Finding Your Dharma

Unknown

Namaste, Victoria. <3

Namaste.

“Jacqueline’s first novel The Vast Landscape is an amazing tribute to who she is. It is insightful and explosive all in one breath. It draws the reader in and inflicts an addiction of enormous proportions. I can only hope there is a follow up to this work. Sometimes we find our dharma and it engulfs us body and soul, congrats!”

Victoria Fitzgerald RYT

CEO & Founder at Asha Brands

http://ashabrands.com

blog_Mala-Imports_21

Stuck on a Song

Jawbreaking, aching, stunning poetry set to music.

Do you get stuck on a song? I do, and I love it.

“My lover’s got humour

She’s the giggle at a funeral
Knows everybody’s disapproval
I should’ve worshipped her sooner

If the heavens ever did speak
She’s the last true mouthpiece
Every Sunday’s getting more bleak
A fresh poison each week

‘We were born sick, ‘ you heard them say it

My Church offers no absolutes
She tells me, ‘Worship in the bedroom.’
The only heaven I’ll be sent to
Is when I’m alone with you—

I was born sick,
But I love it
Command me to be well
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen”- partial lyrics -HOZIER

When Dreaming of a Beach…

Featured Image -- 2820

…one must be more specific

There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells

Someone carved a number into the willow

251

I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark

Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history?

I cannot say

251

I had not seen before

The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details

I slow my pace, paying no attention to time and space, focusing on the grays above

and the black ripples before me

When dreaming of a beach one must specify the horizon

FullSizeRender 3 FullSizeRender 4

#ICan'tBreathe. Apologies. Opinion. From A Cop's Daughter.

Unknown

I am not going to talk politics, racism, society or even equality.

One, because I do not hold a master’s in Political Science, History or Criminal Justice.

I’m not even going to presume I know how to ‘fix’ this country or how far we have gone off track.

I’m going to stick with emotion, respect, courtesy, honor and humility.

The morally conscience way in which I was brought up.

FullSizeRender

My father was a detective. He was the kindest, coolest, non-judgmental, honorable man I knew.

I loved running down the halls of the police station, the way it smelled, the dirty desks, the smiling faces dressed in blue who would greet me. I loved how safe, alive and happy I felt.

The sense of pride a five-year old has for her own personal superhero was overwhelming.

Black was not black in his eyes.

Any kid could get in trouble, petty stuff nothing major.

My father would not arrest him, beat him down, he would speak calmly to him with respect.

He had a likable way about him.

My dad would then go out and hit up the local merchants and raise money to send that troubled boy to basketball camp.

Yes, basketball camp and we were not rich, barely middle class.

How can I ever hate the cops when I have such a compassionate, shining example of him, seeing the human being first. The unfortunate youth who perhaps did not have guidance in his own home.

There would not be one kid he’d help, there would be hundreds who’s lives he would change.

Grown men, black, latino, white would turn up at my mother’s door teary eyed, “your husband gave me a shot, he saved my life.”

Respect. It’s so simple and sorely missing.

I’d grow up and move away from the shelter of a small town and the safety of my father the cop’s strong, compassionate, gentle ways.

When I moved to Harlem I honored the lessons and tried to be colorblind like he taught me.

The night Obama won the election I sobbed in the streets of 125, my heart bursting with pride.

I dragged my brother out catching him brush a tear away. I danced and watched a glorious, wise, well-lived grandmother cry with a child cradled in her arms.

Yes, she was African-American. I tried to comprehend how this stunning, victorious moment felt for her. I’m sure I couldn’t even come close to understanding the depths of emotion.

I looked in that beautiful woman’s chestnut eyes and for one glorious second we were connected.

It was a moment I might not have known without my father’s clear, honorable intentions.

There is no justice in a mother’s child being shot 9 times, or a father and husband of six children dying from a choke hold.

There is no sense, no Master’s Degree that can explain away the horrors.

Those police are certainly not the ones I know, I do not see my father’s reassuring manner in them.

No, no, no.

What is happening? What is happening to morals, values? How did things go so inexplicably wrong?

I partially blame the media, the goddamn violent video games and the ugly, greedy fast times we live in.

I loved a cop, I’m not apologizing.

He taught me right from wrong.

I’m apologizing to the families of Michael Brown and Eric Garner.

My father the colorblind gentleman, well-loved and respected cop would be deeply sorry.

He’d try to fix it.

Unknown-1  Unknown-2

215885_1053342086544_8575_n
Election Night Harlem 125 11/04/08 Obama  One LoVe.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Dr. Martin Luther King

Start a Conversation.

I am One in Four

@mx_628

 

 

 

 

 

There is no 31 days Mental Health Awareness month for me. I live with Manic Depression 365 days a year. There are no fancy, frou frou vacations, hefty bonus’, no benefits that come at the end of the year. Your family members do not get a staycation while in your company, they get who they get. Which part of me will take the lead, manic, mean, irritable, physically ill, depressed, anxiety ridden I can’t say. As much as I would like to spare them the uncomfortable that is my rapid cycling. So many friends have been lost, disappeared, dissolved, abandoned, unable to grasp the incessant, cruel velocity I live. It stings only a little now, I don’t have the luxury of wasted energy. I do wonder if I had cancer of the brain, instead of the mouth would I be treated different? If I was a betting man, I’d bet against me. The very real odds are I might not make it. Most days, every day if I’m 100% honest, I plan my exit strategy (verbal diarrhea is one of the ‘perks’ of my job). I never act on it, the comfort in knowing I have control over this one thing helps. It helps me get through the hard, challenging, excruciating days I am living. My brain does not stop, the top spinner that slows only enough so I get a glimpse of the who I was. She and I, at forever odds searching for a middle ground. The compromise we both can live with. When I set out to write a book, I did not believe I would finish. I am no GIRLBOSS, 10% Happier, John Greene author (although I wouldn’t mind). I may never make a bestseller list. But this book, my book, The Vast Landscape kept me alive. Hell yeah, I’d say that’s better than any Goddamn bestseller list, and yes I am wicked proud. My accomplishments are bigger, harder and higher than most. Every single day that I wake up, and choose LIFE is a day I beat the odds. Every damn day I wake, I’ve won.

http://bringchange2mind.org/content/index?utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=standardtaf&source=facebook&subsource=standardtaf

Torn Ligaments, GEORGIA PINE.

Holding_Hands
GEORGIA PINE.

 Anything written from your truest truths takes time, care and thoughtful consideration. I love The Vast Landscape. I freely gave away my deep, scariest, bravest secrets and biggest wishes. GEORGIA PINE. is the familiar extension, because that’s what humans do, move on, stick to our clan. Reflect on the memories, get comfortable, get uncomfortable, look back, only to be thrust forward. Ligaments wear down in invisible microscopic fragments, day by day.

TORN LIGAMENTS

excerpt GEORGIA PINE.

           ‘Today was not a day of firsts. There had been so many life firsts, Addie stopped to look up. She did not want to miss one, with four babies there had been multitudes. The daughter responsible for making Addie a mother when she was barely an adult, Georgia showed her how. When she wasn’t doing it right, testing her to be better, stronger, more patient. She made life easier on her sisters, by default. Addie made mistakes with her firstborn, she could not fix. This was a different kind of firsts. Leave it to Georgia to hurt her heart, without meaning to. Addie needed the extra days at the Cove, to do nothing. Feel the sun; remember how much her mother loved it. When Addie asked, did she miss Hollywood, fame? Harrison laughed, shaking her head. “God, no. I got all this,” twirling round and round, stretching her arms towards the beach, house, sky, running her fingers through Adelaide’s gold mane. She knew with her whole heart, Harry meant it. Addie sighed. She was leaving, her quasi adult-child behind, her precocious, ginger. This was not a first. This was an unfirst, experiences they would share separately, living apart. Georgia would have to hold her mother’s hand, ever so gently letting go.’

 

GEORGIA PINE. by Jacqueline Cioffa
GEORGIA PINE. Cover arc
Jacqueline Cioffa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©LauraMakabreskuImage