A Recovery Blog

This blog is about my continuing recovery from severe mental illness. I celebrate this recovery by continuing to write, by sharing my music and artwork and by exploring Buddhist ideas and concepts. I claim that the yin/yang symbol is representative of all of us because I have found that even in the midst of acute psychosis there is still sense, method and even a kind of balance. We are more resilient than we think. We can cross beyond the edge of the sane world and return to tell the tale. A deeper kind of balance takes hold when we get honest, when we reach out for help, when we tell our stories.

Friday, May 1, 2015

The Tribe Of Trees

They all look at me
The many at the one.

I am a woman
Staring down the Major Oak tree
In Sherwood forest
Where Robin Hood slept
With his band of merry thieves.

Major Oak
The leader of the pack
With his sturdy tribe of trees
These living statues
These witnesses of the whole story.

They give no sound of dissent
As the breezes come and go.
Leaves fall, they sprout and bloom
From the sharp light green of Spring
Into a full blooded royal green of Summer
To the end of the dance--
Autumn's fireworks display
Of the final scene
As the cold wind moves in
Sprinkling the first snow flakes
That decorate the tree limbs
And make them into
A land of enchantment
By a pond
Three quarters mile
Past the road.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

The People Of The Lie

The using addicts of this world
Have taken up residence in my mind
Hiding from their realities
In denial that there is a reality
To be found amidst their illusions.
They think that they are the serpents
In the garden of Eden
Tempting me with misdirection
Telling me to eat the fruit
Though I am not hungry
Nor interested in deceptions.
They are the sad creatures
I must protect
In this dying world
Where the serpents put on
Business suits
And paint the walls
Either black or white.
There are young ones
There are old ones
There are those all in between
Crying out like children
Trying to eat the weeds.
The blind leading the blind
Thinking they can see
With the sight of a Tiresias.

The Language Of Wings

After Icarus lost his wings
And fell into the water
He swam ashore a forgotten place
And let his body dry in the sun.
He would never forget
Those moments of flight
And how close he came to understanding
The language of birds,
Not their cries, but the music
In the wind gone through their wings.

You Are, I Am

You are a man in flight
With heavy laden wings
Glued on, but melting fast
Dipping down towards the sea
While the seagulls bob in the water
And cry out relentlessly.

I am a woman
Standing on a planet
In a desert
In the middle of a huge continent
Watching the vultures fly above me
Circling over the carrion at my feet.

You are a lost lamb
Caught in the delusion of being a wolf
Preying on the grasses and flowers,
Stalking the trees.

I am the tree shading the lamb
Thirsty for rain
My limbs bending in the breeze
Silently watching.

Divine Plan

There's a divine plan for everyone.
It doesn't matter where you stand
High or low.

Sometimes it shows itself in the distance
Or even up close
When you're least expecting it
Some times you're in the flow of it
Carried along effortlessly
As far as the eye can see
With everything in its proper place.

The light shines in every face you meet
And the sunlight is everywhere
And the clouds all disappear
Into the blue of the sky.


On a long straight highway
Somewhere out on the Great Plains
My family drove by
A herd of antelope
Startled and racing.

The road trip lasted for days
From a certain spot in Brooklyn
To here where there was not a human soul
But us driving between lightning strikes.

I was the girl in the backseat
Prone to moving sickness
Fed dramamine before I inhaled
The gas fumes at the gas station.

But here, amidst the break in family bickering
I was mesmerized by the racing wild ones
But with our unfair advantage
We would cross the finish line
Somewhere by the Californian coast.
But we would never be as free as they were.

Stop Pleasing Others

Stop pleasing others.
Start pleasing yourself.
Take a look around
There's a Higher Power here
You just have to get past your fear
Of the unknown and familiar.

They will fight you every step of the way
As you detach from their games.
Codependent living is addictive
But it has got to change.

Don't you want to finally fly away
And see things from a broader view?
Can't you get past the stage
Where others still define you?

Stop pleasing others.
Start pleasing yourself.

What Might True Love Be

What might true love be if it came from the sea
Washed up like some drift wood
Picked up by a child
Brought home to the mother
Passed on to the father
Thrown into the bonfire by the bay
Turned into ashes sunk into the sand
And gone up in smoke towards the stars?

What Love Is Not

Love is not hidden in a box that lies beneath your bed.
You cannot take it out and look at it
Size it up, turn it over or put it on a pedestal.

Love is not sunken treasure at the bottom of the sea
Left behind by dying pirates
To be found by you at some later date.

Love is not a perfect snowflake
Gently floating down to earth
Where it melts into the soil.

Love is not in the rays of the sun
That scorch the desert
Impartial to all the dying life.


Love is patient.

There is love in the monk who is teaching the small, orphaned child to walk.

Love is kind.

There is love in the kindness between strangers who don't presume to know each other's depth of sorrow.

Love does not envy.

There is love in the hand that does not grasp at another's good fortune.

Love does not boast.

There is love in the man who is secure enough to remain silent in the face of a challenge.

Love is not proud.

There is love in the woman who has no need of raising herself above those she loves.

Love does not dishonor others.

There is love in the field worker who wastes no time measuring her co-workers progress in order to outdo her.

Love is not self-seeking.

There is love in the mother who does not seek to see herself in her children.

Love is not easily angered.

There is love in the father who will not turn away from the son when the son yells "NO."

Love keeps no records of wrongs.

There is love in the wife who can bend with the changes that join and separate her from a love that cannot be contained.

Love does not delight in evil.

There is love in the lover who will not clip the wings of the beloved choosing to watch him in his freedom learn to fly.

Love always protects.

There is love in the group that nurtures its weakest members through the labyrinth of their mental illnesses.

Love always trusts.

There is love in the children who willingly hold hands as they follow their teachers down different paths.

Love always hopes.

There is love in the parents as they wait on the sidelines for their children to stand up after they have taken a hard fall.

Love always perseveres.

There is love in the friend who turns the other cheek when struck by a friend who has lost his way.

Love never fails.

There is love in the tribe that makes peace with its neighbors.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Caged: Sexually Abused Boys


The teenage boys on the coast of California
Runaway youths from families of abuse
Had to cater to those older ladies
Who paid for fantasy instead of truth.

The boys' mothers taught them well
How to feed these women's egos
How to surf those waves of hell
With their damaged hearts and chained libidos.

Taught sexual addiction
By experts in disease.
The female pedophiles con themselves
And say they're out to please

But all these ladies do
Is to corrupt the bloom of youth
To rob the boys of their right to choose
To be free and not be used.