My dear spirit, this cloudburst is not a storm

As a lover of learning, naturally, I would have the dictionary app on my phone and save words of the day that I find interesting. Today I came across this word:

Cloudburst – a sudden and very heavy rainfall

Saved. If this is not the universe sending me little signs, I’m not sure what it is.

Being on the job hunt for nearly 3 months and seeing very little signs of hope brought me down into a serious state of episodic depression (which does not help during interviews lol). Sulking is usually not a part of my demeanor but these past few weeks, however, I am numb. Hopeless. Entirely caught up in my bed sheets of self-deprecating thoughts. A vicious cycle that only continues to spiral downward really.

How can you believe in yourself when no one else believes in you? Rejection after rejection.  Each little letter of “Thanks, but we found someone more qualified” turns into significant blows to the ego.

So, cloudburst. This was a little reminder to myself that everyone has cloudbursts throughout their lives. Some much heavier and more prominent than others. Some might be downpouring. Some people’s cloudbursts might have thunder. Others lit up with strikes of lightning. Or both.

Anyway, it’s important for everyone to tell themselves “I am capable”, “I am strong” and “I believe in my purpose”. I can weather this little cloudburst of mine, and you can too. Because it is only temporary rainfall – nothing permanent.

how a nightmare can be beautiful

I had a nightmare last night, as I do most. This one was particularly eye opening. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, ready to puke my brains out. I was sick. A sore throat (Maybe I subconsciously knew during my sleep that Trump won the election, ha!).

My dad was in my dream. We were talking and shooting the shit, per usual. Suddenly, I realized he was dead (a general theme in my dreams). So this couldn’t be happening. We couldn’t be together much less even have a conversation. All of a sudden, he stopped talking to me. He ignored me. Yet continued to charm everyone else. I sat next to him staring blankly. I watched him from afar. I cried. I followed him around screaming at him to pay attention to me. I cried harder.

Nothing. He continued to ignore me. I continued to cry. Everyone tried to console me simultaneously neglecting to ask why I was upset. They assumed I was upset about something entirely different. They couldn’t grasp my pain. I pushed them away.

This dream is déjà vu to me. I have it occasionally and wake up in a sweat; nauseated.

The pain I carry each and every day knowing I can’t talk to my father haunts me. Tears me up at any random hour on any day.

This dream gave me some insight. It could mean a number of things. I still have yet to process my grief. I think that because my father isn’t physically present, he’s not listening to me, or present in any form.

But, he is here. Spiritually. I want to open up my heart more to him. So I can hear him. I am working on coming to terms with his death and it has been 2 years.

For anyone, that has felt the loss of a parent. I’m forever apologetic. I understand the heartache. It’s okay to randomly break out in tears. Throw hissy fits. Scream in your pillow. Not have it all together. Feel every feeling in the world all at once. Hide in your room for a whole day. Allow these things to happen.

Be patient with yourself. You are strong and capable. Let yourself feel at all capacities.

Your loved ones who passed are present. Maybe not how you want them to be but they are here.

One day, I aspire to live my life at a higher frequency so my father’s presence in my life will be prominent and felt. I wish this to all who endure a similar heartbreak.

Don’t forget, we’re all just stardust

We are all stardust.

We are easy to forget that life can be as simple as you make it or as complicated as you make it. I most certainly fall victim to the latter most days.

At an art market last week, I met an amazingly beautiful jewelry artist. She handed me a picture of the moon and stars with writing across it, we are all stardust. Her eyes met mine with ease and lightness. She smiled, and graciously enlightened me with a few meaningful words.

I think it’s so funny how everyone takes things so seriously. Don’t they realize what’s happening here? We are all on this crazy huge planet that is floating around the sun. How  insane!? We are all just floating stardust. Everyone gets all worked up for nothing, and take things so seriously. It’s funny to me.

We exchanged some laughs and bantered back in forth. It took a couple hours for what she said to really sink in. She has a point. For someone that struggles with anxiety and depression, this is something that I needed to hear.

Her reminder left me with a sense of lightness as I float through my days as a gust of sparkling stars: unafraid, and empowered. I thank her.



how my day feels with you

mornings of a gentle kiss
the sun & horizon at bliss

early afternoons of a warm embrace
the clouds fluffy showcase

late nights of whispering sweet nothing
stories from our stars so entrusting

how you empower my life

since the day we met, my heart will not forget

you’ve managed to place a hold, weaving your way through each manifold

as I bound my eyes kindly, goosebumps warm my heart soundly

the way anxiety tortures my emotional self

I am letting everything ball up inside of me. It still feels as though a ticking bomb is placed carefully somewhere under my ribcage. It’s a sensitive little one. Making friends with the little me inside. That little girl went through much in her life thus far. She’s kind of comfortable with the bomb. She’s used to it. Talking to it from time to time. Yet, unable to control what’s going on inside. Being pulled in all sorts of directions. From time to time, she will play with the bomb.

Carefully placing it in the palm of her hand. It’s similar to playing with fire. Juggling all her pain in-between her hands. Just watching the chaos blazing. Waiting for the bomb to explode. She almost wishes for that to happen. It could make her new again. Although, it could destroy her entirely.

All her life, she’s played with similar kinds of bombs. Not intentionally. They were placed inside her. Each of them for her taking. Each of them carrying a demonic being. Patient in choosing their next victim. The little girl has an ability to detonate most of them. Yet, some bombs throw her off guard. She can’t piece together the puzzle. Too intricate for her to decipher. So the bomb stays, and leave her with a pulling sensation. The tugging persists as she lives on.

grief can be found in a garden


The garden was astonishingly heartbreaking

She began picking all her favorites

All the ones that flipped her heart sideways

For their beauty was contagious

An older woman walks by

Seeing her expressionless statute body,

Staring at a beautiful bouquet in her hand


The older woman says:

“Why that’s a gorgeous set of flowers you got”

Still staring longingly at her collection she states,

“…But I killed them all.”

Tears welling up in her eyes she falls to the ground

The older lady rushes to her side

“My sweetheart, each one of those are so individually breathtaking from the inside – out, someone else would have picked them anyways…”

She looks at her through her lost set of eyes

She whispers,


fire & flames

She was pulled in deep

Energy of magnetic ruthlessness

Sultry temptation arose in her blood

His fire became her fire

They went up in flames

Untamable lust dripping on her

Poured out by him

Steamy secrets unraveled

Her fire became his fire

As each movement told stories

Tales of an unknown mutuality

Growing in the disaster they’ve created

For they shall burn on or burn down

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