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Change in a Pandemic World: Who’s Complaining?

Everything has changed.

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I went to the store today and the shelves were almost empty. Toilet paper, tissues and paper towel supplies were nil. They’ve placed quantity restrictions on the little items remaining, and all is carried out beneath the scrutinizing stares of security.

Did I complain?

No.

I can’t source hand sanitizer; although they’re selling an 8-pack of 100ml bottles for $60 AUD on Catch of the Day and toilet paper is going for somewhere in the hundreds.

Some catch.

Strangely enough, the thought of running out of toilet paper doesn’t faze my husband. In fact, he seems to find the idea amusing because while he grew up in Holland, his father is Indonesian.

If you are familiar with how Indonesian’s tackle the matter of anal hygiene, then you’ll know that they seldom have the need for toilet paper.

Here’s a quick overview of the process from Wikipedia:

“Anal hygiene, or anal cleansing, refers to hygienic practices that are performed on a person’s anus, usually shortly after defecation. The anus and buttocks may be washed or wiped (typically with toilet paper or wet wipes) in order to remove remnants of fecal matter.”

My husband was raised with a bottle next to the loo and practiced using a “pencuci botol gelandangan” or bottle bum washer until the age of 17. They used the tips of their fingers and a squirt of water to finish their business.

Each time he cracks another joke about how we might be forced to change our bathroom habits to more primitive (and gross) practices, my insides cringe rebelliously. It is this thought driving my quest to seek out toilet-paper on an almost daily basis.

Still not complaining.

I have a mother who likes to hunt more than me. She does me a solid and brings rolls each time she visits. She even haggles with the toilet paper street hustlers — who knew that would ever be a thing?

The good news is that I did manage to score an extremely overpriced pump bottle of hand soap today. It smells like orange and almond and the label states that it’s “Nourishing & Life-changing”.

Now, that’s ironic.

I wonder if the soap manufacturers knew something that eluded the rest of us. Albeit, I’m using the life-changing soap not to ignite change in my life, but because life has changed beyond my control.

I often speak about change and how the only control we really have is the way we choose to respond to it. Sometimes, we can stick our heads in the sand and pretend a thing never happened; we think if wait long enough the issue will just go away.

Then, there is a time when we are faced with a pandemic disease in the form of COVID-19 that no amount of sand-head-sticking can erase.

Nobody gets to escape the change taking place in the world right now, but we all have a choice on how we deal with it. It is crucial now more than ever to become aware of ourselves; our actions and reactions.

We can stop complaining about it.

It’s natural for us to become agitated from time to time and need to vent in some way. Even the calmest among us still blow a fuse every now and then. But given the drastic shift happening in our lives and communities, it’s important to keep tabs on our mindset and be aware how our energy affects others.

People are fighting over toilet paper, bribing grocery truck delivery drivers and pulling out knives in supermarkets.

Welcome to the new reality.

I grabbed a coffee at a local café a few days ago. I was inundated with people complaining about how the out-of-towners are showing up to scour “our” grocery store for necessities. Like toilet paper.

The conversation grated at me. I drove home questioning the mindset of people who are usually quite open and giving in their nature.

Why is it that when the world begins to show us our fragility that we resort to out-of-character behavior?

It’s unsettling and scary. I’m here and listening, and I’m thinking that we are being kept in the dark for the most part.

Do I complain?

No.

But my heart is hurting, my oldest son is remotely interstate, uncertainty rims and my home is far away.

Pandemics have a way of kickstarting our “survival mode”. People behave in ways that they usually wouldn’t. Don’t be one of those people. We get to choose how we react — choosing fear and panic will only breed more of those emotions.

Then what?

We’re going to encounter people who will be driven by fear, or maybe even the complete opposite — nonchalance.

Just the other day, hundreds of Sydney-siders flocked onto Bondi Beach to enjoy one of the last of the season’s warm days. It was a scorcher, and it was clear that no one was thinking about “social distancing” or taking the matter seriously.

Until the authorities showed up and sent everyone on their way.

Did they complain?

Probably.

The point is that neither fear or indifference is going to cut it right now.

If we’re going to overcome this, we need to be informed and prepared to do our part in helping to keep the virus contained as much as possible. Better times await us, but we have to wait it out to get there.

Now is a good time to practice the art of minding your own business. The noise from the outside can be deafening. Choose what you allow to infiltrate into your sacred sanctuary and focus on keeping the love alive.

These are the times when our love, patience and sense of empathy are being pushed to the edge. When what it is on the inside will reveal itself to you and to others. This pandemic is going to change you — but how it changes you is completely in your court.

And there’s no point complaining about it; unless we have to resort to practicing “pencuci botol gelandangan”.

Be safe everyone and much love,

Kim xx


Death Lessons: Overcoming the Fear of Death

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The only certainty we face is death.

Sounds a bit morbid and frightening, but it doesn’t need to be. Let me explain.

Death is the ultimate reminder of our mortality. It’s inevitable and mysterious territory, and sometimes, it can strike without warning. We can never really be sure when death will claim us or a loved one. With all the unsettling fears that might grip us about death, that one is probably the most disturbing.

Death should have its own soul.

Wayne Dyer said:

“Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change.”

I have talked about this quote on more than one occasion because I know firsthand the power of those words. By fusing my thoughts and immersing myself with the meaning of that simple phrase, I’ve been able to transform seemingly immovable situations, as well as the relationships in my life.

The same is true when it comes to fearing death.

But it isn’t until we experience the death of someone close that we realize how important it is to relish our time here on earth and cherish the relationships bound to transform form us along the way. Most of all, though, it is when we begin to contemplate and feel our sacred connection to the universe that we sense our immortality.

I used to be afraid of death. When I was a child, the thought of losing a parent crippled me on the inside. Then, when I became a parent, it was contemplating the death of one of my children that proved too much to bear.

Nowadays, I deliberately steer my thoughts away from such notions — worrying about circumstances beyond my control is useless. I know this at an intellectual and soul level. Yet, I am far from perfect. My over-active brain doesn’t always acquiesce to this knowledge.

Through my late teenage years and into my early 20’s, I spent a lot of time at my boyfriend’s house, staying there most nights of the week.

Danny is the boy who owns a lot my “firsts”, including my first experience in a long-term relationship. He was the first boy who ever loved me romantically and the first I’d slept with. More than that, he was the first boy to show me what it meant when someone else cared. He stole my heart with his cheeky grin, fast lip and long dark lashes.

He made me laugh.

During the early years, Danny was full of life and ever the boy vying for his father’s approval. He was great with his hands and possessed a sharp mind. He taught me to drive a car and a speedboat, and patiently coached me how water-ski.

He introduced me to culinary delights like lobster mornay, and we spent hours burning up endless highways while listening to music during interstate road trips.

His family became my family. Literally. My mother went on to marry his father. Which technically transformed my boyfriend into my step-brother.

Meh. Life is weird like that.

As it turned out, our relationship didn’t last as long as our folks’ marriage. For all the great qualities Danny possessed, there was an extreme flip-side to his personality; a darkness that lingered on sadistic and a craving for addiction that would be his undoing.

Danny is dead now.

His mother used to tell me she believed that when you die there is nothing else. That this was it — this one lifetime here in the now.

One life. One chance.

Thousands of conversations and thoughts had passed between us during those years, and these are the words that have stayed with me. Even then, I found it difficult to believe in her convictions.

I couldn’t accept that death was final.

Danny used to tell me that to play “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins at any less than full volume was a crime. He used to say that I was the love of his life and that someday, he was going to marry me.

That never happened. His desire to quench his growing addictions led him down a path that I rejected. The boy I fell in love with and thought I knew had chosen a journey that had shocked me.

He chose heroin.

Twenty years of silence had passed between us when I learned of Danny’s death. Still, during his final days he spoke of me and the love he still kept for me. He had told his sister that I remained his greatest love, despite my absence from his life.

He was just forty-two years old.

I am a deep thinker. This quality has been particular to me ever since I can remember. As a small child, I spent hours observing my family and noticing their divinity — peering past the flesh until their physicality felt foreign to me. The same holds true when staring at my own reflection.

Of course, I was too young to have the correct terminology in my knowledge data base to vocalize what I was experiencing, or indeed to even string together a prolonged chain of coherent thoughts about the subject. Besides, if I had voiced to my parents what I was actually thinking, they probably would’ve pinned me as “special” before thumbing through the phone directory for a local children’s shrink.

Heh. What was I thinking? And how does this relate to death?

Stay with me.

I was thinking the thoughts of every five-year-old, of course.

Who am I? What I am doing in this body? This isn’t me. That isn’t really them. How did we even get here?

I felt like an imposter in my own body. It sounds weird, I know.

Have you ever become super silent, stood before your reflection and really looked deep into yourself? Something happens when you peer past your flesh — you get a glimpse at your soul and sense your divinity.

The immortal part of you.

When you come to sense that truth, the fearful thoughts surrounding death lessens as you realize that death does not equate with finality. It exists as a transition into a dimension that is more real than the fleeting life we experience here on the earth-plane.

The day Danny died I had distinctly felt his energy pass through me. I became aware of his presence and his love. It felt tranquil, humbling and positive. A few hours later and in my car running an errand, I tuned into the radio to catch the beginning of In the Air Tonight.

The wave of emotion was incredible. He wasn’t gone. He is all around and sees everything.

We can’t always explain the strange synchronicities and phenomena that takes place in our world, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. To close your mind from the greater aspects of life, death and love, and judge those that are able to embrace the unknown is a disservice to your soul.

Death does have a soul.

It is through death that I have learned that once the embers of love ignite, they cannot cease to exist. Love really does transcend time and space.

Death’s soul showed me the importance of graciousness, humility and respect, and how vital it is that we practice these qualities in every situation we encounter; as well as every action and reaction we chose for ourselves.

Death drove home the gravity of compassion and gratitude.

Thinking beyond my physicality and questioning my existence eventually stretched my perspective to instil a sense of self and belonging — an affinity to something greater than myself. That realm that holds the most sacred part of us and connects us to everything; the universal consciousness.

It was death that showed me what it means to be alive by giving me a sense of inner-freedom.


Is All Fair in Love And War?

Don’t let it steal your light.

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My mother was severely abused as a child. She is a twin. Her sister was born first. Then, it became apparent there was another baby — my mother.

It was during the late 1940’s, a time when determining a twin pregnancy wasn’t as easy as it is today. My grandmother already had two little ones to care for and was expecting to birth one more child and not two.

She instantly rejected my mother.

After her hospital stay, my grandmother returned home with the twins, and despite her husband’s protests, she gave her newborn baby away to their neighbors. She wanted nothing to do with the second-born twin.

My mother was fortunate that the neighbors were lovely people. The couple took her in and cared for her as if one of their own. With them, she found security and love. She was cuddled, touched and encouraged. Her needs were met in every way that a newborn baby requires in order to thrive and grow mentally and emotionally.

She remained with them for the first two years of her life. Then, at the insistence of my grandfather, she was eventually returned to live with her biological family. Her life would never again be the same.

She was the unwanted twin.

Love was replaced with hatred. Nurturing became neglect. Security was a fading memory in a two-year old’s world as her mother set about stripping her of worthiness and virtue.

She did this through unthinkable acts of brutality and torture. She did this through inhumane treatment and emotional abuse. Think David James Pelzer and his story, A Child Called It, and you’re on the right track.

I cannot imagine the state of internal crisis for a mother to treat her child with such cruelty. I can only assume that a soul must be so damaged and confused to have the ability to inflict such severe torment and suffering upon her own child.

My mum has often said how she wished her parents had left her with the neighbors. Those first two years of her life had somehow imprinted upon her soul and impressed in her memory. The fleeting time spent with that family proved to be vital in forming the fabric of her psyche and the breadth of her heart.

She never forgot what it felt like to be loved and nurtured.

I knew my grandmother before she died an early death, but my mother kept us away for the most part. She was a woman plagued with darkness. As you can imagine, she held little interest in me. Our relationship was nil to nothing and she had a way of scaring the bejesus out of me.

Every now and then, I look at old photos of the woman who abused my mother. Pictures of her with my grandfather when they were young. She had been a stunningly beautiful woman with soft, delicate features and lustrous dark hair.

The couple posed with grandeur — he in a classy black suit while her petite figure was wrapped in white fur. They appeared sound in the knowledge of the path ahead of them; a future filled with promising visions and love. She’s like a different woman in those pictures; a woman I never knew.

I realized that at one point in her life she had known happiness. She had known love.

So, what went wrong?

Life was vastly different back then. My grandfather enlisted to serve in World War II at the age of twenty. He was ranked Private and became a prisoner of war in one of the most notorious of Japanese war camps: Changi prison.

He spent years being tortured in that prison along with thousands of other Australian men, including war hero, Sir Ernest Edward “Weary” Dunlop, who was my grandfather’s friend.

James Saunderson was like a gentle giant. He was funny and charming — an ordinary Aussie kid ready to take on the world with his woman by his side, until years of war, torture, death and imprisonment stole his light.

He returned home but would never be the same. Those years haunted him. They were the same years that would snatch the light inside of my grandmother and prove the catalyst in my mother’s mistreatment.

When life squeezes us, what comes out is what’s on the inside.

It’s one of the great lessons of life.

Living through war might be a radical example to use when discussing relationships. My grandfather’s experience had devastating affects on his psyche that lasted throughout his lifetime. He spent years receiving psychiatric treatment — years suddenly erupting into violent bouts of rage.

The war took more than just my grandfather’s mental health. It claimed my grandmother’s quality of life, her dreams and her sense of humanity. The war collected both of their soul’s and darkened the lives of their children.

Did they have a choice?

We can never erase the past. We may never quite be able to take away the pain, but we can take measures to heal ourselves and work through the inner-demons to find the light again. In each moment, we have a choice.

When the pressure is on and out of you comes anything other than love, it is because that’s what you’ve allowed to be inside. To live a highly functioning life, you need to take away all those negative things you don’t want in your life and replace them with love.

My mother is proof of this.

She could have easily embraced the mindset offered by her violent upbringing. She could have chosen bitterness and hatred, and carried the abuse through the generations, but she didn’t.

Does the past still haunt her? It probably does sometimes. Yet, she has only ever spoken of her parents from the highest regard. Somehow, that little girl who was never shown the love she craved from her mother, grew up with the ability to accept the life she was handed and forgive her parents for every indiscretion.

She chooses to view them through the eyes of love and empathy — and this is a choice we all have regardless of how someone might upset or offend us, or whatever the situation confronting us.

All my mother had ever wanted was the love of her mother. Even on her death bed, my grandmother refused to convey the words she couldn’t give.

My mum has lived her entire life without hearing her own mother speak of her love for her, but every day I hope that I have enough inside of me to make up for the love denied her.

Although I’m not sure that that will ever be enough to fill the void left in a little girl by a mother who couldn’t find a way to snatch back her light and open her heart to love.


Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium

The Void

Blood Legends: Undead – Episode Ten

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Some moments seemed endless.


“Marla!” Dark eyes flickered at me. Ginger-beard licked his lips as he clutched the vial of blood.

Void.

Some moments were barren of thought. His eyes bored into me. My mouth was a desert.  A thin figure pushed through the hawkers crowding the stairs. A woman.

I glanced at her as she took the vial, pausing to look at me with a twisted grin. Her skin appeared cracked and discolored beneath the dull shine of the studs and hoops adorning her face. Her gray eyes were cold.

“How long?” Ginger-beard said.

“Six minutes.” Marla pulled a small box from her jacket pocket – a blood test kit. She dropped to her knees and began fidgeting with it with tremulous fingers.

Ginger-beard scraped the end of his switchblade across calloused knuckles and grunted a reply. Scarla sobbed as hawker fingers knotted in the hair at her nape. A rusty blade balanced at her throat. She trembled as she looked back at me. Torment. It killed. I could barely control the pain. The sound of his voice was like salt on a wound.

“People like you always thought you were superior to everyone else. White collar bullshit blinders. Used to get around like your shit didn’t stink in your cars and shiny suits.” He gave a half laugh. His breath was a stench. “I’m not a bloodsucker lover, but I can’t help but take satisfaction in how things have turned out … I always believed that one day people like you would get what’s coming to ya; white collar crimes finally caught up when your biological poison went wrong.”

He leaned closer. “Justice. That’s what that is. You people were so caught up in your own asses that you never saw it coming, did ya? Where did all that education and privilege get ya at the end of the world, eh?”

I tightened my grip on the machete.

“I’m still here, fucktard.”

He laughed. “I’m looking at a dead man walking. You don’t have what it takes to see this out. This world isn’t made for your kind anymore.”

The hawkers lingering on the stairs chuckled but I ignored them as Marla stood up suddenly. She waved a piece of cardboard between filthy fingers. The silver rings on her brows lifted.       

“Score!”

My breath quickened.

Void.

Some moments seemed endless. I swung my eyes back to ginger-beard. A pasty yellow tongue stuck out as he grinned.

“Well, well, the blue-eyed white neck delivered after all.”

My throat felt like sharp glass.

“That’s right. You’ve got your ransom.” I flicked my chin. “Leave the woman and get the hell off my property.”

His eyes pierced into me. “You might just have a half decent set for a club-fed.” He gave a snigger and my blood ran cold. Marla laughed.

His voice filled my head. “Bleed the pig!”

Void.

Some moments swallowed you whole. My brain felt like an acute explosion as the hawker yanked Scarla’s head back. The sound of her cry blasted in my ears as the rusty blade sunk into her throat and slid across her skin, releasing a flood of blood from the jagged wound.

“Scarla!”

I roared and swung the machete as I charged forward, collecting Marla in the back of her skull just as she spun around to move away. The blade cracked against bone. Manic gripped me. I drove the shank forward with the thrust of the motion as loud cracks rang out across the yard. The sound of the gunfire instantly purified my mind.

Clarity.

Some moments feel as if you see the following scene unfold before it happens. Time slowed. Marla dropped to the floor as the hawkers on the stairs lunged forward, propelling blades and swinging chains ahead of them.

Fuck.

More shots fired. My ears buzzed. I jabbed the machete in front of me, piercing leather as a stabbing pain detonated in the side of my gut. My flesh felt like sponge. The odor of blood mingled in the air along with the shouting hawkers. Pain was a welcome friend beneath the repeated strikes of ginger-beard’s switchblade. I stumbled back, instinctively reaching to quell the wound as I managed to stabilize my footing.

My fingers were warm, sticky. My head began to spin. Ginger-beard cackled like an old hag. Sinister. Wicked. His ugly face contorted before me as I swung the machete. The effort was lost as the end of a chain caught around my wrist. Metal stung my flesh as the machete clanked to the timber floor and gunfire reverberated over the cottage. The sound of squawking birds mixed with laughter. I balled my fists and launched a right hook at a converging hawker. A blade plunged into my gut. Images distorted.

Scarla.

My heart felt like a blackened husk as I doubled over. My boots were awkward. I stumbled again. Sweat dripped into my eyes. Or was it blood? I couldn’t breathe. My hands clenched my stomach as my head filled with pain.

Thwack!  A white flash zapped behind my eyes. Then I was spiraling. My legs gave way and I fell hard to the brutal blows of dirty boots and blunt chains.

Void.

Some moments are not spent within our fleshy exteriors. I drifted away. Darkness beckoned as ginger-beard bent over me to trace the switchblade across my cheek.

“I was wrong about you, white neck.” He paused the blade, digging the pointy end into the flesh just below my eye. “You ain’t got nothing between your legs that your high-end pussy didn’t have. We did her real good. She was a running train and screamed just as loud as one.” He gave a throaty chuckle and stretched to his feet. “I’ll let you think about that while you bleed. We did ya solid.”

The image of receding boots doubled as numbness took hold. A chill ran across the back of my neck and radiated through my body. My eyes felt heavy. Heavy. A whirling sensation overtook and then there was nothing.

Void.


Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium


The Void is an urban fantasy set in a post apocalyptic world, and is part of Kim Petersen’s Blood Legends. Episodes set to publish weekly for 12 Weeks. Catch up on previous episodes here.


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Life. Death. Love & Connection

3 1

“I am covered in skin.

No one gets to come in.

Pull me out from inside.

I am folded and unfolded and unfolding.”

– Lyrics from Colorblind by The Counting Crows.

We are over-complicators existing beneath self-created blinders. The world keeps turning. Time slips by as we leave our prints upon the days and nights of yesterday.

We sift and sort as we move through life. Some of us analyze and reflect, others blame, scream and argue. Complications arise to push us towards evolution. Babies are born. Death is everywhere. Love and connection come calling to rattle our senses.

Pain passes from one to another as if through a shifting flame. Some of us go deep inside to seek an ancient knowledge embedded within the spirit beyond the flesh.

Truths are often distorted until it feels right — till you’ve positioned the situation someplace where you can summon a sense of false justification for the wrongs you’ve caused.

It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. You can only do the best you can at any given moment.

But the truth simmers deep within. It hides in the core of your being and awaits your attention. Someday, you will make an internal leap toward a tsunami of revelations that will uncover all that you have buried — All that you’ve tried to forget, and all that will unravel you when you are brave enough to explore the uncharted path.

Life.

No one escapes the human experience. Above all else, each one of us yearns to be pulled out from the inside by someone who can really see us. We crave to be heard by those we love and hold dear.

Do we really listen to one another?

Life. Death. Love & Connection — All that encompasses the moments between birth and death may never be fully articulated, but in sharing our experiences and deepest truths, we may reach greater states of the human condition.

We may bond and understand. We may love more deeply, forgive faster and speak to one another without judgement, fear or resentment.

We may discover a better world.

Buddha said:

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”


If I said …

Life

Grateful.

However, that one thing encompasses many different facets of the same jewel. Within gratitude, there is love and hope. There is appreciation and strength, consciousness and humility.

There are concepts which transcend the specific aspects in life. There are aspects which occupy the shadows which I try not to complain about because it seems inconsistent with the gratitude I have for my life.

— Xavier Eastenbrick.


If I said …

Death

Honor.

With death comes distinction. The contrast between the living and the dead is absolute. Mortality becomes reality. Yet, so does our immortality — the eternal spirit within. You feel it more than ever.

When sharing time with a dying person, the space becomes sacred; the energy shifts into something higher to aid the transition.

Divinity is revealed.

When you can sense that, the pain accompanying the death of a loved one becomes enshrined with a god-force — with love and gratitude.

Respect and love for everything is magnified. Death is all around, and you learn that what was once a great fear is no more.

— Kim Petersen.


If I said …

Love

Sacred Bonds & friendship.

“May love find you and wrap your heart in an inspired cocoon, and draw from that wrapping the beautiful butterfly of you coming into all your being.

Live out loud and let nothing steal your voice. Let 2020 be a year of transmutation.”

— Xavier Eastenbrick.


Love is a snippet of conversation:

“You say the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. How come?”

“I don’t just say things. I mean what I say, I think you know that. I trust you.”

“I trust you, too.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you and the gift of your communication.”

“Who are you?”

 Xavier & Kim


Love is stripping the layers and living from the inside out. It’s being willing to share yourself with someone because you know they sense your worth.

They see you and you see them back. To love and be loved is the highest privilege.

— Kim.


It would depend on when you asked me because over the years it has evolved from a concept rattling around the developing mind of a young man, to an amorphous, overwhelming emotion, to an intensely conscious feeling of its presence within me.

Since encountering her, love immediately gravitates to mean her.

Love floods my soul with a radiating energy that extends to all parts of my creativity and the best parts of me; both in the now and in the making. Love pushes me forward. While at the same time, when needed, it keeps me at a distance.

Many confuse sexual desire and lust for love, and while they exist in the bounds of love the reality is, those elements alone are hollow and ephemeral. When desire and lust exist within love, they have the ability to transmute the energy of love into another level of consciousness; the space between the intersecting circles of the Vesica Piscis.

Once this energy is created, it multiplies just as cells divide and becomes life within the order of the universe’s sacred geometry.

My life has been the crucible fire; forging an understanding of love that makes me humble to appreciate the dichotomy of the smallness of me as a being, but also the infinite of participating in it.

Aside from the fate laden descriptive way I articulated my response, love is also playful and personal; it’s laughing with abandon, soft to the touch, and a raging passionate monster almost untameable.

Love fearlessly searches for greater degrees of depth.

— Xavier.


If I said …

Connection

Oneness. Completion. Tranquillity. Truth.

Connection is that slight pulse that begins in your soul and grows intense when confronting deep truths. The feeling you cannot ignore when you sense the invisible cords linking you to something more; something beautiful … something like higher-love and all that is.

It is inner-recognition; a spark igniting in your soul when you encounter someone significant. The flame. It’s piecing the puzzles of moments passed and marveling at divine synchronicity.

It is being afraid to explore sacred bonds but finding the courage to go there because to deny the connection is to deny yourself the opportunity to experience the deepest love you’ll ever know.

Connection is peeking from the blinders to behold the wonderful moments when clarity finds you; when you become still and reach for more. When you find the key to unlock parts of your soul to revelations that blow your mind and you realize connection had never eluded you.

It was you that had avoided real connection all along.

— Kim.


Thank you for reading! What’s your answer when confronted by those words?


Also published by Imperfect Words at Medium


available now!

life death love connection ebook cover 1jan2020 1

Life, Death, Love and Sexy Connections with Soul.

In this collection of short, heartfelt essays, Kim Petersen explores what it means to live an authentic life, strengthen bonds and nurture real connections in a hyper-connected world, while Xavier Eastenbrick goes deep on the Twin Flame Soul Connection.

Each piece shares the unpredictable, meaningful and often humorous experiences of one woman’s journey as a daughter, a wife and a lover, a mother and a friend as she ignores boundaries to get real and gritty.

In these short pieces, Kim and Xavier tease out their vulnerabilities to bring unity and love to the page by recounting some of their most pivotal moments, deepest fears and wildest dreams. Through their unique voices, you will find a safe place to laugh, cry and be inspired to live an authentic life.

If you like to explore deep soul connections, love and sexuality, and ponder the meaning of life with a side of humor, this book is for you.

Life. Death. Love & Connection
 is the first collection of short memoirs from Whispering Ink, with bestselling author Kim Petersen and Xavier Eastenbrick.


Dead Inside

Blood Legends: Undead – Episode Nine

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Dreams are nothing but feeble whims on the devil’s tongue.


“Tea?” Sun’s smile evaporated as fast as it had emerged. The dark circles beneath her eyes darkened. “You need to drink something … eat something.”

I looked at the steaming mug she shoved toward me. My fingers felt numb.

“My grandmother used to say that tea makes everything better.” Sun gave a half laugh. When I stared back at her, she bit her bottom lip and looked away as she sat down on the sofa next to me. “Take it. You’re going to need your strength.”

I took the mug and pondered the hot milky broth. My grandmother used to say the same thing about tea. It was a lie. No amount of tea could ease the constant stabbing sensation crippling my stomach, nor could it erase the evil that took my lover and claimed my daughter. Tea wouldn’t make everything alright.

I tentatively took a sip and forced the liquid down my throat, grimacing. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. My skin was chilled from the inside out and it was guilt that weighed heavy on my heart. I was alive. Avila was not. I had forsaken her for a future hung on false dreams and unfounded myths. I’d failed my daughter.

Dreams have no place in this new reality. Dreams are nothing but feeble whims on the devil’s tongue. They mean nothing.

I set the mug down on the coffee table and stood up, running my fingers through my dark hair and sighing. Dead. Everything inside me felt bloodless. I barely glanced at Sun as I paced the cottage sitting room.

“You should go. The hawkers will be here before long.”

“I already told you, I’m not going anywhere. There’s nothing left for me.”

There’s nothing left for anyone.

I stopped at the window and peeled back the curtain, scanning the cottage porch and yard. My gaze settled on the dense twisted trunks bordering the gravel clearing as I contemplated her sudden appearance in my life. She had said she knew where to find me in the city the day before; that she’d followed us before discovering her daughter’s remains perishing on the floor of her living room. She said she had guns.

I spun around to see her bottom lip trembling, but her azure eyes blazed. I sighed.

“Stay with me and you’ll probably die before the end of this day.”

She gave a rueful laugh and rubbed her palms over her jeans. Her eyes moistened.

“You are the kindest person left in this world. You helped me when nobody else would.” She shook her head, her stringy golden hair clinging to her cheekbones. Her voice lowered. “I’ll die with you today, Jett.”

Her words were delivered with simplicity, yet they struck hard against my heart. I shook my head. I barely knew this woman and didn’t understand her reasoning, but there was no need to. In a world overrun by vampires, swindlers and criminals, nothing made sense anymore. She was a ray of light in an eternal darkness. She was like the sun.

“Your parents named you well.”

She smiled as our eyes briefly locked before I looked away and walked to where her guns lay on the floor. I picked up a long-barrelled firearm. My hands were clammy against the cold metal, but I felt a sense of comfort as I drew back the hammer and cocked the rifle before propping it by the cottage door. I’d never been overly fond of guns, nor had I owned one. Things were different now.

Sun stood and came up beside me. She selected a Glock 9mm handgun from the small stash of weapons and started inspecting the dull black short-barrelled pistol. Quick fingers ejected and reinserted the magazine before expertly gripping the handle and stuffing it in the pocket of her jeans. My curiosity was aroused but I said nothing.

“Where do you want me?” She flicked her chin toward the front door. “You want me to hide out in the trees?”

“No, they use the forest grounds as their cover. Stay by the window and keep out of sight. Train your gun on whoever has Scarla. If it goes to shit, kill as many of them as you can.”

“With pleasure.”

Scarla.

Just saying her name caused the shadow in my heart to deepen. I turned away and headed back to the window as my thoughts swirled with a thousand questions. Had I done the right thing by leaving Avila at the mercy of vampires for the sake of preventing further mayhem and horror? Had I made the right decision? Was she dead already?

Whether she was dead or not didn’t matter in that moment – or even if I’d made the right decision. The choice had already killed me on the inside, and I knew I would never forgive myself whatever the outcome.

The only thing that mattered now was Scarla and her safety. Rare blood and super-powerful vampires be damned. One of my girls had to survive this ordeal. Whatever became of the blood would be out of my hands once I traded it to the hawkers for Scarla’s return. I had to believe their hatred for the kindred would be enough to keep it from falling into their clawed hands. At least until I could realign and plan to retrieve it.  

I was thinking all these things when a movement in the yard caught my eye. I instantly stiffened as a dozen hawkers slinked from the shadowy trees into the clearing. I motioned to Sun who nodded and dashed toward the other window facing the porch. She meshed her slim body against the wall and stole a glance through the curtains, gripping her gun close to her chest as the sound of boots thumped on the porch stairs.

My heart thundered. Sweat pooled across my brow as I scanned the group of hawkers and spotted the tall nasty looking one that had delivered their ransom conditions forty-eight hours ago. He was clad in the same get-up – faded leather and dirty boots. His teeth were like rust between ginger whiskers as he grinned, and he fingered his switchblade as he bounded up the stairs.

 He banged on the flimsy door and at the same time, I saw Scarla. My eyes widened as she emerged from the trees with her feet dragging between two male hawkers who gripped her arms. Her pale hair hung over her face that was blotched with angry welts. Her swollen lips fell apart above a bruised jaw while her shredded clothes barely concealed her body.

What the fuck?

Rage took hold. Death was my friend. It was hot steel that claimed my blood and drowned out any coherent thoughts as I grabbed my machete before stomping toward the door and flinging it open to face my enemies. A sinister smile greeted me.

“Right on time.” The gingered hawker gave a wry laugh. His weathered eyes dropped to the machete I gripped at my side. He twirled the switchblade. “What ya think you’re gonna do with that, eh?”

Cut you all to pieces.

“Touch my woman again and you’ll find out, asshole.”

He growled and his eyes flashed at me before he glanced over his shoulder toward his mob. I braced myself and followed his gaze, taking in the leathered men carrying an array of weapons. Some carried swords in worn scabbards that swaddled their waists while others held blades and chains. Two hawkers stood at the foot of the forest doused in the shadows and pointing rifles at me. But it was the gangly looking man holding a hunting knife at Scarla’s throat that really caught my attention.

Dizziness threatened to overtake me when she lifted her chin long enough to blink at me through bloated eyes. Her head lulled forward, the afternoon sun catching the blood staining her scalp.

“Scarla.” Her name clung on my lips and panic seized me. I stepped across the threshold but ginger-beard sidestepped closer, blocking my way to the stairs.

A thick layer of grime crammed the wrinkles around his eyes as laughter erupted among the group. He cocked his head. His voice was gruff.

“Let’s start over, shall we? If you’d like to avoid watching the tart bleed like a dirty pig today, I suggest you give me what I came here for.”

My eyes stung as I glared at him and slowly reached into my pocket to retrieve the vial of blood that represented my daughter’s death and Scarla’s torture. The same drops of blood I knew would forever represent the death inside of me. Things were different now; everything felt bloodless.


Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium


Dead Inside is an urban fantasy set in a post apocalyptic world, and is part of Kim Petersen’s Blood Legends. Episodes set to publish weekly for 12 Weeks. Catch up on previous episodes here.

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2020-01-17T13:27:00

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Dancing with the Devil: Emotional and Psychological Manipulators

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It sounds rather dramatic, doesn’t it — to dance with the devil?

The thought instantly conjures grotesque visions and disturbing swirls in the pit of your stomach. Well, it should. I mean, the devil is a personification of everything evil and sinister. Portrayed as a dark enigmatic beast, he is seen as the manifestation of wicked — an objectification of a hostile and destructive force.

The concept of the devil is entwined throughout our history, mythology, art and literature. He is known by many names like Satan, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles and Lucifer. He has been known to possess souls and seduce humans, and has become a fascinating and popular supernatural character on our screens.

But is he real?

Pope Francis says: “The Devil is more intelligent than mere mortals and should never be argued with — he is evil, he’s not like mist. He’s not a diffuse thing, he is a person.”

Total disclosure — I am not a religious person. This post isn’t about religion nor do I wish argue the complexities surrounding faith and denomination. I wasn’t raised to adhere to any religious deity, but that doesn’t make me any less aware of the deplorable acts capable by mankind.

Where there is light, so there is darkness.

Sometimes, that dark force can be found in people. It is unfortunate, but true. We have seen the effects of darkness occur throughout our history and continue to witness it today with large scale conflict and wars, inequality and corruption.

Yet, it is the vicious acts playing out between us at an intimate level that have the ability to really cut deep. Some people are extremely skilled at psychological manipulation. Moreover, they seem to gain some kind of twisted satisfaction from doing so.

Whether we refer to these people as the “devil-in-action” or sociopaths makes little difference in the scheme of things, because once you have become their target, you’d better pick up your game quick smart or you risk losing your mind.

These people have no sense of empathy or compassion; and as you will discover as we get further into this post, neither do they take responsibility for the harm they cause — enter the emotional or psychological manipulator.

“He’s more intelligent than us, and he’ll turn you upside down; he’ll make your head spin”

– Pope Francis — on the devil.

Have you ever found yourself caught in a twisted mind-game you never saw coming until it was too late?

I have. Pope Francis is right, it does leave your head spinning.

Emotional or psychological manipulators often use mind games to seize power in a relationship. The ultimate goal is to use that power to control the other person.

These people will use an array of weapons to accomplish their goal. These techniques can include sneaky, deceptive or underhanded tactics to change the thinking, behavior, or perceptions of their victim.

It is no secret that a healthy relationship is based on trust, understanding, and mutual respect. This is true of personal relationships as well as professional ones. Sometimes, people seek to exploit these elements of a relationship in order to benefit themselves in some way.

Sometimes, we find ourselves waltzing with the devil.

The signs of emotional and psychological manipulation can be subtle. They are often hard to identify, especially when it is happening to you and particularly when you are emotionally invested in someone.

We all know how it feels to be in love, but what happens when that special someone deliberately sets out to exploit your feelings?

It can feel as if you are fighting to tread water while the sea slowly sucks your soul and your heart withers.

Hollow hope — that is one sure-fire sign you’ve got an emotional or psychological manipulator on your hands. They are masters at stringing you along by the threads of your heart while offering smidgens of false hope in an underhanded manner.

In fact, they are masters at quite a few psychological tricks. In order to identify whether you have encountered or are in the process of “dancing with the devil”, it is important to familiarize yourself with the tactics these people use so you can avoid falling victim to their games.

Let’s flush out some of the tell-tale signs.

According to psychology author George K. Simon, some of the signs and techniques used by an emotional or psychological manipulator are:

Concealing aggressive intentions and behaviors while appearing affable.

Knowing the psychological vulnerabilities of the victim to determine which tactics are likely to be the most effective.

Having a sufficient level of ruthlessness to have no qualms about causing harm to the victim if necessary.

Lying by omission: This is a subtle form of lying by withholding a significant amount of the truth. This technique is also used in propaganda.

Denial: The manipulator refuses to admit that they have done something wrong or have taken part in causing the situation to evolve.

Rationalization: An excuse made by the manipulator for inappropriate behavior.

Minimization: This is a type of denial coupled with rationalization. The manipulator asserts that their behavior is not as harmful or irresponsible as someone else is suggesting.

Shaming: The manipulator uses sarcasm and put-downs to increase fear and self-doubt in the victim. Manipulators use this tactic to make others feel unworthy and therefore defer to them. They can make one feel ashamed for even daring to challenge them. It is an effective way to foster a sense of inadequacy in the victim.

Playing the victim role: A manipulator portrays themselves as a victim of circumstance or of someone else’s behavior in order to gain pity, sympathy or evoke compassion from another.

Projecting the blame: Manipulators will claim that the victim is the one who is at fault for believing lies that they were conned into believing, as if the victim forced the manipulator to be deceitful. It is frequently used as a means of psychological and emotional manipulation and control.

These are just some of the tactics used by emotional and psychological manipulators. The effect of their behavior can have detrimental and devastating consequences to their victims — if we allow them to hold that power.

“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life, but define yourself.”

– Harvey Fierstein

Experiencing the manipulating behavior of someone who uses your emotions as their punching bag is like walking between night and day. Sometimes, it feels as if you are in heaven; as if the sun is shining just for you.

Other times, it feels as if you are dodging a suspended sword waiting to strike for the kill. And then it does; and the devil reveals himself and you feel as if are the most foolish person to wander the murky path existing between night and day.

Sometimes, people set out to hurt others with malicious intent.

It may take time to realize when someone is emotionally manipulating you. The signs are so subtle and underhanded in nature, and they often evolve over time. If you think you are being treated in this way, it is important to trust your instincts and believe in yourself.

You are not powerless; you can do something about it.

You can take back your personal power and know your worth. Respect, love and dignity — you are worth all of these and more. You are worth more than what your emotional manipulator will have you believe.

Apologize for your part and move on.

Often, there is a complexity of emotional entanglement existing between an emotional manipulator and their victim. Each action causes a reaction; we are fooling ourselves if we believe we don’t have an effect on people. High-level situations induce high-level reactions that may find you behaving in ways that baffle you.

Don’t try to beat them.

Two people should not play this game — the stakes are high when it comes to the heart. Instead, learn to recognize the strategies so you can properly prepare your responses.

Set boundaries.

When an emotional or psychological manipulator realizes they are losing control, their tactics may grow more desperate. They may lash out and falsely accuse you of wrongful behavior to induce a sense of shame and/or delusion, or make outrageous threats based on fabrications.

This is the time for you to make some difficult decisions.

You do not have to have this person in your life. You have a choice. You can choose to comply to the person in control or you can be proactive — you can cut them from your life.

This may be a great time to recruit support in the form of trusted friends or a therapist. Gaining insight from an individual outside of the situation can help you find clarity.

Learn your lessons.

You can heal and grow from this. Keep positive. No one deserves to have another individual treat them in this manner. Emotional and psychological manipulation may not leave physical scars, but it can have a long-lasting effect — especially when you have opened your heart to someone who abused it.

Even when somebody you love turns out to be the “devil”, it is vital to remember that love is never lost or wasted in this world. If you loved, then you didn’t lose. Sometimes, we have to dance with the devil in order to see the light shine brighter.


Originally published by The Ascent at Medium on January 2nd, 2020.


Cry to Me

Blood Legends: Undead – Episode Eight

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“She’s gone.”


When your baby leaves you all alone and nobody calls you on the phone.

Silence is a noise. Ragged breaths and the soulful sounds of Solomon Burke’s Cry to Me screamed through my mind as I stared at my daughter. It was her favorite. The moments stalled. My child. Images of her long dark hair bouncing over her shoulders as she danced clung in my mind’s vision. Flouncing yellow dresses. Small ruby lips breaking into laughter. The sweet sound of her voice when she called to me. 

My heart ached. Her dewy lashes glistened despite the nod she gave me. The world spiraled with nothing beneath my feet. The lobby door cramped against my boot. My toes were numb. The beat of the sun slammed against my back. I wanted to die right then and there. Better that than to face the impossible choice confronting me.

Avila. 

I was startled as Marius began humming the bluesy tune playing through my mind. My nerves spiked as I looked at him. His skin appeared luminous beneath the dull light as he spread his arms.

“Doncha feel like crying, Jett?” He looped his fingers beneath his chin, grinning. “Ah … surprise, surprise! You weren’t aware that some of us kindred have the ability to invade minds?” He laughed before snaring an arm around Avila. “It used to be my mother’s favorite too. So, you see, we’re going to be one big happy family!”

“Like hell we will!” Avila pushed against him, glaring. Her next words were delivered through gritted teeth. “You are a satanic brute.”

She shrunk away as he hissed at her. Talons clawed at her hair. She didn’t even whimper. Her jaw tightened as she glared at him. “Dick!”

He frowned at her with amusement before turning to me.

“I am growing very fond of your daughter. Her energy is … intoxicating. Sometimes, we’re not aware of what we’re missing from our lives until we encounter it.”

His grin dissolved as the noise of heavy footsteps came from the corridors behind him. “Play time is over. Bring me the vial or I’ll have the Guardians take it from you.”

A group of people suddenly spilled from the shadows into the lobby. There were about eight of them; men and women clad in dirty denim and knee-high boots with whips slung at their waists. Black bandanas hugged their skulls and their expressions were cold.

  I could barely breathe as I surveyed them.

“When you’re all alone in your lonely room and there’s nothing but the smell of her perfume.”

Time stopped as my gaze rested again on Avila. She was motionless, her image already fading as I took a step back. She mouthed the words “I love you” and my heart splintered into a thousand pieces.

Marius shouted as the sound of thudding boots charged toward me. The Guardians were on the move. It was time. I tore my eyes from Avila and spun around, sprinting from the lobby threshold into the street.

The air was a hot enemy and pain already an unwelcome friend. I was suffocating. Dying. My boots were concrete as I pushed forward. Get to the corner. The Guardians yelled out behind me. Lurking shadows filling doorways, watching the scene unfold. Manic laughter flooded the street. The corner came closer. Closer. My legs felt like pudding.

In the blur of the moment came another sound. A machine? An engine? My thoughts scattered. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Breathe, Jett. I fought for air. Go faster. My calves burned and I was blind. Avila. My ears pricked up through the deafening haze as a high-pitched screech crunched across the road.

Tires.

The muscles of my body tightened as I spotted the metallic blue Jeep come to a sudden halt at the corner. What the fuck? My pace instantly slowed. I could feel the tremors in my body as the window lowered and the Guardians shouted from behind. 

“Get the bastard!”

“Hurry!”

I glanced over my shoulder as swollen faces closed in fast. My fingers grasped the machete. There was no time to think. I swung my eyes back to the Jeep and the face that was distorted beneath golden hair.

“Jett! Get in!”

Sun?

I squinted, hesitating before bolting for the Jeep and flinging open the door to the shouts of the Guardians skidding up behind me.

“The bastard’s getting away!”

“Motherfucker!”  

I was still about to shut the door when Sun slammed her foot on the accelerator and sped off down the street. The Jeep engine roared and the hot wind gusted into my face as I yanked the door closed, my chest heaving as I stared back at her. Grimy slim fingers gripped the steering wheel. She chewed her bottom lip, glancing at me.

“Where’s Avila?”

I squeezed my eyes shut as my body was racked with spasms. My throat hurt when I swallowed as I gazed ahead. All I could see was the image of Avila’s bright lemon dress and her hair swinging as she danced.

I formed the words that tortured my soul.  “She’s gone.”

 Doncha feel like crying. Doncha feel like crying.          


Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium


Cry to Me is an urban fantasy set in a post apocalyptic world, and is part of Kim Petersen’s Blood Legends. Episodes set to publish weekly for 12 Weeks. Catch up on previous episodes here.

Blood LegendsUndead Episode Nine – Dead Inside Available in:

2020-01-10T21:30:00

  days

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Dead Inside

Never Miss Out on the Blood Legends Episode – Sign Up and I’ll Make Sure You Get Reminded When the Next Instalment Becomes Available. Episodes are Set to Publish weekly for 12 Weeks!

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Love is a Journey towards Surrender

And through our words we discover deep truths.

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In 2017, I created a blog because I had read someplace that an author should have a blog as part of their online presence. I was new on the publishing scene, having written and published one novel with limited knowledge and without much of a solid plan.

Alas, I did what I thought I should be doing — I created a website, organized paid promotion and began networking with other authors. Then, the blog came along.

The problem was, although I had these great plans to use this interactive platform to write about topics that matter, and hopefully relate to other people, I didn’t have the courage to get vulnerable enough to express myself in that way.

Until now.

2019 has been a transformational year for me. It was a year that forced me to face my inner-darkness and fears, as well as the light and love within; a year dedicated to soul-growth, laying new foundations and stretching my perspective. A year spent forming and cultivating a relationship with my authentic self on a deeper level.

Writing has been a big part of this journey.

Maybe it was the words. Or perhaps it was the process of sifting through the layers to discover deep truths. Whatever it was, expressing myself through reflective writing has become much more than an act of self-discovery — it has enriched the relationships I most treasure.

I have learned, really learned that to be present is the most important present I can give to the people in my life. This is especially true for my children who continue to teach me invaluable lessons through their unconditional love and admiration.

I have surrendered to expectations and learned how to protect myself from deceitful people. I’ve discovered that boundaries are important; that hurtful and ruthless words are like knives; that some people do not have the capacity to understand nor care how deeply their actions can cause pain; and that the unjust behavior of others says more about them then it does about me.

Fear is a forceful and vicious emotion. Love is much more powerful.

It is through the act of deep thinking and reflection that propels us to higher states of being. True appreciation finds us when we question ourselves, the world and its meaning. 

This is when we realize all that we hold dear and precious — as well as all that seeks to harm us.

There are times in our lives when we get to choose which path to take — the easy way is, well, easy. It requires playing it safe, Resisting change (with a capital “R”) and staying put. It requires little effort and risk on our part.

There is nothing wrong with playing it safe. But keeping the walls up denies us opportunities to bond with one another. It rejects new ideas, pushes against our natural state to reach for more and broaden our perspectives.

Living this way doesn’t feed the soul nor catapult us into becoming the best version of ourselves. This way is to remain as you are — to exist in a way that denies your soul what it seeks above all else; expansion. Love. This way is the ordinary way.

Opportunity for soul growth can arrive through various mediums. Sometimes, and quite usually, exponential growth is followed when we experience a crisis of some nature. Other times, it is when we encounter those who spark something dormant within that causes a significant shift to take place at a deeper level.

How can you explain to someone who doesn’t understand what happens when we encounter a significant other? How can you communicate the real magic of deep connection and the creativity born from the fusion to someone who hasn’t experienced it?

It is near impossible, but I’ll try.

Real connection will rattle your senses to ignite change. It will feel as if a key turned within your soul to open a door you never knew existed. Once you cross the threshold, there is no way to “unknow” all that is revealed — which is everything beautiful and dark within.

Most of all, it is through these sacred people that touch our lives that we find the courage to free ourselves of limited thinking; the courage to be bold with our creativity and find the spirit to become who we are meant to become.

I found the courage to explore and question myself, and the world. As well as the courage to write in new ways and dare to envision an alternative future.

It is when we are willing to die to our former selves to embrace new ways of thinking and being that we truly grasp the meaning of existence. This isn’t some New Age quack notion — life is about getting vulnerable, living big and loving furiously. It is about taking risks, connecting to others and sharing our experiences in order to help each other grow. It’s being brave enough to take the messy path because you sense it’s worth deep in your bones.

This year, I chose to shed a part of myself in order to emerge into myself.

Does that make sense?

A large part of this process is still being played out through the words I create and share with whoever takes the time to listen.

Most of us are aware that storytelling has been used to articulate the experiences and tribulations of our earliest ancestors to guide, teach and inform. Through the ages, story has existed to provide cautionary warnings to their predecessors, but it also through storytelling that we have searched for the sacred dimension of life.

Blogs are an exceptional platform for the continuation of this kind of storytelling. Posting our words enables us to share personal experiences — to teach, connect with and help one another. They provide a way that allows us to get real and gritty; to explore life and everything encompassing the human experience.

Through sharing words and telling my life experiences on Whispering Ink, I have worked through parts of my life to bring a collection of posts designed to connect with people; and hopefully a small part of that body of work found the person in most need of reading the words.

If I achieved that, then I am forever grateful.

This year has been a year of revolution. In facing my own insecurities and fears, I have been able to embrace a new version of myself — a woman who is slowly learning to believe in herself. A woman who has been reminded of higher-love and what it means to accept the things she cannot change — who took a deep breath and published some of the deepest parts of herself.

As the end of the year arrives, I look back on the struggles 2019 brought with a sense of gratitude. I took risks and stepped out of my comfort zone more times than I care to recount. I laughed and cried; I weaved through confusion and told the people that matter how I feel. I wrote words that reflected a journey lived with heart and shared those stories with the world.

I regret nothing.

In the end, it is our willingness to be authentic that counts. It is through connection and reflection that ignite inner-growth. But it is through the creation of words and sharing our experiences that fosters the power of true expansion.

My words and stories may not matter to everyone, but they matter to me and that’s enough.

With love,

Kim


Thanks for all your support throughout 2019. New Year Happiness to You!


Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium