NEW BLOG ADDRESS

http://thisbeatingheart.wordpress.com

Pardon the Title, but, FTW.

I was running through some trees in the early morning hours, the fresh air hitting my face. The breathe escaping my mouth in wisps of condensed fog. Sweat going cold on my forehead.  My cheeks, red and hot, and it hit me like a blow in the stomach.  I felt rebellious. Not having had a cigarette in 3 days. Having woken up early, eaten a good breakfast and throwing on my joggers. Having not watched that damn box we call television in months.  I suddenly became angry. The blood pulsing through my body. Giving me life. The heart beat loud, yelling. Growling. An animal inside.  No longer in hibernation. This bear, stretching out and roaring in hunger. Suddenly aware of this artificial beat, a pulse. A pulse, that I had been deceived into thinking was a natural part of me, and my organic self suddenly came to life, and kicked its ass.

 My auto pilot shut down….Had I been dead all this time? My life suddenly felt stale in my memories. Like I had been doing something else all this time and hadn’t realized it. What had I been doing? Where had my soul gone? Where had my mind been?

Making decisions that weren’t even my own. Thinking thoughts that just surfaced from some subconscious line of knowing plunged into me by the world.  Eyes that didn’t belong to me.  A mind dulled out by society and it’s ever loud opinions and needs. A large, whining, lying machine. This lusty robotic voice from the T.V and radio speakers. Pushed down my throat by commercials, ads, products, humans, politicians, books, the damn side walk even. Malls, stores, CD’s, movies, and bill boards. I’m not just talking about commercialism and consumerism; I’m talking about a life force, built over by hundreds of years, brought to a living stinking breath by money, greed and deceit.  I realized I had eaten it up, like a plump salty buffet… just like everybody else. Finding myself, wanting nothing more than to dip out on this whole scene, and move to a quiet place where people were still alive. Were ever that is.

I realized I had spent my life up until now, pinning away at shit that doesn’t matter. Trying to fit into something I didn’t even want to be a part of. I realized, I had rebelled against that exact fact, by doing drugs and drinking for over a decade. Smoking poison filled cigarettes over 20 times a day and eating mounds of processed food to fill a void.  Pouring acidic liquors down my throat, to numb the truth.  Knowing that, I realized even further, that this in itself, was also bullshit. Did I really spend over a decade of my life, running from the thing I hated, by falling deeper into the cracks of yet another matrix of society?

This is what finally made me feel rebellious in the way I should?  

 Removing myself from the modern world’s most cunning trap…by CHOOSING to say, NO! I can make my own choices despite all this loud noise. Popularity doesn’t get my vote anymore. Neither does worldly acceptance. That what the world has to offer as condolence is a load of plastic empty trash.  Never, EVER, satisfying me.That my shoes, and clothes, and house, and car, and precious belonging’s will all turn to dust one day..and I would look back on this struggle to provide myself with it all, was meaningless in its saddest form.  I realized, that I had tricked myself into thinking, that this kind of goal in life, the one society has made very clear to us all, truly made me feel safe. And, in reality, I was just deceived, down to very last detail.  That no drug, or stash of bills, or lover, or fancy trip would ever fulfill me. No party, or over flowing bar scene, filled with sad girls and insecure men will ever be attractive to me, ever again. That being thin, and beautiful…really didn’t mean much either? No. It doesn’t. None of it does. It just feels good for a while. And  that too one day, will all turn to dust as well. So, maybe this is depressing to you, it isn’t to me. To say the great “F**k this!!!” feels amazing.

Now I can live. I can stand with Jesus, aware, knowing nothing is a guarantee and I can LIVE. Flesh. Love. Passion. Blood. Breath. Purpose. Now I can be…me. Hey, what’s up…nice to meet you!! On my own terms this time.

FTW.

Drunk Cigarette Break.

It is inbred in us that we have to do exceptional things for God: but we have not. We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things, to be holy in mean streets, among mean people, and this is not learned in five minutes"
-Oswald Chambers

By the end of this blog, you'll understand why I chose to begin with this quote.
So bare with me as I write.
Five years ago, I was attacked downtown while leaving a bar.
I had ran into my ex while having a drunken cigarette break.
The ex, we all have, the one we know we're not supposed to talk to.
The one, you should run down the street screaming from.
The one, most girls, don't have the strength to say no to...and in the end, we're all in the same damn place.
Feeling like a chump, rejected and pathetic.
Even, bloody and broken.
He had even gone so far to tell me, not to be around him, that the guys he was with we're serious bad news, and if I knew what was good for me, I'd leave.
Of course, being the stubborn lil' shit I can be, I stayed.
 I'd been around hustlers and criminals a million times over, and I wasn't just going to leave because he said so. As if I didn't know what the scene was like. I'd known this guy since I was 15 years old, and loved him every day since we'd first kissed. I loved him for being so lost, he'd always been this way, and I wanted to be there despite it all. Like my love could change something. They say guys have this knight in shinning armour hang up, but to be honest, I think women are blinded by this even more then men.
So, I stayed.
We drank.
The whole time I had my eyes on him, watching him hit on other chicks (really Ang?) hoping that at some point we'd get away from this mess, and I'd be with the man I saw in my heart.
WRONG.
As usual.
Instead his friend hit on me all night, buying me roses and drinks.
I accepted 'cause I didn't want to be rude, and who wouldn't want free shots...
But the entire time, I had this churning feeling in my gut. I couldn't place it, and figured because he was with me, I'd be safe. I mean, he loved me right?
My ass.
WRONG.
Leaving the bar, my ex pulled up his car, and yelled at me to get in.
I thought about going, but knew it would be an all night cocaine binge, so I said no.
He yelled at me again, to get in, and this time he was pissed.
Again I said no. My hands shaking.
He told me off, slammed the car door and drove away.
Leaving me there with his friend.
The one who bought me Jagger and roses.
So, buddy offered to walk me to the bus, his french accent kind of appealing.
Within a few minutes he was violently shoving me into a stair well, and pinning me up against the wall.
Tearing at my clothes, forcefully.
I tried to fight back initially, but when he gripped his hands around my throat, and slammed my head against the brick, I froze.
When I looked in his eyes, I saw it. Pure chaos and deep sickness. A predator. Calculating and wrought with oozing sexual deviance.
Details aren't what I want here, so lets just say, at one point, I was able to push him down the stairs and run. But, it's important to me, that girls understand, the best of predators hide it very well. Very, very well. Remember that, and if your gut says this ain't right, like mine did, listen. I don't care if you have six drinks covering it up. Just leave. Trust yourself.
Once I was out the door, he chased me, and just as I was hopping in a taxi, he banged on the cabby's window, and out of breath, threw money at the driver, telling him to take me home.
Some kind of twisted apology.
The next morning my best friend told me to read the paper, a man matching his description, with a french accent, had attacked and raped a girl about an hour after I had jumped in that cab. I'll never forgive myself for not going to the cops that night. I have personal reasons for that, which I'll be writing about another day. But, I knew it was him. I could feel it. Swiftly running to the bathroom to vomit, the newspaper page still gripped in my hand.
So, why would I tell you all this?
This is an extreme example of why, we need to just trust God, and let go. Let go of a person, a situation, a fantasy, a dream. A conclusion. Of closure.
We are inbred to believe we must do exceptional things for God, when we need not. Holding someones hand through life, and becoming obsessed with fixing them, can lead down dark vicious roads. It can lead to places where all the control you thought you had, is ripped from you. Sometimes you think you're doing the right thing, when really your just abusing yourself, and in your own prideful way, saying, they can't make it without me. Maybe, they don't even want to.
It's not our job to cling, and love someone to death.
It's our job to pray for them, and be an example, without becoming attached to their outcome.
Becoming attached to results, can lead us to falling into a blinded pit of pride and despair.
I'm obviously not saying it's always going to be this bad, I'm just saying, it has been for me.
I've put myself in very dangerous situations at the expense of the ones I love.
In the end, it shows me, two things.
They didn't feel the same way.
and,
I can't control one's heart, or future, no matter how hard I try.
This is really hard when your the kind of person who genuinely has a heavy compassion for people.
But, we need to also have compassion for ourselves.
And, trust our Father, no matter how bent our world can be.
I still don't know if my ex knew his friend was going to hurt me, my gut tells me, yes. He did.
I still haven't healed from all this yet, and I'm hoping this blog will help.
I'm just glad that, at this point, I've learned, and am learning, what my place is. In the lives of the ones I've loved, love and will love.
"We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things, to be holy in mean streets, among mean people, and this is not learned in five minutes"
I forgive that man, and will be praying for him after this blog is posted, because that's what God tells me will bring my healing. I forgive you, ex boyfriend, and despite all this, I wish you a good, whole and happy life. I forgive myself too...because it's not my fault.
I know that now.
Today.
I love you all, and thank you for listening.

The Letters Fall.

Limbo.
She sits staring into the computer screen.
Lost in translation.
Everything she wants to say.
The words are too weak.
The topics, to deep.
To dig it all out, leads to a chaotic mess.
One I'm too restless to sift through.
Just let me purge it out, onto the paper,
Let the letters fall where they may.
In the end, it will make more sense that way.
Since her hands aren't working.
Only for the dishes, the diapers, the cloth.
 Certainly not for satisfying expression.
 I tried to draw a woman's body yesterday,
 Came out like sticks and uneven planks.
 Scraped the sheet of paper in a breath.
 Stagnant fingers, and a wordless, dry mouth.
 A body and heart, full of dark and light.
 Pacing beneath the surface.
 A tidal wave of spirit.
 Pushing up, but resting still.
 Restrained creativity, my arch nemesis.
 So, I sat down, and wrote this dribble.
 Stamped it as a blog.
 Sent it to you.

Just Float.

It all started a few days ago. I was sitting in the backyard. Having a cigarette. One of those -holding on for dear life- cigarettes, where you know for a fact, if someone ripped it from your hand, you'd give them the smack down just to get it back. The kind where your hand is shaking as you light it. You know what I mean, that is, if you smoke. Which by the way, I wish I didn't. Yes, I will try quitting again. K , enough of my guilty smokers conscience.
 So, it was one of those smoke breaks I was having, and I had my ipod on me, so I thought I'd play some music. Scrolling through the artists I chose Adele's new album, because it's friggin' brilliant.
The moment I heard the piano start, tears just started falling from my face. I was surprised, because I knew I was stressed, but didn't know I was THAT stressed.
I just turned the music off and sat there.
Breathing.
The hurt pushing forth, cramped inside my chest.
Took a deeper breath, and shoved it all down. Down under my lungs. Swallowing it.
Like most Moms do, when they have a little guy in the next room laughing to The Backyardigins and yelling at you for more milk.
The thing was, as always, it didn't.... go away.
A few days later, and I still can't listen to music without crying.
I think of a lot of things when I let myself go, and feel it. Which isn't until it's so bad, I have no choice.
I'm such a chick like that, it's almost embarrassing.
I think about my Grandma.
I think about how scared she is. How sad she is. How she misses me, and tells me all the time, even if I just saw her.
I think about how I'm scared to move forward with God, even though it's the one thing I want above all else.
I know once I truly say yes, to the gifts and life he's given me, every thing's going to change. It's not a bad thing, just a scary as shit thing. It's messed up how the best possible thing for us, is the thing we fight the most. Whether or not we've been asking for it our entire prayer life.
I think about my friends, who are in pain, and I can't seem to lift the weight from them, like I want to.
 Even though I understand, it's not in my power or control to do so.
That sometimes I'm too tired to try.
I think about my son.
I think about how much I love him, and pray to God to make me the kind of Mother he needs.
I think about my family, and how hard it is for all of them, to be a constant support for my Grandmother. That most of the time, her dementia, hinders us from reasoning with her, so we can help her.
How I want to do more for her, but, have no idea what to do anymore.
I know I'll get there again, I just can't see the path right now.
I think about how, half the time I have no idea what I'm doing. That all I know how to do anymore is...just...pray.
I want to say, I'm on top of all of this, with God.
But I can't.
The truth is, I'm scared.
I feel little.
I don't have the answers.
Maybe I'm not supposed to.
Maybe, swimming in this vast ocean of uncertainty, is where I need to be. Again.
Who am I to argue with it.
Because the only things that's genuinely certain is the love that Jesus has for us.
So, I'll just stay there.
Hurt or not.
Empty or full.
It's the truth I have right now and I really don't want to hold onto anything else.
So, I'll cry.
I'll go to bed early and trust God, that the brighter days of truth and remedy are at hand.
Remind myself, that I don't have to be perfect.
That it's impossible.
And just float.
Just float.
Bob around in this sea of the unknown, with safety ruling my heart, because Jesus is holding my hand.

The Water.

Two days before the destruction of Japan, I had a dream.
I was sitting on my couch in my living room. Doing something as simple as watching t.v.
It was the afternoon, and my son, was upstairs sleeping in his crib.
The house was still, and everything was peacefully quiet.
A regular moment in life.
Then, I heard the noise.
The loud rushing thunder.
In it came, faster then anything I'd ever felt.
The water.
Pouring forth, an ocean of waves, filling my home.
Through the windows, crashing the glass around me.
It came so fast, pushing me backwards as I bolted up to run upstairs.
My son.
My son.
Running up the stairs of my house, the water enveloping me.
Pushing me forth, pushing me back.
I was not strong enough. It was too big. Too vast. Too powerful.
I made it to the top of the stairs, mostly because the water was carrying me upwards in its rage.
I could see the crib.
About ten feet from my grasp.
Reaching my hand out towards him, and the house, tore in half, under the pressure.
Cracking, swelling, and falling to pieces.
No more house.
Just water.
He was gone.
I was gone.
I woke up, a deep wailing grief escaping my lungs.
A terrified, pathetic sound, pushing forth from my throat.
Shaking.
A cold sweat.
I'm alive.
Landon's alive.
It's okay Angie. But, I couldn't shake it.
Two days after this, I went to the bank, to cash my baby bonus check. Standing in line, I looked up at the flat screen t.v they have there, and splashed across the news, was the wreckage of the tsunami. At first it didn't hit me. I was just too sad. I just cashed my check, and went and did groceries and other normal things.
We came home after this, and I sat down on my couch. My husband put our son down for a nap. I found myself just staring into the air, and this grief came over me. Don't get me wrong, we all grieve when things as awful as this happen. But, this was different. As the grief welled up in me. I started having visions.
Yes. Visions.
I could see, in my minds eye, people scattering. Running for cover. Terror.
I could feel and hear their screams. Their fear. Panic.
Mothers and fathers crying out for their children.
I felt the seniors holed up in old age homes. Weighed to the ground like huge rocks in their wheel chairs.
I saw dogs paddling in the great water, looking for something to grasp.
My skin, felt as though it was under water. It was cold and clammy to the touch.
I felt like I was not even here. But that I was there, in Japan, in spirit, a witness.
I have never felt grief like this, never. Ever.
One word kept repeating itself over and over in my heart.
The children.
The children.
My husband sat here with me, watching me breathe with this.
The visions and the grief was so strong, I could do nothing but weep.
I knew this grief was not my own, and these visions, far from my imagination.
With each vision, and intense feeling, I would gag, and almost throw up right there on the spot.
I cried out to my husband, and to the Lord, FATHER, what do I do?
Why are you showing me this??
The Lord spoke to my husband, and He said,
Pray daughter, weep for my children, and pray for them. I need your prayers.
So, I fell to my knees, shaking in grief. Weakened unto the Lord, weakened by the catastrophe playing in my minds eye.
I prayed like I have never prayed before.
I prayed with a faith and humility I have never felt.
There was great power in that prayer.
Great love and strength in that prayer.
I knew these words would reach far across the earth and meet his children in Japan.
It was in this moment, that God taught me what praying really is.
It is a great and loving power. One prayer like this, could do just as much, if not more, then sending one hundred thousand dollars to red cross. I felt this from the core of my being. I have never felt so small, and so big all at once. I'm telling you, if I could have died, in that moment to save Japan, I would have.
Why? because I felt the truth.
Because I felt, the naked, absolute truth.
My life, is not my own.
It is Gods.
In that moment, I gave it to Him. I understood, clearly, and with all love, that He is the way, the truth, and the life, and I would do anything He asked of me. Even if it meant death. There was no fear in me. Only pure acceptance. Pure and real devotion and sacrifice. I come last. Everything else is before me. In this, I understood the love of Jesus Christ, because the Lord, My Father, had placed the love of Jesus Christ on my heart, and I was willing to die for it.
I still am today, and forever will be.
So, people have been asking me, Angie, why have you been so quiet?
This is why.
I am quiet, because I am not the same person I was two weeks ago. Far from it.
There will be more visions, and more dreams.
I will continue.
He will continue.
Yes, I will finish my story. But, for now, this is my path. The Lord has much to tell, and show. I will be a voice at times, and this blog will be service to that. It will also be my memoirs of my past, but my past serves no purpose unless it bleeds into the wisdom of my present and future, the wisdom rightfully given by Jesus Christ, and available to all. I realize that some of you, will fight with this. Some of you may not believe me, and that's okay. I love and honour you regardless.
I take no pride in this, and none of this is my doing. I am but a student to His ways, and His Word. I cannot hide this any longer, nor would I even want to. I honour the purpose given to me, and will speak truth in all my ways, when Jesus Christ gives me the strength to do so. I am not ashamed. I am not afraid. Yes, The Lord gives gifts like this, and yes, He has chosen me for this path. I will not deny Him. Or anyone else for that matter. This is not, the only dream, or visions I have had and they will not be the last. The only difference, from before and now, is that I am no longer afraid to display it.
 I am not special, or unique in any human way. All I did, was offer all of who I am, to Him. That's it.
We are all offered the same hand.
It's up to you, whether or not you want to take it.
I chose, YES.
I love you all.
I'm here, if you have any questions, or need anything at all.
God Bless each and every one of you, in all your ways.
And please, thank God, you are standing on dry ground right now.
Go hug the crap out of your kids, or pets or whatever you love.
The only difference between you and Japan, is where you live.
Let's not ever take that for granted.
Ever.

Bite the Apple.

I fell down with that last entry.
Fell hard. Right into a bush of sharp thorns.
Seemingly side swiped, and when I hit the ground, the thorns digging in, I was ignorantly surprised.
After the post was published, and I lay there, twisting in that awful bush, I was angry. Scared.
It hurt. A lot.
Each thorn, tearing at my flesh, exposing my wounds with pain and blood. Vulnerable and raw. Shameful and filled with heavy burden. I did not feel the release once it was out in the world, actually, the exact opposite. I felt chained down and held back by it. Jailed and accused. Held captive in this place. The darkness surrounding me, very real and tangible in so many ways. A cloud of guilt covered my eyes, and for a time, I could not escape it. I could not see. So, I fought with that damn bush. Twisting and screaming. Flailing around in the dark, like a toddler having a fit. Tearing at it and accusing it. I was embarrassed. Ego filled and prideful. How could I have fallen in this trap? Wasn't I wise on my journey? wasn't I being strong?
So the fight continued. Blind and useless. Every time I'd rage fully rip out a thorn, it would only come back to bleed me out further. I couldn't sleep and when I did, I'd wake every hour. Haunted and weak. When I'd cry out to The Father, I would hear nothing. These soul cries and frustration, left inside of me. Coming to God in self pity and prideful arrogance. Get me out Father, that's your duty. Why would you request this of me, to write this story, and leave me in this bush. You said you'd be there. These words only twisting the thorns deeper. So here is where I sat. Crying, shameful and frightened. A few times, I even considered ending this whole thing. The pain was too great.
 Until this happened.
I got so wrapped up in the thorns, I had to be still. The more I'd move, the more tangled I'd become. The more I thought about it, tried to think my way out of it, the deeper they dug. So, in all that suffering, I had no choice, but, to go back to the beginning. In the beginning, the first thing The Father said to me was, quiet. Be still, be willing to be still, and then I will come to you in your meekness.
In my pain, I was far from humble. My peace had been disturbed, and I blamed the Lord for not warning me. In truth. HE DID. Many times. He had warned me not to go to fast, to wait on Him, and I had chosen, not to listen. I had chosen, to press on, and not heed His loving guidance. I was impatient, as I usually am, when I'm running on my own brain power, and not checking in with my Father. Not waiting on The Spirit. I had allowed this whole scene to become a give and take with my readers, and had left behind the give and take with God. It's not like one morning I woke up and said, hey, I'm going to write my memoirs. NO. God said that, the courage and journey of this has always come from God. I can take no ownership of any of this. ANY OF IT. I write well, because it's a gift God blessed me with. I am a part taker in this story, because it's a gift God blessed me with. It may not seem like a gift at times, but IT IS. The plain truth of it is this, I am nothing but dust and powerless intellect without The Father. Nothing I do in my life will be successful by His terms, without Him. In honesty, I want nothing to do with this unless it's driven by God. Period.
This was the humbleness The Father spoke of. When I saw this, again, I fell to my knees in love. Confessing the ego trip to Him, confessing my impatience, and asking His forgiveness for, again, trying to do things my way. It wasn't a shame thing, there was no guilt.I didn't say, sorry I was a bad girl, take me out of the bush. It was just simply this, You love me SO MUCH, you want things right and whole and full for me. That's it. So here, TAKE IT. It's not even mine. I could pervert this entire story, publish it and make mad stacks. But where's the faith in that? where's the fruit? where's the impact, if there's no grace. No humility. No honesty. No God. NO RAW AND REAL TRUTH, about my journey with Jesus Christ.
It was in that moment, that he lifted from the bush of thorns. Healed each wound, and held me. Set me upright, and brushed me off. Lifted the darkness from my eyes, and showed me, that yes, He was well pleased with this. Showed me, He had to leave me in the bush, by my own free will, and that only in humility and faith, could I be relieved from my suffering. All He was waiting for, was the space to work in me. I wouldn't give it up to Him in my protesting and anger. In my pain. I had to let go first. I had to let go of the one thing most dear to us, to ME... pride.
Let go.
Breathe, cry, and let go.
I wanted you all to know this, because without it I'd be lying. I'd be ashamed to share this part of the journey, and from the first post, I made it clear. I would not be ashamed of our all powerful and all loving Father. Thank you Father, for loving and honouring me enough to let me suffer, even when it hurts you more than it hurts me, because without this suffering, without the fear, this would just be another paperback bullshit novel about the road to self. Screw that, this is my ROAD TO YOU.
Thank you for always meeting me in the middle..thank you for being tangible in my life. Thank you for being so lovingly gentle when you walk through my camp...and delivering my enemies to me. Even when the enemy is myself. Words fail to express all things in my heart. You are EVERYTHING, and I want to give EVERYTHING I HAVE, TO YOU.
I surrender.
Again.