Wednesday, October 19, 2011

To Blog or not to Blog

Good morning to all the Bloggers and readers who may (or may not) be reading this!  I say that because I see that this page gets hits, but not sure how to really get in touch with others, and though I love to blog, I will be doing so on my main site that I have had since October 2002.  It's easy enough to click and find me, if your interested and you like what you read here so far.  Carole Anzolletti's Carole's Anzolletti's site.  Thank you for coming here, and making a note or bookmark to keep in touch.  My blog at my site does enable comments, so hopefully you drop by to say hi! Have a great day!

Sunday, September 25, 2011

...Over Your Dead Body/Death Express Continued...

...The Phantoms in the Forest...

"Yes, indeed. Over Your Dead Body."
He snarled a little bit at the end of the sentence. I looked at him, looked through him. I saw my neighbor passing in and out of the wall. He had finally managed to figure it out, but where to go, now that you're dead?

So many unanswered questions. What am I doing here, among these dead...The smell of cigarettes brought me back. Oh, yes. That's right. I am obsessed with cigarettes and smoking even though it's been almost seven years since I myself quit. I am not without many of its scars and remnants. I am still mad that I even started and was a fool to myself for so long. I could be dancing right along with these sheer beings of remorse and retribution. I could be here anytime, actually. But will it be the same? Me, dead wandering around a rattley old train car? No, I have more pleasant things in mind. But for now I am hanging out with Death and his newest arrivals.

The night is long and dark. It is not the same as a regular night. The end of the season crickets are so loud - fighting for their last round of chirping before they join the earth again. They are perpetually singing as leaves and branches are cracking in the forest just beyond the tracks. Something is chittering and falling through the sky. A bat lands just outside the train window where my new friend is passing back and forth. The cracking stops and there is only silence now. My ears feel as though someone has put their hands over them, everything is muffled. The crickets are tiny chirps barely audible. The Phantom Reaper is gone. I am alone with the person who died last night. Why don't I know his name?

...The Unlit Path...

He is looking at me with a sadness mixed with rage. I am not understanding why because I have no idea who he is. I don't know anything about him and I am not sure I want to. The photographs scattered around the floor begin to float around. He picks them up one at a time and when he has them all, he exits the train.

"No, please don't."

I barely say it because its useless. The dead don't do as they are told. It's the other way around, out here anyway. I don't want to sit here alone in the dark on the railway or follow the ghost into the dark forest where hideous sounds have started up again. This time the breaking and shuffling is much more careless and accompanied by harsh voices that don't sound helpful, or even human. I wait to see if he is really going in to the small opening in the trees. It's barely visible, one shade of dark against another. I keep thinking like a human, and want to have the courage of a ghost. Finally I have no choice because I am alone and way too curious to stay behind. I can at least follow at a distance until I see something I don't like.

Now it is I that is making cracking sounds on the fallen branches below my feet. I am horrified that I am being heard and every sound I make seems to be amplified in this black velvet thickness. I stop because I cannot breathe through my terror. I have lost sight of my ghost friend and I feel so hot I could fall over. I look to the sky, there is no moon, no stars. There is no wind but there is now a building heat that is pouring out of something I cannot see. I am exhausted with the temperature. I find a hollow in a bush and sit inside it. I hear a fire burning close but there is no light from anywhere. Shadows torment me with their dancing.

...Thicker than Water...

The black flames are distinctly burning. I hear voices of those that I recognize now. My mother and my son are having a conversation. The tone of my mothers voice is vile, angry. My son is a silent conversationalist, all I hear is "Uh huh. Mmm hmm." I hear my name, pronounced as "Your Mother" and there is nothing else now. I stand up in a revived furor and am slapped in the face with a tree branch. As I push through it and wipe away blood, sweat and tears, I try to find them. My anger gives me the courage to catapult into the darkness. It is just what they planned.

I come to a clearing where a black bonfire is burning. My mother and son are here, yes, but they are engaged in a conversation that will never include me or acknowledge me. Her frail skeleton sits in a "cat" position as his sits beside her indian style. There are phantom wraiths standing behind them, arms outstretched, waiting for me. The conversation continues between them but the words are completely incoherent. The largest wraith comes forward, bone hand extended. I reach out for it, and take it. I can't bear this exchange between them anymore in death than I could in life.

The wraith shapeshifts as we walk. His boney hand becomes covered in flesh. He becomes beautiful. Too beautiful. I would follow him anywhere. Daylight starts to peek over a far off horizon. The land we walk upon goes from barren and black to fragrant and green. Birds begin to emerge from trees heavy with leaves still green. Things always look better in the dawn of the new day...don't they?

Thursday, September 22, 2011

...Till Death Do Us Part/Death Express...(Continuing the Quit Smoking Express)



...The Mists In Between...(Continuation of the Hub titled "All Board the Quit Smoking Express")

My feet are cold. The night has advanced into a deep darkness. You hover now at the platform, gray mist and smoke pouring around your ankles. You have no feet now as mine are as cold as ice. This time last night you were alive...and well? Weren't you? Then you fell asleep watching Kyra Sedgewick eating a Ho-Ho while you had a lit cigarette in your hand. The sirens came and went. I am thinking of you and how I really didn't know you. Now you stand before me, a ghost, waiting for the ride to begin.
The train is still there waiting for us but it is vacant now. Even the conductor has left us here to wait. The Phantom Queen stands in Her place on the tracks. We go in and have a seat. Newspapers and coffee cups blow gently around. There is no glass in these windows. The dead don't get cold although I always want to believe they do.
I look over at you and I know you have to come back around again. I still wonder if anything I could have said could have made a difference. I know that sometimes just one word can stick in one's mind, reverberating right down into the core of a soul forever. There are two that stuck in mine, two that She promises to remove for me soon enough. For now though, I am thinking about you. The streetlights pour in the window and make the shadows long. You want to talk, but no longer have a voice. I want to talk but I have no idea what to say.
A scraping sound distracts me as you can't hear a sound. I see sparks along the outside of the train and watch as a tall sharp figure trails a long scythe alongside it. I am seated with a ghost so this visitor could be anyone, or anything. I have long since abandoned my fear of the night and its mysterious ways. Shadows like demons stand in the car with us and I look over at you. It appears that you are examining hands that no longer have fingers. The figure stands outside watching over our shoulders. I wonder how long it will be before the ride begins.

...The Gathering of Kindred Souls..

The streetlamp picks up movement in the parking lot. A shrouded figure comes drifting up over the stairs and past the Coke machine. Floating effortlessly it comes into our car and hovers in front of us. The figure outside passes through the wall and they stand nose to nose. I am freezing now, in the presence of new death. The new spirit is unable to move and stares with eyeless sockets into the stream of light from the parking lot beyond. Regular trains sound their horns and pass through.
The scraping figure moves towards the parking lot and vanishes. More shrouded ghosts come, some in pairs, some are throatless while some are amputated. I feel colder each time another enters the drafty car. Still no conductor in sight as the car fills up. The dark night holds its breath as the train begins to move so slowly. The Phantom Queen is waving to me from the end of the platform. I want to get out but I know She will only replay this until I get it right. So I sit among the ghosts as the train moves painfully along.
Some of the ghosts are trying to reach out to me, to touch me but they aren't ready for that kind of advanced behavior yet. I stand and walk to the back of the car where I can see where we have come from but I can't see anything. It is like a huge black cave that we emerged from. The streetlamp, the platform, and the Phantom Queen are no longer. I stand with my hands on the railing and watch as we leave no trace of our journey behind.
I turn back to the car and its passengers now. I am not surprised to see myself alone. There are photographs all over the floor now, pictures of those spirits that had boarded. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters...the first shrouded figure whom I recognized as a grandmother. They all looked pretty happy in their photographs. I noticed that my house fire spirit was not in the pile at the same time that I noticed he was still in the car, off in a corner. He was half in and half out. Apparently learning to pass through walls already I sat back down as the car slowed.
When it stopped completely we were in complete darkness. I could hear talking and whispering and crying. I couldn't find the door out and was too confused to try. As I felt around in the dark my hands found something smooth under them, a cold curved casket lid with flowers upon it blocked me from moving. Then I heard the most disturbing laughter that made my pale skin crawl.

...The Blackened One...

He stood there again, back from the parking lot where he had gathered the newest additions to his collection. His grin was filled with black teeth, eroded by the smoke he blew in and out of his phantasm body. His laughter made my own teeth chatter and I hugged myself for a warmth that wouldn't come. His voice was unmistakable through the tendrils of smoke that drifted out from between his teeth. He was that disgraceful memory that I had carried through most of my life, he was everything that I ever doubted and misunderstood. He twisted around lies and deceit, anger and guilt. He Was The One.
"Till Death Do Us Part." He whispered through sheaths of smoke.
"Over my dead body." I turned away toward the light.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

...All Board The Quit Smoking Express...

...Do You Have Your Ticket?

Let's pretend we have just met on a platform and it's rainy...windy...cold. We huddle under the awning by the coffee shop we wished was open. It's not quite dark yet as I notice a stale donut lays on its side outside the spotless glass door. You take out a cigarette and light it. I turn my head away because it looks harmless, smells good sometimes. This is one of those times.
There aren't many people around. There is an older lady standing with a very tall boy who keeps repeating two words. His voice carries over the stairwell. "Marshmallow. Catnip." I feel an enormous range of emotions. What is he thinking about? Surely not a cigarette! Surely there is no catnip or marshmallows around here. The damp night wind blows and the smoke drifts into my face, up my nose. I don't want to seem rude and walk away because I know I will be boarding this train with you, and I was once just like you. Anxious because the trainride is smokefree. Annoyed that such a thing has to be. Wondering whatever will I do with my time until my next cigarette.
I chew my lip because this place, this's all an illusion. It's all about what we chose to do and be so very long ago. This meeting is not by chance and my perpetual longing for my addiction will perhaps never change. It's never been meant to. I stand there with you, and we haven't spoken yet. It will be me that first speaks to you, about something you have or something you are. I just don't know what that will be yet. I know you are already craving the next one, and I know you aren't going to be as friendly as you'd like to be.

...The Dark Night Express...

I can hear it from far away. The old black train chugging along like an abused lung is rattling down the track much slower than the others. The passengers on this train have much to be desired. I see bleached white hands and yellow patches of skin around mouths and eyes. I smell death and desire in the air, in their expired breath. Some of them I even remember from the past, but I don't see my father here. He must be on a different train.
You and I watch as it pulls up to the platform. It seems like it is too far away from the edge for us to be able to board. The conductor sticks his head out of the window. I would recognize that skull anywhere. You look from him to me and begin to back away. Here is my chance to initiate our conversation. "It's not as bad as it looks..."
Still, not enough to convince you. You aren't comfortable with these images of death and decay. Dying dreams drift in the air around you. I look at the conductor who dangles now on the sill of his station. I know it's a terrible scene. I also know it's the inevitable truth. We are all going to board Death Express one day. So the only thing I want to ask is this. If not now, when?

...The Reaper Then Decides...

Backing away from the train and the platform I watch your back as you go home towards what you have always done, and what you loathe to keep doing. Further ahead on the track stands a figure. She is in the path of the train, a crow upon Her shoulder, a crow in the air above Her. She watches me watching you. She nods Her head at me, acknowledging my thoughts. She follows you home. She watches as you talk disgustedly to yourself of how you are just too weak and just cannot care about leaving this disgraceful part of yourself behind. Forget that journey to places unknown, places that scare you irrationally before you even know what and and where they are and what they may have to offer. Her crows caw outside the window, startling you subconsciously. Exhausted, you turn on the television and light another cigarette.
Hours later a fire blazes and sirens awake the entire neighborhood. The old lady next door can barely walk and talk but her voice manages a short phrase.
"What a shame."
I barely understand her as the fire engines shoot massive hoses of water at your house on fire. I should have said more, or less. I don't know what I should have said now that you're gone. I cough a little from the smoke in the air. I notice the three crows on the telephone wire. In the gray morning something red coats the glass of the streetlamp. Further away I see Her. She watches all of this from behind the massive oak tree. She is the Phantom Queen, the Lady of Battle, Death and War. She followed you home and warned you but you were too tired to listen. You already believed it was too late. Nothing could have changed your mind.
Could it?

Monday, July 18, 2011

...Such A Liar...

So many times I have recently read about the Power of Keeping Silent...
I write every single day, several pages and I keep them piling up with my rantings and ravings and plans. I find so much peace there on the page. This morning in particular I remembered that I said today is "Monday Musings" day...and it keeps me on track to check in with my friends who are reading along with me. I am grateful for that, and I feel thankful to have this place to do so.

I have been changing a lot of things...and the people around me are rapidly changing as well. I woke up this morning feeling completely disheveled and displaced. I had to keep asking myself WHAT AM I DOING HERE?! Pulling out my paper and pen, I found out that answer and several more. I started a new painting and a pencil drawing. I reminded myself of the powerful thoughts and quotes around me. I told myself that I am most definitely not the only one with that same question and I am also one that will do the hard work to make sure I do what I love to do without being attached to the outcome.

I made sure that I spaced out my time so that everyone had the attention they needed. I wondered about how I felt about always being so busy and then reminded myself that this is all there is...I am thankful for the people around me. I appreciate that my children are separate people from me and that they evolve as their own separate beings who are grateful to be treated as such. They are so different from me. I do not own them. I am here to keep them safe and happy and its a lot of work. I am not complaining. It is because of them that I chose to squeeze in the paintings and writings and drawings...this shows them that I, too, have my own life and things that I am interested in doing. It teaches them that is it important to be able to do things for yourself that you love to do, and that there is nothing wrong with it.

I also thought about what a liar I can be, to myself. How I plan and project and scatter things around already knowing that it is a recipe for disaster. Hi, my name is Carole and I am a master multi-tasker. I must surrender this because it causes my ADD to go into over drive and at the end of the day I have five projects that will never be finished. This too is hard work. These past few weeks I have been talking to myself...ALOT...and lying about not wanting to be engaged in so many projects. I MUST crop off somewhere. I will continue to work on this...the deep breathing and studying yoga/meditation is definitely an asset at this point!
I have also been involved with some unresolved emotions and so I do not like to write, or even talk sometimes when this is going on. I would rather "be silent" than to spread heavy or negative stuff I hope that as soon as my capsized ship of sharing rights itself, I will be writing more often.

Thank you as always for reading!
Until Next Time ~

Monday, July 11, 2011

...Breathe In...Breathe Out...{Moonstone Parchments}


..haven't forgotten that I said I would write regularly...and have been writing my 4 + journal pages a day...been watching my thoughts and my breath and my yoga practice...been observing the way that writing is pure magic and the way that deep breathing is a powerful and transforming act of affirmation and clarity...been submitting something new or updated to my site every Sunday and now ready to add on another weekly Submission - "Monday Musings" - starting today...

Many things are changing for me, as I write the blueprints of my life, deep breathing and learning about the chakra energy centers are on the top of my list, with meditation and holistic methods of dealing with an enormous amount of "things" going on...without these, without writing, I would be the same as I always have been - spewing out obscenities about not having time, not having energy, not having...not having what?
Derailing those thoughts, those "things" becomes a daily striving to become More Than This...seeing how far I can push myself into a positive, flowing, creative and constructive river of going with The Flow..."Monday Musings" will reflect this progress and as I got carried away with "Change" over the past two weeks - it feels like much longer...

So today marks another positive insertion of what I want to be a permanent and accountable part of what I endeavor to do. Last night I submitted "Moonstone" to my collection of Parchment Art works...and you can see many more on my site if you are interested.
For now, I am finishing up a cycle that has run far too long and am preparing to blast off into a new series of Much Overdue.

Talk to you again soon
Until Then

My site with my art and more

And here is my "Moonstone"

Do not walk behind me; I may not lead.
Do not walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Walk beside me, that we may be as One.
Ute philosophy

Friday, July 1, 2011

...Shadows Short and Tall...


New Moon

In the span of a day the scope of reality can change so much that the shifts of light that used to be are no longer bright but pass and leave their shadows long against the dusk of the day. Music strummed from the pavilion of the beach echoes into the corridors of my memory and Mermaids surface in the sea far beyond the shore. They are calling me {yes, they are real in my mind, my writer's imagination lives there on the East Coast with them} and they are whispering on the winds that carry over the water to meet my open mind.

The power of the things I have been writing is coming to pass. The more I see walk towards me "in the flesh" of my reality the more I know how important it is for me to write out the "blueprints" and be sure that I take out the negative stuff, and replace it with neutral or positive substitutions. I see the forms come from the mist of my mind and what will truly make me happy is always fighting to be recognized and honored.

Although I am currently exhausted with issues and neurosis of the lives that intersect with mine, I have taken this responsibility to be responsible for them, for helping them and for honoring myself enough that I am responsible for how I feel, or am going to feel, as well. If what I am doing, no matter what that may be, feels wrong, draining or otherwise detrimental to my health - if any of this occurs for too long the exhaustion sets in and I will literally crawl out of my skin.

Being a "Scorpio" I pay attention to cycles of Life, Death and Rebirth quite closely. I have been learning how to be comfortable with the three phases and all astrological association aside, as human beings we all want to understand the processes of these three phases. The very moon in the sky shows us the nature of the turning from full to dark to being the New Moon...what exactly does that mean? To be simple - just the start of another cycle.


"Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are, for what you could become." ~ Unknown

Until Next Time

Do not walk behind me; I may not lead.
Do not walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Walk beside me, that we may be as One.
Ute philosophy

Monday, June 27, 2011

...Transmutation of Anger...


Transmutation of Anger

Yesterday I wrote about going to my mother's house to clean. After I was done there, I went to the "Book Warehouse" in the center of town that used to be "Borders" and bought some ridiculously low priced books that I have wanted for a very long time and had satisfied myself by borrowing them from the library in the past. Lynn Andrews is one of my all time favorite authors, a beautiful Medicine Woman who appears to channel parts of my soul in her words. I am enraptured by her existance on this earth.

Another author who inspires me greatly is Julia Cameron, the author of the well known "The Artists Way" and several other awesome works of creative genius. Both Lynn and Julia have been incredible teachers to me for a very long time and I am grateful for their indescribably gorgeous presences in this world. So when I saw "The Writing Diet" by Julia Cameron in the bookstore I abandoned reading "The Four Day Win" by Martha Beck for a few weeks because in "The Four Day Win" Martha Beck talks about dedicating a little bit of time each day to read something about nutrition, diet, exercise, etc. anything that you haven't yet tried to implement into your lifestyle to enhance it for weight loss or management. So I had started doing that by listening to the "French Women for All Seasons" audio cd on the way to work read by the author of "French Women Don't Get Fat." That was finished and I learned what I could from it. Then I remembered that I had to move on to something else, and that I had started reading "The Writing DIet", not really sure if she really meant to write your way on a diet. She did, and does teach this in this book. She teaches about writing down and about everything you eat, and why as well as the power of using anger as a creative catalyst.

So as I am standing at the checkout with my Lynn Andrews books yesterday, there is a note on the counter that reads, "free audio cassettes with the purchase of $10 or more" and I see one about women and anger and one about poetry of a woman whose son has died of AIDS. I took those two and immediately started listening to the one about anger. The next day (today) I am reading my chapter quota before my morning pages (another tool of Julia Cameron's) and she is talking about how we eat to pacify anger. How we stuff our uncomfortable emotions down with food and late night ice cream. Most importantly, how anger can be directly channeled into incredibly works of art.

Quite a few years ago I met some people who claimed to be one way and turned out to be another. Pretty typical arrangement, happens all the time. This particular short chapter ended in me painting a mermaid that I liked very much but whenever I looked at it, I was reminded of the plastic nature of the relationship and I struggled with my thoughts on whether I keep this piece as part of my painted life diary, or burn it. I had never done such a thing before. Ultimately, I did burn it. I have never done it again and the blues and greens of the painting imprinted themselves forever in the memory attached to the association between the people and the painting. This is one of my more dramatic memories of how I used art to channel anger.

I am sure all of us have things that we are angry, resentful and bitter about no matter how enlightened or ascended or transformed we believe ourselves to be. Things that I thought I was no longer angry about come flashing back to me on fire sometimes and I don't know where they come from, or why. All I know is that I need to deal with them when they come back around, like I did with the painting. Burn it out, creatively...Someone once told me not to air out my dirty laundry which is good advice. Spewing out your bitter hatred does nothing but prolong the ugly thing that it is. Learning to transmute the anger is an art in itself. Practicing this while the anger is taking place is quite an experiment. It is definitely one I am willing to continue exploring. This week I am painting a watercolor piece and I have no idea what will come of it. I do know there are a few issues that will somehow work themselves in through either a color or a symbol or a look in the eye of my subject, whether it be a woman, a bird or a deer...and this is my anger transmutation collectively channelled into a creative outlet. Wouldn't it be great if it could always be this way?

Until next time my friends...


Sunday, June 26, 2011

...I Always Feel Like...


I Always Feel Like...

Somebody is watching me. On some Sunday mornings I clean my mothers 3 bedroom home across town. Sometimes I get there before she returns home from church and I look around at the some of the things that I have grown up with and notice all the new things that never were there before. There are groups of pill bottles and one of those daily pill boxes on the beautiful wooden dining room table that has an extra leaf for when there were many more of us to sit at it. There are stacks of old bills and papers on a guest room bed upstairs and there are bookshelves lined with self help and religious inspirational books as well as my fathers mystery novels that he used to carry around literally in his back pocket...

Which leads to the first lines of this entry. I feel like he is there, watching me as I dust and wipe and vacume, taking inventory of my diligence in getting into the corners where no one else would even bother to check. But then there is me - the detail oriented one - who is going to be sure to check those corners even if my own toilet at home is encrusted with pee and age, my mothers toilet will never be.

My father flitters around there, around my mother, around me...around some of those things that he loved - the salt and pepper shakers, the pictures of the family weddings, the push button phone that I am sure he used a few times at least...I hear him whisper through papers that have fallen out of shelves, papers with his name on them, bills that still come in his name. I see his distinctive handwriting and notice that my mother has taken the second chair out of the kitchen and put a fan on it in the sunroom. She is so sad there, alone.

She says things to me that make me want to be deaf. I think things that are selfish, unkind and remorseful. I then switch to her place and see the world out of the Windex wiped windows of her life and I breathe in patience, understanding, compassion...sometimes I can get a breath in deep enough to save me from the horrid path my mind wants to, and often does, take. Then my mind switches to blueberries, books and video games. These are the things that truly make me happy and I wonder, if at her age, will those things still appeal to me? Painting and writing most definitely know I will want to leave a good bye letter...or two...and of course a painting that will channel my pain, anger, or frustration if that is what I am feeling. I would like to think that I can prevent alot of my future anguish via channeling creatively what I know how to do. I wish the same for her, and I tell her so all the time. Ultimately it is up to her to pick up what she needs to make her happy. I help her the only way I know how, and that is by sharing what my thoughts are and my experiences are, just as I am doing now with you. I hope it helps...I know it helps me :)

Thanks again for reading, and now to finish my "Blueberry" Parchment page, part of the new section of my work with pen and ink on parchment - "Fruits and Aromatherapy"...
Until Next Time

Saturday, June 25, 2011

...Dealing With Decline...


I knew this day would come when I would turn around and look at my life on a panoramic scope and see the many people involved, the many people who were involved, and the many people who I believe will never again be involved. I pretty much have chosen those people who I will and must retain relationships with and am careful as I walk the high wire of relationships to acquaintances, co-workers, neighbors. In the past I have said too much. I have learned to listen very carefully in the dead of night to the advice that my body gives me when my mind asks for answers.

There are very specific questions I have been asking about specific people lately, and some of the answers come before I am done just thinking of them and others linger around half answered. Some of them are answered and I just cannot accept them yet. Some of them are waiting to be heard once again. I retreat into my breath now and listen carefully to it on its length and rythmn against the sea or the crowd or the night.

I am dealing with the decline of the way I used to be, the way I have come to accept that I am, and the way that I yearn to be. I am dealing with the decline of the way things are for the people around me and see things changing for them, making them unhappy or unwell or unsettled. I know that all things are born, grow, and die. It's the natural order of things. As time goes by and people change one way or another the cycles speed up and you see things "turn for the worse" or "turn for the better" and perhaps wonder how and when things will turn for better or worse for yourself. Things that seemed so dramatic are suddenly trivial. Things that have always been, no longer are. The loss of life, of health, of relationships, of people...this dealing with decline is something we all do, we all face.

Dealing with it is difficult for anyone and there is no handbook on how to do it. The decline of family members and relationships is on my mind more and more lately as I am tuning in to what I personally have to do about it. Going to my son's graduation this week really shed light on how quickly the time does pass, how people come and go and how much time do we really spend with the people we say we care about? How much is too much or too little? How often do we get wrapped up in one or two people or things that we are involved in and alienate the rest? The balance is found for me in silence. I am grateful for the time in solitude to strain it all out and to be able to share some of it with you. Thank you again for reading...

Until Next Time


Thursday, June 23, 2011

...Wish I May, Wish I Might...

...My Caffeine Dependency...

Well it seems that I do have this addiction, but its a manageable one that I enjoy so I will live with it for now. This would be the really wrong week to try to wean off of my coffee since the kids are getting out of school and now my sleep/wake schedules will change whenever I want them to. I am grateful for the input of those who comment on my last entry about Chemical Dependency and I know my personality very well - so the coffee will be staying for now.
So as the week rolls on and its just past the middle - I am working on my newest parchment piece "Blueberry" and have some cards to add to my site that I have freshly hand fired and affixed to ivory card stock. I will share them when they are completely uploaded. I also removed the limited edition hand embellished set of Hekate Queen of the Crossroads set, because I know even though school is out, it seems to be busier around here than ever and I don't want to hold back on having any sent out. So, they are still available on the site and I look forward to adding my new pieces to the Sunday Submissions link every week.
There is major rain going on so I will check the basement, drink my coffee and then blast through the rest of this day. I just wanted to throw up a little post to share with those I know are reading along. THANK YOU!!! Have a great rest of this Thursday and here is a quote to go with for today:

"Remember, there are no mistakes, only lessons. Love yourself, trust your choices, and everything is possible." ~ Cheri-Carter Scotts

Monday, June 20, 2011

...Chemical Dependency...


...My Chemical Romance...

Yesterday I started using my Lemongrass for aromatherapy. Today I wondered how it could be that this scent could wake me up more than that gigantic coffee I get every morning does. Can I abolish this chemical dependency also? My personal thoughts on it have always been somewhat negative. Why do I need to depend on a chemical to work right? I remember when I first started drinking coffee, when I was in art school and I had put off an assignment until the last minute. I told myself that coffee and cigarettes would help me get the job done, and quick.

One rainy night as I was smoking and painting a piece for my portfolio, the window open so that the smell of the cigarettes wouldn't invade the entire house, a wind came through and blew over my large coffee. Light and sweet all over my painting. When I brought it to my instructor, he made it work for the piece, like a wash of sand and biege sky behind a woman with hair blowing in the wind perhaps at the beach. It worked for that, yes.

What I am thinking of now is how long I have been dependent on this drug, caffeine. How I led myself to believe that I need it and cannot live without it. Then how I recently read that excessive caffeine actually has the reverse effect because you may have so much of it that it causes your body to overwork to process it and then become tired. I also think that I began ingesting more of it when I quit smoking over six years ago. I also learned that my cholesterol was high when I was pregnant with Markus, and so I stopped using cream and sugar. Now coffee is alright, not the light and sweet fattening drink I sucked down for years and years, expecting it never to catch up with me.

Now I am reading about yoga more than just doing yoga and seeing that there is so much more to the practice than just the movements and the breathing. Those things are primary in the practice, yes, but there is now so much more that I am realizing is attached to this. For the first thing, and taking baby steps to learning so I can properly apply it and integrate it into my life, the breathing part is essential to working through the poses and some of them are excruitiatingly focused on the breath.

Which takes me back to the Lemongrass and aromatherapy. How and why does it work? Through breathing the scent in and out. Activating rememberance and stimulating certain quadrents of the brain as well as enhancing and renewing sensors of the body. So, the smell of coffee may be awesome but the taste without the sugar and cream has gotten to be just something I think I need everyday...or do I?

Until Next Time


Sunday, June 19, 2011

...Days of the New...


Today I was writing my morning pages and through the various exploration of many forms of bibliomancy, I was led to being reminded that the power of scent can be extremely transforming and transcendent. I went to my aromatherapy cabinet and asked to be guided to the one that would help me the most. I chose "lemongrass" and promply pulled out "The Aromatherapy Bible" by Gill Farrer-Halls. I was pleasantly informed that Lemongrass is perfect for helping wake one up in the morning and also as an aid to those who are studying and meditating.
Flipping through the book I also saw parts titled "Aromatherapy and Crystals" and "Aromatherapy and the Chakras". Key words jumped out at me as well, such as Yoga and T'ai Chi. All of these things that I have been more and more recently integrating into my life as I remove all that I believe hinders me.
...Integration of the New...
More interesting information is found in the chakra section:
"According to the Hindu Kundalini Yoga Chakra system, the subtle body has three main channels (like psychic nerves) called nadis and six chakras plus the thousand-petalled lotus at the crown of the head (often called the seventh chakra).
I have lately seen that all that I am trying to incorporate comes more fluently the more that I release that which no longer serves me. Barricades of emotional thorns being pryed from my aura allow me to blossom and grow in my "Garden". It is not something I really understand completely, but as the days and nights go by I see the progress and the process more clearly.
...The Moon, She Wanes...
So as a new week is about to begin, and the boys get out of school I will strive to make some sort of structure to the day as things change over into a more relaxed and loose way of life. I will keep working on patience and more importantly I will focus on the thoughts I keep and the words I speak as I have seen the destruction they cause on their own.
Everything is about words and language. Everything is about knowing and practicing what we know. As the moon fades to a sliver then to dark, I shed away the next round of things that have been plaguing me and make sure that I have the older things under scrutiny and maintain those as well. I have kept my Sunday Submissions going, this is the third week in a row and I am grateful for that new goal and thankful for the creativity that continues to flow through me.
Until next time

Friday, June 17, 2011

...Funeral Box...

This poem is from my book "Whispers of the Goddess" and on this gray rainy death like day, I saw it and thought it was time to share...

In the presence of Divinity
upon an altar
among flowers
and candles
and a crown of thorns
the smoke rises
frankincense and myrrh
smoke is swung
and hovers around
in patterns
Everyone is sanctified
and humbled
and united in death
in this building
in this church
in the urn
in the wooden box
of ashes or much later
bones and dust
we are all eventually
reduced to these
and lay someplace
upon this earth
memories fading
the pictures in their frames
grow dim as well
where will you go
I will be able to find you
in that darkness
surrounded by light

Whispers of the Goddess by Carole Anzolletti

Whispers of the GoddessWhispers of the Goddess
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Thursday, June 16, 2011

...Yellow Twilight...Full Moon Manifestation

...The Moon, She is Full...

I appreciate the wonderful comments and support of all that read my words. I have always wondered if they make an impact, and the kind people who let me know it does lend the greatest encouragement and motivation for me to keep on keeping on.
I said in a previous post that I would share what I wanted to manifest for the Full Moon, and here She is, bright and round and gloriously powerful enough to light up the night sky when I stand in my dark driveway after a long night of work. She stops me in my tracks and asks, "What's going on?" I answer, "ALOT." I ask for Her patience and say a prayer for guidance. I never fail to hear Her answer.

...Yellow Twilight...

A look back into the past - 12/6/2001 to be exact, I wrote an online entry titled "Yellow Twilight" and I have picked this one out of the mountain of entries that lay there asking me to "edit" them for the possibly of publication.
So, before "Bubble Guppies" is over, and I get out of this house with my little boy for the rest of our busy day, I will share this excerpt with you and wish you well on this fine June day.
The night has been long and the distance between the stars and I is short. The opalescent moon has rings of red dust around it. The dark grass has silver drops that will shortly evaporate and hang above in the air around us. The dawning day showers light on the beginning of a new path showered in yellow dust. The world turns black and white for a moment as my feet pad through it and are covered in its vibrancy. The sunshine drifts over a distant mountain and filters through the oak leaves. My perspective lengthens and opens to an influx of information and intuition.

The grass along the path glitters a deep emerald and reflects the dark dreams of the night on its blades. The contrast of yellow and green ignite healing and awareness that move me away from the sadness and melancholy that has nestled into my soul during the night. Day lilies burst into view, their yellow and orange petals scorching the landscape of my mind. They whisper, "You can grow anything here..."
The sunlight extends its rays and lights up the flared bugles of flowers that makes the plants seem to sing an eternal song that all lilies sing. The sound vibrates around in circles up and back to the sun, touching the solar plexus and igniting a creative out pour that is carefully maintained through the realization that this meditation comes precisely from it. These words pour out of this channel and onto the page where they grow beautiful shoots of truth. 

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

...Burgeoning Anemones...

...Assignment 9...

The following is from my writing course and is assignment nine. I am grateful to post it so late in the day. Thank you for reading!

“Friends are flowers in the Garden of Life.” ~ Proverb

It can be difficult to rip a relationship out of your life, roots and all. I have seen this is much like tending a garden that has been allowed to be overgrown for a while. When the effort fails to be diligent, the life slowly drains out of the flowers. When the effort fails completely, we find ourselves overlooking this garden with shears and shovels in our hands. The impulse to dig up all that is dead is overwhelming.

Weeds will try to grow back, of course. I take inventory of the plants that are meant to stay. I strive to remove the chokers and threatening presences. Some of them appear innocent at first, like soft yellow dandelions in the sun. They sway on strong stalks in the May winds and become a pinnacle of wish pods. So the wishes are made and the Universe hears what it is we want. The backlash will be where those pods land and reproduce hopefully in the Field of Remembrance and Gratitude for what has been manifested.

As you pass by every day you review your inventory of memories. You wonder if it was necessary to end those relationships and leave a barren (yet fertile) patch behind. You decide you are ready for new seeds and possibilities and look forward to ones that won’t make you cringe every time you walk past.
The extractions become mulch in my soul. Old words and promises lie in dark layers and dream dark nostalgia. Silent currents still pulse within them as they reach out to threaten new life. It’s all they have left. There are ways to prevent this just like there are ways to control unwanted growth upon a landscape. It is hard work and requires constant attention. Protection, if you will.

Each morning I step into the day half awake. I pass by the Garden and think of work that must be done. My children don’t know about The Garden yet and it is because of them it must be kept healthy and free of weeds, pests, and overgrowth. They had once been seeds in utero in the Garden and I planted them unconsciously, vigorously. One day they may read about the Garden and learn how to tend their own. For now I will keep faith in the passing of my words to the page and relaying the process of growth, death, and renewal as I live it.

I work towards a well maintained Garden where my children won’t suffer the overgrowth of my destructive patterns, habits or relationships. I want them to understand that they do not need to stay in relationships that cause them unhappiness in any form. We allow ourselves to stay in these relationships because we are unsure of who we are. We sometimes fantasize that we can change people with dedication and compassion when in reality we can only change ourselves. We can learn to recognize growth, stagnation, and death in our relationships. We learn to see that all we do affects the people around us and if we spread out negative, hateful, and jealous seeds that they only poison the rest of the Garden. These “weeds” only make more work for us. 

My Garden is fragile this Spring. I carefully research beneficial properties of potential additions. The whispers of spirits and guides are gentle yet strong. Together we cultivate insight and foresight. Nostalgic bulbs lay deep in the soil. They have slept there and their time to be dug out has arrived. They are unwanted and void of my affinity. The corpses of leaves, buds and petals litter the corridors of my soul. They lay there wishing for renewal and re-birth they innately know is not coming. Their time is spent, so brief and glorious in the sunlight of late summer. 

I work on uprooting insecurities. Other people’s behaviors, problems, and issues make me look at myself. What is it that I see in those mirrors? I feel friction from certain things and people. I understand that these things grow in my Garden because they are allowed to. I have planted them there. There are also issues in myself that no one can help me with and they have continued to grow. I uproot myself from people and situations that instigate me and prepare to face the discomfort head on. It is then only me causing friction, with no one around to blame it on but myself.

Now there are no jealous digs or uninterested conversations about how one tragedy is worse than another. Nothing about how life sucks and everything is looked at with hate and expectancy when the truth is never really told. Gone are over-exaggerated details blown magnificently out of proportion. What is left is the acceptance of how things can overgrow and sneak out into others gardens, choking and holding those unsuspecting, trusting people down.

I am cultivating a way to understand myself through writing more so that I may understand others as I learn to tear away the terrorists of my psyche. We are not so different, you and I. We all want certain things. We all need people and love. We all want our Gardens to be free of weeds, pests, and unidentified others. Whether we can maintain a healthy habitat or not is truly up to us. Only when we truly know who and what is growing along with us can we take a breath and enjoy our delicate Gardens.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

...Darkness During Daylight...


...Rising Above...

The following is taken from a journal long ago, in 2002 when I was still a smoker and I was writing my way through and out of it. It is not your traditional "I quit smoking" article but a more vivid and promising account of how if the truth hurts, we must wear it. Please share with anyone who may struggle with any addiction. Mine was, and always will be, smoking cigarettes. This is part of my personal journey and I hope that it helps someone out there!



The clean new yellow twilight had an intruder. A dark figure came from the east field, steadily approaching me as it trampled through wild flowers and grass. Nothing about its presence was about light. Unable to move or speak I stood and waited for it to meet me. It would no doubt tell me what it wanted to say, for it came too fast and was full of a dark power. I could feel it in its cold breath as it carried across the distance. It whispered, "Shhhhh...I need you."

All the yellow brilliance drained out out of the early day as he stood before me. He was a hideously beautiful creature with velvet black eyes and pale skin. His chin wore a small dent in its center. When he smiled with his head cocked to one side, his teeth showed just slightly and his cheek was hollowed with a simple dimple on just one side. He was no taller than I, and his eyes met mine in a straight line. The yellow star that had been part of my visualization at dawn flickered intensely and then fell as dark as the eyes that now stared into mine. It was as if he had come to just get that light out, for now I could not look past him.



His darkness was too consuming. I watched his black eyes watch mine and folded my arms across my chest. My impatience with his gaze was apparent as my anger grew and my foot tapped. I resented his ominous gaze and was about to speak when I heard the tiny voices of intuition speak softly enough to change the dangerous words about to cross my lips.

...He will move aside if you stand your not be afraid of him...he cannot harm you on this journey...although he is dark and threatening his power lacks the strength you have inside your heart...his heart is cold, small and black and knows nothing of the power within you...this power that conquers anything you choose it him this power and he will move aside...remember, all things happen for a reason and in their own not be eager to move past a lesson that you truly need to stay in to will know when the time to move on is will feel it and see it...the signs and symbols are shown to will know when to go...



Unaware that I had closed my eyes to really hear what my intuition was so softly saying, I raised my head and opened them to find him now behind me with his chin placed gently on my shoulder. He whispered a sad deliberation in my ear.

"What have you that I have not? Why do you shut me out and close me off? Do you not remember me? Can you stand here alone in this place and really proceed alone? Go then, go now, ahead on the path. I am sure you would love to continue on and leave me here, going backwards and tracing your steps back from where you came. But it doesn't work that way. You can never go back and start over again. You can remember where you left me behind and you can recall the day we met and all that I have done for you. So I will let you go because I know I will meet you again, another day, over and over."

I turned to face him and touched the cleft of his chin with my middle and index fingers. I kiss my fingertips and then his cold, pale forehead. He grabs my hand away and throws it to my side. I exhale and inhale, over and over as I close my eyes. I begin to tell him what he hates to hear.

"I loved you and would have done anything for you and you knew it. You abused it and you damaged my heart, stole a piece of me that I willingly gave you. My heart was worth nothing to you and everything else inside me became nothing to you, too. You broke me into a million tiny pieces and laughed at the mess you made. You stepped over my broken self and embraced the power it gave you. I forgave you though. I love you for how you changed me and for the lessons that you taught me and continue to teach me. Thank you. Please know that I really at one time loved you. Honestly, truly and blindly. Take that with you and believe that I am not the only one who will tell you this."


...Daylight Returns...

As I looked into his eyes, the darkness faded and the earthly brown irises that hid behind the blackness returned. He took my hand and held it up to his lips. He said no words after softly kissing the palm of my hand and released it. I did not see his eyes as he turned and walked into the darkness from where I had spent so much time. He faded into it, became one with it.

I turned back to see the horizon and the path of the Dawn. I looked for a sign or symbol that it was time to move forward. Nothing seemed very different other than the lack of his presence. I listened for Guidance as the sun rose higher in the sky. The day stood mute before me.

Monday, June 13, 2011

...Hekate Goddess of the Crossroads Pathworking/Meditation,,,

...Inspiration Whispers...

I have been creating parchment art pages for several years now, and I love to entwine mythology and deity study with meditation. This is my latest piece of work and I adore pen and ink with watercolor applied to parchment. I have a unique style and method that cannot be duplicated, and I am grateful for the ability to produce these.
In the paragraphs that follow, you will see an example of my writing style and canter.

...Dark Lady of the Night...

Triple Goddess, My Lady, you are my most wise teacher. You stand at the Crossroads waiting to usher me down a candle lit path towards a self imposed dark night of the soul where I will come face to face with myself. You will hold up a mirror for me to see myself reflected back into eternity, each image slightly different, slightly younger, slightly older, yet very much the same. Upon this realization the images shatter into a metallic dust that falls down into the pathway. A slow and strong breeze carries it, scatters it to the four corners of the earth. I am no more than a shadow at your feet.

...Dark Moon...

Under the dark moon you scoop up a handful of me and toss me into the night sky. I land among the stars and meet my family, my friends, myself...once again. I am not free to decide where I land or live yet I trust you to deliver me back to where I belong. I shine among the stars. I am given back my light and I grow until I am too heavy to remain above. You take me down from your mantle of stars and place me upon the sea. I mingle with the ocean and the dawn. A ship sails in the distance. I know nothing but water and warmth. I grow in the belly of a moonshell. I become larger and must be born on the sand.


The sunlight burns my new eyes as I grow rapidly, reborn and whole once more. Pieces of me fleck the seaside as I make my way home, a mortal again. Blessed Be.

...Hekate Goddess of the Crossroads...

My newest addition to the Goddess Parchments Collection!

Sunday, June 12, 2011

...Core Issues...

...Two and Three...

When I was two years old, I had a tracheotomy. I struggled with breathing due to croup after a bout of bronchitis that turned to pneumonia which lead to a cardiac arrest and the emergency tracheotomy procedure. I was told that my heart had stopped for three minutes and I had turned "blue on the table." I have loved the number three for a very long time now, for many reasons, but have also adopted it as my "lucky" number.
I remember my father walking up the stairs coming to visit me, and the baby in the crib next to me that cried and cried. I remember my blanket being way too small, the cold room for us being children with respiratory issues, and I remember reaching for that plastic stack of colored donuts that are different sizes and stacked up on each other.

I believe it was here where I first met The Red Queen {The Muse that inspires my poetry and prose...the Spirit that came back with me on the way back from my brief physical death}...


When I found out my father had terminal lung cancer at the end of 1999, I also found out that I had hypothyroidism. This disorder of the thyroid slows metabolism and makes you extremely tired, affects your hormones and produces sweating that is unexplained. I knew something was wrong when I couldn't keep my eyes open at an office temp job that I had and I was falling asleep sitting up in my chair.

I had the tests, got the radiation treatment and they "killed" my thyroid. I bought a book and read about the gland and the issues. I saw that the gland itself looked like a butterfly and I began to relate things in my mind about it. When I had first started painting the little boxes that I had practiced on, I had been painting butterflies. I know a lot of people like them, love them...and I was intrigued with the symbolism. I had chosen a card out of an animal totem deck years prior, and the instructions were that the first card you chose out of the deck would be your life symbol and ally. Mine was indeed the butterfly.


...Waves of Expression...

The symbolism of the butterfly is life, death and rebirth. The core operation was done on my throat and I grow up to have permanent issues with that same area. Every day, for the rest of my life, I have to take a synthetic hormone to regulate my thyroid. I have had issues with it basically all my life. After the tracheotomy it was known that I had allergies and bronchitis frequently and was sick a lot of the time. I was painfully shy and didn't like to speak or be asked to.

As I began school I found that I loved art because I could express myself without having to physically speak. As time went by I found that I could write as well and this seemed to be a great alternative until I copied a poem about suicide that someone else had given me. I had added it to a book of poems of all types. My parents found it, and thought I was the author. I was promptly admitted to a psychiatric ward. When I look back at that, I know how much they cared and how worried they must have been. Of course they couldn't take a chance that I was suicidal and maybe lying about being the author. I respect and appreciate that they took the steps to prevent a possible tragedy.

...Throat Chakra...

When I started to learn about the chakras, I noticed that my core issues and the attributes of the throat chakra came into perfect alignment. I noticed that the colors blue and turquoise made me look and feel much better in a strange abstract kind of way. Researching more about it, I bought necklaces made of blue topaz or turquoise and added clothes of that color to my wardrobe.

Reading about the imbalances of this chakra, I saw that it lead right back to the seasonal and lifetime issues that I have had with this area of my body. I could be just free associating all of this, but I don't think it's coincidence that what I do now, writing and drawing, and the colors that I choose, the stones that I collect - all of this helps me feel better and supports the energy center known as Visudda. The fact that the celestial body the rules this chakra is Mercury, the planet of communication, fits in nicely with the fact that my main channel of expression is a creative and spiritual avenue that I have been on the track to developing since I can remember.

"The Fool" by Carole Anzolletti


I have strung together the events of my life on the pages and papers strewn through out my home. I have written "Whispers of the Goddess" and am working on "The Forest Labyrinth" as well as something I call "The Mermaid Chronicles." I find it comforting and reassuring that I am doing as much as I can to honor the fact that I was once "Blue" and almost not here to be the creatrix that I am now. Perhaps that is why I am so attuned to this, and cannot turn away from it.

I am grateful to share this story with you, and I also woke up in the middle of the night last night to see a commercial where the mother and father were in the audience at a concert hall and they asked each other where their son was. They looked at each other in a short state of panic as the lights on the stage went on and there sat their son at the piano, playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"...They were shocked and about to do something when the pianist scheduled to play came onto the stage and added his own input to the song, the both of them there playing together. The message of the commercial was then "Encouragement." I briefly thought back to my previous entry where I speak about my desire to play the piano, but I never said that I also wanted my musically in tuned son Markus to play as well. The commercial has now cemented its message and vision in my mind. Manifestation is in the works.

Thank you for journeying up and down and all around with me, and thank you for reading! Be back soon...

Until then

About Me

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Fairfield, CT, United States
Originally this blog was created to house the writings for The Red Queen. She is the Muse that inspires this Author and Artist and is the insidious channel that opens to admonish all doubt and fear. She allows what needs to be, TO BE. Carole Anzolletti is the Author and Illustrator of "Whispers of the Goddess" Poetry and Prose and is currently working on a body of writing called "The Forest Labyrinth." She has also been known as "Lady Pegasus" and formerly had the domain until 2009 when she changed it to She is a seller of art and craft and has sold her work all over the world. Currently her eBay id is: art_by_carole_anzolletti