Ode to my Ass

There is no denying
my ass is ample,
large, round
A full moon
of soft squishy, squeeeezable flesh.
It stretches a mile…
maybe more.

Draws attention,
announcing its presence
demanding that you stand up
and take notice!

It has it’s own fan club, you know,
with t-shirts, and bumper stickers.
Being an ass of size
it has a zip code
and just might qualify as the 51st state,
flag emblazoned with a large round moon!
“I pledge allegiance to that ample ass
and the united states of euphoria”
Sir Mix-a-Lot said it best
because “this baby’s got back”

but I digress…

You see, I never hated my ass
I never ever did leg lifts, squats, lunges
until I couldn’t walk,
and certainly never considered
liposuctioning this ass away,
surgically sucking this big booty into oblivion.
I was never taunted at school
with words like 'bubble butt', 'fat ass',
or clever jabs like
“Your ass is so big, when you walk past the television
We miss three episodes of Batman!"

You know, I never, never, ever heard lewd, lustful comments like
“Hey baby, bring that big booty over here!”

There were times I wished I was black
because decent white girls didn’t have asses
that drew so much attention.
When at a party, I sought out even bigger asses to cover mine.

I am a damned Yankee and this ass is from the deep South
so I waged a civil war
with the collateral damage of self loathing.

…They say time heals all wounds.
Maybe so, but some wounds take more time than others.

Today, however, I understand
that this ample ass fills out a pair of tight jeans nicely.
When sitting on hard metal bleachers
at my daughter’s swim meets,
I never have to bring a cushion.
My skirt sah-wings above my legs
suspended by the luxurious ballast
of my ample ass.
It keeps me grounded,
my center of gravity low
so I won’t tip over
or lose my balance
when I hear things like
“Hey baby, bring that big booty over here!” because today, I know I make the decision whether to walk your way or not.

If I don’t, know I am not afraid to let the door hit my big ass on the way out.
Me and my ample, we’ll simply smile and go on about our day

By the way, don’t even think about making cruel comments,
Because, you may think you’ve seen my ass, but
you've not even begun to see me show my ass.
My ass is an asset, a cushion for the pushin'
and you don't get to sample this ample without
showing me some respect.

You see, my ample, round, bodacious, booty-lovely ass and I have become the best of friends
and Baby….together
we’ve got our back!

~ Mk Michaels

Eclipse

In the arctic blast of winter,
grief and dark despair
cloaked me like a shroud
and yet I was never warmed
by the heavy mantle
unwillingly shouldered.

My world had gone gray

cloudy, dark, bleak and ice cuttingly cold
stark, frightening and so very strange
a boulder landed in my chest,
eclipsing my heart with its weight.

Physical pain would have been a relief.

Wishing someone would crush my jaw beneath her fist
so I could crack and bleed and my outsides could match
my insides.

My eyes hollow, weary and still

the horizon, her face, seeking a different
answer.

Crawling toward reason,

my knees bruised and bleeding,
my hands cut from the rocks in the road
my hair hanging lank and long across my
red rimmed eyes.

The darkest hour is before dawn

and in that eclipse of all I held dear,
my world was inky black.

With no backbone or sense of self to support me
I crumbled to the ground
and wanted to die.
Slipping away into nothing for the relief of it
Escape from the weight on my chest and pain too severe
to allow me to draw breathe

Plodding toward a destination unknown,

Finding no pleasure in the journey
and no vision of the destination.
My children holding the only faith I had
in the palms of their tiny and small hands.

Life happening all around me but

none within me.
Dead but not dead enough
Each breath requiring all the will I had .

Seeking sunshine in the stark ice of winter

Constant cold under layers of cover

The darkest hour is before dawn.

I howl at the eclipsed moon

my pain and rage
festering up and out of my mouth
spilling down my breasts
foaming, boiling, scalding hot
the length of my body and self.

“I will not be taken down!”
and the moon cracks open,
a single moonbeam
filtering gentle light on the
seed lain in the ruins of me.

My tears afford water enough to
sprout the tender grain.
Gently unfolding bit by delicate bit.

Springing forth from the desolation

in the darkest hour before dawn
stretching skyward toward the heavens
is the part of me that would not die.

The part of me who believes in

the healing power of a full moon,
the metamorphosis of life,
the tonic of laughter.

The part of me who sought you

without realizing I still believed.

In that darkest hour before dawn,
In an act of miraculous faith,
I found myself open, wanting, waiting
for you.

And the floodgates opened once again

With nothing held back save the demons
of my past, I faced you fully,
smiling into your warm and laughing eyes,
the color of richest chocolate.
I inhaled you deeply into me,
breathing you in and mingling your life into mine.
 
The eclipse passed and the sun shone through
Brightly, burning away the torn remnants of my
shroud of grief.
Bathing me with warmth and light and you.
 
Smiling quietly, gently and knowingly – for this was always to be
The eclipse, the nuclear winter and now,
having eclipsed all other lovers
You.

~ Mk Michaels

Water

The sound of water reminds me of you
The rushing coolness perks my mind
My lips are parched and I want to drink deeply

The roll of thunder announces the coming rain,

and you open the window so the patter
can serenade us as we make love
and eventually lull us to sleep in each others arms

The drops of rain fall lightly

as I lift my face to the sky, eyes closed
landing on my forehead, my cheeks, my lips
and I reach out to capture the wetness on my tongue

The discovery of that deep, greening and hidden cove

We made love there on your boat tucked away, almost hidden
Our movements rocked the boat as the water undulated around us
and I warmly surrounded you

Rounding a corner to hear the rush of your waterfall

I gasped at the surprise of it - gurgling, splashing
We climbed, slipped, helped and held each other
and listened to the water laugh its way down to the lake

The near silence in the middle of the lake, only the sound of the water

rippling around us as we sit still, the silence roaring in our ears
and finally, the sound of our passage hitting the lake shores
first one, then the other

Going home, the lapping of our wake as we move through the water

the water swirling in eddies behind us
We move smoothly, cleanly, without resistance,
without fear

~ Mk Michaels 

Your Red Palette

A riot of red surrounds
the face of a Madonna
but, I suspect you are Jewish…

The tease of your music

lures me, lulls me
and I develop an appetite for more.

A flowing spiral of

your words and mine
entwining, entangling, engaging.

Your image is an assembly of

words scattered across a page
a likeness I imagine captures your essence.

Your sonance is of tender tapas tastes

your life’s work,
These brief melodies leave me wanting.

 

The touch and taste and scent of you

are imagined and yet, I know they would be familiar
….like coming to a beloved home.

You have captivated me from an absurd distance
and I feel like a stalker
wanting to peer in your windows for the view alone.

Your palette is full and ripe and ready

to paint and burn my tongue with its sweetness…
but the savor of you will come…

….and I will be nourished.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 2007

Not all Southern Women Make Biscuits

When my son, Christopher, woke up this morning, he wanted biscuits for breakfast.  I usually have a can of store bought in the refrigerator, so this is not usually a big deal.  This morning, however, I noticed that the can I bought last week was already a year out of date - so dead end there.

Being an eternal optimist, I pulled out the recipe book and decided to make biscuits, carefully measuring, breaking the shortening up until it looked like course meal, minimally stirring, kneading.....even going the extra step of glazing the top of the biscuits with milk and a sprinkling of sugar so they would be pretty.

They baked beautifully and came out the fluffiest I have ever made and even tasted good, I thought.  I was beaming with pride and laughing because I knew I would brag about my biscuit success story.

....and then....my son, who had been served a biscuit in the downstairs den as he watched Saturday morning cartoons, came upstairs.  Fishing for a compliment, I asked him how he liked his biscuit - he'd helped cut them out so I figured he'd be proud too.   Imagine my dismay when he stated without the least hesitation "They weren't very good, Mama."  Shock, horror!  "Okay, so maybe he just doesn't have an appreciation for a good biscuit", I told myself.

When my daughter, Scout, got up, I overheard the following conversation from the kitchen:

Scout: "What's that?" ....her tone conveyed a wrinkled up nose and a sneer in the direction of the biscuit covered baking sheet on top of the stove.

Christopher: "Biscuits"  ...said flatly without a hint of any opening for further discussion of the unimpressive biscuits

Scout: "Are they good?"

Christopher: "No, they're the worst biscuits ever!"

At which point, Scout made herself a bowl of cold cereal.

....I suspect the kids will be playing biscuit hockey later this afternoon.

Screw homemade biscuits made with love; next time I'm checking the date on the can! …tomorrow we’re making pancakes.

~ Mk Michaels, 2013

 

 

On Grief, Gratitude, and Guilt

Five weeks ago, my ex-partner of 16 years and my children’s other mother died suddenly.  Her name was Amy.

In an instant everything changed.  Our children who we were happily co-parenting were thrown into an abyss of shock and pain.  Our colorful and contented world went dark and dismal.  The busy, but manageable pace of our lives went into frenetic overload as we planned Amy’s memorial, spread the sad word to friends and family, sorted through the 14 years she spent in her home, got back to the day to day of our lives – work, school, running a household, and mostly, remembered to breathe.

Friends and family flocked from all directions, providing their support, helping with logistics, bringing food to remove the burden of cooking and help us through the immediate period of shock, caring for our animals so they wouldn’t be forgotten in the shuffle, and taking over the reins when each of us, in turn, crumbled to the floor in grief.  We were literally surrounded by kind people and generous acts.

In the past five weeks, emotions have ranged from utter shock and disbelief, excruciating loss, and a punch-to-the-gut grief to deep gratitude and even a sense of protection.  To be specific, I felt gratitude and protection.  These two feelings seemed at complete odds to what I ‘should’ be feeling.  Gratitude and protection. 

Bit by bit, my children and I are coming to find our new normal.  We are adjusting to being together full time instead of the 50/50 custody split my ex and I had shared.  We are bringing together the children’s belongings into one home.  We are facing the holidays with a bit of dismay at the absence of a woman, a mother, who was always there and often taken for granted, because that’s what people do with those they love most.

And yet, the sense of gratitude and protection persists.

Today is Thanksgiving.  We are spending it as a family and, in spite of the gaping hole left by Amy’s absence, I feel so utterly grateful.  I am grateful for the children we had together.  I am thankful for the welcoming home in which we live.  I laugh heartily at the stories told about Amy, a woman who had a delightful and self-deprecating sense of humor.  Words can hardly express how much gratitude I have because Amy and I found deep peace and a renewed friendship after so many years of post-separation fighting.  I am joyful today and yet my heart twists in guilt that I can feel joyful so shortly after her death.  But I am joyful, all the same.

Earlier today, my children woke and came to the living room in their pajamas, eyes puffy from their pillows, and sweetly smelling of their sleep.  They saw the fire I had lit in the grate, smelled the sausage I had cooked to make one of their favorite breakfasts and heard my happy “good morning dearest son and daughter!” They smiled and I knew, if only for a moment, amidst the grief at the loss of their other mother, they were grateful too.  In this moment, there was no guilt at feeling joy and I realized that this is what Amy would have wanted.  She would have wanted to be remembered, but for life to go on with all its joys, trials, lessons, victories, and traditions.  Today, we will light a candle for her and say a prayer of gratitude for having had her in our lives.  She left her mark on the world in her own unique way and our family was forever improved by her influence.

Happy Thanksgiving from our grateful family to yours!

~ Mk Michaels, 2013

The Loneliest Hour

In the darkest hour, I ask

“Are you awake, my love?”

The silence answers.

The sheets on the right side of the bed, untouched and cold

The sheets on the other, tangled and sweaty,

bear witness to hours of sleepless impatience.

“When?” I wonder aloud.

But no one is there to hear. 

A deep and invading lonesomeness has crept into our bedroom

and taken up residence in your unfilled spot.

With all the love in the world at my fingertips,

I have never felt more alone and

our bed is still too big.

~ Mk Michaels, 2009

Gandhi's Family Portrait

I was eldest child of a narcissistic and competitive mother and afforded all rights and privileges inherent in the title.  In reality, I was my mother’s unwilling sparring partner, her litmus test and the measure by which she perceived that all others judged her success….or failure.

I have been told that I was a little adult, perfectly behaved, well mannered and mature far beyond my years.  In stories I’ve heard of my childhood, this is illustrated time and time again.  I was the good child.  I was the daughter that my parents could rely on to do the right thing.  I was the one who took on the mantle of caring for and protecting my sister two and a half years my junior. 

Years ago, I read in my baby book the chores I had at Age Two:

1.      Set the table

2.      Clean the crumbs under the table after dinner

3.      Unload the silverware from the dishwasher

4.      Separate the laundry

5.      Fold the laundry

On the one hand, this could be a charming list of chores that a two year old was, in fact, assisting with alongside a patient parent who held ultimate responsibility for completion of the task.  Knowing my mother and how she interacted with me, however, I am certain that I held ultimate responsibility and was chastised were I not to complete the task…flawlessly.

I look at the few pictures I have of my childhood and, it is clear, I was not generally a happy child.  Pictures taken with my mother show her monitoring my performance for the camera – am I smiling well enough?  Am I being a good reflection on her?  My favorite picture of me as a child, however, is one in which I was two, maybe three years old.  I am dressed in my marigold flowered Sunday dress, pristine white tights and an expression on my face that can only be described as a passively resistant pout.  As usual, my mother is in the picture looking the part of a resplendently perfect mother and I, in a display of immaturity equal to my years, am refusing to participate in the exercise of perfection for the camera.  While I do not know this as fact, I like to think of it as me resisting in the only way I knew how at the time.  I was Gandhi leading the Indians in disobedience against the salt tax.  I was Martin Luther King marching against segregation.  I was a three year old, pushed to the edge by one too many picture perfect poses, poking out her lower lip and refusing to be pretty for the benefit of yet another photograph.

It was the early start of my slow and tidal rebellion against the constraints of being my mother’s daughter.

~ Mk Michaels, 2007

This article has appeared on Rebelle Society.
http://www.rebellesociety.com/2014/07/20/gandhis-family-portrait/

Blue Toothbrush

Her forgotten toothbrush, left behind
sat on the shelf by my bathroom sink.
I contemplated its blue handle as I brushed my teeth
and realized that I was just as blue and just as forgotten,
but
even
more
useless.


~ Mk Michaels, 2010

Fear of Death

Humbly dedicated to the talented Ms. Houston with an appreciative nod to Sir Frances Bacon
 
Fear of Death

The way we judge the dead
is harsh, unrelenting,
and oh so pious.

“She lived too fast,
She played too hard,
She lived her life out of control.
Her death was inevitable.
A tragedy, but not a surprise
Tut, tut
Tsk tsk…”
 
Really?  Really?!?

This deep seated need to judge
from our glass houses,
and cast stones at corpses
is not about them,
rather it is about us…

The old joke goes,
the only certainties in life are
death and taxes
and we all laugh uncomfortably.
But we laugh
at death pushing it just a bit further away from us.

Who among us, I ask you, will not die?
Not me.
Not you.
Or you.
Or you.

Could we, then, in the time we have here,
be kinder to the dead
and let the lessons of their lives simply be?

Leave their families to their grief
without the added burden of our
fears voiced in the form
of vilification and verdicts about their loved ones?

Instead, could we, perhaps,
make the most of our summers,
swinging on fragrant willow boughs,
leaping fearlessly into the lake, and
gorging ourselves on life’s bounty
so that maybe, just maybe,
we’ll fear death a little less
and let the dead

Simply
Be
allowing them to rest in our peace.

~ Mk Michaels 2/2012

Baptism

In the early morning hour, before the sun has peeked over the horizon
and the  light is still soft and tender
I slide from my bed,
hair still a tangled mess like the bed sheets after a night
with my lover.
My bare feet pad down the hallway
toward the door which leads to our garden.
I contemplate the slippers at my doorway
and venture without them.
This morning, I want direct connection, the grit and cleansing grime of the earth under my feet.
At our garden’s edge, I stand quietly, an observer to the beginnings of a new day.
The first chirps of the purple martins and bluebirds,
the distant hum of the third shift making its way home,
the relative quiet of my country made at home in the city.
I look down at my hands, dirt from yesterday’s labours still under my nails and
add a mental note to the day’s list to buy a new fingernail brush.
The morning dew coolly anoints my bare feet
The sun shyly peeks past the edge of my world and pauses,
asking permission to enter my morning meditations.
I smile a gentle nod and ask her in.
A new day is begun and I am absolved.

~ Mk Michaels, 2010

Azimuth

Lost. You, my true North.
My compass fails me again;
I turn and look South.

~ Mk Michaels, 2013

Blood Oranges

Blood oranges
juicy, dripping, ripe.
I nibble.
This pleases the orange.

The sweet scent of pink-red flesh
tickles my nose and urges me on.
Zest nips at my tongue
I indulge myself, gorging
honey sweet dripping down my chin.
This, too, pleases the orange.

~ Mk Michaels 2006

In the Event of Loss of Cabin Pressure

At the beginning of each flight, attendants instruct passengers, 

“…in the event of loss of cabin pressure, put the oxygen mask on yourself before helping your children or other passengers.”

As a mother, this directive always troubled me.  What decent mother would take care of her own needs before those of her child? 

Life has a way of bringing its truths full circle until you finally get them.

Three weeks ago my ex of 16 years and my children’s other mother died suddenly.  She had had some health issues for years, but nothing which appeared immediately life threatening.  Unfortunately, this was not the case.  She died.  Gone.  Without even saying goodbye.  Early one morning, she went out for breakfast, had a heart attack while driving and crashed into a telephone pole.  We are told she died at the scene.

In an instant, the amiable relationship she and I had developed after separating ten years ago disappeared.  In an instant, the colorful, comfortable, thriving life I had built for our children in my home was darker, duller, and cloaked in sadness.  In that moment everything changed…and yet so much didn’t.  In spite of the tragedy which made us want to stop breathing, life demanded we keep living.  Bills still needed to be paid; children cared for, groceries bought, homework completed, tests taken, college applications submitted, laundry washed, gardens tended, and life lived.  It seems offensive that the life force on which we had been coasting along now required that we continue living.  

To see my children, who I love with all my heart, in pain and be helpless to make their pain go away is, by far, the most the most overwhelming situation I have ever encountered.  All prior disappointments, devastations, heartbreaks, and traumas paled in existence.  They weren’t even in the same ballpark.  For the first time since my children were born, I was at a complete loss as to what to do to care for them.  I have done what I think are the right things – talked with their teachers and school counselors, made sure both have a therapist they trust to speak with, and encouraged them to stay open to their friends’ offers of support.  My daughter and son are eating, sleeping and still talking, positive signs I am told.  We also hug a lot these days, more than ever before.  

Nature has a way of helping.  We go numb.  We forget.  We find anesthesia and comfort in friends, family, television, books, and the internet.  We escape for a bit.  In time, though, the initial shock wears off and we realize the unfathomable is real.  The impossible was standing dead center in front of me, taunting me with its presence.  It was at this time that I realized it was not only a good idea to take care of myself alongside my children, but that it was an absolute requirement.

So, I am doing just that. I am writing and started this blog.  I met with a counselor this week and, thankfully, am sleeping in spite of my menopausal age.  My garden is a balm too, although I haven't had much time for it in the past three weeks.  This weekend though, she's all mine.  For the first time in my life, I have a thriving vegetable garden - lots of greens, kale, collards, broccoli, mustard, arugula, spinach, fennel, and carrots.  I like feeding my family healthy food grown by my own hands.  

I have put the oxygen mask on and am keeping the oxygen flowing.  Once again though, the flight attendant’s words come to mind:

“…remember that oxygen is flowing, even if the bag is not fully inflated.”

~ Mk Michaels, 2013

Double Quotes

Double Quotes - I often am inspired by another's quote to respond with one of my own. This is a collection of some of the double quotes I have posted.

12/1/2013

You can never get enough of what you don’t need, because what you don’t need won’t satisfy you. ~ Dallin H. Oaks

We have all, at one point or another, tried to fill the void we feel.  In gorging ourselves, overspending, pretending we know it all, grasping at straws, another’s spirit, or another’s body, we attempt to fill the void and obliterate its existence.  None of these proved successful.  None could fill the void we felt in our hearts.  The void, you see, is not physical. It is emotional and spiritual.  If we can, instead, face ourselves in the mirror, evaluate our flaws and address them gently, with the compassion we would offer a sick friend, we can fill the void over time.  We are all worthy of our own kindness and can grow beyond our wildest dreams if we can come to trust our own Spirit over what the outside world would have us believe.  ~ Mk Michaels

 

11/25/2013

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest, said ‘Do your best, destroy me. You see, I’ve been to hell and back so many times, I must admit you kind of bore me.' ~ Ray Lamontagne

Our demons are our greatest teachers. Instead of running, listen to them, face them, take the time and actions to slay them. In this, demon-slayers lead happier, richer, and more free lives than the turtles who hide in their shells. Take the leap and see your demons as an opportunity to grow past them. ~ Mk Michaels


11/18/2013
Death ends a life, not a relationship. ~ Mitch Albom

Those we love who have passed before us live on in the ripple effect of their lives; the stories, the laughter, the trials overcome, the life events remembered, the familiar gestures nurtured and seen in their children, and the lessons taught and learned. Each of these remain resident in our memories and hearts long after a physical life has ended and bear witness to a life lived and a person loved. ~ Mk Michaels

Rest in peace, Amy. You are missed. February 22, 1965 - October 22, 2013. 

11/16/2013
 What makes you vulnerable makes you beautiful. ~ Brené Brown

Take the risk and open up a bit; it does a body good. ~ Mk Michaels

11/5/2013

It's a good idea always to do something relaxing prior to making an important decision in your life. ~ Paulo Coelho

Similarly, it is important to recognize those times when an important decision should be deferred. If life feels chaotic, if you have experienced a major life change, or you are simply tired, take a pause. Any action coming from of that place of noise will be a reaction not a decision. Instead, breathe slowly and deeply, get outside, take a look around you both physically and spiritually, and find your center. Then, in that quiet and stillness make a choice. In this, you will be living from a place of intention. ~ Mk Michaels 

10/27/2013

Vulnerability is the only authentic state. Being vulnerable means being open, for wounding, but also for pleasure. Being open to the wounds of life means also being open to the bounty and beauty. Don’t mask or deny your vulnerability: it is your greatest asset. Be vulnerable: quake and shake in your boots with it. The new goodness that is coming to you, in the form of people, situations, and things can only come to you when you are vulnerable, i.e. open. ~ Stephen Russell

Living means being in a constant state of change. Some changes are small and others profoundly significant. Often the changes leave us feeling small, raw, and vulnerable. If we can, instead of digging in our heels and resisting change through gritted teeth, embrace this state and remain open, we will be amazed at the outpouring of blessings, new experiences, and people who come into our lives. We cannot control the changes to come, but we can choose to respond to them in a way which allows new light to come in. ~ Mk Michaels

9/26/2013

I - Want - Peace, I is ego, Want is desire; Remove ego and desire and you have peace. ~ Sri Sathya Sai Baba

You can't always get what you want, but most often you get what you need....usually with an even better outcome than you'd imagined in the first place. So just accept whatever comes and get on with your day. ~ Mk Michaels (with a bit of inspiration from the Rolling Stones)

 9/24/2013

The only way to learn forgiveness is to be betrayed. You might understand the intellectual concept of forgiveness, but you will only learn how to truly forgive when someone has done something that requires you to love them and let it go. Life demands these hurtful experiences for you to learn how forgiveness feels, it could be no other way. If there is anyone in your life that you must forgive, instead of seeing them as someone who has hurt you, try to see them as someone who was sent to teach you forgiveness and thank them for this precious gift – then forgive them, and let it go. ~ Jackson Kiddard

Without exception, the most longstanding and profound relationships in my life have involved some form of betrayal and, in turn, forgiveness. If I'd called it quits on these relationship at the point of betrayal, real or perceived mind you, my family and village would be small, meager, and possibly nonexistent. Forgive, let go in love, and move forward. The best is yet to come. ~ Mk Michaels

 9/23/2013

Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

Hold me loosely, as if a handful of sand. Enfold but not constrain me. Resist the urge to squeeze too tightly or I will trickle through your fingers, forever lost. Allow me the freedom of the open air and the respect to take my own journeys when needed and I will be yours until my dying day. ~ Mk Michaels

9/21/2013

If being alone is uncomfortable for you, it means you are probably not doing it enough. ~ Lakara Foster M.Ed

A strong and abiding relationship with ourself is one of the greatest gifts we can give not only to ourselves but to any other relationship we have, for all will be benefited by it. ~ Mk Michaels

 9/20/2013

God will not make it easy or comfortable for you to be with people or in places that are not in alignment with your assignment ~ Lakara Foster M.Ed

This explains a lot. I find myself curious about and open what comes next. ~ Mk Michaels

9/18/2013

Nothing can complete you except your own self approval and the love of the Universe.
Everything else will leave you wanting more. ~ Mastin Kipp

Developing a deep, loving, and abiding relationship with myself coupled with the loving support of my family and village of dear friends has been one of the most powerful and courageous acts of my life. I highly recommend it! ~ Mk Michaels

9/17/2013

Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn. ~ Gore Vidal

There is great freedom in fully embracing who you are at your core and letting that brilliance shine forth. Although your current circumstances may not be your ideal, remember they do not define you; YOU define you. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise. ~ Mk Michaels

8/23/2013

God provides us ALL with soul mates and we will have many of them in our lifetime. However we have to stop limiting ourselves with the belief that there is only a "romanticized" version of this awesome GIFT. Soul mates will come in the form of best friends, family members, relationship partners, spouses, and even strangers. They come here to help us do the work of the soul...to assist us on the journey of remembering what our purpose is...to be the match that lights the FIRE within us so that we shine brighter than we EVER imagined...and that is exactly what we ALL came here to do...SHINE...So take a moment today to acknowledge and thank those wonderful souls who came to work with you!!! ~ Lakara Foster M.Ed

Here's to all the soul mates, soul friends, soul sisters, and soul brothers I am so thankful to have in my life! ~ Mk Michaels

11/20/2012

Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering. ~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

This weekend, I have no plans. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Such decadence! ~ Mk Michaels

7/26/2012

Coffee falls into the stomach … ideas begin to move, things remembered arrive at full gallop … the shafts of wit start up like sharp-shooters, similes arise, the paper is covered with ink …
~ Honoré de Balzac

I like coffee. A lot. ~ Mk Michaels