Tag Archives: lifestyle


I love the spiritual community.

I hate the spiritual spin.

Deflecting under a spiritual guise. Blaming soul contracts. Using overly simplified slogans as cop outs – I guess she’s just on her journey … Well, She did the best she could at the time … I’m a Pisces, what can I do about it? … It’s written in the stars. 

The awkwardness that comes from such a passive release of responsibility makes me cringe. But that’s probably just my ego trying to maintain control. Really? When are we going to move beyond blaming our egos and shadow sides? 

Maybe it was just you. Maybe you made that choice. Not your ego. Not your shadow side. Maybe it was you who decided to do that. Maybe you enjoyed it. Maybe that’s OK.

Then again, that’s probably just my ego saying that or my traumatized inner-child.

My inner-child – I can’t even go there. I’m done fracturing myself into ages. Done defining myself by chronological traumas. Thirteen-year-old Billy, is nine-year-old Billy, is the Billy typing this blog. We are one in the same. No more pitting all my parts against each other.

Sometimes I want to grab a bliss bunny by the shoulders and scream, “Letting Go before processing isn’t self-empowerment, it’s self-avoidance!

Cards. Charts. Gurus. None of these possess the answer(s). They’re powerful tools. When used correctly they provide new prospectives, reveal connections beyond this realm, fill in blanks, and offer confirmation – usually to things you already knew. But the only thing I know, is that I know nothing. 


OK. Then I guess that’s your Truth.

And for me that’s what spirituality is all about – living your Truth.

At least that’s how I’m spinning it.

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For years I suppressed it. Terrified. I closeted my secret.

I couldn’t allow anyone to know. Truthfully, I didn’t really know.

I was aware of a difference. I felt alien. Something about me didn’t match what I was surrounded by. I wasn’t like all the other boys. Some I felt a commonality with some. Others not so much.

Anatomically I was similar. A bit more athletic than most. A little less gifted than others. I understood them. They were easy to mimic. Simple in most ways. Complex in a few.

Behind closed doors it would come out. Usually in dramatic fashion.

The older I got, the more it raged. Gnawed at me. Chipped away from the inside. Refused to not be heard. Resisted being stuffed down. Screamed until it received my undivided attention.

No longer capable of ignoring, I was forced to look. At first it confused me. I mistook it for something it wasn’t. Sexuality. Athleticism. Sexuality again.

I had to spend a lot of time with it. Togetherness dissolved separation.

Surrendered control led to self-acceptance.

Armed with self-love I cracked opened the door. Slowly I began to share this part of myself. Honest reflections exposed me to me. Confidence grew. Door opened wider. I stepped out. Sighed. Tightened. Doubted.

Stayed out.

In doing so I took ownership over what I really am; creative.

Now there’s no going back.


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What makes someone brave?

This question has been bouncing around my brain this week.

I looked it up:

brave /brāv/ adjective
ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.
The toughest thing I have ever faced has been myself. Objectively. Honestly.
It’s not easy asking yourself tough questions. Is that what really happened? 
It’s even harder answering those tough question. Maybe. But maybe theres’s more to it. 
Knowing is easy.
Not knowing requires one to be brave.  


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