Pass GO and don’t stop until your heart is broken.

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I warned you if you follow my writing or my blog, I’m open and I get personal. So if that’s not your thing, best not to continue reading.

We live in a time when LOVE is all the rage; but who really knows what it means anymore? Is it sexual attraction because that’s what the media is all about? Is it soul-mates? There’s a word we never hear anymore. I think it’s all surface and no depth. But then, what do I know. All I can say is for some reason I must make some really bad choices because ‘real love’ eludes me…or does it?

I found the meaning of “unconditional love” several years ago.” I’d fallen in love with Navy SEAL and if you know anything about that life then you also know there’s very little that I can reveal. But at a crucial point in our relationship we each had a choice to make. His was following a higher calling, a belief that giving back was his purpose. He retired, then took off to Africa to work with orphans. I thought he’d take a plane to Mexico and be with me. So for two weeks I sulked and refused communications. And then I woke up one morning and I understood that this is unconditional love. If I truly loved him for everything he stands for, how could I stop loving him because MY heart hurt? So I gave myself a good talking to and began a four-month communication that will remain as an incredible time in my life. I rejoiced in everything he was accomplishing. He shared his life in photos and his heart with everything he was able to give me at the time. And then he died. I immortalized him in my writing. I know it would make him smile.

What is unconditional love? Maybe it means different things to different people. Sometimes we have to accept conditions that we hate, we despise, and we cannot change.  But does that mean we don’t love? Does that mean we hold back on our love? Does that mean we don’t want the best for those we love, even our romantic partners?

The second time I made a decision to love someone unconditionally has covered a span of eleven years. When your lover disappears on a “business trip” and you don’t see him for four months, it’s damn difficult as one of my friends would say. But it’s even worse when he goes on to spend the next part of his life in-and-out of hospitals trying to stay alive. And yeah, I have a thing for people who work in things they can never talk about. And if any bad guys are reading this, I know nothing of value. And being the eternal optimist, I waited a long long long time before I moved on with relationships. But the last  18 months he’s been on life support. He’s the bravest man I know. I will love him until the day I die. Every day I send a message and hope that he’s well enough to read it. I do it for him, and I do it for me. And yes, about every couple of weeks I get a message back. And no, I wouldn’t let me devote my life to be with him while he’s dying. He told me I had to move on with my life. Even though he knows I will never stop loving him because my love is unconditional.

And when I did move on and open up to love again, DAMN. I’m writing and shaking my head. What is it with me and impossible situations? This one is the most stupid, ridiculous, impossible, and heart-breaking one yet. But I’m dealing with it. Why does it always have to be f**king ‘unconditional?’

I have a mantra for the last ten years of my life. Every morning at 9 a.m. my communication devices remind me: I LOVE myself, and I am enough. And forgiving yourself for falling in love with the impossible, no future, no hope, makes no intellectual sense-man has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever allowed myself to do. Pass GO and don’t stop until your heart is broken. So I will go into my cocoon and write it all out.

I always follow my heart, and that bitch makes me pay for it, over and over again.

Repeat after me: I love myself. I am enough.

Today I’ve written it a hundred times.

And I will continue until I believe it.

This too shall pass.

Love, seriously?

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Why is it that the one you love, never seems to love you back enough? Why is it, the one you don’t love, pours out his heart as if you are the last woman on earth? And his heart will be crushed, broken into a gazillion pieces (I have no idea what that would be in gigabytes-their language, not mine) if I don’t concede I’m “the woman he’s been searching for” his whole life?

Why is it when you’re following your dreams, and your gifts surround you, and beckon to you with love and joy, that you can’t see the forest for the trees? And tears flow when someone smiles at you and offers kindness?

Why is it that in a world gone mad, fast and furious political mayhem, disasters plaguing all continents, that my personal needs are the only thing I can focus on? Where is my social awareness? I assume it’s overwhelmed with self-pity, sometimes hanging on every word from you as if I can’t breathe if I don’t hear your voice or feel your love.

Before I met you, I took pleasure in simple things. Life was un/complicated un/interesting un/demanding. I asked less of me and nothing from you–because I didn’t know I would find those feelings for another ever again in my life.

And, it’s not like I didn’t have that conversation with myself. You know the one, yeh, the one where you tell yourself that this is too good to last, too intense to sustain, too passionate to be real.

The falling in love is the best part, the living in love better yet, the living in uncertainty–there is nothing worse.

I thought I left those days behind me. But then you turned up. I sighed, knowing this was not going to be good, right?

Dear Heart, really??? Don’t you think you’ve had enough? After all, we healed from incurable once before! Do you have to turn incurable (of the romantic kind) into a habit?

I thought normal, sane, controlled, ordinary (my version anyway) and calm were doing just fine.

“And then there was you.”

 

Raise your voice. Say NO to racism.

 

I was looking for a live blog on the France/Croatia FIFA 2018 Final and came across a video that ripped my heart to pieces and had me crying so hard.

I don’t have a lot of great memories of my early childhood, but I remember one thing my mother taught us: in our household, there is zero tolerance for racism. And I’ve lived my entire life feeling strongly about culture and race, and ashamed of the inequalities and destructive racist world that exists today.

I’ve never understood how cruel man can be to a fellow human being. I told my kids when they were young that even what they felt might be a harmless joke about a group of people is unacceptable in our world. I grew up in a white household with Anglo Saxon parents, a freckle-faced blond child with ringlets and pretty blue/green eyes. I never experienced what it was like to be lesser than anyone else. I never knew the painful rejection so many have because of the color of their skin or the place on this planet where they were born. I’ve made a lifelong effort to be inclusive of culture and race all around me. On a gut level, I don’t understand racism. When I witness prejudice, my heart aches.

So here I am, writing a blog at the very same moment I should be enjoying the FIFA finals listening to all my French neighbors singing and rooting for the championship. I know it’s crazy, but I also believe in messages. The video down below popped up on my radar and I had to watch it. I’ve finally stopped crying; but it hurts me so much, and I feel so frustrated that racism exists in the world, particularly in such an inclusive sport as Soccer/Football.

Last week I was invited to do an author podcast interview for RRBC Rave Reviews Book Club an extremely supportive group that I’ve been a member of for a couple of years.
Before I realized what I was saying, I got on to the subject of this year’s most beautiful insight. After writing three poetry books, a memoir, and several novels, this is what I’ve learned about myself. Every book or novella I write tends to deal with an important social issue as a plot or a side plot. I’ve delved into insatiable greed, murderous megalomaniacs, indiscriminate espionage, cyber-hacking, illicit money-laundering, savage drug cartels, brutal ISIS and the insanity of racial intolerance. My list is endless. And within these stories I’ve also woven into my plots, racism, the way nations like Mexico, where I live, are marginalized and grouped into a label as a country of rapists and drug cartels. I’ve addressed child sexual exploitation, women who purchase sex and the men who service them, the refugee/migrant crisis, mixed-race relationships, ageism, sexism, sex trafficking; and the underbelly of the human condition. I know my stories consist of entertaining, fast-paced, thrillers, and contemporary romance themes; but they are also more than that. And through this creative medium, I hope to shine a light on these important issues.

This year I realized that writing it out is how I deal with the hurt and pain I see around me. It’s my way of making my mother proud, of letting her know that I have taken up the challenge and will not sit idly by while warmongers and racists control the direction of governments and world thinking.
I’m using my writing voice to increase awareness that we are all human beings trying to get by in a world that creates pain and heartache for something as unimportant as the color of our skin, or the status of our families, or the sexual preferences of our children, or the country where we were born.

And I, for one, am sad today, when I should be rejoicing a well-deserved FIFA win for France, a sport that should unite the world and not be a stage for ugly racism.

And this is what made me cry.

 

 

And still I offer my congratulations to FRANCE. I’m in multi-cultural Paris right now and the whole city is rocking! And as Mish, a friend in my WIP Layla 2 believes: Football can unite the world!

I hope you’re right, Mish, I hope you’re right.

 

 

 

Do it now…Paulo Coelho

 

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March–my month of introspection…

I’ve always tried to live my life as if each day, each moment would be the last one. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

After the publication of my memoir on healing LOVE The Beat Goes On, I received a particularly hurtful attack on my person. The title of the review was elegant: A Woman of Privilege and Passion. It was not about the writing or even the message, it was an attack on me as a woman for following my dreams, picking up my life in one country and moving to another–to save my life. It was the hurtful and spiteful way she attacked my life as being one of Privilege. And any of you who grew up as Military brats know that moving every three years, breaking attachments or worse, finding it impossible to make attachments, is far from a privileged life. But what it does do is allow you to move on when your current life becomes life-threatening.

I’ve been reading Coelho ever since I released my latest novel Lie To Me an exposé on sex for money and a reviewer suggested my book defied Paulo Coelho’s Eleven Minutes. I don’t remember reading his works before but then anyone who knows me will tell you I have a terrible memory! I’m now up to my fourth Coelho book The Zahir, and in his books, I’ve found answers to many things. But most importantly, I’m learning how to be unapologetic about my life choices.

Does guilt ring a bell for any of you? I grew up with Catholic guilt as an extremely important part of my decision-making process. I’m learning, finally, to get over myself. I’ve worked hard my entire life and done incredible things. I’ve always said I’m “blessed” but although that may be true–it’s how I choose to see my life–I’ve made choices, often very painful choices. Not everyone around me was happy with those choices, I’m sure. But I forged on because I followed the path of the life I was destined to live. And for that decision, some suffered, including me. But in the end, I saved my life–my life as I know it today.

I highlight when I read. It’s one of the things I love about my iPad/Kindle App. I can go back over the notes and nod my head in recognition of passages that fill my soul with sighs. The above message is not new, but is one we should all think about, especially at a time like right now!

This past week I made one such choice. Am I nervous about it? Yes, very. Can it change the direction of my life? Possibly. Is it the right thing to do? Well, if it was put in front of me, I tend to follow my intuition. Can it hurt me? Potentially. But the fear of lost opportunity or regret is stronger than the fear of making a mistake.

“One day you will wake up and there won’t be any more time to do the things you’ve always wanted. Do it now.” Paulo Coelho. 

Rooms… a poem

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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 

 

I (Spy) Love

I (SPY) LOVE COMPLETE-2

 

Past lives? Angels? You decide.

 

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I usually don’t do first-person on my blog but when people come into your life and guide you towards a profound shift, I think it might help others. So here goes.

I’ve been suffering from chronic sinus challenges for decades. I had a minor operation which seemed to help—years ago. But certainly, for the last several years, it’s been an ugly challenge in my life. These past twelve months have been insane. It seems every month, I finish a dose of antibiotics and five days later, I’m back at the doctors. I keep telling myself, if that’s all that’s wrong with me, go with it and stop complaining. But—it’s not normal! Yes, I’ve done the x-rays—nothing abnormal. Even last summer when I went to Europe, I took antibiotics with me, the same way you might take your vitamins.

This brings me to yesterday. Since the 29th of December, I’ve spent 21 days on antibiotics and still, yesterday I was sure I had the infection back. This week I started treating myself with natural remedies, ginger, lemon juice, honey, cinnamon, and hot water and that has definitely made me feel better. And I lost 8 lbs. on VIVRI and that’s been great. Still, something happened the night before, I wasn’t feeling great, and I was all blocked up, and I went back to the doctor for another dose of sinus meds.

Can I say I love my new doctor? She’s young, Mexican, beautiful and very smart. But more than that, she’s caring. She’s also the one who gave me my last dose of medication about three weeks ago. She checked me out and shook her head. No, there’s no infection and then she said: Tell me about your life.

I looked around. I had trouble looking her in the eye. And I started to cry. Not a big cry or a sobbing… just leaking. You know what I mean? I told her about my personal life–she started to ask about sex but I wasn’t going there at all! And here she is, a stranger who wants to take the time to help you when your physical problems might just be related to your emotional life…

You see, I have this friend who has been dying for years…and years…and yet holds on. It’s as if we both live in limbo. And I can’t go forward and we can’t go back and change the past. I can’t leave and I can’t let go. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I think I’m addicted to home renovation shows because the family’s happiness at the end allows me to cry. I don’t cry—ever. But lately, the tears come at awkward moments. Like yesterday, with a doctor, I hardly know.

I sat there in front of this wonderful caring young woman and I couldn’t speak. I knew. I just knew that whatever she was thinking at that moment, was correct. Sometimes the things we hold in emotionally have to find their way to the surface somehow. I can go back in my life right now and measure the worst bouts I’ve had with this physical problem and see that they are truly connected to issues of my emotional heart. When my marriage was dissolving in Whistler, when I split with C, and now…

I’m kind of surprised at myself that I never made the connection. After all, I wrote LOVE, The Beat Goes On about the emotional aspects of healing and how I worked on my emotional heart and healed it after I was given six months to live in 2008. I told her about that part of my story, and the Shaman in Sedona, and my fractured soul. And I sat there and shook my head. Unshed tears. Years and years of hope and despair and hope again. An old expression came into my mind as I write this blog: Sometimes we can’t see the forest for the trees.

She refused to take payment for my visit, instead, she asked for a hug. I left her office with a new understanding. Yes, people do come into your life for a reason. And I do believe in angels and past-lives.

I’ve taken the first step. I’m opening myself up to dealing with something I’ve buried for so long. I think I’m tired of caring for everyone else and it’s time to wrap myself up in my fleecy robe and learn to love myself all over again.

I think my mother is watching over me from wherever our spirits go when we die, and sent me an earthly angel to help me move on from sorrow and find my light again.

 

 

 

 

Mis-Understand

 

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Mis-Understand

 

I don’t try to understand your pain

nor empathize with what you gain

by making choices of denial

waiting for time to pass

all the while forgetting

how

to

live

 

I don’t try to understand

a choice to abstain

from love and passion

intimacy that is a God-given-gift

the closest we can ever come to

Heaven

on

Earth

 

I do understand

death and war

for death is a beginning

and wars are never ending

but Love is eternal

 

and more than that

I must agree

with the Rabbi’s message

sent to me

“the greatest of these is Love”

 

© I (Spy) Love, Lynda Filler

Stay and Die

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Stay and Die

 

 

I woke up angry today

if you knew how I really felt

who I really am

(crazy sometimes)

would you still

want to play with me?

 

(would you delete me?)

 

I woke up afraid

hating my dream

analyzing the meaning

of panic

chasing

running

 

loose change and broken ATM’s

never catching up

peeing in strange bathrooms

on the floor

a man with a child in his arms

 

in my dreams (my reality?)

I am in a hurry

and yet

I pause to apply lipstick

 

 

in the mirror a woman

looks back, fear, pain, panic

 

 

girls ask me a question

in my purse is the answer

is it the rotting fruit you want?

 

I compose words

a speech I must give

tender words

sincere words

lonely words

 

maybe I don’t want to talk

 

it’s a maze

(my life I think)

I will be late

(because it’s not my time to join you or maybe it is)

 

I can see

a reflection of myself

this yellow skirt

too short

too sexy

for my mother’s

funeral