|Through My Eyes
I wish they would see
What I see
When I look at me
Then they wouldn't say
The things they say
Their cruel words
Would go away
But instead they judge
By what they see
Not the real me
Not who I am inside
Its Only Anorexia
Look at me
Size 5 and fat as hell
Only juice and lite popcorn today
Anorexia isnt that bad
Not as bad as other things I've been through
Just make me pretty
Im not pretty enough
Would you love me if I was?
No food today
Juice and centrum
I have my vitamins,
Without the fat
I am just fine
Dont worry about me
Depression isnt bad
Neither is anorexia
Walk right past
Dont look to the side
Let me starve,
And be beautiful
Dont worry about me
Everything is fine
Its only anorexia
Used To Be
We used to talk,
We used to kiss.
Never could we resist
holding each others hand.
meant see you later,
Then we'd depart
with a sweet kiss.
What should I do now
when i still love you,
and can't help thinking
about you day and night?
Can I ever be sure
that I'll see you again,
when we depart
and say good-bye?
Each time I see you
I can't help but think
about how we
used to be.
When I Look At Myself
When I look at myself,
what do I see?
A face full of happiness, smiling at me.
Love, hope and dreams, plus intelligence too
I know I can do whatever I think I can do.
I don't need to be pretty, perfect, or strong
if I buy into these things, I'll be dead before long.
If I eat only celery and measure my middle
how could I do things I love and be fit as a fiddle?
I don't need the image of skinny and blonde to be
healthy and strong and American free!
What is beauty suppose
what is beauty suppose
When you look in the mirror, what do you see?
Too thin? Too fat? Too short? Too tall?
Perfection is a vision
that is shared by all.
But idealism is something that comes from within.
Only determination will help you win.
Believe in yourself and live for your dreams.
Confidence is the answer, as hard as it seems.
By not having love, wisdom, and soul,
your tender heart will have a hole.
Its the things in the inside that matter the
The outside is just a peripheral pose.
You don't need to
You don't need to be
it's fine just to be who you are
wether it's tall, small, fat or skinny
everyone is an individual star
if you feel happy with your body
or if you want to change a few things
think about it before you take drastic action
of what the consequences could bring
you don't need to look like a model
i'm telling you you are better as you
people should look furthur than your body
its you as a person that matters, its honestly true
I look in the mirror
the hair between my eyebrows
and above my lip,
That zit on my chin,
small breasts, bony knees,
a pudgy belly
But he looks at me and sees
the most beautiful girl in the world
He sees bright blue eyes, curvacious hips
He sees my determination,
my energy, my creativity
He sees somebody who could change the world
If only I could see what he sees
I am like an unattended
I am like an unattended
twisted and knotted but knows when and where the sun will rise.
I don't push away the water or soil that surrounds me.
I wait and wait but passerbys only look and stare,
while I wait for the gardner who will stay and not wander.
I may be ugly to the unaided eye,
and least i know that with my eating I will not die.
If I don't do what I must the weeds will take over and sieze
but unlike some I have my weight and won't fal over when someone
My Sacred Space
"Sacred space is a space that is transparent to transcendence,
and everything within such a space furnishes a base for meditation,
even for the youngest child. When you enter through the door,
everything within such a space is symbolic, the whole world is
mythologized, and spiritual life is possible. This is a place
where you can go and feel safe and bring forth what you are and
what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At
first you might find that nothing happens there. But if you have
a sacred place and use it, you will eventually find yourself again
and again." - Joseph Campbell
I first learned about
sacred space from my grandmother, Geneal. When I was four years
old my family moved to Lafayette, Indiana so that my father could
teach ROTC at Purdue University. The Victorian house we rented
had a huge wrap around porch and backyard that seemed to go on
forever with a flower garden and an apple orchard. There were
few young children my age for me to play with, but I had my stuffed
animals and dolls and life was pretty good that summer of 1956
until August 4st brought a new baby sister. Christine came into
the world, frail and sickly and, to make matters worse, my mother
returned home ill herself from a difficult pregnancy and Caesarean
birth. It became imperative that her mother, Geneal, would instantly
fly from New Delhi where my grandfather was posted by the State
Department, to help out.
From the onset of Geneal's
arrival it seemed to me that the entire household's attention
was focused on what was going on in the freshly blue-wallpapered
(Christine was supposed to have been a boy) nursery. The house
was invaded by strangers, young officers' wives, who came to help
launder loads of diapers and sterilize bottles under the imposing
command of my grandmother. I resented them. I resented my bed-ridden
mother and I especially resented my baby sister. I began to try
to draw attention back to where it rightfully belonged by being,
for the first time in my life, bad. I drew on the walls with my
crayons. I took scissors to my pastel ruffled organdy party dress,
the one my mother was most proud of making on her sewing machine.
I "talked back", and I stopped eating. Meals were taken
seriously by our family with everyone expected to be on time,
in place and demonstrably appreciative of the fare by cleaning
your plate. Once my self-imposed fast was determined to be caused
by sheer stubbornness and not a stomach flu, mealtime became tortuous
battle of wills often ending with me at the table staring at cold
congealed mash potatoes until bedtime.
One morning I wandered
into the little den which had been converted into Geneal's bedroom
and found her seated, motionless, eyes closed, in front of a table
on which were placed the most beautiful and exotic collection
of objects I had ever seen: a carved box inlaid with coral and
turquoise, a polished stone, an ivory statue of a Hindu goddess,
a lighted candle - imagine at ten o'clock in the morning - and
burning incense. My presence must have noticed because Geneald her eyes and, beckoning me closer, introduced me to the
concept of sacred space. She explained that she took these objects
with her wherever she went to create a "special place"
where she could be alone and quiet and just "herself".
And then, in one of her customary strokes of genius, seeing how
fascinated I was, she suggested we find a similar "special
place" just for me.
Knightley posters. Huge choice of Keira Knightley posters! Buy Keira Knightley posters at
It took only a day
or so, looking inside and out, for me to locate my first of many
sacred spaces - an old apple tree with twisted branches so low
to the ground that even a little girl could climb up and hide
among its leaves. I called it my "jiggley wiggley" tree
and when I showed it to Geneal for approval, she immediately noticed
the deep hole in the trunk where she was quite certain fairies
lived. The next day an old bedspread mysteriously materialized
that, if hung over the two lowest branches, provided a safe hidey
place where I could hold long conversations with my stuffed animals
and dolls in complete privacy. At Geneal's suggestion I made cunning
little "rooms" for the fairies to use at night when
I was asleep out of buttons and sea shells, rocks and sticks decorated
with moss and picked flowers. But by far, the most sacred time
I spent in that particular sacred space was mealtime. Geneal decreed
that, for the next month, I was allowed to eat one meal a day,
my choice, breakfast, lunch or dinner, in the jiggley wiggley
tree by myself, unattended. And, if I wished, I could eat it on
doll dishes. Sibling rivalry gave way to utter bliss.
Thirty years later
I confronted a similar situation with my four year old daughter
Julia when I brought home her new baby sister, almost two full
months premature. I was a little slower on the uptake than Geneal,
I like to think due to sleep deprivation, but after a few weeks
of temper tantrums, a new fear of the dark and a sudden refusal
to eat anything but Campbells Chicken Noodle soup and brie cheese,
I remembered the jiggley wiggley tree. We found the perfect sacred
space, a closet big enough to put a cushion in and a light with
walls plastered in white just begging to be painted with tempera.
As Julia grew older,
her sacred space changed, as did mine when I was growing up. Occasionally,
in warm weather, it was outside in the backyard Sometimes it was
an actual three dimensional space like the closet, or her dressing
table with its collection of photographs, glass bottles, makeup
and basket of hair clips. For a while it was the lower bunk of
her bunk bed where she read the prayer poem I wrote every night
to help her go to sleep, or simply her memory of a particularly
pleasant day on our deck when she was three years old. But always
it was and is a shelter for her mind, her body, her emotions,
her spirit and her soul.
My sacred space is
in my office where I have surrounded myself with photographs of
my family, fifteen years of artwork and hand-made gifts from both
daughters, my collections of stuffed lions, music, books, childhood
toys, stones and much more. Besides having personal sacred space
in which to meditate, read, think, pray, weep, laugh, write, day-dream
or simply be, our family has communal sacred space, where one
or more of us can go to be in harmony with each other and the
environment surrounding us, in our case, a special garden room.
Sacred space is all
around us, but in order to benefit from it, both personally and
communally, we need to recognize it as such. As Ralph Waldo Emerson
says, "We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon,
the animal, the tree, but the whole, of which these are the shining
parts, is the soul." I believe we can honor the more formal
sacred space of a church, synagogue, mosque or temple, while at
the same time crafting sacred places of our own. Creating sacred
space and teaching our childlren to do the same is just one more
way of maintaining spiritual balance, within ourselves and within
I wrote prayer-poems
for Julia and Emily describing and celebrating Sacred Space including
Help me remember that
moment of happiness
When I was a child
And my world was a garden,
When I picked wild strawberries alone in the sunlight,
Knowing somehow that my time there was precious.
Help me remember that
moment of happiness
When the air stood still
And I walked in grace,
When my heart was dancing and my soul was one
With the beauty around me and the love inside.