Today’s a much brighter Sunny day:

Today’s a much brighter Sunny Day,

perhaps not on the outside,

but on my insides-which is more vital-it’s where,

the flowers of my soul grow.

It’s where the soil is rich, deep dark yet tender.

Like firm dark chocolate.

The roots start to twist & tangle,

as they release and begin to feed and grow,

deep inside my soul.

Today’s a much brighter Sunny day.

Perhaps not on the outside,

but on my insides which is much more vital-more alive-more urgent.

Very importantly, the insides are sunny-

from there Hope begins to grow,

building up to a Good Mood- a peaceful day.

Last night WE-my husband & I-

both somehow “earned” or “achieved” or “mastered”,

more sleep.

We both woke up happy & and in Love still.

It was very nice-to awaken to so much happiness.

Hope makes the flowers of my soul grow-

what do you plant deep beneath a wall of sleep?

What do you carry deep inside you?

Where do you hide your secrets?

Where do you keep your dreams?

Do they ever come true for you?

Mine do.

Today’s a much brighter Sunny Day.

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Follow me on facebook please!Picture 149 Warming up with color abstract 2 Fall 2013 Spirals of Song and other poems book cover1 Picture 161 Warming up with color abstract 1 Fall 2013 Abstract oil pastel drawing 99 cover design for words whirl 2013 copy Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999 IMAG0893 IMAG0898 IMAG0897 Art before words new front cover copy back cover art before words3 copy self portrait 05012013 Picture 94 Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996 possible coverart1 copy Athena wiccan11 IMG_20130330_093258

Simplicity part 2-dedicated to my friend Erin D.

Picture 161Picture 158Picture 160

Simplicity

2 parts bitter-sweet vinegar

2 parts harmony

one dash of Hope

one sprinkling of Faith,

one Tablespoon full of miracles.

1/2 stick of helplessness melted but not burnt brown.

1/4 cup memories

16 oz of pure, unstrained Love

1 graham pie crust of sorrows

1 can of heavy-whipping cream

2 tbs allspice, 2 tbs cloves, 4 tbs fresh honesty

one classic ceasar salad of velvet covered sadness

one case of dark irish beer…

blend with one bag of Catholic Guilt,

add two whole egg-yolks

add 7 hail-marys and one quart of confessions.

Blend with a twist of hard scotch whiskey, empathy as a orange peel, a cherry

with-out its stem, some liquid courage, one King James version of

The Holy Bible.

Some false idols/some fake friends/those who will swear by you/

yet they disappear in the end?

I trust nobody who says to me, that they will “pray for me,”

I wish i were not a bitch like that, but i totally am-such a bitch.

I am not going to offend them by declining their pray offers-

but i am not going to depend on them for this junk.

I usually merely responded with Thank you-or thank you very much-whatever.

Prayers are both sweet and nice-

if they are done right.

But true friends do more than have private jesus jams/

talks on your behalf.

True friends know when you are sad, And sense when you need to have a small

phone-call chat. true friends listen and practice the,

Fine Art of Allowance-

meaning they allow you to be sad.

They do not try to cram you into a shoebox

with too much duct tape,

and scrawl the word “Happy”

onto your head-in order to make themselves feel better.

Real friends want you to feel better,

but when you get around to it.

Real friends allow you,

to simply FEEL.

They allow you to be-

They allow you to grieve and to suffer.

They realize there is no universal time clock on

one feeling verses another.

I wrote this out for a friend of mine.

Her mane is Erin-we kinda grew up together.

Anyways, her mother just recently passed away due to Cancer,

this past march on st.patricks day.

Erin and her twin Bridget are both my friends.

I did not realize how huge their family is until very recently,

Anyways yesterday, Erin was having a bad day,

and she shared with her fb friends she really missed her mother.

I was completely floored with all the useless facebook comment messages

she was getting. There were just so fake to me.

So i commented myself-and i was not trying to impress facebook-or Erin or anybody else.

I just wished to say something that could comfort Erin and be

totally completely “real” and “honest” with her.

I was just being me, I was just being emily.

She wrote me later, in a private facebook message, Thank you so much , you knew just how I was feeling and how much my messages helped her.

That really made my evening last night.

It is a good feeling to be a good friend to somebody you forever care for,

cherish and sisterly love.

True friendships among women are not always,

easy to find or to maintain.

But once I’ve formed a friendship bond-

with another female- I keep those friends

out and treasure them immensely.

It really takes a whole pile of damages for me,

to no longer consider a woman my friend.

Once a friend, always a friend, at least that is where

my loyalties take me. So many beautiful feminine friends:

Each is like a precious gem or a secret treasure to me.

I LOVE my friends-all of them.

even the cob-webbed covered ancient ones,

those are kind of crunchy

but i just love them all the more-for it!!!!

The law of attraction

The Law of Attraction,

never seems to sink in with me,

somehow.

Many family members swear by this.

And they are all financially much better off than I.

 

I want to believe, I really really do.

I just have a hard time taking

personal responsibility,

for every negative and awful

causality that has ever befallen me.

 

I have trouble believing that

I have a higher spiritual self  which

somehow decided to embrace mental illness,

welcome rape, miscarriages, and other crimes

upon myself so freely and willingly-

 

as if i have a please kick me sign,

attached to my rear end-

or a stupid “willing victim” sign

taped to my forehead.

That growing up, I always dreamt,

I would be unemployed and living below the poverty level.

 

I do believe very much in karma,

and that what you put out,

comes back three times.

 

I believe in many superstitions as well.

I avoid opening umbrellas indoors,

or walking beneath ladders.

I read Tarot cards but fear oujia boards.

I believe in ghosts, astral projection and re-incarnation.

 

Yet, still i struggle to accept the law of attraction.

Maybe, it’s quite paranoid of me.

But I cannot make sense, that each and every bad

experience i have ever had,

i invited and chose to have it.

i do not get this.

it confounds me greatly.

 

 

Recovery divided by 3

Recovery divided by 3:

one part is the recovery of the physical self.

recovery of an illness and god knows what else?

 

Part 2 is recovery of the mentality.

Recovery of what ails and troubles

the mind.

 

Lastly, Recovery part 3:

is of the soul.

A recovery to balance a lifetime.

 

To intermingle, the ills of the body, mind, and soul…

Recovery is the word

that sums up, where we go-

from here to eternity.

 

To incarnate oneself in the present

zen of a moment,

to take in a single breath

and allow oneself to rest.

 

Recovery is nature’s way.

She heals us from the inside, out.

But only if we allow her,

only if we are receptive.

 

To receive a world;

comprised of blessings and wellness,

is to become whole.

Recovery is division.

Simple mathematics of  atoms and neurons.

 

Recovery divided by 3.

The ever elusive equation of energy

which equates us into

small earthquakes of belonging.

Stuck on the serene

I’m stuck on the serene.
I am a fly caught by the sky of stars,
onto your cars dashboard’s glass-
smashing fast
beneath windshield wipers cast of silver.

the past is a postcard memory.
a momentary glismpe over my shoulder,
and a 35 cent postage stamp.

there is so much love here.
it covers me, endlessly.
until i breakout like an allergy.
feeling the rash of never belonging/nor…
being worthy of all the love
he sends to me.

I’m a broken down rabbit earred TV screen.
stuck on static and white noise.
i am broken into too many
ancient places
to be fixed by your hi-fi definations.

I am the broken down pay-phone,
in the mental ward which only takes
quaters, and everybody is fresh out,
sadly giving me longing looks of too much pain.

I am the peeling paint job
on the oldest wooden house
abandoned ob our block
windows nailed shut
front door busted into
filled with the evils of crime, rodents of luck and opportunistic stray cats.

I am the fever which makes you sweat.
my heat intensifies
under a heating blanket, some fiction
and a bodybag of a corpse filled to the brim:
with lies.
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Hopes are dashed disappointed merging with depression:

Apparently, they only called to say that they,

“like” me, but not enough to actually “hire” me.

Whipee! I have gotten my fair share of phone calls,

that fall into this category.

She wanted to keep my application on file for future

reference-(so they reject me again? oh boy!) Sure is how I answered.

She also wanted to pass my application along,

to other agencies that they work with-

Sure, great, I said-

as I could feel my brain on meltdown,

the feeling of dread…nobody ever is going to hire me?

wth?

As much, as i try to remain focused and positive,

I keep getting massive and multiple rejections,

at each and every fork in the world…

 

At the end of our conversation, she could not wait

to tell me what an “awesome artist” I am.

Very talented. Not everybody is so lucky.

as an art therapist, i really disregarded, the compliment.

 

I felt literally-and still feel-that that is total bullshit.

I did not verbally say that to her,

instead I explained as an Art therapist, I believe that

Everybody has the power to make art- all it takes is practice.

 

No, no, no she assured me, “You have a Gift.”

 

Well yes, I do. I have the gift of never finding a damn job…

I’ve been looking over 18 months.

I am either OVER-qualified OR UNDER-qualify.

 

I can never get it right.

Getting so frustrated,

just wanna give up this dumb fight.

 

Sleeping slowly improving…

Since I’ve been back home-

I guess since Tuesday, or Weds or Thursday,

of last week- my sleep has been slowly improving.

 

This makes my husband very happy.

Although, I have been smoking

cigarettes, much worse than ever.

That is highly upsetting to him.

 

I try to explain that, no its not forever,

that i am trying to readjust to

the beauty which is

us.

 

That I am trying to cope,

with a hypo-manic stroke of luck-

a mild mania or mixed state,

It was not great, to have yet

another episode,

even if it was a smaller one.

 

My doctor says even though I have

been having more episodes than usual the past

2 years- that they all have been mild,

She sees that as a vast improvement.

 

It’s funny-in the strangest sense-

how many new people I met,

and how many did not really realize,

that something was a bit off with me.

 

The only ones who knew for sure,

were my husband-who i became paranoid of-

and my doctor-because she’s good

at her job and some sort of pro

at deciphering the Madness.

 

My sleep is getting better.

I am feeling much more relaxed.

All of which is good.

 

I’ve been in plans for leading

an Artist Talk-Art therapy workshop,

later this month,

We have been planning it at least 3 or 4 months.

 

The open art therapy studio and I.

I was kind of frightened I may,

have some sort of episode

and make an ass, of myself.

 

Now that I have had a shorter and milder

episode, all my meds were basically increased

so that means, I do not have to fear,

another episode for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wolf and red riding hood

What happens to the girl,

when she realizes its not grandma-in her bed,

its a wolf instead.

 

And his teeth are scary sharp and mean,

they glisten and gleam

with anger, rage, and heartache

verging

on a natural disaster.

 

What should the girl do,

should she trust the wolf with its

bright pretty eyes

and his lengthy explanation-

filled with nothing but lies?

 

“Baby, I won’t hurt you.”

“Baby lets work things out…”

“Baby, this marriage is worth saving.”

“When i mentioned murder-suicide in a casual way-it was because i was only joking.”

“You believe me right? Folks say stuff like that all the time but never mean it…”

Yeah, well…not so much.

 

 

That was when red riding hood spied

her grandmothers shiny bare bones

in their walk-in closet.

 

Never trust a wolf,

right there and then she decided.

A wolf is always lying.