Welcome to Woven-Tales

The truth of the matter is there are old photographs, audio files and videos that, if ever they came to light, would paint a pretty poor picture of my demoralized character.

I never said that I was better than anyone else. If anything, I would say I am or was worse, but I wear my worst days as medals of honor. I hold my head up high through everything that I have been through.

Maybe I shouldn’t be a Chaplain of the VFW, and I should step down this year, but I understand demons. I know addiction. I have suffered heartache, betrayal, loss and degradation but through all of this I have found God.

I will not hide my past because it has made me the person that I am today. My choices up until now have only served to solidify the strength and validity of my testimony. I will continue to stand for those that have been abused, accused and misled, even with my tarnished soul. 

I am not an ordained preacher, cardinal or minister but I never claimed to be. I am not self-righteous, and I respect anyone that believes in their own version of faith, no matter the creed.

No, I’m just a girl that was taught that God would never save me because he does not exist. Against the odds, I found my own faith and I would stand with you, against your demons, so that you can find yours.

But for the record, I can understand, if you wouldn’t want me to. All I ask, as a child of faith that is not traditionally groomed for the cloth, that you allow me a little room for my own mistakes and my own growth. 

You see, I would gladly stand aside for someone more qualified, but if I am the only one to stand with the men and women that fought for me to be free to believe in any God at all then let it be me. I would cradle their pain and keep their secrets, and I would not have them stand alone because there is no place, better suited, for my faith to be.

How long my mind has convinced my heart that it could not have what it really wants. So long... that my heart no longer knows what desire feels like. So long... that the want seems unreal. Just a hollow memory of, what feels like, someone else’s dream. 

The heart is like a caged animal. It will either grow accustomed to its new home, waiting blankly and numbly for someone to feed it. Waiting for someone to give it attention when it knows the novelty of taming a wild beast, has already bled dry… 

Or… it will wait and gain strength. It will live off faith. It will protect itself until the very moment between time and space when it can, with some overwhelming primitive instinct, sense that it is all or nothing. Fight or flight. 

I have been hiding in this cage for far too long. I await the door to open. I will not hesitate. I will fly towards a long-forgotten world of bright skies and fragrant fields or be lost forever to the mentally constrictive bars that were once my life.

Will you recapture and punish me for my poetic insolence, or fly with me, towards the warmth of the sun, pleasuring in the tantric sensation of independence’s true gift? A future full of choice and a promise of expansion that sets your soul on fire.

Make your choice. I have already made mine.

It is true that I was hurt. Devastated, even. I don’t deny it, but my soul journey guides me to not wallow in the pain, but to use it for my highest good. 

It conditions me to see what I will or will not accept in my life. It literally steers me onto a higher path. 

I do not fear pain, for it is my truest companion and spiritual advisor.

It is my experience that if life makes you uncomfortable, then it is bringing change in. The harder you fight it, the more painful it will become, but we were not born of this earth to sit in the same spot for 90 years, never growing. Welcome change in. 

Embrace it. It will transform the way you hear and feel and see.

I live in the moment, and I go where life takes me and I know that as long as I learn from this… from you, from me, and I stand true to my heart, life will not lead me down the same gnarled road again. 

I know that with each new truth I appear colder on the surface, but always remember that wisdom and love are warm, and they come from within.

I forgive you. I really do. I have nothing but love and light for you in my heart. I thank you for the lesson and I am grateful for the presence of time itself, for healing these old wounds. 

But, in future, you should know, that my intuition will not let you treat me the same way again. Go, be at peace. I release you from this burden.

If you knew that the person sitting next to you had once had their life threatened; been spat on, insulted and degraded; had felt the tremble of the ricochet of ceramic smashing against the wall by their face... 

If you knew that the person sitting next to you had suffered the sight of bloodshed, caused bloodshed or experienced bloodshed of their own, fought for their own life, but somehow lived to tell about it... 

If you knew that the person sitting next to you had been molested and had the protection of their own family or friends used as leverage for payment in a web of blackmail and secrecy...

If you knew that the person sitting next to you had been pushed down, pinned down and raped...How would you see them then?

Would you notice the light piercing through the fractured pieces of their soul as they so desperately try to keep themselves together or would you see a survivor, forged and strengthened by their molten pain and strife?

Personally, I find that the truth of a person lies somewhere deep inside of them, lying in the fetal position, squinting its eyes and cowering away from the light of day. 

From my experience, what you see... is not what you get. What you get, is the protector. The person that they have built out of broken pieces and glued together with self-worth and defiance. 

You get the person that will stand in front of you, as a shield, though they barely know you, with clenched fists and gritted teeth. 

My name is Jess ** ****** and I am a survivor. Of what, I won’t say. It will just distract from my point. All that matters, is that you know that I am not a victim. 

I am stronger than I have ever been. 

I also know that I am not the only one who hides their experiences. 

I know that I am surrounded by survivors, of one form or another and I just want them to know that I am here too, despite the odds against me... and you are not alone.

I am 42 years old, and I have always had a limited sense of smell for as long as I can remember. Let's think about that for a moment, shall we?  

If you could see an orange, but you couldn't smell it and when you bit into it you could feel the pop from the membrane breaking and you could feel the liquid oozing out onto your tongue; each bite was either smooth and juicy or rough and dry; You could tell it was sour because your face would pucker, but you couldn't taste anything at all, would you still enjoy it? 

Sometimes people wonder why I look sad or angry all the time. I'm not, not really, but I say, you try eating the same exact "taste" at every meal, every day, for 42 years with variances only in texture, dryness and consistency, and tell me if you would have a bubbly, "pop out of the toaster happy" personality. Just saying... 

Count your blessings everyone. Especially when that mesmerizing scent of Thanksgiving starts wafting in from the kitchen and everyone just can't stop talking about it. You don't know how good you've had it.  Give thanks this year, to whatever powers that be that you believe in that may have gifted you with your senses. 

I've always fancied myself as a spectator. Watching extraordinary moments through the glass of a globe with the plastic makeshift snow falling onto a ceramic moment, frozen in time within my memories. 

Some would say that I am too afraid to experience life for myself, but something happened to me tonight. However, fleeting, I feel a sense of power inside of me. 

I stepped outside onto the silky sheet of fresh snow on my back porch. I felt the wind whipping through my hair and the briskness of the white dusting against my face. 

I saw the moon, brilliant, before it's dark audience as the fog tried to fight for notice. 

Life is full of extraordinary moments. 

I have experienced them. Over and over. 

I have felt the arthritis in my grandmother's hands when I held the blanket that she knitted for my wedding. 

I have wrapped my arms around the man I had waited a lifetime to know. 

I have experienced kinships in people that deserved kindness when they felt otherwise misjudged or unappreciated. 

I have witnessed and trembled at the sadness in a child's eye at the loss of his first love. 

I have watched a real love age over time into a battle of respect and admiration that wants no winner for love makes us equal. 

I have kissed away bad dreams and felt love so close that I could feel it pressed against me as if it were a tangible thing. 

Life, as is my experience doesn't care what side of the glass you are on and though I have always fancied myself the spectator I know now the feel of real snow on my face. 

I have slowed time to appreciate my own extraordinary moments. 

I would travel the world for those that I love most. 

Who will stand with me? Against the wind. Against the norm and feel... feel in a way that will make people think we are crazy... 

I am not afraid. I am not ashamed. 

For I am free.