T.L. Gray's Blog, page 52

The Evil Among Us

8-year-old Yemeni child dies at hands of 40-year-old husband on wedding night
Al Nahar, Lebanon, has reported that an eight year old child bride died in Yemen on her wedding night after suffering internal injuries due to sexual trauma. Human rights organizations are calling for the arrest of her husband who was five times her age.The death occurred in the tribal area of Hardh in northwestern Yemen, which borders Saudi Arabia. This brings even more attention to the already existing issue of forced child marriages in the Middle Eastern region.
My heart aches so much for this child and others like her.  I didn’t sleep well last night because I kept thinking about this story and found myself growing more and more angry, and more and more hurt.  Who am I angry with: Islam, Muslims, the Middle East, pedophiles, this girl’s parents, or the bastard husband, God, the devil? 
I understand men make their own laws.  I don’t blame Islam or even Muslims for this travesty, because I have seen first-hand how men twist and pervert the words of their religion and their laws to justify or excuse their behaviors.  What this bastard did to an 8-year old child had NOTHING to do with his faith, his religion, his country, his politics or his laws.  Anyone who tries to blames these things alone serves an injustice to this child.  When this bastard looked down on the face of that child and then committed the despicable and deplorable acts of evil, he did so by his own evil choice.  I don’t give a damn his religion, his politics or his culture… he is a human being capable of making a rational decision, and he CHOSE to violate, mutilate and murder this precious child because he’s a selfish evil bastard.  NO ONE in their right mind could do such a thing and EVER think ANY part of it was okay, justified, or their God-given right. 
When that child screamed in pain, while that infidel satisfied his perverted sexual desires, it identified him as an evil monster.  I’m so angry that such evil exists in this world.  Yes, I know of other travesties such as starvation, cruelty, imprisonment, human trafficking, slavery, disease and neglect.  I’m not blind to the other acts of evil in this world.  I just sometimes don’t understand how we humans can treat each other.  We are the cruelest race, yet also the most loving and kind and understanding. 
I hope that bastard gets raped, mutilated and tortured.  Will he?  I doubt it.  I hope the parents who thought it okay to sell their child to such a man are tormented with nightmares for the rest of their lives.  I hope the lawmakers who turn their backs and refuse to protect their own children suffer unimaginable pain and disappointment.  It is my faith and belief that all of those who have this girl’s blood on their hands will face the God they hid behind, and will find no manner of twisting will save them from the justice that waits for them. 

As long as evil men have free will, stories like this will continue to be conducted in this world.  We, humans (regardless of race, color or creed), are not who we claim to be with our mouths, our proclamations, our clothes, our appearance, our governments, or politics, or our confessions – we are who we truly are in every decision we make, in every response to every situation and circumstance in our lives.  How we respond and act is the true testament to our character.  Some of us are just plain evil. 
Till next time,~T.L. Gray

Open Arms

I don’t usually use these inspirational pictures for my own blog, choosing to create an original, but this one really captured what I’ve been feeling for the last few days.
There are so many things I wish I could control, because I think I know what’s best for me.  Even if I don’t know what’s best, I know what I want.  But, knowing what I want and obtaining it is two different things.  My biggest problem is that I want too much.  I’ve been caged for so long inside of a self-imposed prison.  Now that I’m free, I find I’m flying around in circles.  I want to see everything.  I want to touch everything. I want to experience everything.  I want to feel everything.  I want to live fully.  I want to love fully.  As the prompt says, “I choose to open my arms to all the good life has in store for me.”
One of the things about being free I didn’t expect to experience in this stage - is having to let go. You can’t hold onto anything with open arms.  I hate letting go, and it doesn’t matter what it happens to be.  I don’t understand sometimes all the rules of this world, because I’ve just broken free from them.  But, not everyone else has reached the same point as me.  Not everyone is ready to fly.
I have so much love, where once I had none.  It’s overwhelming.  I wish I could open everyone’s heart and pour this into them, but I can’t.  I have to fly.  I’ve waited my whole life for this.  I’ve prayed, dreamed, hoped and fought hard to come to this point.  I can’t allow anyone to keep me grounded, not even me.  I just never knew it was going to hurt so much.  I’ve always imagined someone would fly with me.  Maybe someday there will be, but I can’t carry anyone else.  My wings can only lift me.  No one else can carry me either.
I know many of the people in my life, really almost all of them, don’t understand what’s going on inside me.  From all outward appearances I’ve turned my back on everything and everyone, but that’s not how I see it. I used to run and hide from everything …to protect me. I was broken.  I couldn’t accept and give love, I had none.  But I’m not running and hiding now - I’m flying.  I’ve not abandoned my faith, I’ve embraced it.  It is my faith that has brought me to this point.  It’s another stage, another level of intimacy.  It is God’s love for me that has taught me and allowed me to love myself.    My actions don’t fall under the normal rules and expectations, I’ve never been normal.  I can’t live my life trying to please everyone. 
I open my arms. I can’t breathe because of the pain of leaving everyone and everything behind.  It’s the worst ache I’ve ever felt, and I’ve known a lot of hurt.  I’m so scared my knees tremble and I shake, but I leap into the air anyway.  Please don’t hate me.  Love me. Be happy for me. Forgive me. When you find your own wings, come find me.  If you don’t, love yourself and be happy. 

I stand with my arms open and close my eyes as the first golden rays of the Morning kiss my cheeks and dry my tears.  His lips are warm and gentle.  He whispers to me, and his cool breath drapes over me like morning dew.  His words of love surround me like a whirlwind, moving in, around and about me.  My outstretched arms become a pair of beautiful wings and his love becomes the wind as I rise. I set my face toward the sun and feel the breeze upon my face and the draft beneath me.  I hear the song of the Morning; its melody calls to me; drawing me into its embrace.  I fly. Oh, God, how I fly.  
Till next time,~T.L. Gray

Writing is Hell

I stumbled upon a joke about writing that just hit me like a splash of cold water on a hot Georgia summer, and though I laugh at it, I can't help but wonder if my laughter is just an effort to hide the truth in the statement. 

Here's the joke:

A writer died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell.
She decided to check out each place first. As the writer descended into the fiery pits, she saw row upon row of writers chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they were repeatedly whipped with thorny lashes.
"Oh my," said the writer. "Let me see heaven now."
A few moments later, as she ascended into heaven, she saw rows of writers, chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they, too, were whipped with thorny lashes.
"Wait a minute," said the writer. "This is just as bad as hell!"
"Oh no, it's not," replied an unseen voice. "Here, your work gets published."


In simple layman's terms - Writing is hell either way you look at it.  

So, go chew on that for a while.

So Many Things

There’re so many things I have bottled up inside that I’d like to get out, but I can’t release them.  Not because I’m afraid or even ashamed of them, but because they would more than likely hurt someone else.  Who can truly understand my meaning and intentions when I can’t?  I’ve spent most of my life bottling up things and keeping the hurt and the pain on the inside.  I’ve also spent several of the past years letting that pain out, learning to live openly, honestly, exposing my heart.  I’ve been getting hurt, but I’ve also been healing, or at least what I thing is healing. There’re so many things I’d love to say about all the great wisdom I’ve learned, and in return be a wonderful inspiration to someone else. But in all truth, I haven’t learned much at all.  It was so much easier when I had a box, because that box had defined lines and I could navigate within their walls and stay within the lines, and feel good about myself for my efforts.  I broke out of that box, and I now I navigate a world with no lines, no boundaries, no definitive, and no absolutes.  I’m not sure which is scarier.  It’s easy to have faith when you’re told what to believe.  It’s harder to believe in what your eyes don’t’ see, your hands can’t touch, in words you don’t hear or can’t say.  Yet, what choice do we have?  There’s only to believe or not to believe.There’re so many things I fear and yet desire at the same time, fear and desire pull me and push me, and pull those I love and then push them away.  My desire is they continue to love me as I try to get my footing; my fear is that it’ll be too much for them to handle and they walk away.  I’m passionate in all things – when I write, when I work and most of all…when I love.  I can’t do any of them with a half measure; I give it all – therefore I risk it all.  I love with my whole heart, my whole soul, my whole being.  I don’t know how else to do it. I also fear with my whole heart, my whole soul and my whole being.  I can’t promise a lot of things in this world.  I can’t promise tomorrow.  I can’t promise peace.  I can’t promise I’ll always say and do the right thing.  I can’t promise my passion will win out over my fear today, tomorrow or in the next five minutes.  I can’t promise that tragedy won’t strike.  I can’t promise the moon, or success, or happily ever after.  All I can promise… is that whatever I do - I do honestly and with my whole heart.  If I love you, I love you with my whole heart.   I shake with fear, uncertainty, and doubt, but I keep walking.  I carry the scars of failure, but I keep trying.   What I need is so simple, yet so complex… I just need a little seed of hope.  I want to know I’m fighting for something, that there’s a great adventure still waiting for me, and there was a reason I was born in this world and have yet survived; simply that I matter.Till next time,~T.L. GraySo many things,
So many things, So little words.
So much pain,
Will I be heard?
So many problems,
So little time.
So much confusion,
Will I be fine?
So many fears,
So little faith.
So much love,
too much hate.
~T.L. Gray

New Friends - Part III of the Adventures of Jude and Tammy

Jude jumped up and down, pumping his little fist into the air.  “Yeah, I smoked you, Tammy!”
Tammy flicked her long auburn hair over her shoulder and smiled up at her celebrating friend.  “You got me this time. But, my turn is next.”  She picked up her favorite tiger-eyed marble and stuffed it into her dress pocket. 
Snatching up the remainder ducks, Jude filled his pockets with his treasured marbles.  “What you wanna play next?”  He plopped down in the dirt next to Tammy?  He looked over at her and smiled.  “Just so you know. You’re my best friend, Tammy.”
Tammy wrinkled her nose and looked up at Jude, who had the bright sun behind him, causing her to only see his silhouetted outline.  “You’re my best friend, too, Jude.”
Jude shrugged.  “Okay, cool.”  He looked around and then asked, “Do you want to play hide and seek?”
“Who’s it?” 
“I’ll be it.  You go hide.” Jude smiled. 
Jumping up, Tammy bent over and placed a quick kiss on Jude’s cheek and then took off running into the woods.
Jude reached up and quickly wiped the kiss off. He wrinkled his brows and pursed his lips together and grumbled, “I wish she’d stop doing that.” He stood up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and started walking into the woods, now in no hurry to seek Tammy and her stupid kisses.
Walking down the wooded path, Jude started kicking a pine cone down the trail and wasn’t watching where he went.  Angry at Tammy because he had told her a ton to stop being a silly girl, that he didn’t like kisses, but she didn’t do what he said.  He reared back and kicked the cone as hard as he could, sending it flying into the woods. 
The cone hit a nearby tree, pinged back and then rolled down the hill.  Jude took off running after it.  He loved to run.  The cone bopped, bounced and hopped down the hill and then rolled onto the edge of the playground, coming to stop just below one of the see-saws.  “Katy, stop!” He yelled at the girl riding high on the see-saw as it drifted toward the earth toward his pine cone.
Her little feet touched the ground, but she held the see-saw from coming all the way down and then turned her head back toward him.  “Oh, hey, Jude.”
Jude gave her a little wave and quickly bent down to pick up his pine-cone football. 
“Can you help me off?” Katy asked, nodding toward the other see-saw rider. 
Rearing back, Jude took aim at a nearby tree and launched his pinecone with a mighty throw.  Together the two children watched it fly through the air, hit the bark of a nearby tree and then bounce off into the underbrush.  Jude then reached over and held the see-saw while Katy slid off, and then slowly lowered it for the other rider. 
“Thank you, Jude,” Katy answered.  She nodded toward the other rider.  “Silas is heavier than me and every time I slide off, it makes him hit the ground hard.”
Jude shrugged. 
Katy smiled at him.  “Do you want to come with me to the pond and race boats?”
“Nah, I don’t like racing boats.”
“Climb the monkey bars?”
“Nah, I did that already.”
“Well, what do you want to do?”
Jude poked his hands in his pockets and pulled out a handful of marbles.  “Do you like to play marbles?”
Katy smiled.  “I never played. Can you teach me how?”
“Sure,” Jude answered, and then launched right into explaining the rules of the games as he walked beside Katy toward the sand box.
Together, Jude and Katy played marbles well into the afternoon.  She learned the rules quickly, loved to laugh out loud and squeal with delight every time she sank a duck into the center hole.  Jude loved teaching her how to play and he didn’t mind her giving him a hug every time she sank another duck. Though he had fun, something tugged on the edge of his mind, but he kept pushing the feeling away so he could concentrate on the game.  If he didn’t watch it closely, he could lose, and Jude hated losing more than anything.
It wasn’t too long, Jude heard his mother calling him and he began to gather all his marbles.  Katy handed them all over willingly except for the white shooter he called Snowball. 
“This one is so pretty.  Can I have it?” Katy asked.
Jude froze.  He looked down at his marble then back up at Katy.  Everything inside him wanted to snatch his marble away, but he found himself shaking his head up and down. 
Katy squealed with delight and reached over and kissed Jude on the cheek. 
He wiped the kiss off his cheek and grumbled.  “Tammy, I already told you stop doing that!”
Katy pulled back.  “Who’s Tammy?”

A sinking feeling hit Jude in the center of his stomach as he looked over his shoulder into the darkening woods, back toward where Tammy had ran earlier that morning, where he never went to find her.  

Continuing Quest

No one likes to receive dismal news, especially right in the middle of a hard campaign that is often fought alone. Accolades, elation, celebration and jubilation are desired special effects to build resolve. Yet, living every day in the middle of chaos, pushing the mind, energy and focus to the extreme limit, all with a hope for a promise of a nice rainbow and pot of gold at the end of the process, seems a bit deflated when there’s not even a hint of a pot and the skies remain gray and overcast.  It is known that the rainbow doesn’t appear until after the storm. Yet, one foot must still be placed in front of the other right in the middle of the downpour, amid the search for the rainbows end. 
Heads must remain high amongst the throngs of naysayers, those who shout their insults against the mere belief that the possibility exists.  Don’t blink, even when rain drips from lashes and stings the eyes and blurs the vision.  Keep moving, even when feet are wrinkled and numb within the soggy boots, as they slosh through muddy paths.  A promise doesn’t come by magic – a simple snap of the finger.  It comes by faith – through trial and testing. 
Is there courage enough to stand to continue this quest?  Or will the dream be allowed to wither and die in the face of adversity?
Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Romance - Wherefore Art Thou?

I’m not a big reader of romance.  I’d like to say it’s because I find the genre lacking in any real substance or literary acclaim, but that wouldn’t be the truth.  I know several romance writers who are wonderfully talented and their skills are quite evident in all their work.  So, I have to ask myself why I have such an aversion for the genre.  I believe the answer is a sad, but simple one – because I don’t know romance personally. Being 42-years old, it’s hard to believe that a woman, a beautiful woman at that, has never really experienced romance.  Unfortunately, it’s true.  The part to this tale that’s even sadder is that I believe I’m a very romantic person.  So, for those shaking their heads in disbelief let me try to explain. Through life circumstances in my youth, I didn’t get to really enjoy a dating period. This is often where most people experience their first samples of romance.  I wasn’t ignorant of it and saw it all around me; I just didn’t get to participate. At twenty-four I met my best friend who soon became my husband and father to our children.  He was a good man, one I will always love and respect, but he wasn’t a romantic and we didn’t have what would be considered a romantic marriage.  Even before we were married he told me, “I did all that romantic stuff like buy flowers, write poems, and be silly before with other women, but it didn’t work.  So, why bother with it?”  Over the twenty years we were married he never bothered.  He tried on occasion, but it fell flat and felt awkward because it was a forced effort, not a desired one. He told me on several occasions, “It’s better to be best friends than be romantic. Romance fades, but friends last forever.”  He wasn’t the first to say that to me, nor was he the last. I seemed to be cursed with finding myself always in the proverbial ‘friend zone’. Many of current friends are men who will only ever see me as a good friend, yet fall romantically in love with other women.  I often wonder what those other women have that I don’t.  It is said that a writer’s best work happens when they draw from experience and from elements they intimately know. I can’t write romance.  I tried last year during the NaNoWriMo.  I actually finished the 65,000 word novel, but it’s severely lacking, because I couldn’t simply write a decent kissing scene (kissing is something else I’ve little experience).  I’ve since tried my hand at erotica, and I have to say I’ve written a few good pieces, but even in that there’s a small disconnect.  I would never pursue or write it professionally.  Whether you like Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James or hated it, there was something in it that my soul cried out for and was desperately thirsty to drink, and it had nothing to do with BDSM or sex at all.  As I read it, the editor within me wanted to get out my red pen, but the woman in me cried inside the whole time.  Christian and Anastasia had me at their first email exchange.  There’s a lot the story lacks, but there’s an underlying current that resonates with women… women like me.  We want - no, we need to feel wanted, loved and desired. Respect is wonderful.  Trust is a must.  We are more than just wives, mothers and partners.  We are women, sexual beings, intelligent, loving and nurturing.  I can understand how and why the romance genre is as large as it is, even if I still don’t connect with the stories myself.  I have to believe that one day I’ll meet someone who still believes in romance and will share their romantic feelings with and for ME.  I’m foolish enough to believe I deserve to be the girl of their affections.   Someday.Till next time,~T.L. Gray

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Dancing in the Storm

Before my tired eyes open, I feel a rumbling beneath me, shaking me, disturbing my fitful dream. It sounds like heavy hammering, God pounding on the Earth’s foundations, beating the stubborn core into correction. After the rumbling, I listen to the silence, straining my ears to hear, to listen, in a vain attempt to gauge distance. Does the storm come or go?  Will it build or evaporate?  Have I already felt the brunt?  Or is the storm coming and I have yet to experience the wind, the rain, brilliant flashes of lightning and pounding peals of thunder?
There’s a thrill in the storm, an excitement of the unknown, and an erotic flirtation with danger. The natural instinct is to seek shelter, to hide in a place of safety and warmth until the storm passes.  But I find myself drawn to it like a magnet.  Something inside; something beaten, broken, and bent stirs from her slumber.  She’s a wretched thing, almost unrecognizable, covered in the black filth of despair and dejection.  She awakens, lifts her pitiful head and stares at me with haunted eyes. 
I try to fight her.  I try to keep her submissive.  I try to stop her from taking control, because she’s pure rage, pure anger and pure destruction.  Many times she has wreaked havoc, destroying what I’ve worked so hard to build, causing many of the beautiful dreams I’ve created to evaporate in a swirling mist of chaos.
A flash of lightning fills the room, causing even my closed eyes to see.  I hold my breath.  I wait.  I know the boom of thunder is soon to follow.  My inner wraith stands, holds out her arms and waits to embrace its roar.  I feel it coming. It starts out in a low grumble, then builds and grows and increases until it’s so loud, so strong and so close the bed shakes, the windows vibrate in their panes, and the walls shudder. 
But my wraith, oh, my wraith dances.  She lifts her arms above her head and begins bending her wrists, extending her fingers, rolling her shoulders, swaying her back, moving her hips, and stomping her feet in the puddles, spinning in circles.  She feeds off the storm, letting its energy fill her and surge through her body.
The rain falls.  First a small tapping, followed by a pounding deluge.  My wraith screams as the cool water washes over her and rivers of black snake away from her, diluting and fading as it mixes with pooling water.  Various shades of gray emerge beneath the outer filth, yet she continues to dance, continues to scream, and continues to shake in fear. 
The storm rages, the wind howls, the rain beats upon the side of the house and against the window pane, lightning strikes and the thunder roars while my wraith dances. I want her stop and seek refuge, yet I’m also excited by her lack of fear in the face of the storm, her ability to dance amongst the elements that destroy her.  She fades.  Each drop of rain carries another part of her away, diluting her, yet she continues to dance.
I cannot watch any longer, yet I cannot stop.  Instead, I curl into a ball, place my hands over my ears to muffle as much of the storm as possible, and then allow myself to drift back into another dream. I know she will return again.
Till next time,~T.L. Gray

Beyond the Tempest Gate

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Beyond the Tempest Gate