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Letters of Import: Miss You So Much More 14

Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
Miss You So Much More 14
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Fourteenth Posted June 18th 2013

Tuesday, January 1st, 2008
New Year’s Day

Dear Annie,

I didn’t realize how much you effected me. Not seeing you now for over two weeks and still 7 days to go, feels unbearable, Missing you was not something I expected. Not this strong. I’ve gotten too attached. The way it feels, is awful. Please I can’t wait for you to be my private analyst. When will it happen? I have to stop feeling this way. I’m diving into a really deep depression. I’m not so sure I haven’t started to transcend into that dark hole. It’s always waiting for me. It teases me when I am totally alone. Scottie is away but will be back tonight. She has been working on her latest film. I should say our film. I wrote the original screenplay. It’s almost ready for release but needed some extra touches done on the editing. They needed the director to make some decisions on the final cut. I think it’s going to make a great film. Story is being kept hush-hush. I’ll tell you when I can.

I love writing screenplays. I just love writing. I keep my writing edge by occasionally writing short stories, even work on several novels which eventually end up as screenplays. Writing novels helps me develop the visual settings and characters and the story tends to grow around that. What I really love, as often as I am able, is to write poetry. That’s where I work out my feeling and thoughts the most. It keeps the divine madness and artistic temperament under a mostly manageable control. Maybe that is what I will do. I’ll write a poem for you. Someday, after we start meeting, I will show some of my poems and other writing to you. But first, I have to be sure you won’t misunderstand how I feel. Even I don’t know or understand that myself. It still makes me insecure about whatever I feel. Someday I will explain what I mean by that.

I am going to include a poem in this letter. I’ll try to express my feelings. My love has nowhere else to grow and nowhere else to be expressed. Love rises above the sordidness of anything Earthly. It transcends to something divine. Untouched, untainted by the baser senses. When I write a poem it releases the pain inside us. Reaching the pureness. How do I tell you that I have strong feelings for you, without scaring you away. My intensity has been with me since birth. If I am drawn to anything or anyone, it is in my nature to be taken over by an intense passion. My release is to express the overwhelming feelings into my art. It releases the stress, some anyway. But it continues to regenerate. I have feelings for you, maybe you’ve noticed. But I’m afraid you will misunderstand them. I had a therapist who made what I felt into something that was ugly. One of my alters now feels love is bad, which makes her feel innately bad. Her feelings have been corrupted. This fucking therapist totally fucked her up over this. Now we don’t trust anyone with how we feel. We don’t even trust ourselves.

We are hoping for more understanding from you. Nothing wrong with feeling love. Attraction toward another human is quite part of one’s nature. We love animals. They communicate realness. Humans don’t, not ever. What I feel is good. I want to share my feelings of joy and happiness and love. Why do people corrupt goodness by making it impure and perverse. The way the abusers destroyed those feelings in me. One would expect better to come from a healer. A psychotherapist is suppose to be understanding. Not another person to damage what you feel. Especially, when your feelings are natural. I’m talking about burning away fear and mistrust and converting it into trust and openness with a new person. If badness blocks you, what do you do. I feel I have found in you a truly gifted and trusting person. You show no fears when you open up and you don’t turn away from someone else’s nightmares. You are not afraid of love. Giving it or sharing it.

I have been working on a theory for quite some time now about the true nature of love and the multiple layers that love takes. First, love is eternal. It is the power that fills the soul and ignites the universe infinitely. Love gets confused with the energy found in the expressions of sex. I believe they are two separate sources of energy. Sex can be expressed separate from love. Love is expressed separate from sex. It doesn’t need sexual energy to exist. The two can be brought together but they don’t need the other. Love is a higher energy. Sex is a lower energy. Sex is a momentary release of a physical reaction. Love is all intensive and filled with the energy of the universe. Love is divine and fills you up continually.

When someone tells you they love you, if their words are truthful, they are feeling the energy of the universe within themselves and want to share those feelings by sharing the energy of love with you.

What I am trying to say is your absence makes me feel these feelings more intensely. I miss having contact with you. It feel agitated in your absence. My feelings overwhelm me and cause so much pain, physical and emotional. I just want to be near you. When I cannot be near you, I go mad. I’m becoming rather attached. I don’t know what to do when I feel this way. It is a real problem for me. It is difficult to think about you. The effect you have on me. I know I will feel better once you return. Seeing you again will make all the difference.

I don’t understand why I feel this way. Please explain to me why only certain people cause these feeling in me. It is rare I feel this intensity or pain for anyone. Mostly, I just see someone and when I am not with them, they are either forgotten or I just think I will see them again. That’s it. With you, my feelings are monumental in proportion. It is love. An intense form of love that drives me into a madness. I feel crazy. Is your love so pure? Or is my love so pure for you that it has no censorship that filters its’ intensity. My attachment to you is more than I can handle on my own but there isn’t anyone I can talk to. Not even you. I have to keep this locked up.

If we work together, maybe someday, then I will be able to tell you this in person. I am just overwhelmed. It’s like looking at the sun without a filter, it burns out your sight. Am I too sensitive or open and the feelings for you and myself crash together like magnets that have been turned up to full power? I just don’t understand.

I will have to write more about this in future letters. Maybe, I will find some answers.

Until I see you again SOON. I cannot write another thought. It is too confusing.

Happy New Year Annie.

Fondly & In PAIN,
Madison

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

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as her Psychoanalyst

Maksim — Somewhere In Time — Theme Song #1 For “Letters of Import”

a flower of many colours-this is for you

Thirst of the Soul
By Madison Taylor
December 27th 2007

Sorrow.
Broken hearts.
Rawness.
Burning tears.
Dark holes for escape.
Understanding.
Listener to listen.
Take the edge off without useless drugs.
Soothing sounds of trust
Comforting support.
Taking the burden away.

Relief.
Release.
Clearness of mind to hold onto.
Offering.
Will lift up spirit.
Always in the wings.
Great lift off.
Flying.
Soaring above the clouds.
Above the storm.

Love offered freely.
Never going away.
Vent the rage.
Explode.
Cry tears of pain.
No burning.
Tears of water
To feed the thirst of the soul.
Water the trees.
The flowers.
The love awaits.
Given freely.
Arms waiting to hold.
Embrace a heart so raw.
Love with softness and warmth.
Remember time does not count.
It is all relative.
Come when ready.
Arrival time open.
Love Always.

Cris Williamson — Song of the Soul — Theme Song #14 For “Letters of Import: Miss You So Much More 14

the labyrinth called “wandering wonderland.” it is where madison, scottie and their cats mikey, toker and patrick love to escape to

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

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 sparky toker & patrick

madison’s study/library

scottie’s study library

front foyer and staircase

cinema & multi-media room

Maksim — Somewhere In Time (Quotations by Rumi-Theme Song #2 for “Letters of Import”

QUOTATIONS from: LETTERS of IMPORT: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst

“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~
(1563-1631)

“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

QUOTATIONS on MISS YOU SO MUCH MORE:

“If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.” ― Héloïse d’Argenteuil, The Letters of Abélard and Héloïse

“It was going to be a long, dark night but not quite as dark as it was in the abyss of his heart where there was nothing but hollowness, yet it felt heavy, almost as if someone still resided there.” ― Faraaz Kazi

“Do you know what the mathematical expression is for longing? … The negative numbers. The formalization of the feeling that you are missing something.” ― Peter Høeg, Smilla’s Sense of Snow

“Do you think everybody misses somebody? I believe, sometimes, that the whole world has an aching heart.” ― Kate DiCamillo, Because of Winn-Dixie

Now That The First Draft Is On The Page—Then What?

so you want to be a writer?

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so you want to be a writer?
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Created June 11th 2013
Posted June 14th 2017

Philip Glass – Aguas da Amazonia (HQ)
QUOTATIONS of CHARLES BUKOWSKI:

“That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“being alone never felt right. sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or love.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn’t make for an interesting person. I didn’t want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

“There’s no way I can stop writing, it’s a form of insanity.” ― Charles Bukowski, Women

Letters of Import: Miss Seeing You-Difficult 13

1 Reply

Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
Miss Seeing You-Difficult 13
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Thirteenth Posted June 11th 2013 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,
Madison To Annie,

I write these letters in the strictest of confidence. I am not trying to be a coward, but I feel if I don’t hold back now and never send these letters to you, then I am freeing myself up to write whatever I need without any censorship. There will be secrecy to protect you, Annie, and to protect myself. But I also want to record the development of our relationship as it truly happens. At least, in the way it appears in my own mind.

I want you to trust me, Annie. I am freer writing to you this way. If I know I will not be sending these letters to you. I will be more honest with what words I use and feelings I express. I will know I am not hiding anything from coming to the surface. It frees up my libido. I will keep my letters confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages, I promise you that.

Fondly,
Madison

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst. Not real.

Maksim — Somewhere In Time — Theme Song For “Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst”

This is the poem I would like to include in this letter. I like to leave a poem if I find one that I would like to share with you. Since I am not even sure if I am going to give these letters to you, I felt it is okay if I include a poem within these letters. 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 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 I record this experience in writing.

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

Queen — Who Wants To Live Forever — Theme Song #13 For “Letters of Import: Miss Seeing You-Difficult 13

the labyrinth called “wandering wonderland.” it is where madison, scottie and their cats loves to escape to

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

LE CHATEAU DE ROCHER

le chateau de rocher is the home of madison and scottie & their three cats sparky toker & patrick

glass enclosed pool le chateau de rocher

madison’s study/library

scottie’s study library

front foyer and staircase

Maksim — Somewhere In Time (A New Version-with Quotations-of the Theme Song for “Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst”

QUOTATIONS from: LETTERS of IMPORT: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst

“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~
(1563-1631)

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

“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

New Path Forming

4 Replies

New Path Forming
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Post Created June 3rd 2013
Posted June 6th 2013

ABBA — I Have A Dream

New Path Forming
Written by Jennifer Kiley
June 3rd 2013

Look out at the beauty
What turn to take
The one most familiar
Following it to the end
Where it permanently stops at death
What is ahead for all

Finding new growth
With the river as it draws the water visiting its bed
The strength pulling
Wanting to be followed
Curiosity where it will lead
The mind leads the adventure
Investigating ideas as presented
Places new to the vision

Not exactly physically traveling
The mind opens to worlds containing newness
Gathering further understanding
New knowledge, insight, and depth of meaning
Meaning on life, love and death
Flowing with the current of the river
Listening to the wind
A breeze caressing the face
Gusting bursts of wind
Knocking into the body with force
Bones chilled by its frozen intensity
Probing a path unknown inside the body

Thoughts and feelings contained within
Not physically moving
Need to maintain safety
In an environment familiar
Beauty surrounding it
Filled with love
A home surrounded by nature
Lakes, streams, and woods
Enough to satisfy any soul
Reach out touching living being
Feelings and thoughts are alive
Love finding a path
Needs and wants willingly given
Seeking truth, honesty, and learning
Enjoyment containing laughter and tears
Excitement and joy

Time might awaken the darkness
Release the children
Who are locked within
They ran to hide when little
Remaining there today
Needing magic to escape

The path back into life
The adventure out of a Dickens’s novel
An adventure in further growth
New beginnings in discovering trust
Opening the heart and soul
Taking chances to live and love
Joining the outside world
Where once the door was slammed shut

Trust not given freely
Caused too much pain
Relearning all of life
A new path is beginning to form
Time is opening the entrance wider
Awareness becoming clearer
Love, trust and courage
Is like climbing to the top of the world

Sheryl Crow — A Change Will Do You Good

QUOTATIONS on TRUST:

“The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them” ― Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.” ― Maya Angelou

“You see, you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too–even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling.” ― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays With Morrie

Green Day — Time of Your Life

Letters of Import: Last Time This Year 12

1 Reply

Letters of Import: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst
Last Time This Year 12
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated & abstract digital art by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Twelfth Posted June 4th 2013
Tuesday, December 18th 2007

Dear Annie,

This week I want to tell you some serious shit about myself. Letting my guard down almost to naked in these revelations. You know more about me in these letters than anyone does so far. And I haven’t even started filling you in on anything that gets close to the deeper meanings in my life.

I have been reading a great deal lately about bipolar disorder. Nobody has come out and told me straight that it is part of what I am dealing with in all my weirdness and bizarre behaviors. But I am not without analyzing the material and figuring out what seems too familiar to my life. I may not see things accurately from the inside but when I see it in Scottie’s eyes and read it in my writing I know without any real reluctance that bipolar visits me on a regular schedule with its major fluctuations.

I have the speed of someone who mainlines coke. Try having a conversation with me when I am not depressed or suicidal. How often does that occur. My wanting to die. Being obsessed in my mind all the time with thinking of ways to cut open my arms and bleeding out. It seems a gruesome way to die but even though blood usually bothers me, in this state of mind it seems the easiest way to slip away into death. Losing consciousness into a slow comatose state. Pain becomes unnoticeable. It really ends the pain. Suicide does. It’s not death I seek. It’s peace. Pain free and finished. No more memories. No more primal screams inside my mind. No emotions. No tears. Stolen. Robbed. Buried deep within my soul so it bears the suffering I should feel. What I feel is lack of feeling anything when I am deeply depressed. Maybe I am wrong about that. Maybe depression is the strongest of feelings. It may be all of them at once. All the negative emotions ripping out my heart at one time.

Who says bipolar isn’t fun. It can take you higher than a kite. Not a drug high, though that is kind of what you feel. But in this instance I am speaking about real flying high in the sky. Soaring. Catching the up draft. Being your own motor and wings. When I write on bipolar, I am hooked up to the muse and she goes fast. She is one blazing force of nature. Hot waves of energy pass through me. All that she wants is to give freely but you need to accept her terms. Simple really: just create until you can’t see the screen of your laptop. All becomes a blur and even then you must keep moving forward until the last ounce of creativity is used up. You will know when. You just stop. There is nothing left but to end it.

I read a book called “Touched With Fire” by Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison. She has become my Goddess. Her words speak to my mind like she lives inside of it. Her theory about creativity and divine madness and the artistic temperament all touch my insides like fire has scorched my body with truth. When I was a teenager, I had the strangest idea that I was going crazy. But why would I even think that. What did it feel like to be crazy? I had no idea but somehow I thought I was headed in that direction. It felt like it would be so easy to just lose your mind. It would break away just like that. Well, reading “Touched With Fire” was actually reassuring. Knowing all these famous and creative people who had bipolar and a divine madness, as I have grown to like it referred to. An artistic temperament that made you delusional, but made you one hell of a creative artist. A poet, a musician, a writer, a painter, from Lord Byron to Beethoven, Lincoln to Churchill, Kurt Cobain to Emily Dickinson. People from all professions that contributed great amounts of creative work to charge up the world with gifts unimaginable.

It does make one grandiose at times. Feeling better about yourself. Going on an ego trip one minute and feeling like death is the only answer the next. It destroys your ability to think clearly or tell the difference between reality and delusions that appear so real and believable. It is so destructive and then so creative and productive. Bipolar enables you to produce feats of creation beyond the bounds of most people. You go for hours and days just creating. Your concentration is unbelievable and so crystal clear and focused. Everything keeps pouring out of you.

It’s balancing the mood swings that make it so difficult. I will not take psych meds. They are poison to me. They have fucked up my health. They’ve caused me to faint. I’ve had seizures. My mind gets so dulled out I can’t think clearly or remember anything. It’s fucked up my short term memory so I am lost at recalling anything someone has just told me. Terrible with names I heard a moment ago. I try to say something and if I don’t get it out in that moment, it is gone. Blue what, I ask myself. Why did I say blue and then forget what if anything did it mean? It is frustrating. When I get into conversations with people, I get so excited that I must speak more words in a minute than anyone speaks in an hour. And topics are like butterflies flitting from flower to flower but in a hurricane wind storm.

The divine madness does allow me to be creative. It frees my mind to release control and let ideas and words and images flow through my mind and out onto paper. Thank the goddess I have a computer so I can almost keep up with my thoughts. My hand would break if I had to write as fast as my thoughts pour out of me. The drawback is the pain I feel going from pure elation to feeling terror and depression and the loneliness I feel when all I want to do is die. There is such a hopelessness. I cannot reach out to anyone. What do I say? I am too frightened or introverted to open up about the depth of my darkness. It is an all-consuming dark that takes over. Blinding me to anyone or anything. I have figured out how to work through the suicidal feelings and the depth of the depression that pulls me into the darkest, deepest of holes. I write. I keep writing. Anything that comes into my mind. I have no shame about speaking the truth. There is no honour in silence. The world must know and understand that there are places the mind can take you that do exist but only some can enter.

This is what you would be working with if you ever became my psychoanalyst. You would hear my stories and live through my mind and delusion and irrational thoughts. I have ruined relationships, I am sure because I had no idea the bipolar was causing me to behave in ways that I did not understand. I have hurt my partner because of what I thought I needed. It fucks you up sexually. Being abused when I was a child screwed me up to have sex with anyone but it also set me up to think or believe that is the only way one can relate to another human being. Everything between myself and another person always became sexual. It wasn’t because I wanted sex. It was because that was the way it was supposed to be. So I was taught by my abusers. If you wanted attention, you spent time with them and when they tried to touch you, you tried to stop them but it never worked. If you didn’t want attention they just raped you and molested you. It taught me that was the way life was. Sick. Demented. Perverted. Cold. Damaging. Surreal. Abusive. Everyone abused me except one. She was someone special. Someday I will tell you all about her.

It seems sex is supposed to be one of the addictions that bipolars have. Would I say I was addicted to sex. Yes. Not in the way you think. It was really fucked up for me. Now I don’t want anyone touching me.

If we work together, I hope you can help me with this. I don’t trust anyone but for an unknown reason I am drawn to you and I believe you are the one who can help me. I have gone to so many shrinks. Some I became really attached to. But most of them fucked me up more than I already was. One even thought because I was obsessed with her that I was going to stalk her. She was the one that was crazy not me. I admit I do get obsessed but that is one of my personalities. That therapist knew that. She also knew that she became obsessed when she lost the only one who loved her. That person died suddenly and it crushed her. Shattered her into pieces. Left her feeling abandoned. Nobody to love her. So when anyone shows her any attention she is drawn to them like a magnet. She is so filled with needs. But the others let her have her needs and accept her. That therapist was a fool and really fucked up that alter to the point where she felt so bad about herself that she just wanted to disappear forever. Instead she just felt guilty about everything she felt and she started to feel that if she felt love that she was being bad. What kind of therapist drives a kid to feel that she is bad for feeling love?

These are issues that need to be worked on. It is an enormous job to take on the responsibility of us as a client. Mr. Xxx was a jackass. He had no idea who we were. He drove everyone underground into the darkest hole. We felt depressed all of the time. All we wanted to do was sleep. So that is exactly what we did. Sleep. All day. All night. Get up because Scottie made us feel we needed to wake up. And we felt guilty leaving her alone by herself. Not that we were great company. All we did once we were awake was to watch TV until it was time to go back to bed. The only time we got up during the day was to go to out therapy appointments or to see the doctor. The world was fucked. We were fucked up. We just wanted to block out everything. We didn’t want to feel anything. Whenever we felt anything we just would fuck things up.

Now we actually have a chance to rejoin part of the human race. We may actually get to see you in therapy. Something might actually start to make us feel better. Right now that is the only hope we have. The hope that someday soon we can tell Mr. Xxx to go fuck himself. With great pleasure I would look forward to that moment. To really, actually, in a state of reality, I would be able to utter those words. “GO FUCK YOURSELF. IT IS OVER. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN.” Exit stage left. Here it comes, the final curtain call with Mr. Xxx. The forceful and intentional slamming of his office door so hard that the reverberations would be felt all the way to the door of my home and Scottie would hear and applaud. That is the day I am waiting ever so patiently for. Do I have the guts to do that? You had better prepare yourself to wear headphones at that very moment. Be sure it will happen. Exactly when, is still to be determined. As a child I was a famous door slammer. I slammed my bedroom door so hard, so many times, that the last time I did it, it fell off its’ hinges and crashed to the floor. The truth. May the goddess strike me with lightning if I am telling a lie. Oh, by the way, I do not lie. I tell the truth. I am too honest for anyone to believe.

So there you have some of it. Do you still have the courage to take me on as your client? The last length of time that it took to write this letter has left me with a blank in my mind as to what exactly I shared with you in the words I wrote. And whether I have the courage to read this over is, at this very moment, an uncertainty. I may just take my chances that you will be able to accept my honesty and to get past it and accept the conditions of my paying you, or rather, my insurance paying you to hire you as my soon to be next psychoanalyst. I do hope this deal goes into effect in as short a time as possible. The waiting and anticipation is, pardon the expression, killing me, literally killing me. I have so little time left to deal with where I am now. I am in desperate need to change the conditions of my life and to rid myself of someone I need to be gone from my consciousness and I need you to help me do it.

I am not an extremely confident person at the moment. Do not let the bipolar or stronger personalities fool you. We are very afraid of change. We fear leaving our home to go anywhere. And now we have finally gotten to a place where it actually might happen. That we will in the real world, fire our psychotherapist, better recognized by the name Mr. Xxx, for all his perversely sick sense of humour and his tasteless innuendos of a sexual nature and the endless telling of his self-promoting and unwanted sharing of his personal life during my therapy time when we are supposed to be working on getting me into a better state of being. And added onto that, his egotistical need to be the smartest person in the room. It is sickening and I really want to see it come to an, unknowing on his part, ending and before the next full moon rising. That gives us some time but not more than I will manage to live through.

This has been exhausting but worth letting go of some truths. I am trying to be open with you and writing these letters is great practice for when the real therapy sessions actually happen in my waking life. You sitting across from me and my either lying down on the couch or sitting up facing you. I don’t know how traditional you will want to play it. We will see. Soon. Please make it soon.

Until next time, I hope things have progressed.

Regards,
Madison This note is to assure the strictest of confidence.

To 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, then I am freeing myself up to write whatever I wish without need of censorship. Maybe someday, when I am feeling more familiar with just who you are and what you might mean to me, this parameter will be altered and a copy of this and future letters will be relayed to you. For now I want to maintain secrecy, to protect you, Annie, and to protect myself from over testing the boundaries between us and to record the development of our relationship.

I want Annie Haskell to trust me. I want you to know I am trying to protect you and also myself from any humiliation. Writing to you in this way frees up my words as I speak them onto the page. Some future date, if I feel trusting enough, I will release to you what I have written in honesty. Right now, I will keep my words confidential. On my honour, no others shall see these pages, I promise you that.

Regards,
Madison Taylor

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst. Not real.

Maksim — Somewhere In Time — Theme Song #1 For “Letters of Import”This is the poem I would like to include in this letter. I like to leave a poem if I find one that I would like to share with you. Since I am not even sure if I am going to give these letters to you, I felt it is okay if I include a poem in these letters. 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 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 I record this experience in writing.Don’t Lock Me Up
By Madison Taylor
December 16th 2007

Don’t lock me up
Don’t make me sleep
Losing consciousness
Loses part of me
Holding on awake
Needing senses sharp
Safety’s what I seek
Don’t want nightmares
Living inside of me
Roaming my sleep
Dead wanting me
If I’m awake
There’s no way out
To follow me
If I let go
Give in to them
Let sleep take hold
They’ll find me easy
Trap me, bind me
They’ll never ever
Let me go.

the labyrinth called “wandering wonderland.” it is where madison, scottie and their cats loves to escape to

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

LE CHATEAU DE ROCHER

le chateau de rocher is the home of madison and scottie & their three cats sparky toker & patrick

madison’s study/library

scottie’s study library

QUOTATIONS from: LETTERS of IMPORT: Private Writings to a Psychoanalyst

“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~
(1563-1631)

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

“Others imply that they know what it is like to be depressed because they have gone through a divorce, lost a job, or broken up with someone. But these experiences carry with them feelings. Depression, instead, is flat, hollow, and unendurable. It is also tiresome. People cannot abide being around you when you are depressed. They might think that they ought to, and they might even try, but you know and they know that you are tedious beyond belief: you are irritable and paranoid and humorless and lifeless and critical and demanding and no reassurance is ever enough. You’re frightened, and you’re frightening, and you’re “not at all like yourself but will be soon,” but you know you won’t.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you’re high it’s tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one’s marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends’ faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against– you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“I compare myself with my former self, not with others. Not only that, I tend to compare my current self with the best I have been, which is when I have been mildly manic. When I am my present “normal” self, I am far removed from when I have been my liveliest, most productive, most intense, most outgoing and effervescent. In sort, for myself, I am a hard act to follow.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“Manic-depression distorts moods and thoughts, incites dreadful behaviors, destroys the basis of rational thought, and too often erodes the desire and will to live. It is an illness that is biological in its origins, yet one that feels psychological in the experience of it, an illness that is unique in conferring advantage and pleasure, yet one that brings in its wake almost unendurable suffering and, not infrequently, suicide.” ― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are. Because my bipolar went untreated for so long, I spent many years looking in the mirror and seeing a person I did not recognize or understand. Not only did bipolar rob me of my sanity, but it robbed me of my ability to see beyond the space it dictated me to look. I no longer could tell reality from fantasy, and I walked in a world no longer my own.” ― Alyssa Reyans, Letters from a Bipolar Mother

“Depression is a painfully slow, crashing death. Mania is the other extreme, a wild roller coaster run off its tracks, an eight ball of coke cut with speed. It’s fun and it’s frightening as hell. Some patients – bipolar type I – experience both extremes; other – bipolar type II – suffer depression almost exclusively. But the “mixed state,” the mercurial churning of both high and low, is the most dangerous, the most deadly. Suicide too often results from the impulsive nature and physical speed of psychotic mania coupled with depression’s paranoid self-loathing.” ― David Lovelace, Scattershot: My Bipolar Family

“Compared to bipolar’s magic, reality seems a raw deal. It’s not just the boredom that makes recovery so difficult, it’s the slow dawning pain that comes with sanity – the realization of illnesss, the humiliating scenes, the blown money and friendships and confidence. Depression seems almost inevitable. The pendulum swings back from transcendence in shards, a bloody, dangerous mess. Crazy high is better than crazy low. So we gamble, dump the pills, and stick it to the control freaks and doctors. They don’t understand, we say. They just don’t get it. They’ll never be artists.” ― David Lovelace, Scattershot: My Bipolar Family

“Absurdity and anti—absurdity are the two poles of creative energy.” ― Karl Lagerfeld

“Except you cannot outrun insanity, anymore than you can outrun your own shadow.” ― Alyssa Reyans, Letters from a Bipolar Mother

Ever Love More Than Some of Me

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Ever Love More Than Some of Me
Poster Created by Jennifer Kiley
Abstract Digital Art by j. kiley
Post Created June 1st 2013
Posted June 2nd 2013

Philip Glass-Movement II

QUOTATIONS on PETER PAN:

“There was no twinkle in his eyes.
“Maybe I just love some of you. Maybe not enough.”
Tiger Lily blinked at him, and she didn’t understand how anyone could only love a part. Her greedy heart didn’t work that way.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

“To not do what you can to protect someone, that’s cowardly.” ― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

“An unspoken rivalry threaded their relationship, in which Tiger Lily thought that if she could keep up with him, she could hold tighter to him. It didn’t occur to her there was anything in which Peter would want her to fail. But sometimes, I could see that, even for him, she was too fast, too sure-footed, and didn’t seem to need him quite enough.” ― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

“It was like this sometimes, and I felt I should look away, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be there, having my face touched, defeating a heart like Peter’s, but the next best thing was seeing it for Tiger Lily.” ― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

“I began to see that Wendy had something Tiger Lily hadn’t even known she was supposed to have. Of all the things Tiger Lily had thought she might have to be for Peter-strong, brave; to be big and to keep up-she had never thought that the one thing he wanted most from her was simply to show that she believed in him, always and without fail.” ― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

Whimsical Serendipity

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Whimsical Serendipity
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
Videos Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created May 31st & June 1st 2013
Posted June 1st 2013
Dedicated To Shawn: EARLY BIRTHDAY PRESENT—HAPPY BIRTHDAY on JUNE 3rd

carter the lion—HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY MOM SHAWN—JUNE 3rd

Carterlion

4p if the goddess were an irridescent kittie

(1) purple flowers with clourful butterfly beautiful

time to wake up says “kitty”

4p live with intention poster by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

4 poster fog-clouds-houses-trees-landscape

All In The Geese Family (June 1st 2013)

QUOTATIONS on WHIMSICAL & SERENDIPITY

“As I look out at all of you gathered here, I want to say that I don’t see a room full of Parisians in top hats and diamonds and silk dresses. I don’t see bankers and housewives and store clerks. No. I address you all tonight as you truly are: wizards, mermaids, travelers, adventurers, and magicians. You are the true dreamers.” ― Brian Selznick, The Invention of Hugo Cabret

“Flowers lead to books, which lead to thinking and not thinking and then more flowers and music, music. Then many more flowers and many more books.” ― Maira Kalman

“These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination.” ― Rabindranath Tagore

“Do you know a better time than the present for igniting your dreams?” ― Carolyn Tody, Author and Artist, A Whimsical Holiday for Children

“Vital lives are about action. You can’t feel warmth unless you create it, can’t feel delight until you play,can’t know serendipity unless you risk.” ― Joan Erickson

“Sometimes serendipity is just intention unmasked.” ― Elizabeth Berg, The Year of Pleasures

“But in Friendship, being free of all that, we think we have chosen our peers. In reality, a few years’ difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another, posting to different regiments, the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting—any of these chances might have kept us apart… — C.S. Lewis

“In the abstract, it might be tempting to imagine that irreducible complexity simply requires multiple simultaneous mutations – that evolution might be far chancier than we thought, but still possible. Such an appeal to brute luck can never be refuted… Luck is metaphysical speculation; scientific explanations invoke causes.” ― Michael J. Behe, Darwin’s Black Box: The Biochemical Challenge to Evolution

“It’s a bizarre but wonderful feeling, to arrive dead center of a target you didn’t even know you were aiming for.” ― Lois McMaster Bujold

Adorable Baby Elephant :-)

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Adorable Baby Elephant
Video on YouTube
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Created May 30th 2013
Posted June 1st 2013I watched this video with the sleepy baby elephant. People watching her and encouraging her to get up. To wake up. She looks so adorable. The people making the video, I assume, are the ones making the sounds and talking to the precious little creature. She struggled and struggled but was having a difficult time of it. I won’t spoil any more of the video for you. I would, however, ask that you pay very close attention to the language and attitude of the those who are watching this baby elephant being so adorable. You feel yourself being drawn in. How could you not be. So watch the video. Following the watching of the video I have continued my comment. Please wait to read after you have viewed the entire video. Thank You. By Jennifer Kiley

Adorable Baby Elephant Now that you have viewed the video, think further about how it made you feel. One point I will make right away. I did not know, as you did not know that there was a mother elephant just a short distance away. The people making the video were so enjoying the baby elephant struggling to get up and that she was sleepy, so she was struggling with this dilemma, probably wondering through her sleepiness: “Why isn’t my Mom coming to help me? She can see I am having trouble. Please Mom, won’t you please come and help me. All these people are saying strange things to me. They don’t understand that I am having a difficult time and just want my mother. Why aren’t you helping me.”

Well, when the camera finally scans over to the mother, these pleas are answered for you. The mother is chained by the ankle and being kept in a stationary place where she is totally unable to come to aid of her daughter. She can’t answer her frustration and panic that might be setting in. The Mother also sees these humans talking near her child. She doesn’t understand whether they are safe or not. Her child keeps struggling and all she can do is to watch helplessly. No attendant is anywhere near by to lend assistance.

I have become quite angry long before this point. The cuteness has turned into unbelievability that the Mother elephant is chained up. Not only chained up but is unable to reach her child. The cruelty just keeps growing in my mind. This is not such an adorable video afterall. The title says: “Adorable Baby Elephant ” It is closed with a smiley face. There is nothing to smile at here. Whoever stood there and took this video and did nothing about the horror they were watching is truly amazing and heartless. Why weren’t they looking for help for both the baby and the mother who were separated and in distress.

Now some may feel I am over-reacting but I think I am under-reacting. It took me a short while after watching this video to react in the way that I have. Which is placing this video on my blog post and writing up my feelings and reactions. I hope others who see this will take this video and do the same on your own blogs or on Facebook or whatever social media that you use and spread this word. It is not acceptable to treat animals in this way. You do not chain up any elephant. You do not chain up a Mother elephant far enough away from her baby so she can do nothing to protect her. Elephants are quite maternal and protective of their babies. But that is not the specific point.

The point is we as humans do not have the right to treat animals in this way for the amusement of sadistic human beings who take pleasure in the watching of a Mother Elephant being tortured by keeping her struggling baby from her. And the people did nothing but enjoy themselves fully aware, which the viewer of the video was not aware, that there was a Mother Elephant so near but chained, but not near enough to help her baby out. Why were these people not trying to find someone to correct this horrible situation. Keep in mind also that the surface these two elephants are on is concrete. Not exactly natural to any animals.

This is a disturbing video when you know all the facts and have seen the entire footage. Yes, it has an ending that helped the baby but it never should have gone that far. Those elephants need to be placed in an environment where this can never happen to them again. By Jennifer Kiley.

tunner of truth water trees and nature © jennifer kiley 2013 1124x803

tunner of truth water trees and nature © jennifer kiley 2013//TO GET THE FULL EFFECT OF THIS PHOTOGRAPH/POSTER CLICK ON PHOTO AND GO TO FULL SCREEN ON YOUR BROWER’S TOOLBAR UNDER VIEW

Complete Version of Camille Saint-Saens’—”Le carnaval des animaux” (Dutoit) N0. 1-7

QUOTATIONS on ANIMAL RIGHTS:

“We must fight against the spirit of unconscious cruelty with which we treat the animals. Animals suffer as much as we do. True humanity does not allow us to impose such sufferings on them. It is our duty to make the whole world recognize it. Until we extend our circle of compassion to all living things, humanity will not find peace.” ― Albert Schweitzer

“I am in favor of animal rights as well as human rights. That is the way of a whole human being.” ― Abraham Lincoln

“The assumption that animals are without rights, and the illusion that our treatment of them has no moral significance, is a positively outrageous example of Western crudity and barbarity. Universal compassion in the only guarantee of morality.” ― Arthur Schopenhauer, The Basis of Morality

“The question is not, “Can they reason?” nor, “Can they talk?” but “Can they suffer?” ― Jeremy Bentham

“We need, in a special way, to work twice as hard to help people understand that the animals are fellow creatures, that we must protect them and love them as we love ourselves.” ― César Chávez

“Kindness and compassion towards all living things is a mark of a civilized society. Conversely, cruelty, whether it is directed against human beings or against animals, is not the exclusive province of any one culture or community of people. ” ― César Chávez

“Know that the same spark of life that is within you, is within all of our animal friends, the desire to live is the same within all of us…” ― Rai Aren, Secret of the Sands

Honest and True

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Honest and True
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Created May 29th 2013
Posted May 30th 2013

Mysterium Angel poster created by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013 874x618

honest and true by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Massenet “Meditation” from Thais, Yo-Yo Ma

QUOTATIONS on HONESTY:

“Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find your treasure.” ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

“To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart.” ― Charles Dickens

“Freethinkers are those who are willing to use their minds without prejudice and without fearing to understand things that clash with their own customs, privileges, or beliefs. This state of mind is not common, but it is essential for right thinking…” ― Leo Tolstoy

“Friends are honest with each other. Even if the truth hurts. -Maggie” ― Sarah Dessen, Along for the Ride

“I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?” ― Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

“Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken.” ― Jane Austen, Emma

“Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“The human body is the best work of art.” ― Jess C. Scott

“Let’s tell the truth to people. When people ask, ‘How are you?’ have the nerve sometimes to answer truthfully. You must know, however, that people will start avoiding you because, they, too, have knees that pain them and heads that hurt and they don’t want to know about yours. But think of it this way: If people avoid you, you will have more time to meditate and do fine research on a cure for whatever truly afflicts you.” ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

“This life is yours. Take the power to choose what you want to do and do it well. Take the power to love what you want in life and love it honestly. Take the power to walk in the forest and be a part of nature. Take the power to control your own life. No one else can do it for you. Take the power to make your life happy.” ― Susan Polis Schutz

“To believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

“Honesty is the first chapter of the book wisdom.” ― Thomas Jefferson

“We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

“Truth never damages a cause that is just.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

“Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.” ― Franz Kafka

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