"... we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope." -- Romans 5:3-4
No Pain Wasted is an online publication as well as a literary campaign intended to shift the moral fiber of humanity by bridging gaps that are both acknowledged, unacknowledged, unseen, forgotten, and ignored in our society. Unapologetically raw yet deeply compassionate, my work is visible proof of the resilience and power of the human spirit. It is also a celebration of the divine beauty inherent in even the most seemingly broken individuals. The pieces on this site are the culmination of 46 years of research through lived experience and observation of both tragedy and victory. Throughout my life I have paid attention to detail about human motives, patterns of behavior, and the determination that leads to growth. When I say that God has called me to this task, I am not using common phraseology or jargon– God has, very distinctly and literally, called me to this task. And, I do not take God’s invitation lightly. Though currently a small online publication, I have a vision that surpasses the boundaries of the written word and I intend, as I strive to conjure up the very best of myself, to see my vision come to fruition.
My work is informed by the following beliefs:
Every human is linked together both through their core Self— children of God who all possess a piece of the divine within themselves— and the fact that we are all on this Earthly journey together trudging through the same vast emotional landscape known as the human experience.
Our current social system is a hierarchy built on shallow differences— ie race, economics, and levels of education— that seeks, however boldly or subtly, to divide persons and communities. This hierarchical system chooses to ignore the idea that all people are created in God’s image and are all part of the cosmic tapestry. Each person on this planet has a purpose in God’s storybook and each human purpose is both divinely ordained and equal in importance.
Pain is an inevitable part of the human journey. Experienced both individually and collectively, pain binds us together and also tears us apart. Though in modern American culture, we tend to attempt to hide and disguise our suffering, this bone-crushing, tear-producing, deep soul-wrenching commonality is, indeed, a pathway to personal and social change, healing, connection, hope, and enlightenment.
Due to the fact that pain is, indeed, unavoidable and we are all characters in God’s beautiful, mysterious drama the author of this publication believes, wholeheartedly, that No Pain is Wasted.
In a deeply instinctual way– an instinct that stems from the same commanding whisper that prods hatching sea turtles to furiously waddle to that mystical space where the tide breaks on the shore– I have known, since I was a very young girl, that I was not just different or unique or unusual– as I was both physically and intellectually set apart from other children my age– but that I was destined for something great. And by “something great” I don’t mean I was predispositioned for fame or fortune, but that I was carefully and lovingly knit together in my mother’s womb, created by the all-powerful enigma I call God, for some great task or hero’s journey that was meaningful not just to me but was important in a more global sense. I was intended to do something with a broad wingspan.
It has taken me my whole life to accept and admit this truth. Besides thinking that it sounded insane, grandiose, and conceited, I also couldn’t believe I was worthy of such a task if such tasks actually existed.
Now, I am 46 years old and my voice hasn’t made it out into the world. Previous to this point, as each year seamlessly melted into another, and I approached mid-life, I began to berate myself for wasting the gifts I had been given. I had, in my mind’s eye, only succeeded in carving out an excruciatingly pain-filled, largely irresponsible, and mediocre existence. As if to solidify my fear, at the age of 38, a gentleman said to me that if my art was ever going to reach said masses that it would have already. He insisted I was too old and it was too late for my words and thoughts and brilliance and light to have any impact. I chided myself for my false sense of intuition and wondered if any of my instincts could be trusted.
Until now.
They say, and I believe, that nothing in this divinely created world happens by mistake. I, then, also believe that I am only now pulling up the anchor tethered to my stories and setting sail the ship of my words because I wasn’t ready. I had to experience a great deal of the Heaven and Hell life has to offer. I had to fall to the bottom of the well of human suffering, to endure extreme traumas and to also taste the sweetness of triumph. I had to rise up, despite my shattered sense of self, over and over and over again. I had to wait so that I could develop a vantage point and a wisdom worthy of the creative gifts bestowed upon me. Now is my time!!
Though I have had magnificent and glorious bouts of true joy, the beauty of my life has really been seen in the day-to-day minutia and in my valiant trudge along the steep, rocky pathway of my mortal existence. This is ultimately true because the divine is ever-present with me, within me, and without me– in every breath, whisper, and cleansing tear, in every moon rise and sunset, in every situation and every living thing. All the molecules and all the madness.
My challenges– from sexual molestation at a young age and the resultant acting out to the death of my sister and the neglect that ensued to repeated rapes and intimate partner violence to alcoholism, sex, and crack cocaine addiction, all of which led to behaviors and situations that caused more dis-ease have just kept crashing into me– wave upon ginormous wave, pushing me down and under the surface of contentment, breathlessly and tirelessly fighting the current and the impossible undertow. At one point I was less-than-human, a hollow shell composed of flesh and dope, and yet my light managed to shine even on the darkest of the dark nights. And, God breathed life into me again.
In the early stages of my reconnect with Spirit, I wrote:
My concept of the afterlife is rooted in fantasy. I do know that energy cannot be created nor destroyed and that it merely shapeshifts. This scientific notion does play some part into my fantastical heaven as does my idea (one that I am now reexamining) that evil does not exist. Though not a student of religion or spirituality until well into adulthood, I have read and read about Spirit and Christ and Love and Sin, Attachment and Buddah and Suffering and Redemption. I have spun a blanket of perception out of my studies and the yearnings of my heart that is wholly convenient for my compassionate outlook. I can, somewhat, wrap my head around a loving God, but I choose not to believe in the Yin Yang spiritual balance of the Devil. I choose not to believe in any manner of Satan because Satan is ugly and I like to cast my eyes on beauty.
Yet, light cannot be defined without referring to the darkness. I now believe that life and Earth are, in some sense, a mirage, and that we have a much heftier purpose and infinite value. I believe that the temporal realm of this world, with its petty distractions, with its newscasts and politics, with its Kanyes and Kardashians, only blinds us from the stark reality that we, do indeed, exist in a spiritual plane. When I tune in to the divine frequency, sit quiet and small, and listen to God, truth is revealed and I am reminded that this garment of flesh is only a disguise– that you and I are truly angels– trudging, sometimes aimlessly, through a mysterious, magical landscape touched by true Love, by the God that drew breath and saw fit to fill our lungs with it, and also by the very opposite of Love, by the energy that draws our breath from us and replaces truth with fear. We angels often, instead of opening our arms and hearts and basking in the goodness, identify with labels– man, woman, black, white, parent, uncle, teacher, loser– created to minimize our true nature. I, for example, only paraded the streets, drug-addicted and unbathed, muscle beginning to deteriorate, skin beginning to hang like loose fabric from the whittled frame of my bones. If a person looked upon me then– this woman who had managed to selfishly crash her way down to the bottom layer of the social stratosphere, they might see, or think they see, a desperate degenerate– a real dirty DOB who would do anything, and I mean pretty much anything, to prolong the escape inherent in another hit of crack cocaine and who had lost the capacity for love or respect or responsibility. Yes, they would look down with their tunnel visioned gaze, and believe that this human costume, this mask, this soiled earthly robe I donned for that eye blink in time was me. No. It wasn’t. We are all angels, almost inexplicably hidden within the errors and the cellulite, and we are being sought after and fought over by the Father of Light and his shadowy counterpart and we will one day shed these cloaks and rise.
In November, God told me that I was on the base of my steepest climb yet. And, I was. I thought He was telling me to gear up for outside attacks– for judgment and criticism from others. Ha. There is this song entitled Me vs. Me by Nbhd Nick which I listen to, along with Lord, Give Me a Sign by DMX, on the daily which describes that the true battle is with and within ourselves. Shortly after I received that message, I started to experience a pain that trumped any I had lived through as a result of outside attacks and influences. I had to recognize that the deep trenches of sorrow carved into the neural labyrinth of my psyche were being paved by my perspective and my attitude. You see, when held side by side to the abuse I inflict upon myself, the external forces are only a faint drizzle in the weather pattern of my discontent. My inner turmoil-- a deluge of negative energy that cascades over me and flows from within me– is the true violent hurricane and deadly twister, the threatening arrival of unexpected monsoons. I am sure there are other complex, passionate persons who experience the same depth and breadth of category 5 emotion that I do, but I do not know them personally. The deep flood of my emotional dysregulation started surfacing as a voracious and powerful storm-of-sorts, a blinding sheet of panic, that overtakes my physical and mental faculties and implores me to “Run!” The experience is so frightening, so devastating, I believe during those episodes that I have to make it STOP at any cost– be it walking out of a home, a relationship, or a rehab even if it is the middle of the night leaving all of my possessions behind. Or, sadly, the swallowing of 20 benadryl so I pass out and don’t actually slice a jugular vein.
And, now, with God, I am breaking the chains.
I am no longer, at least on the day to day, under tormented lock and miserable key, crippled by my unresolved trauma and acting out of a place of pain– sobbing, shrieking, scared and confused– I am very much, and in every conceivable sense, a lovely little bad ass. A real warrior. A wonder woman. And, as I craft my written work, attempting to live up to the responsibilities and expectations of one of God’s powerful scribes.
Because, it is He who imparted the gifts. It was He who provided the insight. And, It was, whether I like it or not, He who knew I could handle the trials and tribulations necessary to embark on this mission. God called me to task, seasoned soldier that I am. And, I have no choice, despite any reservation, but to say “Yes, God, Yes.”
But… “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” or so it is said in Luke 12:48
And so, I am artfully juicing the lemons into lemonade, transforming trauma into art.
Juicing Lemons. Making Lemonade.