I’m Alive!

 

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It’s that time of year, again! Happy Mother’s Day! I was diagnosed with Idiopathic Dilated Cardiomyopathy in early 2008! After many months at 28% EF, there was no improvement although the shortness of breath and what felt like heart attack seemed under control with meds.

The doctors told me at best I’d need a transplant but basically the last words were “get your affairs in order.” This photo was taken a few days ago in Istanbul Turkey. This year I sold everything and decided to travel and visit all the places I write about in my books! I’m now in my fourth month!! I’ve written my personal story it’s available on Amazon LOVE the Beat Goes On, and has inspired many! But I’m writing this to let you know not to give up hope!!!

I went to work with a shaman in Arizona in 2008. I never had a transplant nor any operations. The last thing I did before I started this trip was to visit my cardiologist in Puerto Vallarta where I lived. He said “you will always have some left bundle blockage but your heart is functioning at 86% normal! And it’s been that way for several years! Live and enjoy your life!”

This is what I wish for all of you!

 

Please read this…it might save someone…

Do you believe in miracles?

I got another message today on one of my videos on my Heart ❤️.

Some of you who are new to my world don’t know that basically I was supposed to die in 2008-9. I had a dilated heart that was barely functioning and having heart attacks for months without realizing what was happening!! I dumb down the explanation because it was such an incredible and life-altering time that I can barely write about it without crying! Anyways I told very few people but one of the people who helped me at that time was Jay D Davis who has been a great supporter of my current journey.

You see, every single breath I take since that time is a miracle. That’s why I’m doing this trip! That’s why I left my life in Mexico and am traveling to places I’ve only dreamed of seeing… And that’s also why I have no set destination. Every day is a gift.

That’s also why I choose happiness over sadness no matter what goes on around me. I choose LOVE as my highest value, and love my life so intensely—-every single moment is a miracle. Yes, I wrote the story and from the comments I receive I know it has helped thousands. Maybe you, or someone you know needs to hear my story and know in your heart ❤️ to never, ever give up!!!

Yes, I believe in miracles because I am one.

Here’s my story. If you’re reading this, maybe you or someone near to you needs to hear my story. LOVE the Beat Goes On You can read it for free on Kindle Unlimited on Amazon.

WESTERN WALL JERUSALEM MARCH 2019

INDIA through my eyes. A journey to love.

Within days of arriving in India, I found the words to express the mantra for my journey: We are all one

You can find me on Instagram #Weareallone Please drop by for more extensive photos of this epic voyage

The following are places I visited with my amazing Sikh guide. He was chatting with me when he suddenly looked me in the eyes and said, “You need to visit the Sikh Temple.”

After this first stop from the Old City in Delhi, we headed towards the Sikh place of Worship. I must say it was/is the highlight of my tour which now numbers day 32 on the road.

The temple feeds somewhere between 10,000 and 35,000 people daily. All cultures, races, religions are welcome to partake from early morning until late evening. There is something powerful and intense about this place

#WeAreAllOne

Thanks for following my journey, more to come. I’m in Israel currently, and I’m going to attempt entry into a sacred site. Dressing modestly won’t be a problem, but I must cover the pink hair! Namaste.

Tyler Perry, welcome to the light…

 

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Tyler Perry’s 10 Rules for Success. 

 

It’s most powerful to watch the video.

I loved it. And the ending is so special, don’t miss it.

Follow your passion. Never give up. There is someone out there who needs to hear your artistic “voice.”

This is my gift to you today.

Be a point of light and tell someone you care about that you #LOVE him/her. You may never get a second chance. 

Have a light-filled day. And thank you for following my blog.

God, do you hear me?

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Images may be subject to copyright. Thanks.

 

Full Circle

 

and so we have come

full circle

a young woman

alone with her dreams

her heart full

a desire to serve

faith in following

in knowing

without needing understanding

 

and yet

feelings unanswered

humility sought

never found

never truly accepted

left yearning for life

for love

for a man

she has yet to meet

 

and it seemed

not enough

to sacrifice a father

and then a lover

to wars, she refused to acknowledge

but now

we’ve come full circle

You keep winning

and I keep losing

 

I’m keeping score

three times

you’re out

 

Full Circle, I (Spy) Love, © Lynda Filler

“Meet me at the door naked.”

 

I have the power to chooseI choose LOVE

I’m not the first person to be told I’m dying, or to get my affairs in order, or at most I have six months to live. But there’s something about my story that is resonating with readers. And one person tells another, and another, and buys a book for a friend or a family member. And that’s how it starts.

Birthing this book has been super emotional. How do I write a story that isn’t too personal or what should be kept private? What’s the difference between telling the truth, and telling my truthHow can I be true to myself and the reader without divulging potentially dangerous confidences?

So I waited to write this story. But I realized the time might never be right. I mean, if I waited to be sure that my healing “took” then I’d have to wait until…I never died? I know that’s just too weird. How do you measure a successful healing? When do you determine a safe time to say: I’ve been healed long enough to make the claim that I’m healed and therefore I can/will/should write my story now?

I started this blog, or rambling journal entry, because I think I know why so many can relate to my story. I’m so open, so raw. You can ask me anything and I will answer. I put it all out there, and suggest that you pick out the parts that you think will help you on your journey,  and throw away the rest.

Most of all I remind you that it’s all about LOVE. I have the power to choose. I choose LOVE.

It makes my heart sing to know that you can relate and that I have helped you or someone you love, in some small way.

What I really want to say is thank you.

 

 

Rooms

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Rooms

 

my heart has many rooms

and in these rooms

I find old stories

sadness, pain, loss

and incredible moments

of joy

and love

 

I would not (ex)change

the lows

for were they not

a high waiting to happen?

were they not a fearful no

aching to become a jubilant yes!

 

if I fill my heart

with love(s)

one day I am sure

there will be no room

for bad

or sad

and (love) memories will sustain me

as I find my way Home

 

© Rooms  I (Spy) Love

 

Cold

Today I’m thrilled to introduce you to the talented author Victoria Dougherty. The following is a piece written by Victoria called Herein Lies the Truth.  You can find more stories in her book linked at the bottom of this blog called  COLD, Essays on Love, Faith, Family and Other Dangerous Pursuits

 

Herein Lies the Truth

By Victoria Dougherty

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I have a close family member who tells a lot of big, whopping lies. Lies about the past, about emotions and their impact on her and others, lies about what she had for breakfast, for heaven’s sake.

When I was a kid, this family member – let’s just call her Marta – told me a heartbreaking story about her very painful, difficult childhood.

She had been abandoned by her family, you see. Then tossed out of her grandmother’s house because the woman simply didn’t want another mouth to feed. Somehow, Marta had found her way to a convent and was raised by a group of wonderful nuns. They adored Marta, teaching her the ways of prayer and selflessness. Marta almost became a nun herself – she’d wanted to very much – but her grandmother reappeared in her life and forced her to marry a man she wanted nothing to do with. A man her grandmother thought would position their family for future prosperity.

But a portrait of Marta remains at the convent where she spent so many happy years. An artist who did occasional work for the church had been struck by Marta’s beauty and used her face as the inspiration for his painting of Mary, the Virgin Mother. Marta promised to take me to that convent one day and show me that portrait.

And I believed her.

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(c) Hackney Museum, Chalmers Bequest; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

It wasn’t until my teens that I discovered through various sources that almost everything Marta had told me was either twisted or completely fabricated. There was no convent and no artist. Her grandmother had never tossed her out on her ear.

At first, I was shocked and devastated. I couldn’t believe that Marta – who I loved and trusted and who was so good to me – was just a big, fat liar. I went back through everything she’d ever told me about herself, about others, and pondered the little inconsistencies in her accounts of things as simple as an exchange with a store clerk. In the end, I concluded that there was not a single thing that Marta had ever said that could actually be trusted.

I wandered around in a daze after this revelation. My whole world had been turned upside down, and I was really angry about it, wanting nothing more to do with Marta and her perverted versions of events. I even told her so.

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“Don’t be so hard on Marta,” my aunt told me. “She loves you and that is the truth.”

My aunt also went on to tell me the real story of Marta’s life, one that has since been corroborated by other family members. It’s a story of devastating loss, betrayal, of rape by an uncle and a prison guard, of an abusive marriage. By any standard, it is a far more heart-wrenching tale than the one Marta put forth to me.

Slowly, I began to realize that the true story was one Marta simply couldn’t bear to tell.

“But why did she have to lie?” I asked my aunt. “Couldn’t she have just said nothing?”

Truth is, I knew the answer to that question. Marta needed to tell me something. She needed my sympathy and needed me to understand why she was the way she was. Every lie she told – from how much a bag of apples had cost her at the grocery store to the year she was born – was a deflection, a protective measure meant to soothe the pain from the unmentionable. With her lies, she was able to create a mosaic that showed truth from a distance and enabled her in some way to right the wrongs that had been visited upon her.

The unlovable was taken in and loved.
The rape victim was to become a nun.
The ugliness Marta felt inside was transformed by an artist’s portrait.
And in the end, Marta became the Virgin Mary.

That was the truth Marta needed to tell and she was sticking to it. I imagine she felt she had to because to contemplate the facts was too much for her.

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Marta’s distorted worldview and the havoc the eventual exposure of her lies wreaked upon our family was my first experience with having to learn to love someone who was tragically flawed. With having to forgive so many things which – at least on paper – appeared unforgivable.

It was also my first experience in discovering the true power of fiction. How a story can tell a greater truth, even when it warps and obliterates fact.

It’s why when I started writing memoir COLD: Essay on Love, Faith, Family and Other Dangerous Pursuits, I did it with the aim of chronicling some of my family stories. And I did it with the full intention of leaving the stories just as they were – told sometimes from multiple viewpoints. Letting the inaccuracies bubble up all on their own and the more significant truths prevail. These are the unfiltered and sometimes unverified tales that make up family lore.

And they are powerful.

The truth of the matter is that sooner or later, the truth does tend to come out and that organic process of verity, as opposed to truth, is far more beautiful and frightening and enduring than the products of mere research. A fact is just a fact, after all. It comes and goes as new facts are unearthed. But verity is bigger than that. It is, as defined, a true principle or belief of fundamental importance. Verity is what myths are based on, and myths, while often fantastically unreliable – even downright ridiculous, are much mightier than a mere account.

It’s how a monster like the Minotaur – half bull, half human – illuminates us about courage and cleverness in a way that still resonates thousands of years later. Even if the story is just a load of bull.

And it’s why as we sit down at the dinner table during the coming Holidays, as Cousin Betsy waxes nostalgic about her dear, late husband, who she couldn’t stand the sight of while he lived; as dad goes on one of his crazy-assed political diatribes – pissed off about immigration, although he’s an immigrant himself; while your sister-in-law recounts her Facebooky life – sounding off in nauseating detail about her selfless acts, fabulous vacations and twenty-year honeymoon with a man who makes loves to her five times a day without the aid of pharmaceuticals, we might want to try not chewing our sweet potato casserole with quite so much contempt. Like Marta’s, these stories are often brimming with hidden meanings. Ones of longing, shame, hope, desperation, love lost and found.

If we’re going to be honest about it, that’s all that really matters.

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About the Author:

Biography

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Victoria Dougherty is the author of The Bone Church, Welcome to the Hotel Yalta and Cold. She writes fiction, drama, and essays that revolve around lovers, killers, curses, and destinies.
Her work has been published or profiled in the New York Times, USA Today, The International Herald Tribune, and elsewhere.

Earlier in her career, while living in Prague, she co-founded Black Box Theater, translating, producing, and acting in several Czech plays.

Her blog – COLD – features her short essays on faith, family, love, and writing.
WordPress, the blogging platform that hosts some 70 million blogs worldwide, has singled out COLD as one of the Top 50 Recommended Blogs by writers or about writing.

Twitter: @vicdougherty
Instagram: victoria_dougherty

Of God

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© Lynda Filler Photography

 

Of God

he seemed at times

slow to flow

like sweet molasses

my Southern Boy

 

m e a n d e r i n g

finding his way

 

t e r r i t o r y

he has mapped

long since

misplaced

with armor

no longer

needed

 

I watch a Hawk swoop down

in flight, too soon gone

 

taste the sweet

linger, my love

it takes my breath away

 

can you feel the chills

 

closer

come nearer

 

this could be of God

 

© Of God, I (Spy) Love  by Lynda Filler

 

 

 

 

(To) Sea

 

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© Lynda Filler Photography

 

(To) Sea

is it in the wind

the salty breeze

that kisses ocean-wet shoulders

and sends a chill

down between my breasts

 

or in the sand

silken

a welcome caress

to hot pink toes

 

or is it in the baby snails

that crawl

beneath the burden

of heavy shells

nature’s sunblock

 

or is it the memory

of moments spent

loving you

smiles that lighten my heart

sighs that escape

from passion-filled lips

 

the waves gently carry

and pull me out from shore

toss and turn and cover me

reminding me

to let life

and love flow

 

it’s in God’s hands now

 

© (To) Sea, I (Spy) Love by Lynda Filler