Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

As a child, I would lay in the field near my home and become transfixed on a star and sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. 

I would 'make a wish' mainly to be transported to some far-away place or even a different planet. Tonight, I found myself looking at a star that took me back to that place where I made so many wishes. Except now, my desire is not to leave to another planet and not even far away. 

Maybe just another town a little north of here, where I found my first dose of serenity in years. 

A place where I experienced the mind cleansing effect of nature and people full of love, laughter, and warmth who love the simple things. A place where life may not be perfect but, for me, a place where innocence, wonder, and wishes still exist.  ~ Written by Kym L. Pasqualini

The Unseen

So many are blinded by superficial illusion, searching for perfection and fooled by the facades, while at a distance, without experiencing intrusion.  

Consumed by online interludes, trading real for the unseen, an addiction to fantasy results in a confused reality . . . while online trading the authentic for imaginary. 

From behind walls protecting hearts of purity, they become immobilized, unable to emerge from the deep obscurity.

Obsessed with fabrications, mirages seem real, and there are no real connections.

As they sit and stare into a web filled with deceit, minutes become hours, and time begins wasting.  

Without notice, the one meant only for them has passed right by, real love now eluded for eternity, and why? 

We all know that "true love" can't be viewed on a screen in a pose and can only be found within the eyes of the soul exposed. ~ Written by Kym L. Pasqualini

Peeling Back the Onion

Walking through a haze clouding one's perception, a reality no longer based upon the heart's true intention.

Like a beautiful onion as it's peeled, ideally each layer should take us closer to what is real.

Straining to see through the fog in the world we are forced to exist, sadly each layer reveals superficiality persists.

Have I idealized my entire existence because I do not see?

I can't help but feel nauseated by the clarity of hypocrisy. ~Kym L. Pasqualini

The Anchor of Hope

How important is Hope? Having hope is defined as having an expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. We can hope for many things during our lifetime. Some hope for new cars, some for love, and others hope it will not rain tomorrow, and some for world peace. Some people simply hope for peace of mind.

I have learned a little something about Hope. During the last two decades working with families of missing persons, I have seen the unimaginable. When faced with the unthinkable, I found maintaining hope is necessary for the survival of us humans. I have learned that maintaining hope can anchor the soul during life's most turbulent times.

If we have nothing to look forward to, we can become easily consumed by the darkness of fear and apathy. When experiencing feelings of indifference it is impossible to see light at the end of the tunnel. Without hope, we lack emotion, excitement, and the drive to even get to the end of the tunnel.

Some may not understand how one could sink to such depths because we all experience a crisis in our lives differently. The fact is, we do not need to understand how it happens. What is important is our ability to identify it. This moment of recognition could save a life. As much as hope is something we contain within ourselves, by reaching out to another person in his or her time of desperation - hope becomes a gift. ~ Kym L. Pasqualini

PTSD - Lifeblood of Survival

This is compassion, empathy, acceptance, support, forgiveness, commitment, and true friendship - this is "love" for another who has been broken.

For those of us who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) whether by war or other trauma . . . this is our lifeblood of survival. ~ Kym L. Pasqualini #PTSDWarrior

Metamorphosis

We, humans, have a tendency to try to balance on the fence of life, much of the time with one foot in the past, while the other will dictate our direction in the future - one of stability, or one of recklessness. Our memories are to be honored and cherished so that we may recognize and value the future that we alone are responsible for constructing. It is up to us, to learn through our personal metamorphosis, so we can build a future that will not be a source of torture for us. The past should be recognized as a bottomless treasure chest that we fill with all those things that teach us how to be the most conscience, loving, and thoughtful human we can be, enabling us to see ahead with clarity. ~ Kym L. Pasqualini

Eclipse of the Heart

Echoes of yesterday haunt a shattered heart . . . the keys to the soul thrown into the night. One without hope and burdens of pain . . . catch glimpses of light just within grasp, an eclipse of the heart and release from the past ~ Kym L. Pasqualini

PTSD Flashback #43.

In Dutchess County, upper New York State, just past a small cemetery on Frog Hollow Road, stands a white two-story farmhouse. A little girl, about 11 years old, fearfully crouches in the corner of the downstairs family room. She knows if she screams, no one from the outside will hear and he will only come for her. Shaking and sweating, she urinates on the floor, as she watches Jesus Christ (or the man who she was taught to believe was Jesus Christ), standing over a disciple who also lives on "The Farm."

The disciple, whose name is Bob, is a thin man who stands over 6' ft tall, but he sits on the couch in the west side of the room looking upward at his prophet ranting at the top of his lungs. Chaos. Several other disciples are there on the outskirts of the room just watching.

One disciple is the little girl's mother who stands in the shadow of the staircase where the night before "Jesus" had punched her straight in the face knocking her off her feet, Blood ran from her eyes, now dried, her eyes already turning black from the violent impact.

There seems to be a haze of evil in the room, like being in the twilight zone. Jesus is yelling at the top of his lungs that Judas has betrayed him. His presence terrifying, though only a man of thin build, maybe 5' 10" with dark brown flowing hair to his shoulders. He looks like the pictures one sees depicting Christ but there is no Godliness or compassion emanating from this man - one only sees evil as terrifying as one could imagine a monster to be.

As Jesus holds an old metal and glass meat thermometer about 12" long, he suddenly raises it into the air above his head like a sword, looks down at Bob . . . and plunges the meat thermometer into Bob's forehead as he sits on the couch looking up at the man who professes to be his spiritual teacher. Blood begins pouring from his wound but somehow he remains conscious. Some disciples run out the side door of the farmhouse, while the little girl still crouching in the corner, is left alone in the house with the self-proclaimed prophet. She suddenly blacks out, falling into the puddle of urine on the dusty wooden floor.

When people with PTSD say they are having flashbacks, we are not referencing the LSD kind but of a traumatic scene like the above that uncontrollably replays like a horror movie. That is Scene #43 and no shortage of others. #PTSDAwareness #PTSDWarrior