Prayer = WORK!

Prayer = WORK!

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Prayer = WORK?

Prayer work? I have been praying for work every single day since I started breathing. I have been meditating and praying for all my family and friends. I  pray for their health, then I pray for peace on their Earth. Still, this life hasn’t felt as peaceful as heaven could.

Heaven sent yesterday, I could see that my friend Frank was hurting. I wanted to feel compassion for him, but I couldn’t even look him in the eye. Doing so reminded me too much of when his words cut to my core like a knife to my own heart.

The story? A few weeks ago, Frank knew exactly what to say to take my breath away. He told me I was a terrible influence, a horrible facilitator and a rotten leader. He said I don’t have what it takes to survive and thrive, then he spat on my grave when he asked me to leave “his place”.

A break up of friends. A death of a legacy story. That’s how it felt back then anyway.

But, all that wasn’t true?…

Not a lick of it seemed true yesterday when Frank walked up to take his P.C. (which ironically, wasn’t PC). All that wasn’t true when I could feel his apprehension and fear at my very presence. We sat down on a park bench, then he told me a personal story about the trauma he felt when his neighbor shot his other neighbor over shrubs.

Confirming again to him that I only have two weakly loaded muscles for guns did nothing, it was clear that neighborly trauma never left him. He’s still scared of angry people, and his body was literally shaking for fear of death.

Understandably so, we have hurt one another deeply with our words. We cut each other’s stories up and fed the ashes to the sky. We even publicly humiliated one another, which is demeaning and perhaps a leading cause of immortality.

This immortal heavenly body inside me? I want to believe in losing a fear of a spiritual death. I have to pray that “I” will go on after “I” go off. If it’s not, I am sick to death of believing in the Justice that doesn’t exist and each man’s unique version of right and wrong. Sick of waiting for that WRITE day to come when Justice will be served.

Facing fear, yesterday needed to be the write day to lay down any arms Frank felt that I carried. It needed to be my honest day when I told Frank that I’m sorry too, and I need a friend too. Frank and I are still friends, I hope.

Today though? I need to drink water, eat food, exercise, mail my grandpa a package for his birthday, then write and color again about these fears and traumas.

“Love = Fear” is what keeps me writing these posts about fear. Fear is my BFF for life, it whispers secrets in my ear and holds my hand at night. It’s everything beautiful and perfect and lovely and angelic about this world I have chosen to embrace.

Fear = Love.

Am I always so Dead to the world? I’ve never felt so 100% alive. Alive is the way I have felt for a while now, perhaps since death has come and gone so many times in my own life. The door is open to all those laughable fears (and life is nothing to be super stressed about).

Speaking of stress, want to go for a walk with me to go play? at the park? I feel like I need a swing today..

~Steph Bird

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Welcome_back?

Welcome_back?

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BraveSouls,

Welcome back?

To Birdanity,
Fighting:
Gravity. Time.
WarriorS:
Taking back all the gold$S$
All the Dream$ that were $old
To You,
Time to let go, And wish them well (bYe!)
We are
Cuming
Alive!
a_life
It’s Ours if We Troy,
These sorrowS
are Drowning
Me_Oooooooout..
 
Witch_of_Us
will_make_the

FIRST_mOve?

<how do U:

<Show_Up!<

>Super_STAR!>

Dear_sir_R_madam,

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Sitting down to write to “you”,

My universal network, these hands are shaking. Reaching into this network to ask for support. Me?

Yes, You,

After two decades of employment, all validated with professional recommendations and legally documented acknowledgements of my existence (via my LinkedIn profile and professional service) I am almost at a loss for stories. There’s a whole story there, but…

First, I am asking letting this Universal network know that I have this resume and I’ll be needing contract work doing a job that pays $_____ an hour. Literally, and in this reality where I live in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, I am passionate to “work”.

Second, I am asking this Universe for some advice? I need to know what to do next about a legacy workman’s comp and employment issue related to discrimination, harassment and violent Communication in that old workplace.

Finally, I would like to submit to yOur universe that I will eventually need a job, just like everyone else. i have been and always will be a servant in this game of thrones.

Brave warrior? People call me that, but i was a warrior before i ever started building this article and clicking a coded <PUBLISH> button (or some word you click). An article written by a warrior who created a before and after life status that was One and the same.

Stranger than fiction, wild and Birdanity, i am that today. I’ve been a Bird for 37 years now. A Bird <published> another article today, and I’ve been doing that since I was seven when I started writing in my diary and publishing my daily active wild mind.

Birds can write? Today, i am a writer and a singer of all these words after all of those thoughts about what kind of a warrior i should be to everyone else. i am a warrior with each first breath, each first step and all the moments i lived and died in between.

winner or loser?

i am the 1%

of the 99%

of the 100%

of people

who love people:

i love.

period. ALL of em’

And, as this Angel walks out that love-filled door to walk and work out my winner of a golden retriever, I was hoping you (god) could read this and help us out with the first (or second) question above? I need help today and I’ll keep this publication close to my heart until that “God-like” help comes…

Loving regards,

Stephanie Bird

Comments?

Comments?

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Not worth a nickel,

Wisdom of the ages tells me that writing personal stories like Birdanity will never be worth a nickel. Wisdom tell me that when I do this writing thing for no reason, but love, it is worth nothing. I even hear that it’s “better” to be quiet often.

Maybe they are right about that legacy wisdom of quiet solitude, but this morning I want to reach out to the equally wise people who read this for comments. Each day people “like” my work here, and any feedback about Birdanity and what we’ve developed here so far?

I ask because I have more than 10K unread emails in all of my Inboxes, and for me that old form of email exchange just isn’t as effective as it use to be. Unfortunately for me, email is the reason “you” are going to have to “show up with tacos” if we are friends and you want to chat.

Sure, maybe “showing up” is not all that effective to many or even appealing, but we can agree to disagree there. It’s been my experience that people want to be heard. Within all of those unread emails, there were at least a few from friends that I’ve never read.

If you are that friend and I never read/replied to your email or text even, I’m sorry that I didn’t find your message among all the mass marketing campaigns. If you could do me the courtesy of coming to Birdanity, the place I “work”, and posting a Comment here, I will respond asap.

Thanks in advance for your time when speaking kindly to help this human plant grow..

Steph Bird

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She’s a lesbian?

She’s a lesbian?

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People do strange things,

“Stranger danger” things like sending videos of their naked parts to wo/men like myself, with zero solicitation and at random intervals that make no sense. What gets real is when they do it repeatedly, even after a few friendly requests to stop.

Considering Roger was a “friend” from a few years ago, my only hope is that there is safety in friendships and even social media when I post that @rogerd327 or “Roger Davidson” is someone who keeps sending me naked pictures of himself. After making the cease and desist request, he called me a lesbian which literally made me laugh aloud.

I am “peace out!” and in, as they say here in California and I laugh it away too. That’s what we do everyday, isn’t it? Speak our mind, eat our soup and then laugh about it at the end of the day. No one meant anyone harm, or did they?

*sigh* What is even more alarming to me about Roger is that he now believes I am “the one who got away”, yet “my diary” is out here for the world to see and he has zero interest in reading my work. My sexuality is all out here, and it’s clear who I appreciate in my life because I write about those people.

Wait, does that mean I care about Roger too? Yeah, I still hope he finds a form of healthy elsewhere. What he wants to display to the world is his own expression. More power to him somewhere else.

It’s clear “my style”, the type of people with whom I prefer to spend my time, they are unique, and handsome in soul. With that in mind, whether I am lesbian or not is none of Roger’s bees wax unless he wants to dive into this wax at Birdanity.

~Steph Bird

p.s. There is an agape love here for a Scorpio, but she’s just One of many whom I accidentally killed with kindness. Mother may her, that was only after she started it when she was trying to kill me too. *sigh* another friend lost…

A Church of Her Own

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“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal

with the intent of throwing it at someone else;

you are the one who gets burned.”

It’s time to let go of these angers, I just feel under the weather. Under this national rain cloud, I am getting soaked to the skin. Trying to find my umbrella, but I don’t know where to begin. And it’s imply a rational weather. I can’t even hear myself think. Constantly bailing out water, but still feel like I’m going to sink.

Because I am under the weather,

And tomorrow, I need to make a doctor’s appointment because it feels like I am on fire.

 

 

Sex?!? Look, Mom & Dad!

Sex?!? Look, Mom & Dad!

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It’s time…

…to keep talking about sex. My sex, your sex, it’s time to talk about it. Expression is what I need to release these stories I have telling myself about my sex:

I’m fe/MALE.

I’m fe/male.

I’m she-male!

Born a female, I’ve decided to remain a woman for life. Those parts came with this soul, these bones, this skin, that hair and my face. Some days, I feel more like a man and that’s beautiful too. But, I was identified as “female” on my birth certificate and I still am a purple “Stephanie Bird!” to my parents when they get mad (which is definitely possible when using a funny picture of a dildo, I am “WORSE for words”).

Mom? Dad? I have no parents, but when I do, I sure hope those two love Birds love me enough to love me after this publication I called Birdanity. Win or lose with my parents, I was a parent too and it’s not easy to be a parent.

In any case, that’s the story today. I love human(s), and I have sex(es). Simple as that, and this morning needs to be a simple story for a simple gender fluid hu/man.

~Rev’d Bird