Creating Space

creating space

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built.”-Rumi

Hello all, I have returned. I took a hiatus from blogging for a bit to recollect my thoughts and get in touch with a few of my emotions I have needed to work on. Sometimes that is all we can do is allow ourselves to have space. We often try to either A) attack whatever our issues are head on without understanding them first, B) ignore said issues and hope they just magically disappear or fix themselves, C) blame our issues on others or try and shove them off onto other people, or D) a mixture of all three and then become extremely confused and/ or angry. I would have to say I was doing all three depending on what it was.

Breaking patterns is never easy. Understanding thought tunnels, triggers, and patterns you have created within yourself is sometimes difficult, but it does not need to be painful. With my shift that I have had this year and all the new things I have done to start this new journey, I have encountered a TON of things I had thought I had dealt with. That is where I discovered that I had done “All of the above”. The self-depreciating monster has decided to show its  ugly head in waves and I have let fear, anger, and sadness take root in things that have nothing to do with reality. This has been going on for awhile and well…I’m working on it.

Also with those discoveries, I have become more spiritual because I am starting to unravel this cocoon of fear and chaos that I have created for myself. We are all responsible for our own issues, how we deal with them, create them, and end them. So, I am  taking responsibility for those things and moving forward. No more shoving them off on other people. No more blaming others for my problems. No more ignoring them. I will sit, contemplate, and then take a course of action and allow myself to feel and be loved. I do deserve this, its just sometimes you need someone to remind you of that.

So, to help out with this I have come up with a game plan. I’ll spell it out over the next couple of blog posts with points I am working on. Yes, Blogging on the regular is one of those points as well as yoga, meditation and some fasting/cleansing. It will all work out in the end. For now though I will continue my day of hibernating and work on my game plan. Namaste. 




“Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts.”–Thich Nhat Hanh

I have been doing a lot of thinking, and usually when I do a lot of thinking I don’t get a lot of sleep because I have to get my mind out on paper. This is one reason why I wrote this. It basically sets a stage of where I am at the moment of life. I have all these thoughts swirling about my head and I am not sure what to do with them, except get them down in some sort of writing. I am sure this is because of all the releasing I have been doing lately, so at least I have become productive. I hope you all enjoy and Namaste!


by: Michelle Curry

Living, dying, inhale, exhale, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth making a “haaaa” sound. Bring all of your energy upwards into your body from the roots, your feet, planted firmly into the ground. And with each breath taken in, let the negativity in your heart dispel outwards. This is the concept of death. Let the old die and the new be reborn. Each breath is intention, each exhale is letting go. We have no control over this; it is a natural part of us. Without breath, we do not live, as without the sun, we do not flourish. Holding onto our negativity, no matter how real it seems, is cheating death and only beckons it closer. For the only thing that is dying is the ego, our souls live on. Constantly dancing in the love and light, enlightenment, oneness, peace; this is waking up. We are waking up from the coma we have put ourselves into willingly. We breathe in new life and exhale all the things that we “thought” were important. It is just a mask that our ego hides behind, trying to grab us and eat us alive, like Coronus eating his children. But with each breath comes awareness and with each exhale comes release. It is but a moment in time, much like a breath only lasts as long as a few seconds, fleeting at best. Breathe in through your heart and breathe out though your feet, let in love and let out false truths. Breath in life, breathe out death, inhale, exhale.



“Falling in love should be like Polaroids. Instant.” –Unknown

Within the past month, I have had a whirlwind of excitement and wonder as far as my love life goes. With any new relationship, you tend to have the puppy love stage where everything seems to be perfect and nothing can seem to go wrong. The problem is, most people let that wear off and forget to see their special someone in that light again. They become comfortable and let things slip and just “put up” with them. I refuse to be like this!

I will not let myself fall into the trap of letting someone I am with become just another person that puts up with me and let that give me an excuse to let myself go in all the wrong ways. I have been in too many relationships where this has happened, and the excuses for doing so have led to fights, heart break, tears and ass like behavior on both ends. We are but human, and sometimes we do stupid stuff, but the worst you can do is treat the person who has your heart like they aren’t special and just do whatever your ego is telling you to do.

And by ego, I mean the little gremlin inside your head that says you need X,Y, and Z to make you happy and makes you act like a down right jerk that thinks he/she is better than everyone else. Its what makes us attached so much to our image, what makes us feel jealous and insecure without material possessions and desires , and what drives most of Western culture to be like it is. When I meditate, this little guy starts screaming at me loud and clear with a megaphone trying to get me to pay attention to it. “You need to loose weight! You need to get a boob job! You need to buy this purse! You need to get a vintage Jag! NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED!!!!!” Well, most of those things aren’t needs, they are just things. Things that have been drilled into our heads to make us feel like we are not enough as we are.

We are enough though, right now we are indeed enough. The reason someone falls in love with you is not for all the fancy things you have, your job, your money or what car you drive or even the clothes you wear. They fall in love with you and who you are inside on both good and bad days. It’s all the imperfections that make you who you are and what makes you special. We tend to forget that, we think that someone is perfect and once they show us they are but only human, it automatically makes us feel betrayed and wonder what they think of us. And that is where the ego starts yapping away, making us feel like we are less than we are. “He will love you more if you dress this way. You should try and make your lips look bigger. If you died your hair then he would notice you more. Maybe if you start liking all the things he likes and doing all the things he does and give up all your hopes and dreams then hell pay attention.” And then we listen, and then feel resentful for it and blame our love for it…and thus the vicious cycle starts.

However, if we come into a relationship with mindfulness, not just of ourselves and our limits, but of the other persons as well then we are able to grow in love. Honesty is the best policy; trying to be your best self is great if you are doing it for yourself and the other person encourages you to do so. They are there to accept you as you are and give you the support you need to be able to grow. That is how love works. Now, as you can see, my blog post is entitled keys. Keys, in this sense, can be tools we use to ground ourselves and remind us not to get all up in our head so we can make sure we put our all into any relationship. This can be romantic, work related or really anything we need to put our mind to. We just have to remember we are enough.

It can also be taken literately. When I said my love life has been a whirlwind, this is one of the things I was talking about. I ended up writing a poem yesterday, in all of my twitterpation about it. I hope you all enjoy and Namaste.


by: Michelle Curry

Jingle, Jingle, Jingle… the sound of keys ring as I drive home as they beat against the ignition. It reminds me of the melody that is your voice, playing over and over in my head much like a well loved record that is stuck on repeat. “Go make yourself a key.” I contemplated this while making breakfast and waiting for you to come back from work for a few minutes to discuss details. I have never had many keys in my life, not even ones to my own home.

It felt…new and precious, even if it was but only a small gesture of kindness and vulnerability. You have let me not only occupy the space your heart, but also your space in your home… I have given many a boy a chance to show they have the key to my heart, and all have failed till now. You rush in and make quick work of chores, making sure you have enough time to lay with me before you run back to the office. “You are amazing and I love you. You have all of me…” Thinking of those words just reminds me of your eyes, soft and blue…full of hope and trust. They are the gateway to the soul, after all…

Many a kiss and hug were given before you dashed off again. I had my assignment, you sent me on a mission to find a hardware store on Franklin Street. Of course, being from Winston-Salem, I don’t know where anything is and GPS helps but only so much. I park in a free spot and trek up and down…pondering about shop whereabouts and who’s keys fit where. All the boys who had tried before had keys for different things. Some where too big, some where too fancy, some were too small, and some were very rusty. They all seemed ill fitting to my heart and were better suited for other things. Like garages, old cars and even basements. Some of them were for cages, making me feel trapped, and all the gold plating on the bars and frivolous gifts that were only given if something was wrong were just to hide the fact I was more like property than anything else.

Only but a prize or a trophy that had been seemingly “won”, I was not… and like a bird, I flew at the best chance I got to escape, and I hid my tracks hoping to not be found again. You found me though, hiding in the bramble all shook up and teary eyed, trying to nurse old wounds so I wouldn’t feel so weak and failing miserably at it. All you did was hold me, no cage to bind me or chains to hold me there, I wanted to stay because that was enough. And kind words, like mantras heal my soul, as they pour out your mouth like waterfalls. “I love you…go make yourself a key.”

I got lost for a bit during my quest, asking a police officer for directions I finally started going the right way. Apparently the store was on the other end. On my way back I got many a cat call… random college students trying to impress there friends in how “bold” they were. Puffing out there chest making a show and honking horns as I walk by. A few random hobos who looked like they were stuck in the 70’s and drunk then decided to have a go and see if I would pay them attention. No avail, but it freaked me out quite a bit. Then an older man decided to be a flirt as I walked to my car to go park elsewhere; I was beginning to wonder if they were sent here to deter me from my quest…

I park in a spot someone still had time left on and then I found the place. Brown’s Paint and Hardware, and behind the old wooden door sat a little old man with a very sweet (yet flirtatious) demeanor. “Well hello there young lady, how may I help you?” “I need to make a copy of this key, please.” “Ok, that will be no trouble. How many copies?” “Oh, just one, please, sir.” He winked at me and went behind his desk, whistling an old tune that seemed familiar but couldn’t be placed, I hear scraping of metal behind the wall and I craned my neck to see what was happening. It was all over in a matter of 15 seconds and he walks back with the bright new shiny key. “Here you go, young lady. That was mighty nice of you to stop in here to have this made.” “Well my boyfriend told me to come here so I figured it was a good place to stop.” He smiled as I handed him the money. “Come back anytime you’d like and have a great day!”

As I walked out the door I couldn’t believe that I now had my own key, one that finally fit. It was just the right size, gold and shiny and fit nicely on my key ring. Now they jingle when I walk instead of just making a muffled clank. And even though it isn’t much, it means all the world to me. I will keep it forever and I will never let go. Jingle, Jingle, Jingle, a melody that floats about my ears, singing a song though my atmosphere. This is where our souls meet body, like 2 puzzle pieces we fit, and you have the key to my heart and then some.

The “Art” of being Vunerable


“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I will admit it, the past few days I have been living in my head and letting my fears get the best of me. It might have something to do with my cycle coming up soon, but still…it has not been great. Thank God I have people in my life who actually understand this and aren’t going to run away from me because of it. I am human, I am imperfect, but life is constant practice. We just have to keep telling ourselves that.

And because I have been up in my head, I had a bit of a break down. Simple words making phrases that were intended with love and kindness turned into haunting demons from days of yore that I did not DARE speak of. It made me mull over it the entire day…to the point where I could not even paint. I felt crushed, like I was bleeding from the inside out and it came out as anger, pain and tears. I haven’t felt like that in a pretty good while. And I let it all out over FaceTime with my man.

See, being an artist is hard because you put your soul and heart into everything that you do. It is not just a painting, a sculpture, a dance, a song, a poem, or a photo. It is a glimpse of ones soul through the lens of that individual.  It has emotions, feelings, and memories tied to it. Everyone sees things differently in our world and because of that everyone feels they are entitled to be a critique. People that are not comfortable in their own skin tend to be the first to say, “That is wrong, fix this, I hate this, I can do better than that, I don’t understand this, that is not art.” and so on and so forth.

When we come from a place of love and understanding, then the critique is softened and said when it is ready to be heard. Sometimes though, it can still be misconstrued and that isn’t anyone’s fault.  That is just because the other person is too guarded, in which in this case I was for several reasons. Art, for me, is therapy. Most of the time is there was something going on that I didn’t know how to deal with, then I would delve into my artwork. I have ALWAYS done that. I have a hard time communicating my feelings through words sometimes and the only way it can come out is if I draw, paint or some how put it on some sort of paper or surface that is tangible to my hands.  It is raw, it is very personal, and close to me.

In the past, people didn’t understand this. I was the weird art kid that always had a sketch book and would hide behind novels and note pads. It was my wall so no one could come in, even though I really wanted them to. I wanted to show them who I really was, but when I did I just was shoved off and told, “[insert persons name here] is better than you.” Or I would make a doodle for someone I really cared about and then find it in the trash. “Oh, it’s only a drawing. It doesn’t mean anything. You make these all the time so you shouldn’t be upset.” Even in my serious relationships I had, I didn’t feel like my art mattered anymore so I stopped creating things. I thought, “oh, they don’t care…what is the point of this?”

That was the depression speaking, but now that I have started creating again those little voices still pop up now and again. They are all in my head though… Sometimes it takes a lot to quiet the noise and turn up the sound. I have a lot to learn, one of them being able to separate myself from a piece. It is like a little piece of you that is no longer a part of you. Kind of like a memory…it changes with each and every time you remember it. It will come in time, but it will be slow. I am still very raw in this state with rediscovering that part of myself. I will get there one day though and when I do, I am not going to turn back. Namaste.

The Thaw

by: Michelle Curry

And as the Winter leads into Spring, where the flowers blossom and the trees breath in new life from the sun, I too shall thaw. And just like the temperatures and winds that are unpredictable, my soul shall be as well, for I will have a blistering cold winds accompanied by calm warm breezes. May my crown of branches and thorns make way for flowers and vines and deadened leaves become soft moss in which I am cloaked. Have the frost turn into morning dew that gathers and waters my heart and spirit. Bright Yellow and Cobalt Blue like the Iris are my colors and i shall wear them like war paint. And with each step I take, may the ground soften and ease into new life. The Holly King has gone and Jack of the Wood has come to play and I too have awoken from my slumber…and just like the song birds, I won’t be quiet anymore.


If Goddesses Wore Flannel


If  the Sun and Moon should ever doubt, they’d immediately go out.–William  Blake

Here is a poem that I wrote last night while at writing club. I tapped into some of my “witchy nature” and I really enjoy it. It is quite a bit different from my other pieces. Namaste!

If Goddesses Wore Flannel

By: Michelle Curry

Shedding skin like memories of past lovers, I breath you in deeply

Lungs full of smoke, smelling of cedar and pine, you understand

You found me, my centaur and so we dance…

Dance by the willow in which you found me, by the river in which I keep

Moon lit skin cloaked in flannel, the red contrasting with my raven hair

Crown me with branches resembling those of our horned god, he is watching

He knows of our dancing, how you whisper sweet nothings in my ear

and the giggles that turn into babbling brooks and fireflies.

He watches as the reeds sing the melody and the crickets and frogs create the rhythm,

much like the drums of the human tribes.

Cover my face in Indigo with markings taught to you by the fairy folk.

Hands touch and hearts become one, you remember and you know,

I am your goddess and your love is what makes me glow.

Come with me my love and let us run away in the moonlight,

run to the in between and let us stay there forever more.


“Do not be alarmed if they look paler than the other maidens of Greece. They are scarcely of this Earth, and seem to be shaking off the sleep of a past life.”
― Charles Nodier, Smarra: & Trilby

So here is a poem that I was urged in my heart to write because of some recent events that have happened. Also, don’t forget to check the link at the bottom of the page. It is a beautiful article from elephant journal that talks about archetypes.  I hope you all enjoy! Namaste!


By: Michelle Curry

Touch me where it counts,

Kiss me where it hurts,

I will always thirst for you…

With every breath I take, I breathe you in…

And out again…

Like smoke that lingers around our mouths

Souls touch in that sacred space between these hearts

Creating heart lines from star signs

Red lovers cords braid and manifest

So that we become one

And I you and you me know this language

Spoken softly so that only church bells may hear

Tender are our kisses that leave us breathless

Creating space within one another

So these spirits have a place to call home

And the echos of the hallow give way to the wind

Whistling and blowing heart songs like bird calls

Only the willing are ready to hear this story

And it has only just begun.

Fiddler on the Roof


I know a girl who cries when she practices violin because each note sounds so pure it just cuts into her, and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes. Now, to me, everything else just sounds like a lie.–Conor Oberst
So I have decided that I am going to be writing a novel. I have had a story brewing for about 2 years now and the characters keep popping out and asking me to write about them. This is one of the character developments that I had worked on. Not exactly sure where it is going to go, but I think that it is well worth delving into. It has been one of my dreams to write a novel for awhile now so I figured, “Why not?” Sadly I did not write anything yesterday because I was in a bit of a funk as far as writing club though, but I will get back to the post I promised about being “Lion-hearted” like I promised. Hope you all enjoy and Namaste!

Fiddler on the Roof

By: Michelle Curry

Fiddler on the roof fits him properly. Sitting off to the side with his leg propped up, looking over the skyline of the city. Its not quite dusk and the lights are starting to flicker on. He sits there, debating if he should play his song. He takes out his fiddle, handmade by his father, and plucks the strings. Playing it reminds him of home, in the lush rolling hills of Ireland. Everything was much greener there and the dank city puts a bit of a damper on his mood. This wasn’t home for him, it was a distant land that seemed cold and unwelcoming.

Coming to New York was to bring him fortune, new journeys and adventures and enough money to make a life for himself instead of having to farm potatoes like the rest of his siblings. Instead he is a stage hand at a local Cabaret, barely making enough money to afford a bite to eat and a place to sleep at night.  He places the cloth that’s embroidered by his mother on his shoulder and brings the fiddle to his chin. He takes a deep breath and with his rosined bow, he begins to play. In his mind, he sings the words “I shall sing a song for you, what shall I sing you? I shall sing a song of 10, what is the song of 10?”

Smooth and methodic his fingers nimbly explore the neck of his instrument. The emotion in his face changes with every note struck and plucked. He looks beautiful, in all senses of the word. His dark black hair cut not too short to accentuate his curls is tousled a bit as the train starts to roll by. The clicking of the tracks is just the rhythm for him to play to. Click clack, click clack, click clack, the sound of urban drum beats doesn’t compare to the Celtic drums of home.

His skin slightly tanned and a bit worn, he wears it well, almost like a badge of honor. The slight stubble just adds to the look of old farm hand. As he finished, he glares back over the now lit up city. Those blues eyes have a sadness in them, a longing for more…and a loneliness that longs for a woman’s touch. I stand there watching unbeknown to him. I want to sing a song for you, but what shall I sing you…and will you accept my song, my fiddler on the roof.