anitalorrainemoore

Musician devoted to Justice, Creativity, and Courage


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TuesDayNewsDay Vol.2 Issue 17, October 30 Caution: Trigger Warning, references to sexual violence

TuesDayNewsDay Vol.2 Issue 17, October 30th – CAUTION: Trigger Warning – this newsletter contains triggering sexual violence references. Please take care.

Dedication: Today’s issue is dedicated to my therapist Karen. Today, while going through what came up in therapy, I realized I would drive to the place, where in October of 1990, I was first molested. I was seven years old. I decided I would drive there, sit on the ground and take a photo. I would also take something of the earth to work with this healing. As the idea came to me, a light bulb exploded in my head. Karen said, “Anita, don’t take your wounded little girl there without your whole adult self holding her, seeing her, and telling her that you are there for her no matter what. You are her nurturing parent now, hold her in your arms.”

I pulled my car into the driveway for the first time ever on my way home from therapy, realizing I have never driven into that driveway before in my life.

This spot, which I have to drive by every time I go to my grandparents’ house, is also a block from where my mother still lives with the pedophile step-father just across the railroad tracks. When I say this healing is a daily, a moment to moment process, I mean it. Literally facing those places every day has wrecked havoc on my insides – but I am resilient and strong, vulnerable and honest with myself. The place is a vacant lot in a trailer park on Pomeroy Street in Graham, where my home used to sit. Now it’s an empty, dirty space with an overgrown concrete platform over which there was a carport. Under that porch, I remember having to take all of our stuffed animals outside to be thrown away because there was such a terrible flea infestation. I remember sneaking up late at night after everyone was asleep, turning on the television to watch Alfred Hitchcock and the Twilight Zone, my face about an inch from the screen, ever wary of any sounds coming from my mother’s end of the trailer lest I get caught.

Vividly, I remember the game we were playing that night in October. My baby sister, a developmentally disabled boy named Jason, and his sister Tasha and I were playing charades. Jason and Tasha were the teenage children of my mother’s red-headed boyfriend. We played in teams and it was decided we would go into the closet to decide what animal or character we would pretend to be. I was seven years old, my sister was 2. I was on Jason’s team. Jason was sixteen. (Typing this I can feel my heart racing and the old familiar anxiety aching in my chest and shoulders, my left eye and cheek twitching.). When we went into that closet and Jason molested me, I was too afraid to move, too afraid to scream, too afraid to fight, too afraid to do anything at all except to freeze. So, I froze. I could feel his icy cold, trembling hands on me. To this day I can still feel the darkness of that closet, the walls closing in around me. When we came out of that closet, I was sick. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember the game, nothing. I remember after they left that night, I told my mother what happened. She said to me, “Honey, if it happens again, let me know.”

Those words etched endless caves into the crevices of my heart. Those words are the haunting. Those words represent the moment I knew I was on my own. With no one else to turn to, my grandparents were gone to Disneyland at the time, I was completely alone. I prayed and prayed and heard nothing. Those words mark the day when I, as a seven year old, realized that god didn’t exist and that I wasn’t worth saving. Those words created children’s tears. They cannot be undone, and of course, it happened again.

Despite those memories buried deep in endless caves and my mother within shouting distance, I went. It was my nurturing, accepting, loving, and whole adult self who sat on that ground. I felt the cold, wet grass and soil underneath me. I looked at the trailers to the right and left of me. My phone was propped on the very metal bracket that once held that trailer to the ground. I snapped a shot of me sitting on that sacred ground. It took less than a minute. Leaving, I searched for a four-leaf clover in the tiny patch of yard, but found none. Instead, now a big green black walnut from that place is with me. I plan to do some ritual with that walnut. It tried to escape twice from me before walking up my back-porch steps in Saxapahaw. Something inside told me not to bring it inside my house, so I left it on the back patio table. It is not clear what kind of ritual will come about, but it is sure to be a powerful one of releasing the physical ghosts of that moment. It will be one of forgiving my mother for not knowing or realizing what she was doing. It will be a process of exorcising the grief and trauma which has been sitting in my bones and blood, blooming into the person you see today. Today is all I have.

Quote: Choice is all we get, change is all that’s real.

Song: Silence is the song today folks, listen to your heart beat. – my Tuesday video song series is available here: TuesDay Song Series Video on Facebook

Dear Humans,

Today’s post wasn’t meant to be this way. The events of today were not planned, but have made a mark. The words of my song, Darlene, record this event in a lyrical, symbolic sort of way. Being an artist is a privilege because it lets us put words and visions to feelings and thoughts. We are able to somehow transform our feelings into a universal language others can share. Today with Karen, I admitted to trying to let go of my fears: people won’t like my arts and I’m not good enough to walk in the footsteps of my idols. Slowly and purposefully, she said, “Let’s transform that. You are working on your language, so let’s start here.” So after thinking, my mouth said, “I am letting go of my concern for people not liking my art or me as a person.” I do not need validation of others to justify my existence. This self-work is Sacred. I feed on it; it makes me feel more and more alive and free every day to uncover and unleash the demons. Turns out, they aren’t demons at all. They are one scared, frozen little girl, stepping into who she is destined to be, not solely a victim of her circumstance. I looked Karen in the eyes today and spoke my gratitude for her being here with me this last year and a half of journeying, visioning and healing. It was the first time I’d ever asked to hold hands with anyone. With our feet on the floor, we grounded, I closed my eyes and saw little Anita sitting on my right knee. There Karen prepared me to go sit on that patch of grass, which someday, I will drive by without flinching. I will drive by proud to have been seated there.

Love, ALM


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Forgotten to Remember: A Poem at Dusk

I have forgotten to tell you my name
You may have seen me through the window
The shop windows after the shop has closed
dreaming of outside from where you’re looking in
the dreams of my childhood are kept in the back
behind a secret latch,
a secret doorway
Through which would I let wrong ones in and keep right ones out

There’s an old man playing a pedal steel to the sound of my tears
There’s a farmer growing the crops with the wetness of my tears
There’s a child painting the forest chasms of my green eyes with my tears
There’s a sleeping ancestor dreaming of waking in the caves dripping with my tears

I have forgotten to remember my name before I was me
You may have searched the stars for to understand my longing
Coming in from the cold, I wrap inside my soft sweater, stoke the fire within, and capture the memories of smoke in my hair


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A Sappy Sad Love Song Poem For Cowgirls’ Twangy Guitars

The dock, it washed away in the flood

I thought that you would stay

But these tears are real, rolling down my face

And all I can do is cry.

Invited you in, longer than a dream,

meant so much more to me than to deny

I feel your arms around my sides

and all I can do is cry

I wished on the Moon you’re somewhere safe

And I dreamed I saw your face

You held me tight, said all you never said

I had to turn and walk away

Trains don’t wait, they never say goodbye

this heart in knots and tied

time has made us ghosts tonight

and all I can do is cry

My friends all think you used me dear

A hummingbird, it flies

on to the next sweet blossom near

And all I can do is cry

I awake alone in this bed on the floor

Look out the window to the sky

The bluebird perched knows what’s in store

she knows all I can do is cry

Grandfather calls me his tender-hearted girl

Who falls in love too fast

Moon’s nearly full, She’s on the rise

And all I can do is cry

This Heart it breaks, a heavy stone

It sinks inside my mind

It ripples from where you skipped it dear

And all I can do is cry

I may not see your face again

The one I dreamed of last night

I hope you’re warm in the cold cold night

This morning all I can do is cry

The poor dock seems to have washed away in the night!

Half Moon Rise!

Summer Cowgirl style


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Fundraiser Starts Today!! Help me to make my first album!! 🎶💜💓💜🙏💜💓💜🎶

www.gofundme.com/anitalorrainemusic

Poem about the process and #SurrenderingtotheSacred continued from the last episode to catch yall up:

The Mystery Still

They used to call that old white lightning “moonshine” in these hills

How many lips of other those words or family ties it breaks and kills

Strawberry apple pie or dark cherry kinds

But I found a new flavor my fingers and heart longed to find

Paid heed to the unanswered questions I spent too much time tryin to answer

Somewhere down the line I met a spirit and she bade me to release her

She gave me the keys to an old wooden shed

Her hair was long and dark, she was only 3 and her granddad’s hair was red

She came from the deep, A dark despair trail of loneliness

She rows up from the ashes and held me through the hunger and distress

In that shed, she showed me the silver, the copper and the gold

She showed me the jewels inside me, once I thought I couldn’t hold

She said the way it worked was this,

“you fill it up here and it makes a little hiss,

What you put in it is who you’ve been

What comes out that mystery still is your destiny, my friend”

The mystery still, a belly full of unknown

Stands in that shed just waiting to be blown

Open side, all the ingredients are there

You

“You just gotta believe” she said, “in yourself, if you dare”

I’ll show you the way cause you couldn’t even see

No matter how hard you tried, that spirit… What will be will be

“and that’s the magic” she said to me

Of sacred mysteries that come from pain and grief

Do you know her name, down this path you must go

Of surrender and sorrow of joy you can know

This still don’t make moonshine, but the Moonglows here still

Upon deep waters, wet and a tear stained two dollar bill

The birds are all calling and cannot be boxed in

Your dreams are free and aloof just like the wind

Ask for them to come and to you they will find

Their way through the core, the ground, from the mines

The caves you dug a long time ago

We’re dug by the same shovel that now makes you grow

This girl she smiled, as I sat down in awe

Bowed my head in silence, in reverence; I had no flaws

Suddenly I was sacred when I drink from that still

I’d learn the hard way, then she screamed, her voice hard and shrill

“your mantle, your fireside, your magic, I live inside.

You must off and stoke the fire and feed me” she cried

You never are done, don’t think you’ve made it

Each day, remember to keep the right flame lit

Don’t let it go out, else you’ll have to start over

And axe to this still, and your spirit sinks lower

Out of reach, out of time, out of luck, out of rhymes

Just put back on your skates and roll outside all the lines

You’re still is your own,

Every seed you have soon

Weights and yearns for your return

Build another fire to burn

If you still don’t know what this still is about

Think of a soul, longing to get out

As in distill, intoxicate your beautiful self

With the mystery of what is, take it down off the shelf

You open a portal and let spirit in

You release your control over who it is you’ve been

That little girl who showed me the way

She’s a firestarter, pyromaniac it play

She can blow up some shit because she knows no better

But refined… She is genius and shakes her tail feather

The horizon cannot hold her, this child of God and Moore

She put in the time and said Grace for her store

This mystery still she’s found out how to use

Is a vertical prayer, open to gnosis and truth

I’m learning to use it, growing day by day

Excepting my feelings, no judgment, and a loving and kind away

As she hand me the keys and I return to make my shine

She lies back, relaxes and daydreams all the time

I long to filter out what I’ve been told versus what I know

My innermost yearnings, the balance, the flow

The gut, the tingles, the pangs and the blood is still warm

I’ll tell me the truth, like a pouring down storm

It’s like talking to God, From a sacred, me – shaped telephone booth

The mystery still takes me, shapes me, and provides me with the truth


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In dreams

I am sitting here in the General Store of Saxapahaw.. most likely only a few days from the beginning of my Moon.. I know this because I am crying and sniffling out of nowhere.  Roy Orbison came on the speaker set and I started slightly bawling.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbxsmcT7GOk

The next song was Under The Boardwalk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyzCccndc2w

Now playing: Be My Little Baby http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzhbGaCwBzs

I say, “JEEZ! What is UP with the radio station today???”

I just found this on the internet. I’m going to look for hearts again today.

I must eat my yummy omelet and then go for a jog.  Outside.  Because it’s beautiful.

Now playing: This Magic Moment http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpePWo56zm4

I know why all these songs are making me nostalgic, I used to sweep and mop the floor at my first job (Angelo’s Italian Restaurant) for hours to an amazing oldies station…   Forever ’til the end of time……….

On this day in history, 5 minutes ago I was crying, now I’m bopping my head.   That’s what happened.  So there.   Also, there’s a 50% chance I ate at Skids Drive In on this day in history.


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Try and Catch The Wind, Dreams and Things

I watched the Presidential State of the Union address last night, and went to bed rather deflated.  I was impressed by his bold nature, but I wish he would have talked about Syria and all the violence going on around the world.  Drones would have been a topic I would have liked to hear more about.  I am glad he talked about gun violence.  I am happy he talked about raising minimum wage.  It would have been nice to hear a stand AGAINST the environmentally dangerous process of fracking and the Keystone XL pipeline and FOR publicly financed elections.  He did give a shout out on how corporations and rich individuals are flooding politics, but we need MORE than a shout out, and that’s where all of us come in…. so on to today…  In 1960, France detonated its first nuclear bomb and last year on this day, Washington state become the 7th state to legalize same-sex marriage.  GO WASHINGTON STATE!  I’ve always said that when EVERYONE can get married, then I’ll think about it.

…This morning, around 4am EST I awoke to pee and then went back to bed.  I don’t think I slept very much after that, in and out of dream land where everything is cloudy, yet very clear.  Dreams are things that remain an enigma to me, when I wake up I wish sometimes that the dreams were real.  Sometimes when I wake up, I’m thanking my lucky stars that it was only a dream.  I dream violent and murderous dreams, where I’m fighting a battle with an old enemy – one that in waking life truly ruined my family.  Sometimes when I’m not battling, I am creating and flying and doing things that I have never done.  In my waking dreams I dream

about being like Mother Teresa and inspiring hope and love on all things and making the world a better place, all the while highlighting injustice in the world.

I dream about having a garden that I eat from and also feed others.  I dream about having a solar garden too, that helps cut down on energy costs.  I dream about living in a hole in the ground, with a big, round, and wooden door.

Image

 

I dream about graduating and receiving my Masters degree and I dream about speaking Spanish.  Sometimes I think I dream in a language I’ve never heard of.

 

(((((((((((((((((This is me (pictured to the right) with BIG dreams!)))))))))))

 
When I awoke again around 9 this morning, I looked out the window and saw a beautiful red cardinal.I dream about raising children (not my own) who have no parents and giving them love.  I dream about making music and being badass, singing around a fire of loved ones.

 

With a huge smile I made up my bed (while still in it of course), placed Cornelius and Hobbes in their rightful places above my flannel covered pillows, and put on today’s clothes: a re-sweatshirt made by Jill Boogie and my favorite jeans.  I lit a stick of smelly-good incense, thought of a fond memory, smiled, then went downstairs to see that I’d
This song is also amazing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=4_GgE7zF3wo&feature=fvwp “Sun”received sweet message from Jill.  I love her.  She sent me lyrics to a Donovan song – First There is a Mountain.  This reminded me of this song, that I love so much: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H19qNpG46A8 “Catch the Wind”