsby loved hanging out in the basket on top of the degues habitat

Carter and Gatsby loved hanging out in the basket on top of the degues habitat

It is awfully quiet in our home today. The fans are off but it’s more then that. A huge spirit that embodied so much love. I was always trying to win her favour. Always doing special things for her. I wanted her to love me and I believe if given more time she would have come around and realized just how much I loved her. On the first day, I was and she was able to show that affection and love. But now she is gone and I will never get to know her as well as I would have wanted to. I gave her a lot of affection over the last days of her life and she let me. I would try to every other day before that but she was being stubborn. But I just kept trying. I am a very determined female, just as she was.

Prince Carter will be the wise and guide his brothers through. He may be the last born and the latest to develop but he is filled with soul and heart. 848x638

Prince Carter will be the wise one and guide his brothers through. He may be the last born and the latest to develop but he is filled with soul and heart. He is the chosen one. The one that will work together with Sanji to guide the clan as Gatsby watches over us to be sure all goes well.

Prince Carter of Wisdom and Truth. This young boy is one of the three gifts Gatsby gave to us. She would want us to keep him safe along with his brothers Poe and Parker. She came to us for a home and we gave it to her and in return she gave us the blessings of love in the highest scores possible.

Losing her and losing so many of our animals is so painful but it doesn’t stop us from opening our home to a kitty who needs a good home, food and love. And some little critters that are in need, also.

Escape Into the Unknown — Remember When It Rained
Gatsby you came to us from out of the freezing rain and scary night to escape from the storms and you found a home filled with love for you. It may have been a short time but your stay with us was an experience of life and love. A place to leave your charges where they will be safe and well looked after for all of their lives. This we promised you when you came into our family, your family, and your children, our children’s family. You will always be with us in their hearts as they have their adventures in life. They will always know love and care. Most important they will have a family who will cherish them forever as we cherished you and they adored and loved you. You were the best mum ever a kitten could have been so lucky to be born to.

This story was for you Gatsby. I just wanted you to know how much we shared even if you didn’t let on you knew that already. I am going to miss you. Your kids are going to wonder where is their mom. Why did she just disappear? And Shawn’s heart is broken because once again she has been robbed of being able to have her tortoiseshell cat that she’s always wanted to love. It seems they are always taken away from her long before its time for them to go.

Sorry Shawn.

Gatsby with a promising look. We were going to love her and give her home for the rest of her life.  668x504

Gatsby with a promising look. We were going to love her and give her home for the rest of her life.

Goodbye Gatsby. We have all your music videos and photos that Shawn took and made. You will always be remembered. Your little guys will keep your memory alive probably for the rest of their lives and ours. Love is what we will always feel for you and we will take great care of your kids for you. You know we have always loved them and we will love them and you forever.

Love, Jennifer
One of Two of Gatsby’s Mothers…
@>-;— play with all of our other charges. I am sure they will welcome you with open arms and lots of stories and lots of time to play forever until we someday can join you all.

In Memory of Gatsby — Created by Jennifer Kiley
The Swan from the Carnival of Animals — Yo-Yo Ma

The following is a treat for all of Gatsby’s Kids. They love their TV Set. I thought I would show some samplings from the viewing that they do on it. A few still shots and a video of the entertainment. I think Gatsby would approve. She enjoy this program herself. In Memory of Gatsby I present the Tuck and Gonzo Show. Stay Tuned.

Tuck and Gonzo, the exotic in orange and the darker one wild. They are the kittens TV, especially Parker and Poe. Carter is not as interested.

Tuck and Gonzo, the exotic in orange and the darker one wild. They are the kittens TV, especially Parker and Poe. Carter is not as interested.

tuck and gonzo 4

tuck and gonzo 3

tuck and gonzo 2

tuck and gonzo 1

Mice running on wheel having fun while being a TV Set for some cute adorable kittens, almost cats.

Life Outside of Time

a divider for posts no 2

Life Outside of Time
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Poem by Jennifer Kiley
Post Created June 23rd 2013
Posted June 26th 2013

divine shrine temple of light by rassouli   1212x959

divine shrine temple of light by rassouli

candle flame flickering gif

Life Outside of Time by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013

Life Outside of Time
By Jennifer Kiley
Written In the Now
Now Is June 24th 2013

Life outside of time
Release the clocks rhyming chimes
Pretend sun’s warmth on your skin

Writing stream is now
Living life present begins
Universe exists for you

Raised healing totem
Senses concentrate on bloom
Absorb energy with wind

Call power for strength
Inner peace opens cosmos
Multi-verse reinvented

Breath be calm relax
Life happens so close your eyes
Dream pain gone to joy’s delight

© jennifer kiley 2013 now

The Best of Schubert — 2:05:26


“According to philosophers such as Nietzsche and Kant, nothing can be known about noumenal reality (not being able to be known through perception – Jk), not even that it exists.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – The Coming of the Feminine Christ

“…throughout the ages, humankind has striven to express the notion of soul, the fervour and truth accompanying vision and revelation, the divinity that speaks from within.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – Orange Petals in a Storm

“Early metaphysical poets…John Donne…extended metaphors that compared very dissimilar things…to make us think…to try to express the paradoxical nature of all things metaphysical…in the search for truth and meaning…a truth is only considered a truth if it expresses both opposites and everything in between.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – Exaltation of the Rose (Not Yet Released)

“T.S. Eliot is a fine example of a more modern metaphysical poet. He wrestles with noumenal experiences using extended metaphor, as the ‘Things of God’s cannot be known in any other way. ” — Dr. Niamh Clune – The Coming of the Feminine Christ

“In terms of modern metaphysical literature, writers such as Paolo Coelho, Herman Hesse, and Jean Paul Sartre weave philosophical concepts into simple stories to which most can relate. These stories make us think. They make us question the meaning of life. They ask us to reach beyond the world of tangible reality and allow soul into life.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – Orange Petals in a Storm

“These days, modern metaphysical/visionary literature often crosses genres and enters into the little celebrated field of magic realism. In this genre, the supernatural is part of tangible reality; spirit and nature are interwoven, inseparable, and unquestioned, and the extraordinary is made ordinary.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – Exaltation of the Rose (Not Yet Released)

“Metaphysical literature tells tales of the inner life. Usually these tales are told simply, in prose that reaches to express the beauty inherent in us and in the world about us. Its task is to give voice to soul and its yearning to transcend the suffering of everyday reality.” — Dr. Niamh Clune – The Coming of the Feminine Christ

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Private Writings: Chapter #13 — Miss Seeing You-Difficult

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #13 — Miss Seeing You-Difficult
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 11th June 2013


Private Writings: Chapter #13: Miss Seeing You-Difficult

Tuesday  December 25th, 2007
Christmas Day

Dear Annie,

Not seeing you today was so painfully difficult. I realize it is Christmas day and you are with your family and I am, of course, with mine. Our furry kitties, Patrick, Toker and Little Sparky and our feathery Amazon Parrot, V Woolf. At present, we are all spread out together in the family room. Scottie is looking for a great book to read for the holiday week. She likes to choose a special book every year. She starts it out and when her voice begins to crack, it becomes my turn. I love this part. When I was in school, I prided myself on being able to read without a mistake or tripping over a word for the greatest length of anyone in my class. It was a feat that I still hold the record to. It’s a good habit to have if you ever have to do a book reading. Which as you may know, I do fairly often. More locally, then in the past, when I use to travel all over the states and sometimes even over in Europe, particularly in England.

I know this is suppose to be a joyful time of the year. Scottie and I have a good time together. We have a special Christmas Eve dinner, which was delicious last night, and there are always leftovers. We started the Christmas Eve feast our first Christmas together, before we were actually together. But that story is for another time. Something has been running through my mind, which I cannot talk about in therapy, private or group, but I need to get it out of my system. It has to do with crying. All the films we watch at Christmas should make me tear up or cry, especially at the end of Alastair Sims’s Scrooge, A Christmas Carol. His is the all time best film on Dicken’s story. I’ve watched it every year since I was a child. That is what I want to talk about. When I was a child, I remember I would swallow my tears in the lump that formed in my throat. I was too afraid to cry or for anyone to see the tears in my eyes. I better explain why. It is not a pleasant story.

I don’t cry. It is something I cannot do. Only when something so traumatic happens can I cry and then I can’t seem to stop. Everything sets me off. But only in private can I show my tears. I shut down completely around everyone, even Scottie, and during a sad film where crying is completely acceptable behavior. As I said, Tiny Tim always gives me a lump in my throat. It is my body trying to protect me by holding back the tears. It’s probably because I really want to scream. There is so much rage pent up inside of me. I want to let go of it but I’m afraid.

It’s shame. I am ashamed of my tears. There is a really good reason. When I was really young I use to cry all the time. It really drove my mother insane. My brothers would tease me and call me a cry baby. I hate that term. It made me cry even more. My mother use to tell my brothers to leave me alone. She left me alone to. But then suddenly, I must have reached a certain age when my mother didn’t find it acceptable any longer for me to cry. She flipped out and became some dark creature and mean as Hell. It started. She turned into a Demon. When ever she found me alone, she turned on me, like some cornered animal and started to beat me, all the while screaming at me. I became terrified and of course I would start to cry. This made her even more angry. Her seeing the tears in my eyes and falling down my cheeks enraged her. That’s when I discovered that tears were dangerous. They ignited a full blown rage in my mother. That was when I started thinking of her as evil and in therapy I came up with the name for her of The Shadow Mother. That’s what I called her in my mind. I cannot use the other word alone. It disturbs me.

My tears from that point on caused me to be physically, emotionally, psychologically, sexually and spiritually abused in the most vicious ways imaginable. The depth of abuse crossed the lines of any kind of abuse in ones childhood. The Shadow Mother wasn’t my only abuser but the things she did to me were so harsh. One would not expect a mother to do these things to their young child. Now that I am older and understand more I can describe what she did to me. She was into bondage and dominance mixed in with sadomasochism. In her beatings there were not any safe words to make it stop. That’s when I felt it brought the abuse into a questionably sexual realm with The Shadow Mother. The word No and Stop in her mind meant to keep abusing. Crying only doubled and tripled the intensity of the beatings. She started out by striking me through my clothing at first but as the frequency of the abuse increased eventually she would not get enough satisfaction with striking cloth, she wanted to beat my body on my flesh where she could see the effect of her brutality. She wanted to see the bruises and the tears in my skin. She used various weapons. Usually what ever was near at hand but she had a favorite switch taken from the branches of a tree from our yard that she liked the most.

Silence and no movement were the only things when combined that worked to stop her. I needed to be dead or show the appearance of someone dead for the abuse to stop. Maybe not technically but physically without sound or motion. That was the first part. When that was over there was one more phase to the abuse. It wasn’t over until I, the child and one abused, went to her closed bedroom door and groveled at the door with The Shadow Mother inside. She was always dead silent. I was always on my knees pleading with her to forgive me. I had to ask my abuser to forgive me. I’d ask her multiple times to forgive me. I was trained well into being submissive but even with all the pleading there was no forgiveness. Not ever. The door never opened. There was never a sound made from inside those walls behind that damned door. I was left there till oblivion escorted me away. Memory blanked from that point on. Rewind tape and repeat performance at a future but unknown time. Just her performance was the only thing that was repeated over and over again in all its brutality and my submission and pleas for forgiveness were echoed in those halls and bedrooms.

I am sorry that I am telling you this now but Christmas is about family and I have no family. I left them all behind when I became brave enough and my first therapist managed to convince me I needed to leave that place of unbalanced confusion, madness and inequity. There are no blood family I want anything to do with except a niece and her family. We are close and keep in touch but I have never met her. My agoraphobia has prevented us getting together. Her family want to meet Scottie and me. It’s just I have a terrible time being around people. I relate to them from a distance, through cyberspace. With the few exceptions. Physical contact is not something I am very good at except with my animals and Scottie. I do group and private therapy but do not relate well in my private sessions. As far as group goes, I can handle the people in group as long as it’s in a therapy room. Now, it seems to be developing into something impossible and uncomfortable to handle. If you weren’t there Annie, I wouldn’t return. Your entering my life when you did has saved me. I hope in the near future you will come to my rescue even further. You becoming my psychoanalyst is my Christmas wish and those wishes always should be answered.

Merry Christmas Annie. And thank you for entering my life when you did. It means more to me than I am able to express to you in person at the moment. Oh, by the way, Scottie finally settled on her choice of books to read over the holidays. It’s Evelyn Waugh’s “Brideshead Revisited.” We loved the series and have watched it several times. I seem to recall that the opening line of the series was spoken by Charles Rider, played by the actor Jeremy Irons (one had no idea of who he was at the time in the states) saying off camera, “I knew Sebastian by sight long before I met him. That was unavoidable for, from his first week, he was the most conspicuous man of his year by reason of his beauty, which was arresting, and his eccentricities of behaviour, which seemed to know no bounds… I was struck less by his looks than by the fact that he was carrying a large teddy-bear”.” It should be fun hearing Sebastian talk about his teddy bear Aloysius, “If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper…” Love both of these lines but I wish the second one could be true most of the time. I, also, love all the adventures Sebastian had with Charles at Cambridge together. Then there is Sebastian’s family, the mother was almost impossible to take to heart and overly pompous in her religiosity and the same of brother Bridie, what a bore.

It was easy to love Sebastian’s sisters Cordelia and Julia, and spending time at Brideshead, the Flyte homestead, that was mostly marvelous in the beginning. And Sebastian’s father was a free spirit, who was accepting and had found love away from England in Italy, away from his wife and the mother of his children. When all starts going wrong, that I don’t like. Sebastian is my favorite and I don’t like that Waugh gives him such a bad turn. It should still be exciting to have Scottie reading to us as I rest my head in her lap and stretch out the rest of my body on the sofa with a throw over me, our cats Patrick, Toker and Sparky curled up on top of the sofa with us, and a fire roaring in the fireplace. Quite the romantic and cozy scene. Add to that some Schubert or Rachmaninoff playing in the background or Michael Hoppe and the sweetness of the spiritually uplifting flute and the peaceful serenity the music induces inside one’s soul.

I’d say thanks for listening. In a way you are, at least in my head. Annie, that does help me make it through, believing that you are there for me. Maybe after this letter you might not want to deal with someone who has been so damaged. It isn’t easy to be around that shit I wrote about. It’s in my psyche and I hate having to remember. I don’t often. My defense mechanisms are like iron vaults. They lock up the darkness as best they can but there is always the sneakiness of memories. They don’t like being trapped in any containment. They have no idea they are so destructive to me. All they want is their freedom. Being creative helps to release them in a way that I have more control over them but one doesn’t have control over one’s nightmares unfortunately. They sneak out through all those symbols in the unconscious, thank you Carl Jung, that collective unconscious that manifests its self by bringing back the dead to haunt me, so that I will be forced to remember, even if it is in code. Eventually, the code is broken and the symbols are understood. They must be. It is the only way to work things out and be rid of their hold on me. Out, out damned nightmares. I may joke but I want my dignity back and my honour and innocence.

Annie, this is what you would have to look forward to if you decide to accept the challenge to be my analyst. I so hope you will. Please don’t turn away from me now. I can feel my insecurities are already starting to grow. There is nobody I am able to turn to who will help me. I’ve tried so many therapists and analysts. I need help. There isn’t much time. My strength is weakening. I feel suicidal so often. Holding back the dam from breaking just won’t work much longer. With all my heart, I am asking you sincerely to please help me.

Sorry for such intensity. I am not able to help myself. It is part of who I am. All I want to say now in finishing this letter is to wish you a great holiday vacation. I hope it’s wonderful spending time with your family. I look forward to seeing you after the first of the year. It will be hard to make it through that long. I will work on being creative. My new screenplay needs working on for Scottie to begin setting up her method of attack. She’s beginning casting after the New Year. The casting department at the studio have lined up actors for auditions after the holidays. So I am under pressure to have something decent for them to read in their try-outs. Plus I want to work are some of my computer art. That should capture my full attention.

I look forward to seeing you the second Tuesday of the New Year. Bye for now. Next week is New Year’s Day. I hope I haven’t totally freaked you out as much as I have myself. “Like madness is the glory of this life.” — Shakespeare-The Timon of Athens

Quite Fondly,

ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

No Healing But Time
By Madison Taylor
Dec. 23th, 2007

No healing but time.
Even that is a projected hallucination.
Feeling a hold on what is real.
Moments creep in and change things up.
Waiting for time to pass so the pain will stop.
Losing control.
Not able to control the intensity
hurting the flesh
corrupting the instrument of the mind
controls the dam from overflowing.
Tear everything apart
to stop the insanity of waiting
from circling the brain.
The madness takes over
rips it all apart so it becomes bearable.
Eventually, the torture subsides
is replaced with a more acceptable level.
The waiting feels less maddening
the feelings brought down
to a more manageable level.
But the waiting still exists.
The pain remains.
The intensity is spread out
to a bearable diversion of acceptance.
There still exists time between the madness
and the satisfaction
the pain will be subdued
to a reasonable state bearable
to only the divinely mad.
Losing control sometimes
is the only acceptable answer
to certain situations.
Healing needs to be done
only in a way that allows
for all possibilities of acceptance.

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

Queen — Who Wants To Live ForeverChapter #13


le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552

Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey, Toker & Patrick

family gathering place and hangout

madison's study/library  640x480

Madison’s study/library

scottie's study library

Scottie’s study library

front foyer and staircase  812x612

Front foyer and staircase


“I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

“I had my chance.’ He said it, retiring from a lifetime of wanting. ‘I had my chance, and sometimes in life, there are no second chances. You look at what you have, not what you miss, and you move forward.” ― Jamie Ford, Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet

“All I can think about is what she must be doing, and how I wish she were still here.” ― Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four

“Tamani smiled softly and lifted a hand to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and letting his thumb rest on her cheek. ‘Trust me, it’s no picnic missing you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” ― Aprilynne Pike, Spells

“He tried to tell me week after week to accept things as they were and move on with my life. But if there was one man who had put his life on hold to wait for something or someone, it was him.” ― Cecelia Ahern, A Place Called Here

“Didn’t I say I’d always be your same stars? If you get to missing me, just look up.” ― Anne Rivers Siddons, Fault Lines

“Usually time alters and affects everything, but when someone you love dies time cannot change that, no amount of time will ever change that, so time stops having any meaning.” ― Rosamund Lupton, Sister

“I won’t let you have it. I won’t give you this moment. I won’t let you fill up this valuable organ…I own it. I won’t do it. I can’t think, I won’t think about it.” ― Coco J. Ginger

“…there remained a strange formality between them, and her pleasure in his presence felt too much like missing him had felt during the last week.” ― Robin McKinley, Pegasus

play is not just play meryl streep

Light and Cloud-Shadows

Light and Cloud-Shadows
“In Truth There Is Love”
A Special Message
by Jennifer Kiley
from: Letters To A Young Poet
Excerpt: from Letter #8
Rainer Maria Rilke
Post Created by jk the secret keeper
Created 05.15/16.13
Posted May 16th 2013
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in truth there is love   by amhein, elvira  659x665

in truth there is love by amhein, elvira

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light and cloud-shadows by j. kiley  825x2387

light and cloud-shadows by j. kiley

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daumesnil lake paris france     660x780

daumesnil lake paris france

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Philip Wesley — Light and Shadowsilver divider between paragraphs

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ― Anaïs Nin

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
― Anaïs Nin

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.” ― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?” ― John Keats, Letters of John Keats

“Often, it’s not about becoming a new person, but becoming the person you were meant to be, and already are, but don’t know how to be.”
― Heath L. Buckmaster, Box of Hair: A Fairy Tale

“Pain is a pesky part of being human, I’ve learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can’t be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.” ― C. JoyBell C. silver divider between paragraphs

Private Writings: Chapter #9 — Talking Privately

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #9 — Talking Privately
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting March 19th 2013
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Posted 14th May 2013



Private Writings: Chapter #9 — Talking Privately

Tuesday, November 27th, 2007

Dear Annie

We had a first chance after group today to talk one on one. You gave me time for the first time. If you only knew how much talking to you privately, even for a short time, meant to me. It gave me the chance to hear your voice separate from other people listening. I like the way your voice sounds. Its so much more relaxed. At least, that is the way it sounds when you speak with me. You’re voice is so soft and delicate. I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on how well you led the group today. I was so shy while we spoke, I forgot. It was nice and such a relief not to have Mr. Xxx there today. It was great he took another day off. Your technique for running the group is so unique. If I told you since I was a teenager I’ve been in over five professional groups. This, I hate to say it, is the worse run group I’ve ever been in. It’s not the members. It’s the leader. At least, he didn’t have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a group session. That was pretty fucking weird. He was replaced by the novice therapist who sat in the group the way that you do.

You are a natural. People listen to you and you definitely don’t try to dominate the time of the session. Everyone got to speak and they were able to get out important issues. Mr. Xxx never lets us talk about anything. He’s so afraid someone is going to be triggered. What the fuck does he expect. We’ve all been traumatized. Of course, there are issues that will set people off. That’s going to happen in a group session or private session. Talking today about trusting people and how we feel about being touched were and are extremely important issues with everyone in our group. And they are not meant to be easy to talk about, but they need to be. How else are we going to heal the wounds they caused, if we don’t open up about how they effect us.

I wrote a poem a short while ago about touch. That’s how much the group has effected me. I haven’t written anything since the Diana poem the first month I started seeing Mr. Xxx. If I get brave enough, I will include the poem at the end of this letter. That’s if I get brave enough to let you read it. I don’t let anyone read my writing, creative writing that is. But I think I will take a chance and trust you. I don’t think you would hurt me if I let myself be vulnerable by showing you the words I write creatively. I really opened up in this poem. When I’ve finished this letter I will make the decision then whether to include the poem. I am leaning toward wanting to be brave and take a chance.

But back on the subject of the group. You got my friend Kristina to open up. She hates to say anything. Mr. Xxx always forces her into the light when she just wants to listen. It’s important to listen but we all need to speak out loud. But he does it against her will. That to me seems to perpetrate what our abusers did. You got her to talk by letting her respond to something Lisa said. It had to do with loving other women in an intimate relationship. She said that she didn’t understand it. Not in a disapproving way. One of her abusers was a woman. Someone who should have been a protector. She wanted to know how she could get close to a woman. She could have been asking the same question if it were a man that Lisa was getting close to. That was sort of what Lisa said. You’re attracted to who you’re attracted to. Lisa and I are both lesbians but still find some men attractive. We just wouldn’t want to have sex with them.

With me it wouldn’t matter either way. I don’t want sex with anyone. The abusers totally fucked that up for me. Would you believe I’ve never had sex when I’ve been sober. It’s sadly true. Drug of choice was pot. I needed to start out with a joint or a full pipe and keep it coming the whole evening. There would usually be alcohol on the side. Usually beer, wine, champagne, I loved champagne most of all. Scottie was strictly the strong stuff, so I would enjoy a game where one of us would take a small mouth full of booze and you’d pass the liquor back and forth through a super-sensual kiss. That made kissing more fun. The fun stopped before I stopped the drugs and booze. Sex was becoming a problem. Without too much detail, I’m not ready for that yet, what abusers did was catching up with me fast. There lessons were effecting the way my body responded to being touched. That’s all I can tell you right now.

Emotionally, that is another subject altogether, I am really fucked up when it comes to expressing my feelings. I have no idea what they are or what they mean. If I am not depressed then I feel completely numb. I go from numb to being overly excited. Anger, anxiety and fear are the only things my brain know how to let me feel. Otherwise I am dead inside. I know who I love or at least who I want to be with. I know if I care about someone but I can’t translate that into feelings.

I, also, know if I am obsessed with someone. They are in every free thought in my head. My feelings for them are so powerful. Obsessions are all consuming. They devour my ability to think logically. I always thought that was what love felt like but that is so far from the truth. It tends to freak some people out. It had one of my therapists really freaked about. She must have had a bad experience with someone being obsessed with her. I may get obsessed but I respect boundaries. But I still freaked her a bit. Nothing I could do about that. I still don’t think I understand why I get obsessed. Do you know, what causes it in me to have that reaction but with only certain people. Why those people? Why only one person at a time? Just something to look into.

I’d like to understand that part of myself, My personality who is obsessed goes by the name Meg. She is highly emotional and was created around the time of our grandmother’s death and our obsession began with an actress/singer/writer who our grandmother told us to follow. That she would make for a great role model. We followed our grandmother’s advice. The person that we follow has had a powerful effect on us. I think we continued feeling some kind of love through her that otherwise would have been lost and we would have been lost with it.

But now I want to figure out about my nature to become obsessive. I think it is under some control but I cannot explain that now. I worry that someone else will bring me under that spell of oppression. Freudian slip there, I meant to say obsession. Maybe now I see it as oppressive. But to whom? Myself or the person who is the object of my obsessive need for them.

I think I have come to the end of my words for this letter. Now I need to decide about the poem I wrote. Let me look over it. If any or all of it feel like I can reveal the contents to you, I will include in this letter or a future letter. If I do include it I will post after the end of the letter.

Until next time.


ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Madison Taylor

Somewhere In Time – John Barry


le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552

Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey Toker & Patrick

glass enclosed pool le chateau de rocher

rain in garden gif

This is the poem I was telling you about. I looked through the poem I found that I needed to edit it down before I added it to this letter. Since I am not even sure if I am going to give these letters to you, I felt it is okay if I include the poem in this letter. And if some day, I change my mind and I hand my building collection of letters to you, then I will likely evaluate all that I have written to determine if all of the content of each letter feels acceptable to me to share openly with you. I may feel too shy to be so vulnerable. We will proceed as we have for now and see this as a way of recording the experience of getting to know you and in turn get to know how this all effects me as a record this experience in writing.

To Be Touched or Not To Be Touched
By Madison Taylor
November 26th 2007

To be touched or not to be touched
Never was that a question
As a child or as an adult
It was always assumed as an adult
As a child it was always forced
Only two exceptions
My grandmother who loved me
My grandfather who liked to hold my hand
Two special weeks every summer
I had them all to myself
Grandma Emily, everyday, talked to me on the phone
We created our own alphabet
Only we could read

Special dinners for the whole family
Food my grandma knew I loved
She would accidentally include carrots
I loathe cooked carrots, they make me gag
It was the Shadow Mother’s delight
To force cooked carrots on me
One of her tortures she relished secretly
No less than once a week
But often, more often
It was her Sadistic game
To force food in me I didn’t want
To deny food or nourishment
When it was needed
I was a waif as a child
Legs were like sticks
Water was what I got
To make it through the night

Til after midnight, I sat
Carrots would not go down
Or my stomach would growl
Hungry, a wild animal seeking prey
As I tried falling asleep
Before the break of day

Insomnia started back then
I was afraid of the night
Things happened in the night
Bad things
Out of my control
They haunted the dark
My sleep corrupted
I pretended sleep often
I lived on the ceiling
It came
In the darkness
If I was still
It would go away
But it always returned
The darkness
What came with the darkness

Don’t like the darkness
Now lights have to follow me
Wherever I go
Always there needs to be light
Do not want to open eyes
And just see black
Always flashlights
Always candles
Matches too
In case of a power out
I freeze in place
Until the light comes
I am only safe in the light.

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe


“A conversation is a dialogue, not a monologue. That’s why there are so few good conversations: due to scarcity, two intelligent talkers seldom meet.”
― Truman Capote

“The art of conversation is the art of hearing as well as of being heard.” ― William Hazlitt, Selected Essays, 1778-1830

“The fun of talk is to explore, but much of it and all that is irresponsible should not be written. Once written you have to stand by it. You may have said it to see whether you believed it or not.” ― Ernest Hemingway

“The art of true conversation consisted in the play of minds.” ― Ved Mehta, All for Love

“Weird people don’t care if they’re weird. They are the most entertaining to converse with because nothing is off-limits.” ― Donna Lynn Hope

play is not just play meryl streep

The Secret Keeper Opened Up Two Years Ago

The Secret Keeper Opened Up Two Years Ago
WordPress Sent Me A Notification Moments Ago
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Created & Posted 05.06.13

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
Was Posted On May 6th 2011

moon watching over all --- artist unknown 5.6.13 it was two years ago today

moon watching over all — artist unknown 5.6.13 it was two years ago today

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
by jen kiley “the secret keeper”
Posted May 6th 2011

This is an excerpt from a manuscript that I started writing while I was seeing M. who I felt was the best psychotherapist I ever worked with. She is my inspiration and muse. The stages that it is in now are more like a patchwork quilt of writings from notebooks and poems and letters and emails and role playing screenplays that I have written and continue to write everyday. I choose this blog site as a place where I can be open and honest with my thoughts and feelings and be the real person that I am in all the multiple facets of my psyche. I am hoping I will be able to post open and honest writings that help me develop and release what has and is happening in my life. Truth is what I am seeking and the revealing of secrets and recalling of memories are only some of what I want to express here on this blog. Hopefully, it will not all be serious. My new therapist wants me to laugh more and encourages me to watch shows and films that do just that, make me laugh. Modern Family and The Big Bang Theory are the best shows at creating that overwhelming feeling in me to feel hysterically silly and to laugh so hard I can barely catch my breath. I leave you to read what I am sharing. Be kind. I am new to this kind of truthful exposure.

9.20.10 – 2:15 am – monday

Reality…love…animals first…people…therapist before other people but S.O… my bird… my main kitties…fur…petting…loving…trusting…wanting love…wanting attention… petting…my bird sharing my meals…nothing better than that…sharing my juice… climbing all over me…getting up on my hand…sitting and resting on my shoulders or stomach for hours…nothing like it…sleeping with me while I write or work on the computer…hanging out together…my little buddy…my bird…my beautiful multi-colored protector…the most wonderful creature in the whole world…I feel that way about her …and I feel special ways about my special kitties too…snuggling with them…sleeping with them at night or when they sleep in my lap or draped over my arms in my chair …I love the feeling…I live for the moments…I live for those moments when M. smiles at me and tells me I am a good person and that I did good… when we looked into each others eyes when she was trying to get me to reach the child inside me…we both tried to get me there but it is a long distance inside to that place…

<3 Love <3

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
But if your love and must needs have desires,
Let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.
~ by Kahlil Gibran ~

Mozart – Lacrimosa

the 9th – the day I found out that M. was leaving, no longer to be my therapist. I found out later during our last session we would not be able to have any contact at all with each other for two years.

I dedicate the first post on “all is one” to M. (It didn’t take me long to change her name to “the secret keeper” and she is all mine to do with what I feel she needs to do.) She taught me that we are all connected no matter where we are in our lives. She is gone now – left abruptly from my life. It has caused me a great deal of pain and continues to do so. I love this woman more than can ever be expressed in words. Even Kahlil Gibran only comes slightly close to how I feel. We did some intense work together unearthing some of the memories of the abuse from my childhood and we tried to confront the issues that I am going through today. I am now seeing a new therapist that M. chose for me. She is quite good but I miss M. terribly and my psychological issues are only compounded by the loss of her in my life and in our therapeutic relationship. I stay connected to her through my writing. She continues to be my inspiration and my muse and I write to her in my notebooks to enter into my manuscript everyday and every night. She is there with me in those moments. It was because of her that I returned to my writing and she also brought me back to my roots in meditation. When she left I pulled back from meditating and certain music because it strongly reminded me of her and the level of pain and depression and suicidal thoughts I had were too difficult to experience in all of their intensity. She abandoned me. I miss her hugs; her voice; the way her eyes looked into mine; her gentleness; her understanding; her peacefulness and calmness and most of all her love. She is connected to my soul. I will love her always and forever.

This is just the beginning of writing here. If someone passes through and should happen to read any of what I have written I will tell you that there will be more and the depth I intend to fathom shall hopefully be expressive, thoughtful and revealing in honesty.

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candle flame flickering gif

I add to what I wrote over two years ago, that I feel that I have followed the path that I stated back then and try to bring honesty and feelings to what is post on “the secret keeper.” I, also, try to have fun when there is a need for that. There is always a need to laugh and to cry. The first is laughing and I do that as often as possible. The second, crying, I still haven’t found the door that allows me to open it and the tears to be released. Only when something traumatizing occurs do I lose control of what holds back the tears. The Shadow Mother, the name I give my birth mother who is gone now, is the one who put my child in that prison many years ago when I was a defenseless child. I couldn’t fight her. Instead I would apologize to her and beg her forgiveness for punishing me. She forced that child to go to the deepest darkest dungeon inside my unconscious where there is no light for her to find her way out.

Those who have experienced or are experiencing brutality, remember and remind yourself that you didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of horrendous treatment. You need healing with the right person or people. I have been fortunate to have met different people in my life that have tried to help me. I feel, though, that I am very close to people in my life who are giving me a great deal of help with their love and support. It helps when you are surrounded by love and understanding. Love is so very important in everyone’s life. I feel that in my life now.

Writing “the secret keeper” has expanded my world and I feel so lucky to have met the people who I found through this world. One could say it is a very magical and mystical world where the unknown and impossible is knowable and possible.

I wondered why my muse wanted to watch movie trailers. She was stalling me until the announcement came through from WordPress, otherwise, I would never have realized the two year anniversary. I suppose I should send out a thank-you to “M” for leading me into the world of blogging. Honestly, I had another blog that I did for a short time. It was the oddest thing. I found myself on WordPress. I do not even remember why and the next thing I knew I had signed up to write a blog. My reaction: “I DID WHAT?” I was wondering what was I thinking about when I did that. I don’t know anything about writing a blog. I let it sit. Then one day I started to write. I wasn’t really myself when I was doing that blog so I gradually diminished its place in my life and that is when I realized I needed to create what eventually became “the secret keeper” but once was called “all is one” — that was named that for my meditative self but not who really needed this blog to be hers. I needed the healer and the to be healed to be what this blog was for and about. “the secret keeper” is for those who have secrets they need to reveal or for those who need a place to open up and have their secrets kept just that “secret.” Some secrets need to be shouted out loud and others need to be shared in a quiet way. The “evil” doers need to be exposed, those in pain need to know they are not alone.

I want to be able to write about any content that needs to be discussed. Hopefully, I have been doing that over the past two years, more being in the last year plus several months. I have made a commitment to myself to post something everyday. So far I have been doing that for awhile now. Doing a post a day has been good for me. It keeps my mind focused and for those who follow me and that I follow, it has been an experience to keep connected with all of you.

I keep growing and learning something all the time. One, that there is not enough time in one day for everything, but you try to fit it all in but find it exhausting and close to impossible but I am not saying it isn’t attempted. We are still learning about that one.

Did my muse or I find anything interesting in the movie trailers? Well, there is a movie with Robert De Niro, Diane Keaton and Susan Sarandon are in that is out now. The Big Wedding and I remember seeing Tom Cruise in one that is rather spooky and takes place in the future. No humans left on Earth as far as I can tell. Oblivion. Then some scary, creepy crap in between. The devil wants a baby. Probably Zombies. I wasn’t playing close attention. In fact, think I was eating cereal at the time. Put “The Big Wedding” trailer on again and it looks funny. Well, the trailer makes me laugh. Oh, the next trailer I do remember now. The movie titled: MUD has feeling of STAND BY ME but more law involved. Stars Matthew McConaughey & Reese Witherspoon and two great kid actors. Roku has some of the wildest choices of channels.

Thank you all for following and hope you find something here that you want to read, listen to, like, or have a comment you’d like to make, or just follow in your own quiet way. Anyway that you like, you are welcome. by Jennifer Kiley j.kiley jk the secret keeper jk the SK
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first star on the right --- abstract digital art

first star on the right — abstract digital art

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Metallica — Nothing Else Matters
(One of Several Videos I Posted In My First Month as “the secret keeper” Two Years Ago)
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“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” ― Søren Kierkegaard

“You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

“The past is never where you think you left it.” ― Katherine Anne Porter

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” ― Mother Teresa

“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.” ― George Harrison
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Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #7 — We Chose Life
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Posting 03.19.13
Posted Weekly Early Tuesday Morning
Chapter #7 Posted 30th April 2013


Private Writings:  Chapter #7 — We Chose Life

Tuesday, November 13th, 2007

Dear Annie

I must bring this to your immediate attention. Last week, when I wrote to you in our usual letter, I included a poem. It was a raw and painful poem to write. I would really like to discuss some of it with you in this letter. I hope you don’t mind. It has been making me feel rather vulnerable, even though I haven’t sent you the letter yet. Someday, any day, might be when I do get brave enough and really write these letters with the direct expectation of mailing them to you or handing them to you in person. The second way would make me feel more assured that you received the letters personally and no one else touched them or might accidentally open them. I don’t think anyone at the counseling center would ever do something like that intentionally. But these are very private letters meant for your eyes only. Just thinking about discussing the poem I wrote is making me feel rather anxious. In fact, I feel like I am starting to have a panic attack. Let me take a Klonopin before we continue. After that I will post the poem and the paragraph that followed it. I want to discuss that along with the poem. I’ll be right back.

Here I am, back really quickly. It will only take about 15 minutes for the med to take effect. Well, here goes, this is the poem once again appearing in one of my letters I am writing to only you. If I ever give these letters to you, I must have your word that you will never ever show these to anyone else. No one must know what I am telling you. These have to be our secret. If you only knew how I feel inside.

How do I really feel about you Annie? Right now, I have no idea. Too afraid to go inside to find out what I truly feel. The whole of the world confounds me. It just makes me feel depressed. It just feels that I can’t hold onto the people I love. They just tend to die. It’s not like they’re even old. When you die in your twenties, I would call that dying “Forever Young.” Too many die FY. You’re not going to do that, are you Annie?

What do you think of my poem? If you read it now, how would you decipher it? I’ll play both of us. You go first, or should I? Let me pull out the first three lines. The writer, the lover, the thinker: isn’t something missing? Whose feeling anything? The lover is just sexual. You can do that without any feelings at all. The writer is mental but could be emotional with the words they are expressing. But I don’t think so. It’s cerebral. The thinker, existential separation anxiety filled with analytical theorizing until infinity gets exhausted.

Someone is missing. Someone who connects in a soulful way with people or animals. Who is that? Lets think about it. Send out feelings to find out who they are? You think a spiritualist. I thought I was one of those people. I believe in the spirit, the soul, the astral body, the separation from the physical. The soul is just carrying the weight of the body while its heart beats and air fills its lungs and the grey matter still is able to function to make the physical tissues of the body perform.

I was thinking tonight about Heaven Annie. As I made it up the stairs to bed and my cat always raced up the stairs before me. We play that game every night. I make believe I’m going to beat him tonight. It’s always the challenge. There’s no way in Hell that I can ever beat him. But he loves the game. You want to know his name? He goes by many. He has such a magnificent personality. We call him Sparky because he sparks like fireworks. It’s not his official name. That one is proper. We named him Higgins after the character in the great Broadway play Pygmalion. He responds to anything but Higgins and he rather prefers being called Sparky.

What the Hell are we talking about? Is it about making it through with some enjoyment and to try to forget about all the nightmares? Or are we suppose to face the nightmares? The soul tells me that we have to or we won’t make it. I have too many. How about you? What are your bad dreams? What tried to fuck you up? Any bad people in your dreams? You seem pretty together but anyone can put a mask on. Why do you suppose we all try to hide from everyone? We are all human. Our feelings fall somewhere into the human category. Are we afraid people will think we are crazy or too weird?

Back to the poem, the next three lines are pretty explosive. Feeling the fool for not hearing, the silence for not screaming and feelings trying to blow the whole thing wide open but being stopped somehow. What stopped me? You probably would like to know that. A good reason, how about one of the abusers threatened to kill me right at the moment I told him if he didn’t stop I would go to the police. Wrong thing to say to a nasty, mean pedophile. He tried to kill me but he stopped at just making me feel he was going to crush my head into stones like Stonehenge. He pulled back but not until he told me he would not only kill me but my whole family. Those other people who also abused me. For some reason I felt I needed to protect them. I didn’t care if he killed me. My life was ruined. They all in combination destroyed who I am. They crushed my life. I am dead. My spirit has been stolen from me. It’s like in Peter Pan, they stole my shadow, my reflection. I don’t have one any longer. I am invisible. That’s why no one can see me. Why I never get noticed except when someone wants to hurt me or make me feel more pain so that I really do want to be invisible. I just wanted to die.

The only reason I stayed alive was I loved my grandmother. The funny thing about it all, my grandma, she had an accident shortly after this and went into the hospital. She never went home again. I saw her once at the hospital. I climbed into her hospital bed with her. Under the oxygen tent, we hugged. I held her so close. Her arms used her strength, as much as she could and held me close. Then it was time to go. I gave a bunch of kisses to say goodbye to her. I didn’t know I would never see her alive again.

She died in protest. They wanted her to become one of the forgotten. She wasn’t going to let them do that to her. She told them that it was something she would never do, going to a nursing home. She stopped her breathing and her heart from beating. She left me behind. I stopped living when she stopped, too.

“The feelings trying to explode…Where was the awareness?” I was clueless on what or who to, if anyone, to talk to. I never talked to anyone back then. Words were not my companion when spoken out loud. Not something I even knew how to do. Didn’t know how. Had no practice. What would have been the right words to say anyway? I didn’t know them to say or to even write down on paper. I am only learning now how to connect my words with feeling.

“We say ‘Welcome to the surface.’ It should have been Welcome to the circus. “Now what needs to be done?” We need to find someone new that we can really talk to. Someone who will listen and really hear what we are saying. Not judge us. Try to understand. And not constantly criticize us and try to put us down. Diminish who we are. That’s been done all our life except in college. For some reason I mattered when I was in college. I felt important and wanted. The same happened when I was part of the Women’s Center when I lived in Connecticut. It’s not so much I want to feel important. I just want to feel like I matter. Everyone I think needs to feel important in some way.

“Releasing the energy ensnared for decades amongst twisted webs…” I have been so blocked. My thoughts and feelings didn’t have an outlet. And I didn’t know how to say the words. I was made my own prisoner eventually, out of fear. Demons possessed me with fear. All the demons from all the years of abuse and made to feel like I was nothing, a nobody that had no worth or purpose.

“The voice is seeking freedom but holding onto multiple secrets.” We have a central voice but we also have multiple voices. With all the alters, we have to listen to all their voices and all the needs they tell us that they have. It’s hard to keep track or remember. It is really confusing inside our head sometimes. But we were working with a woman therapist who had her moments of quality therapy but she had her problems. I have an obsessive alter who was in love with her and obsessed with her. Let’s call it quite dependent. We were attached. We needed her. She was the first therapist that figured out what was going on inside our head. She figured out the DID. I have to admit when she told us we has other personalities, it really freaked us out. Kind of went into shock and some heavy denial. No way could that be possible. She said the psychiatrist agreed with her after he tested me.

That was the big secret. We thought realizing we were Gay was enough of a shock but being MPD was more difficult. Coming out of that closet was worst. It took us a while before we could tell Scottie and we had been together for a long time at that point. Almost 15 years. When I found the courage to tell her, her reaction was: “Oh, I already knew.” I asked her why she didn’t tell me. “Because you needed to figure that out yourself.” Of course, she was right. It wasn’t easy. Like I usually do, I bought or borrowed every book I could find on the subject of MPD. I learned it all. Enough to get a degree.

There is so much more to discuss in this poem. I packed it with a great deal of exposure of my past. I need a break. I may try to answer more of the points in this letter or carry it over to the next letter.

It’s a list of some of the confusion that smashed into our life. It started when we were really little and didn’t stop. The abuse continued when we were adults. No was the word that meant nothing to anyone who wanted something from us. Our body betrayed us. We couldn’t stop anyone from forcing us. Some didn’t even realize they were forcing us but they were. If we shut down inside we became frozen. We couldn’t stop what was happening. This started when we were little and continued into our adult relationships. It was all on some degree of force. We weren’t there in our bodies. We left or went deep inside or floated on the ceiling until it was over.

It wasn’t consensual. It was a form of rape and abuse. We wanted love but not sex. We didn’t want to be sexually aroused because it would always end with us disappearing and our bodies would shut down. It was like turning the keys off in a car. The engine would stop running and so would we. Eventually we created an outside person, a human robot, who faked our life like a computer. She would accumulate data. And learned the expected behavior and that would be hos she would perform. We were safe inside while she was out there living a fake life as a fake person. A puppet represented us. She hid in plain sight. No one would find us with the puppet self having a controlled pattern of behavior, always asking questions to improve her performance do she wouldn’t be detected.

Our hiding place was discovered by this woman therapist. She saw through the facade. She was tricky and scary to us. She got to close. We started to care too much. She opened up the rawness in us. She made us need people. Specifically, she made us need her too desperately. We felt so close to her. But more like the fox in Le Petite Prince by Antoine de St. Exupery. She tamed part of our wildness. She made us want to be loved by her. Being loved and wanting to love in return puts such a control on you. I began to develop an overwhelming need for her. It was driving me mad. Everything started falling apart. My life felt out of control.

Our hiding place was revealed. There was no place to go except into madness and wanting to commit suicide. Suicide has always been a part of our life. It is a part of our breathing. It is always an alternative to the divine madness. We can escape that way any time we chose. But it is not an answer we can choose. Not with all that we are responsible for. Our life needs us to be in it. Everything has changed. We are learning to begin to live. We have found a purpose. It is delicate and sometimes difficult to balance but we are giving our new life all that we are able to give it. We know and are learning what we are able to do. We are able to write. We are able to be creative. Our artistic nature is starting to blossom. We are letting it be free. It likes that. It feels like are trusted to let the muse guide us. She always seems to be when we need her. We don’t push it. We let it be a natural flow. We like, no we love where we are now. It does have its difficulties with the mentally creative activities that bombard our brain. But we work hard on that more with our doc then with Mr. Xxx. He is about as helpful as a dead skeleton. His sense of warmth and communication I’d to tell stories that do not at all relate to what I am feeling or going through. He doesn’t help me at all except to give me reasons to escape my life. He lets me run away. I know I have my weaknesses but I need to find my life before I die or I kill myself because I can’t live with the confusion any longer or the depressions or rage.

I want to say that I am here and I want to stay alive. We want to be here. We choose life.

We fought through them trying to destroy us. They didn’t succeed. We are still alive. No matter how many battles. No matter how many nights we have to fight to make it alive til morning gets here. Therapy, knowing my psychoanalyst is there is so reassuring. It means at least one person is out there in our Universe that knows we are alive. That we exist. Being alive is a higher grade than just existing. The artist that lives inside of us makes it all matter. Otherwise, nothing else matters. If I didn’t have my art, my animals, the women I love and the men who are decent that I love. A good home and family who I love and who love me. The special people who know who they are. They are part of what make this life I live matter. But that involves some major time tripping. I am having visions of a future in my life, but I must be patient and wait for that time to happen. It is a good sign that I make it to that future. Others do not.

Here in 2007 I have you Annie. I am focusing on that. Your presence is beginning to mean something more to me than I even understand at this moment. We will see where that takes us.

Until next time.


ATTENTION ANNIE: At this moment I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I hold back now or never send this to you, I am freeing myself up to write whatever without censorship. On some future date, if trust grows, I will release my letters to you. What I write in honesty, I will keep confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages.
Madison Taylor.

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

Soul’s Awakening
By Madison Taylor
Written 11.11.07

Give your soul an awakening
Listen quietly through the inspiring music
Enter the encouraging words
The ideas arise from their varied meanings
What is most on your mind
What is churning up your insides
Needing to be talked about
Preferably released from your mind
Where trapped are the feelings
That the thoughts are made of in the silence

Love is an all-consuming obsession
Filling the spaces in between
Every break of thought
To throw off the concentration
So many who feel love from inside their heart
They died or disappeared
Called away from their lives abruptly
You could say they had a calling
A calling not dealing with fairness
Or consideration for the pain
Created from their loss
Investing in vulnerability

Rips out the heart
Tears it like dogs with a pile
Of meaningless thrown away leftovers
The heart has been a left over piece of flesh
Good for a treat
For a hungry mouth
But for love an empty plate

Starving the hungry for tenderness and love
Wanting to be held in a warm hug
Being caressed with a slow gentleness
Giving time to be caught up to the touch
Of a lover who wants to feel safe and secure
Willing to wait until you’re where the love making is
To be part of what is happening

Slowing down when the touching starts moving too fast
Needing a caress slow making you feel
They realize you are there
And want to be there
Part of making the love work
You want to be part of it
Participating in all the feelings of touch
Reaching all the plateaus
Together with your partner

Knowing your partner is with you
Wants to be with you
While you arrive at the high together
Coming down together slowly after
Feeling the rippling through your bodies together
Melting bodies drifting into relaxation
Followed by the wonders of secure arms
Drifting off together into the dream of sleep
Contented that a wish has found a way at last
To be realized.

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

labyrinth of a wandering wonderland

The labyrinth called “Wandering Wonderland.” It is where Madison, Scottie and their cats, Patrick, Mikey and Toker love to escape to

madison's woods of imagination where she takes long walks to reflect

Madison’s “woods of imagination” where she takes long walks to reflect. It starts just past the labyrinth

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe


“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame…” — Jack London

“There are two kinds of people. One kind…they congealed into their final selves…you can expect no more surprises from them…the other kind keep moving, changing… They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive…” ― Gail Godwin

play is not just play meryl streep