Monday, June 30, 2014

Because . . .

Because you are lost
I am forced to find you.

Because you are of the essence
I let you slip away.

Because you are relentless
I will never get back of you what is gone.

Because you exist
I carry your burden
with no end in sight.

Because I can feel you
I know you are always there.

Because the sun cast your shadows
you have left me wanting more.

Because you are infinite
I can feel your eternity.

Because you can't be stopped
you must be kept.

You are endless,
you are unforgiving,
because you are
time.







Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 
He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 
Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 
of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.



Thursday, June 26, 2014

No Regrets . . .

I have this motto, this aspiration really, to move forward each day with no regrets.

This applies to things as small buying the silly item that caught my eye to the big things like saying "I love you" even when it's scary, overdue or the opposite thing your temper really wants to spit out.

Sometimes I'll hesitate, allow myself to sit with whatever it is for a minute or day or two and then straighten my posture and go for it...whatever "it" may be.   Occasionally it's easy, most times it takes some real zest to leap into it.

For example, when I first started free diving with Bobby everything in the tropical waters were new to me. My long list of "firsts" included my first time swimming several football fields out into the turquoise ocean. The first time my lungs took me diving 20+ feet below the surface. My first time seeing a nurse shark and my first time swimming with a sea turtle.  All of these sound super cool, right?  Yeah, well let's flip the coin to the other side, like when I was having a full blown panic attack as the jellyfish were so plentiful there was no way to avoid them. None. They were everywhere, only inches apart from each other for as long as my eyes could see.  Insert "Motto No Regrets" here please.

Let me walk you through what this really looked like...

I'm chest deep, still able to stand and I'm frozen with panic.  My breathing is quick, really quick, and the color in my cheeks is gone.  Bobby is coaching me along, he's really great like that.  My fins are on.  My mask is on and fogging up because I'm hyperventilating which also means my mouthpiece couldn't possibly be in my mouth, again, because I'm hyperventilating.  I'm surrounded by these fat, light pink and lilac colored jelly fish.  They are everywhere and they are huge.  I'm being stung.  My mind is whizzing in a million directions.  I can see how close I am to the shoreline but I can't allow myself to move through this mess and mass of jellyfish.  Then it dawns on me. Bobby isn't wearing a rash guard.  He's in the same mess I'm in.  I'm certain he's being stung to bits too, however, he's fine.  How is he fine?  He still wants to swim out and dive?  I tell myself he's clearly insane.  At this point  I'm just staring at him.  And then it happened....my "stop being a pussy, Tara" pep talk.  If he can do it, I can do it too.

And so I did.



Now, don't get me wrong.  I was stung more times than I care to say that day and spent more time diving below to the ocean floor than usual to avoid those slimy suckers.  However, I also completed our dive and made it back to the beach knowing that I was proud of myself for doing it because now I know.  Rather than wondering if I could have or what would have been....I knew.   And frankly, it was worth it because when there are jellyfish there are sea turtles.  

Now, let's get back to the "living with no regrets" part of this.   I can't say I live with "no" regrets.  Truth is, I have more regrets than my heart can hold.  I regret not having more confidence and self respect as a teenager.   I regret missing too many of my brother's football games when they were young. I regret the times I ignored my gut instinct.  I regret any holiday I didn't spend with my family while it was whole.  I regret not giving my dad a hug when he needed it most in his life and I regret not taking my mum in my arms and telling her it's all ok, all of it, and that I loved her before she left us.

So, you see, those regrets are so heavy I can't allow for many more.  My regret cup is full, so full it's spilling over. Now, out of necessity (and experience) I coach myself on choosing the "no regret" route as often as possible.

That means I tend to swan dive into things.  Some awesome things.  Some less than awesome things.  But all "no regret" things.


Insider tip:  The route marked "no regrets" has amazing sights to be seen.  Five star rating.  I promise it's worth it if you decide to leap.












Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Curator for Bohemian LivingOwner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 
and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  
She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:
a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 
deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Ladybugs - Part I

Ladybugs. Most people don't put too much thought into ladybugs except when they see one; up close and personal. It is then that a person gets to see the details: With their red backs and black dots - even having one land on you is supposed to be good luck. 
I fucking hate ladybugs. Ladybugs can take me from 0 - 100 - and just like that I'm brought back to my world as a 16 year old when everything was beautiful and I had not a care in the world. I even thought my life was beautiful; getting good grades, cheerleading in high school and coaching pop warner. I was on the high school swim team and played freshman softball. As adults would always say to me: you have so much promise

Except I had no such thing. It was taken from me. It was stolen right out from underneath me. It was Halloween and I was 16. The possibilities as a high school kid were endless. This particular year, Halloween fell on a Friday. One of the coaches for my Pop Warner team was having a costume party and asked me if I wanted to go. "Of course! Hell yes I wanted to go." I knew there would be alcohol and mostly everyone was going to be way older than me. But I didn't care. I had always gotten along so much easier with older people. Of course, I wasn't worried about any of that crap. My biggest concern was what costume I would wear and it wasn't until a few days later while doing our Saturday shopping ritual, that I saw it. The 'not too sexy but showed enough skin to make me feel sexy' ladybug costume was a one piece with the spots, bug headband and everything. The costume itself was on the short side, so I threw on shorts and called it good. The party was so fun - nothing but laughs and smiles. Even though I was underage, I had a few wine cooler type drinks but didn't go crazy. At the end of the night I was tired (and lazy) so I decided to crash on N's couch for the night. The party wrapped up and just like that everyone had left. She left her dog at her fathers house; so before bed went over to check on him. Not that I minded because I was already half asleep on the couch anyways. Details are so trivial sometimes. I won't describe how my heart dropped to the floor when he walked into the living room; startling me. I won't describe the helplessness I felt, the weakness under his weight. I won't mention that I had my virginity stolen from me by a monster that was "friends" with a women whom I had known for years. Only a monster with no soul could do what he did. Only a monster could finish taking the innocence of a 16 year old and stroll out like it was no big deal. I remember I sat stunned; frozen. I knew I needed to get out of there. I knew I needed to just get outside and feel the chilled October air on my face. I needed an escape; I needed to escape that place, those feelings, those thoughts, and all the racing images that started to flood my mind. I wish I could say I eventually recovered from such a tragedy. I wish I could tell you that I told someone and got the counseling that was necessary. I wish I could tell you that I learned skills to deal with everything that results from a sexual assault. But the only thing I can tell you with any honesty is that to this day almost 15 years later...I still fucking hate ladybugs.



Anonymous


Saturday, June 21, 2014

Live Like Forest . . .


By now you’ve probably seen Forrest Gump, right? Alright, if we were born in the same or one generation away, you have.  Forrest was the simple man with a low I.Q., the “idiot of the town,” the “stupid man.” He didn’t want to game the system. He didn’t want to be smarter or better than anyone else. He was too ignorant to realize the significance of his actions.  


Though some would say Forrest was not the brightest star, I would describe Forrest as a truly enlightened spirit. He loved unconditionally. He had no fears, no inhibitions, and no doubts. He didn't think about consequences or goals or ideals. He just did everything that was presented to him. He didn't think. He just did. When the Drill Sergeant asked Forrest what his sole purpose in the Army was, Forrest answered, “To do whatever you tell me, Drill Sergeant!”  Drill Sergeant responded, “You're a Goddamn genius. That's the most outstanding answer I've ever heard. You must have a goddamn I.Q. of a hundred and sixty. You are goddamn gifted, Private Gump!” Forrest Gump was here to serve, love, and follow his own destiny. Forrest would go with the flow of life. 

So like Forrest, if you feel like running, run. If you feel like playing ping pong, play ping pong. If you feel like screaming, scream. If you feel like crying, cry. If you feel like dancing, dance. If you feel like singing, sing. If you feel like loving, love. Be everything you feel like being and you too will find life like a “box of chocolates.” You’ll never know what you’ll get in each bite, but surely you will savor the goodness and the sweetness and the bitterness of every bite. When you finish eating the whole box, you’ll know that you have no regrets because you’ll know that you tried them all and now you’ll know which ones were tasty and which ones were not. 

Although Forrest is a fictional character, we could take a few lessons from the way that he lived. It was because of his light hearted and simple minded spirit that he accomplished so much. His intention was always for good.  If we simulate his fictitious character’s ways to our “real” life, and go through life without thinking so much, or worrying so much, or adding fear, doubts and inhibitions into the big stew of life, we’ll find that on the contrary, everything is possible.  

 “Forrest Gump” is the story of a being that rose above the challenges, and that proved that determination, courage, and love are more important than ability. Let’s all practice being a little bit more like Forrest and just DO instead of thinking! 

And… that is all I have to say about that! 





Nulise Santana


Raised in a religious household, Nulise always had the notion that something greater than her existed. 
Left with unanswered questions, she sought her own truth. Sometimes she found meaning 
in music and sometimes in her psychology and philosophy courses, but it wasn’t until she discovered 
meditation and yoga that she began to make a journey of self discovery. She felt a sense of bliss 
after every yoga class, and understood there was something profound with this practice, 
which led her to seek more. 

Though a true believer in the power of the self, in 2012 she left behind the corporate world to pursue 
her true purpose - to help and to heal others through the power of yoga. She took this intention to India where she completely immersed herself in the study of yoga. The beauty and intensity of living and practicing 
in the Ashram impassioned Nulise to teach traditional yoga fundamentals, with the goal 
of inspiring her students to find their own truth, as she did. 

In her teachings, she incorporates music, chants, meditation, intention and prayer 
to heal and empower the spirit. Nulise thrives to create an inner journey for her students 
through a wholesome practice, which is conveyed with sincere love and compassion. 

Nulise is a certified Hatha Yoga Teacher, Kids yoga and prenatal yoga.
Nulise.com



Thursday, June 19, 2014

When Do I Quit


I don’t want to play this game anymore.
When can I quit?

Are 37 years long enough?

How many times do I have to witness you pill yourself into a stupor yet again,
and again, and again, and again?

How many car accidents?

How many completely incoherent emails,
sent out of the blue, surprising me and sullying an otherwise nice day;
so that I’ve had to filter you out of my Inbox completely.

How many trips to the hospital; to rehab?

How many ruined family events, holidays, parties, gatherings must we all endure?

How many lost jobs? And your bosses contacting me.

How many phone calls must I dodge or screen,
because I never know if you’ll be sober or high?
Except when you call late at night – then I know for sure.

And I can tell within one breath. Despite what you want to believe.

How much of you interjecting your shit into everyone else's lives,
when they least need or want or can stand it;
when they have begged you not to.

When is enough, enough, of you breaking promises,
and then trying to win us back, smooth things over, with gifts or assurances?

How many more people will you suck into this...

Roller coaster.

Guilt.

Secrets.

Cycle.

Are 37 years long enough?

How much embarrassment can I bear to even be connected to you at all anymore,
because you are….my mother.

How much?

When?

Is it when my brother disowned you,
and told me he doesn’t regret it for one second?

Is it when my father finally decided to divorce you after 43 years of marriage;
probably the scariest thing he could ever do,
because he worries how you’ll survive without him,
because he doesn’t know how to be alone.

Is it when you started insulting, attacking me and my husband?
Throwing around incredibly asinine accusations?

Or is it when I contemplate what I’d say in your eulogy –
that I’d tell everyone it’s okay to feel relieved!!

Because I have thought about that, you know.

A lot.

What. the. fuck.

At what point are the good times no longer worth the bad?

You are always there;
hanging over me like the shoe that just won’t drop.

You will never stop.
You have told me you don’t want to.
You are out of control,
yet apparently indestructible.

I didn’t choose to have you in my life;
so how much (more) do I owe you because we are blood?
Inextricably linked.

Don't you know that I am not, and cannot not be, your therapist?

Taking sides.

Please stop telling me that I am your only reason to live…

Unfair.

Pressure.

Up and Down.

Jekyll and Hyde?

Cycle.

When does all this bad finally outweigh the good,
which really is in there, intermittently?

Will I ever not feel awkward when someone asks "how's your mom?"

Hiding.  Covering up.

I don’t want this stress.
I don’t need this drama.

Trauma.

I am afraid to tell you where I work - you might show up again.
I had to take away your key to my house.
I could never let you babysit my children, were I to have any.
But I won't.

You are not a small reason.

What qualifies as the last straw?

Am I old enough and wise enough and mature enough now,
that I can make the decision to walk away?

Don’t I have to-- can’t I --
put my SELF, my needs, my wants,
first now?

Minus the guilt?

On a flat ground;
no roller coasters looming in the distance?

I think you are toxic to my sanity, to my comfort.

I don't trust.
You.
Because of you.

I can't play this game anymore.
When do I quit?

Are 37 years long enough?

They must be.

Are they?

Guilt.






Robin Donoghue

The sly and trusty Robinator is a square peg – 
not fitting easily into any single category, living not just inside and outside of the box, 
but all mixed up in a pile of them. She’s a walking contradiction  (in the good way) – 
having a wide, diverse range of interests, not being defined by any one thing, 
and willing to try pretty much anything at least once. 

Born and raised in Somerville, this lifelong athlete, foodie who almost always ends up with 
pasta sauce on her (especially when it’s white) shirt, mother of two cats, free-spirited hippie at heart whose socks never match, is socially awkward, yet a flirt, too.  She enjoys photography, traveling, generally being creative, and practically requires having pockets.  When she grows up, she wants to get an RV and be a nomad with her dear husband, or live on a self-sustaining 
intentional community with all the best people she knows and loves.


Wednesday, June 18, 2014

L . O . V . E .

1962. The "live free" times at Coney Island, New York. 

My dad and his brothers thought it would be cool to go buy some unregulated Indian Ink, steal their mom's sewing supplies and rig up a device to tattoo their themselves. 

Knowing their mom would be upset with this idea they thought, collectively, "if they permanently scarred themselves in ink, it should at least be something within reason". So, the word "L.O.V.E" was inscribed on their knuckles. The "L" starting on their pinky, the "O" on their ring fingers and so on and so forth.  A silly idea seeing my dad was only 12 years old at that time, but it was a bond that these brothers shared not knowing how it would be such a monumental time in the lives of their kin decades later.

Fast forward to the last day of the year 2005.  My two brothers, Shawn, Brian and I were drunkenly sitting around a table mourning the death of our grandfather who had just been taken off life support earlier that day. 

Multiple shots of whatever throat burning, vomit inducing libation was available in my house were consumed that evening, some great stories of our lives shared, (ones we knew, ones we didn’t) and even some revelations of some of the shameful shit we did to each other growing up.  It was a day I will never forget. 

It was at this time one of us had the idea. Since we were all together, which was a feat that could only come to fruition because of the untimely death in our family. (We all lived almost exactly 1500 miles apart from each other. One of us was North East, one was South East and the other was Mid West).  We thought that it would be honorable to get the same tattoo that our father got with his brothers 43 years earlier.


The next morning, hung over and with almost no sleep, we shuffled our way into a tattoo parlor to forever mark ourselves with the same "LOVE" tattoo our father and his brothers shared. 

Unknowingly this moment in time  would be one of the last all three of us would be together, ALIVE.

January 2012, as my family and I stare down at the almost lifeless body of my brother, Shawn, I see multiple hands and the word "LOVE" scattered everywhere. One tattooed hand was on his head, another holding Shawn's tattooed hand, another lay on his chest and mine wiping away the tears from my mothers face. It dawned on me that a moment like this should be forever immortalized in a photo. I summoned my father and brother to bring their hands together as well as the dying hand of Shawn and place them on his chest together with mine. 


It was the last time I touched my brother.  It was only a few hours later, while I was on a plane heading back home that my brother, Shawn Eric Agger, passed.  He is forever missed.



Footnote:



This may sound crazy and believe if you may, just minutes after completing this submission for Storytellers: The Collective, I walked outside to play with my two boys. No sooner had I stepped into the sun this butterfly landed on my arm. Startled for a second, the first thing I could think of was to grab my phone for a picture. I moved a little too quickly and he flew off, circled around me and landed right back in the same spot.  This time allowing me to capture a picture of him. Then he spread his wings once or twice while I was photographing before flying away. 

Doing what most of us love to do I immediately posted it on Facebook. After a couple of “likes” and "oohs & ahhs" a friend posted something I was not aware of. She believes butterflies come to us from those we love who are no longer here. She had no clue I had just completed a story about my brother just minutes before. Shawn must have sat with me as I wrote about our last moments together.









Russell Reich

Russell survived the battle of the demons inflicted by the streets of Somerville, Massachusetts. 
He skipped town with his girlfriend, landed in the Midwest and became a father of two boys.

He has always had a knack for things that inspire. 
Mainly music, but anything that took him away from the bad memories or the hustle & bustle 
of work/home life could evoke him to create just about anything he had the time for.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Shadow Waters . . .

nine woods in the cauldron feeding my desires
go tell my friends that i am on fire
they can go get their pliers and take the fillings from my teeth
see what they get out on the street
maybe a fix or something to eat
some shuffle the cards some shuffle their feet
while i row to the other side
across the shadows reservoir
we can look backwards and forwards
and not know where we are
there on the shore
tribes sing of fire and star
their tongues weave the lyric
their hands play guitar
beasts in the jungle
savage and raw
born of my sins they scratch and they claw
their way to the surface
for what ever their purpose
to overwhelm soft reality
kill us or curse us
still, I'm out on the lake
near catatonic
sky full of nightmares
water of onyx
mountains fall from the sky
the kingdom, it dies
children smoke the ashes and become all the more wise
in the name of the father we humbly pray
sky clad and injured
awaiting the day
monsters gnaw on the bones
in the shadows unknown
black mountain woman
she moans and she groans
on the day of the dove
the eagle has flown
i once was a child now i am stone
with compass and word
i search for the power
the elders watch on
from high in the tower
as i sail across the ocean
I'm paying the toll
i sacrifice everything
to rescue my soul

"DEATH ISN'T AN END IT'S A GOAL" CARL JUNG




Mike O'Rourke

Born 1/3/78 in Boston, MA.  Originally from Charlestown, MA., 
Mike lived most of his life in the neighboring city of Somerville (affectionately referred to as "Slumerville").

Mike is an artist - illustrator, writer, musician, philosopher, free thinker.

"I feel that art is not a skill or sharpened technique as much as it is just a part of nature.  
Like gravity, electricity, light, wind, fire, water.  Art is a form of energy.  It's an element.  
It's an extension of the creative consciousness of the Universe that constantly expands and runs through all matter.  Some connect easily with the energy, others are not even aware of it.  Whether you are a chef, tradesman, hairdresser, stay at home parent, farmer, engineer, etc., the creative force is working through you on all levels. 
There is no separation of man and nature.  We think, we create."  — Mike O'Rourke


Monday, June 16, 2014

My "SUN" . . .

I recall looking down at your face wondering....What will become of this tiny creation?
Will my words reach you, and help you to become everything you were meant to be?

I recall looking into your eyes wondering....How will you view the world,and see your future?
Will you be able to see all of the beauty & hope through the uncertainties and madness?

I recall looking at your perfect mouth wondering....Do you have a voice that carries for all to hear?
Will the songs that trip off your tongue command and demand the attention that they deserve?

I recall looking at your tiny hands and fingers wondering...Will you be able to reach for all your heart desires?
Will you be able to grab hold of all of your hopes and dreams and make them your reality?

I recall looking down at your impossibly small feet wondering...Will they lead you where you need to go?
Will they carry you to greatness & help you to stand your ground under any circumstance?

I now look up at your face, and into your eyes filled with wisdom beyond your years confident that you will take this world in the palm of your hands and possess it. Your wingspan will take you further then I had ever hoped, and your voice will resinate for all that will listen. Your journey into manhood has just begun, but your greatness to mankind can already be felt.

The earth revolves around you "Sun", and you "Sun" revolve around the earth.








Heidi Donovan

An old soul who speaks the truth, personifies loyalty and can induce the kind of laughter that heals you.

In addition to all that (and unbeknownst to many), Heidi is also an incredibly talented wordsmith and photographer.  
Allowing only the luckiest and most trusted into her world of woven words and captured moments.

For years she's been steadfast in her "thank you but no thank you" response to requests to share her work.  
Until….The day she said "Yes" to being a storyteller here.

I don't have words to express how happy, excited and overwhelmed with pride I am 
to introduce you to one of my favorite writers (and one of my best friends) of all time.

(Bio written by the President of her fan club, Tara Mazzeo Jackson)

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Push & Pull . . .

You came out of nowhere

and everywhere
all at once.

It happened before,
and it's exactly 
what happened
again.

One day
you dropped back 
into my life, 
unexpectedly...

and
like magic
you were all i could think of.

Last time you weren't ready.

You pushed
and pushed
until away 
was my only 
option.

Now, it's different
you are pulling
and pulling
and everything 
in my being
wants to be swept 
closer to you
until there is
nothing
not even air
between us.

But life has been lived
and choices made...

where allowing myself
to be pulled
into you
isn't as easy
as it would have been
before.

I don't know how it will work
or when...

I just know that it will.

If your heart
and my head
will let it.

If we can both
believe,
patiently.

All the days of
"away"
will be 
nothing but
faded memory.


Penelope Jones

Penelope is a free-spirited, tell it like it is poet and storyteller.
  
Much of her work is done by free-writing, which is the "spill it out and don't look back" approach.  
It's honest, pure, sometimes rough and always raw.  She, like so many of us,  has seen tragedy and felt triumph, 
all of which echoes through her words beautifully.  

She is a light, a true beacon and an excellent traveling companion for those who like to trek unbeaten paths.  
She believes in adventure, in packing light, that cussing is therapeutic and that love is always worth it.



Saturday, June 14, 2014

The Girl In The Picture . . .


At my soul sister’s apartment there is a small round frame. It’s beige and shows a young woman who I thought I never met. She’s sitting in a folding chair at what looked like a BBQ. She was definitely at a party but was the only one in the photo. The sunny sky seemed to match perfectly with her disposition. Closer look revealed she resembled me. 

She had long brown curly hair that fell along her bronze shoulders. Her mouth was turned up into a bright smile that radiated out of the photo. Her skin flawless and sun kissed, her teeth blindingly white and her body healthy and vibrant. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes light.



She embodied happiness and youth and silliness. Her arms up in the air doing something only the people surrounding her know the meaning of. Her thick eyebrows arched perfectly from laughter.

I noticed the toned legs of this girl I had never seen before and I saw her little butterfly tattoo. My little butterfly tattoo. 

That had been me, ten years prior. I didn’t even recognize myself because I had always seen myself as less. Less pretty. Less stylish. Less happy. Less young.  

That me had no idea how beautiful she really was.

This me does.





Melissa Sue Vieira


Melissa wears many hats.  
Some are super colorful and some are dark, just like her stories.  

She is a mother, friend, writer, survivor, warrior, yogi, listener, talker 
and a lover of all things art.


Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Holder of My Heart . . .

What is it like, holding my heart in your hands?

Does it feel heavy under the weight of my longing?

Can you feel the beat that is skipped when you cross my mind?

Do you see the depth in the fault lines of my tragedies?

Have you let your fingers trace over the scar tissue that protects what's broken?

Does my heart become cold when I am filled with resentment?

Or burn hot to the touch in moments of desire?

Can you hear the soft sounds of weeping when I ache?

And feel the flutter of laughter when I feel free?

You see, I can't help but to wonder what it's like to be the holder of my heart.

I hope, over time, it's not too much of a burden.

That you don't grow tired and bored and weary.

I know I can often be too much me.





Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Curator for Bohemian LivingOwner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 
and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  
She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:
a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 
deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.