Category: Self esteem

Good Friday Bad Day

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

With waxing gibbious full moon nearing, I realized the influence it actually has on all of us. In spades. Today drove me crazy. Being the type that yearns to figure things out and somewhat of an introspective spiritual sort (perhaps some might say a lunatic at times) I found myself in a tailspin by the end of this day feeling dizzy as a Dirvish. All of the day’s challenges, although somewhat benign compared to many others out there, I was brought to my knees in frustration with a sprinkle of sorrow. Everything I attempted backfired with hiccup after hiccup. Nothing (and I mean no thing at all) went smoothly. It became overwhelming and at times darkly humorous. Had to laugh when I couldn’t even eat a piece of toast because the knife slipped from my hand, fell to the floor splattering an apricot jam butter blend everywhere then slid under the heel of my slipper shoving goop onto the underside of my foot. Wtf. Srsly. What. The. F&$k. Finally, I had a private meltdown of sorts. This finale to the whole succession of failures over 14 hours during the course of the day from 5am until 7pm, this last obstacle to just having a decent day buried me. I sat down with a thud on the sticky floor and just started bawling. So stupid, I thought. Everyone has a tough day sometimes. Pull up your big girl panties and snap out of it. It’s just a piece of toasted sourdough bread. Sigh. Get the f%$k up. So, brushing off the sticky crumbs from the sole of my foot, I realized it was ultimately worthy of some serious soul searching, so to speak. It was either that or blow a gasket and we all know that’s neither fun nor pretty.

I had to dig deep in my mental toolbox this time to tend to some seriously smoldering-to-the-surface old wounds. The kind you ruminate on, that wake you up on the middle of the night. The oh no, missy, you’re not going back to sleep. Sorrrrry. So what, it’s 3am, you might as well brew some coffee and brew your boggled brain a bit more, kind. The pop-into-your-head-any-
moment wounds; the memory of them anyway. The kind that cut. Deeply. The get-out-of-my-head thoughts that if you’re not careful will consume you. So…..let’s flip the switch, I said. Find a healthy cathartic distraction. In doing so, I indeed found a few that helped: solitary meditation, prayer, music, cutting flowers for Easter, crying and the turning to the oracles. Oh, and deep box breathing. Lots of deeeeeeeeep breathing while looking at the moon rising in the darkening canyon.

I love the moon. It proves even in darkness we can have faith that light will prevail. That life has its cycles. Call me a lunatic. A few of you may already. Whatever. At times we all are. We are all human. That’s okay. Some people may make fun of or avoid others they believe to be lunatics. That’s okay, too. Personally, I believe many who have been considered lunatics throughout the ages ended up having a deeper understanding of and/or creative perspective on life. Actually referring to the etymology of the word, lunatic is Middle English: from Old French lunatique, from late Latin lunaticus, from Latin luna ‘moon’ (from the belief that changes of the moon caused intermittent insanity). So, maybe being a lunatic occasionally isn’t all that bad. Some may mind if others go a little bonkers from time to time. However, to keep my sanity I had to, just HAD to, think: some good may come out of all of it. My addage is: those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind (nod to Dr. Seuss). I’m simply sharing and stating the facts about how I got through this particularly rough day with tools at hand. Maybe it will help someone else someday. So, go ahead and call me a lunatic. Anyway, I digress. The moon and getting through the madness.

This evening’s twilight on verge of impending full moon proved obvious impetus for a drawing from my moon oracle deck. Interesting draw. [see pic]. The two drawn -‘reveal what needs to be seen’ and ‘find a balance’- loosely said: speak your mind but watch your tongue and tone. Find the right space and time. Fitting. Also drew from my Angel deck-Trust. There’s a suprise. Ha! Anyway, bottom line what was revealed to me is: be more patient with and trust in yourself, your process, your life and speak your mind with truth, decorum and faith.
As for the dice, I use them as numerology to bump up feedback via signals and signs trusting the luck of the draw, so to speak. I threw twice. First, a seven then a three.
Seven is a number of completion; initial flip of the bones indicated closure to something was on the horizon. Then, tossing a three is representative of the birth-life-death cycle, the mind-body-soul connection, the three acts of a typical story-beginning/middle/end. Wherever the number three shows up in your life, it’s also generally an omen of creativity, communication, optimism, and curiosity. The combo essentially meant: stay the course despite obstacles; there will be a transformative period but in the end the experience will likely prove impetus for knowledge and growth. The reading gave me solace and calmed me down. With that,
I crawled into bed, pulled the quilt up close and my kitties closer and tried to let go of the shitshow that was this day. Putting it behind me and looking forward to tomorrow and surrending to the process of life’s cycle, I was able to finally settle down and exhale. Afterall, like the moon, even in the darkness I can have faith I will rise again and see the light. Blessed be.

Fully a Woman

“…edges once ruffled up by life…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments

The thick cool winter is deep, slow and steady

and like it,

she is becoming the woman 

she’s always desired.

Weathering inner

storms that once resembled tornado alleys

delighted now by new touch

feathery and softening

edges once ruffled up by life 

gently easing and into a smoothed out version

by laughter that’s known bitter

but simply got better.

Content with Rapunzel hair

greying at the temples,

with no longer need for towers,

enjoying an acquired taste for her body’s new softness in places where once firm enough to bounce any quarter 

quickly flipping

her embodiment of woman 

thriving now beyond survival

Embracing the embroidery of scars running across finely freckled sunkissed skin

as merely tattoos, 

only with better stories

of a deeper meaning

worn gently badges in testimony

to being well worn but alive

She is becoming a woman who

knows she’s a warrior 

not a worrier

fully pledged standing in allegiance in fact,

that whatever comes,

she will endure.

She is becoming a deep worn

weathered basket

handled well, willing to carry anything with grace and gratitude despite how heavy

She is becoming the woman she’s longed for;

the comforting lover 

strong and tender,

unyielding and unconditional 

The grown up daughter

who still blushes at surprises

that tumble from her own lips on occasion but stands by what was said with conviction despite minor tettering on occasion

She, becoming illuminated, brighter with each full moon

and sunrise with each cycle of the days knowing that every moment has at the very least an inkling of light despite darkness

She is becoming,

this woman she’s wanted,  yearned for,

who knows she’ll continue growing

who knows she’s more than sufficient

who knows she’s precious,

and knows she’s rare 

who knows she is plenty,

plenty enough to handle but refuses to be handled with any unnecessary roughness

who knows that her kindness will never again be mistaken for weakness,

that she is a glittering warrior queen and despite falling will always again rise 

she is becoming the woman that is plenty enough just as she is.

The Quiet Ones

“…medicated methods devised on Sundays…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

💭

There is a certain severity
in the sounds of silence
In vaulted ceiling kitchens steamy
Between floundering words bouncing around
Echoing even in thin air flaring flailing falling flat on deaf ears’ ringing
As the cloth rooster calendar from 1966
Hangs on in pecking pose persistently still on the wall clinging to the past

Speaking volumes with broken tongues and bruised delicate egos
A language of vulnerable protection sacrificing
Like a sheep avoiding shearling fleeced
At an early age
She learned silence was indeed a golden lamb

Hiding behind mama’s kitchen apron strings
Holding her tongue until it blistered like oven hot snicker doodles waiting to blister an eager thumbprint lingering and wafting thick with heavy perfume of burnt cinnamon sugar and sticky wicket conjuring memories settling deeply into the tiny flower papered walls
and crevices caught in knotty pine wainscotting eagerly waiting for release

Underneath the kitchen table, the one with a cigarette burn no one speaks of, little pitchers with big ears hide like ghosts lingering between question and answer busy body sessions

Suddenly the adults hush as the rubber jax ball is dropped bubbly thudding
the rug ready to be pulled at any moment once again topples the milk into tears
with a splat, splat, splat

Then tumbling in a cool stream on wormy pine plank floor
She feared her hiding place soon divulged would merit corner punishment for eavesdropping adults

Wishing to find words to wake up the nightmares out of her mind, running through the backyard jungles shaking off stinging sumac and thorny roses from the choking grip on worry beads and
medicated methods devised on sangria Sundays they said would work for her one day
If she only sat up straight listened behaved quietly

Something begins shifting now between the unspoken
Exchanging glances and the knowing clicks now fading into memory
Serving
Slowly
Steadily
Realizing when the rug is pulled out from beneath her the power to turn it into a spinning ballroom floor is within her being
Stirring, softly falling into defiant grace

Meekly stepping up firstly,
speaking up seconding her instincts to rise from ash and dysfunction
enough is enough,
With just enough
Silence between the notes
She finds herself singing
To the beat of her own drum banging slowly gaining speed

Sacred Heart and Ashes

…she finds solace in the sanctuary…

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Running along the precipice of her insides turned out

seeking the vestibule to the outside

looking to the inside

looking out

looking in

Bringing together

from the outside in

heaven and earth

Through stained glass and shadows

with clasped hands and opening heart

with a gateway of vast space in between

her and the she she once was and the she she is becoming

still together she finds solace in the sanctuary

Laying one foot then another foot before then after the first foot then the second foot following then leading then criss-crossing cool cobblestone and crossroads

Venturing closer to authentic religion

she finds her warm skin dappled in shades of grey

towards the threshold of god

Seeking no more than the spirit in her heart and transcendence of her bullshit

She stepped past paradigms and procrastination finding herself in

realms righteous and pure beyond rulers and coloring her own between-the-lines

Of  her self

Of her whole soul naked and raw and innocent

She unveils the taste of magdalena’s blood on her lips

Parted gently drinking in truth from these sacred walls

Like the beating of her own blessed heart pumping in her chest steadfast

She sees her part in the collective spirit

as the totality of the some of its parts but one whole

with all the sum of its parts but less than whole

Wholesome food for thought, she mused

Wholesome, indeed, of thy wombed and blessed

purging poison now in the shattering light healing

With all of its wounds scars and mysteries unfolding baring naked to the world and all divine intervention altruism towards the self fuels the altruism towards others

She sees that in healing herself the path towards healing others is truly beginning

Finding the steps a bit uneasy at first in letting go the wind whispers

on the nape of her neck as angels dance upon her shoulders

With the flesh wound still raw she begins to heal as her soul releases its self-proclaimed shackles and cross she has tethered and nailed herself upon

Dropping to the floor a chainmail effect echo landed further up along the buttresses she cries up and clearly

As the humbled warrior princess finds solace in the sanctuary

far from the beast of angst

If only for a moment she lets go

Again lifting her spirit in exultation and humility

One foot in front of the other then another yet one more

The one that begins it all.

With that said she then began….

To become a salve with ingredients of experience

she must first boil to the point of ineffable flame

Flying higher than horizons seeking misty mornings and redwood crossings bearing her bare soul

Nothing is what it seems upon pushing through the door to the other side

Where did all the knowledge and humane humanity

now gone from the state of humanity?

Oh, humanity what hast thou done?

Connected to her days of life and those of others she pumps her fists down upon the pulpit resonating smartly

Narcissistic cravings to be greater then god innocent and pure, she hears them say

the disconnection unfolds as she realizes everything….everyone….including her Will have her day to die life everlasting is what it is

Shot down with a broken hearted arrow hummingbirds laugh and tangle fast among the billowy buds of crimson and light nesting in her hair

Crossing the sun rays of lofting ideals and liberty to soar to heights imagined in mere dreams beyond her philosophies

Something catches her eye and she is temporarily blinded to the sound of her own beating heart gilded lily lifting her spirit soaring past butresses and containment

Diving down towards earth wings shuddering and unsteady in the wind

She finds the earth tumbling closer and closer into terrifying depths

Go out on that windstream and find another current

For this one seems to be dragging her to no end

Find something to laugh about

To feel lightened about

To feel good about

Cross that in between apprehension and fear of and jump right in

towards self-fulfilling prophesy

Finding what appeals to her she slowly

She ever so slowly

She begins touching white and purity of heart

following its sound finding solace in solitude saved for herself

Perhaps she will begin to loop her heartbeat into those of others and be better off

There will be an uprising of epic proportion

The time has come to wave goodbye to the shooting stars, the fizzle has begun.

There requires of us a greater level of forgiveness…..no, not forgiveness for that implies that there has been some wrong doing

That there has been some fucking over with prayers seemingly…..at first…thought unanswered although no can still be an answer when yes simply won’t do

That is not necessarily the case in heaven here on earth

It is more a matter of choice of personal perspective and less of dithering didactic dogma

To see the weary and dizzying answers clarifying her eyes like bright sunshine streaming through the stained glass when the dimmest light exists

less of being forsaken and more of being fulfilled in what is meant to be

Making her own bed she has an epiphany as the rose petals settle in holy water

The choice she makes to get up and out of bed or rest in it for eternity is entirely up to her despite that age old customary timeless religion

It is a choice to greet each person she crosses paths with in a respectful and loving manner

It is a choice to treat herself in like manner

She settles into her own thoughts discovering that through the mire and treacle there is still something to have faith in, to finally see the sought after sacred heart strong enough

to sustain her eternally resides from within

Herself

 

On the Verge of Bloom

“…you are a bouquet of various color…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen
Sometimes we are on the verge of blossoming into a thousand flowers.

But we don’t waver in our discomfort of being seeds.

We are waiting. We are thinking, ”Maybe tomorrow. I’m quite busy right now doing the same unsatisfying things I have been doing for years. Yep, pretty busy. The sun will not bring me out of my shell”

Or maybe we are afraid of what will happen if we open up. We are afraid to leave a bad situation because we’ve forgotten what a good one even looks like for us.

We’ve gotten so used to a life surrounded by unhappiness that we’ve convinced ourselves it’s normal. After all, everyone else’s life looks like this, too.

Somewhere along the way we stopped believing in our own strength and beauty potential. We think we’ve lost it, or maybe it was never really there. Perhaps we will never be beautiful.

And worst of all, we’ve let someone else define who we are for us. We’ve lost who we are so we’ll believe whatever anyone else tells us, even if it makes us smaller…angrier. So we stay inside our shell.

There are not enough voices telling us the Truth. There are not enough voices to get through the mist that has gathered around our belief in ourselves. There is not enough nurturing to thrive.

Right now, let me be that encouraging Voice.

Right now, let me tell you: You have turned inward. You have been silent when you should have spoken up. You have hidden your dreams, your light, and your power. You have become fearful of your potential not manifesting. These things are not true. These are things you have believed for far too long. They are not who you can be.

You are your Dreams.

You are your Light.

You are your Power.

You are a bouquet of various color.

You are a Miracle waiting to happen.

You are a Blessing waiting to be bestowed.

You are an example of Truth waiting to be spoken.

You are a thousand Blossoms waiting to explode into colour, fragrance, delight and joy.

Don’t let anyone hold you back.

Yes, you have been buried.

Like all good seeds destiny it’s time to burst forth.

It’s time to open to the world, to the Sun and to your self.

You are on the verge

Of something

Astounding

BLOOM

Rapunzel Out of the Woods

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

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Once upon a time not so very long ago

up above a ragged rugged river hanging on

until the next rains come

in a tower of wood and nails surrounded

by trees taller than mountains older than god

lives a maiden curled up in feathers as

pipe dreams taunt her ultimate freedom

from the shackles of her own mind

attempts to drown out sounds of hounds

just beyond threshold with music builds slow yet steady find

fading into a brighter shade of pale color coming back

unleashing ferocious gentility within confines of this room

recalling the deal with the devil foolishly made

bought and sold whisked away by an old crone

offering up to the highest bidder with strongest voice

for her own, lost for the under spell, lost in a disenchanted forest

meekly awakening she whispers to the trees as they lean deep within

the hilltop earth speckled with carrions pecking for order and buggy bit morsels

her head spins like acorns that toss themselves diving to the forest floor

tumbling fumbling rumbling like her thoughts as she begins to break the spell

Focusing on the stained glass she begins to see the light

She once felt captured in that tower high

Charming as it sounds, she knows better now

She will save herself, letting down her long hair, realizing thus…………

Happily-ever-afters cannot be found outside constraints of the towers in which we dwell nor from those outside of us who wish to save us; but from deeply within, regardless of surroundings or circumstances

This is the Happily Ever After

Hello My Name Is

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

Mostly a name feels familiar like an overhang protecting from thunderstorms and like lightening mine shines brightly blinding visibility of who I really am into partly silent repeated again and again ad nauseum
A name by any other rose is thorny when mispronounced turning simple conversations into complex woven stories of origin lending to over and over pronunciations misunderstandings frustration and giving in to nicknames and talking about the exterior gloss rather than the patina of my soul