The Brass Key~House of Secrets


This photo was taken by me at my mama’s in 1995.

What instigated this blog was I found the person that was such a major influence on me.

I only saw what I wanted to see. His beauty and kind heart.

The Bitter and the Sweet.

“Never fear or explain your past. No need for apologies nor excuses.

It is the very thing that has made you the person you are today”

by Phoenixpalms

He sheltered from the Rain under the drainpipe~Persian Proverb
Addictions are a way to protect ourselves from the feelings dammed up inside us.
And indeed they temporarily dampen emotion and reality.
So we crouch under the drain pipe of addiction,
alone in a puddle of despair,ignoring the fact that WE are drowning.
Recovery begins when we crawl out,lift our face and arms to the sky,and sputter our finest prayer:
“Universal powers that be…Help me,I’m all WET ”
Addictions keep me from feeling and from healing.

I want to be healthy and happy.

With the help of a Higher Power I will find serenity.
This excerpt was taken from a gift my younger sister gave me.

A small book called “Gentle Reminders”by Mitzi Chandler for co-dependents

It was the summer of 91 and the air was humid and muggy. The nights were cool and we did not sleep at night. We did not sleep very much that summer. We parked the  car in the high over grown weeds and sun bleached grass. Hiding from other’s view, so we could sleep just a little. It was still dark when we pulled down the long dirt road.  The countryside was quiet. The loud silence in my mind was a welcomed one from the endless everyday noise. Everyday the same bittersweet moments turning minutes into hours. Days and nights blended as a spider makes his web.

I  longed at times to be as a fly and be captured. Apprehended, caught, stopped somehow from the tedious hustle and torment of my soul. This became our spot of choice as the police were always asking us to move on when we parked at the river. That had been our address for some time, but now it was not feasible to remain.
Our activities were spent chasing an elusive ghost. One that took us where we thought we wanted to be.

One that never ceased rattling our mind and enticing us to keep on chasing. We awoke that morning. It had rained and it was still a bit cool, the sun had not made its display and we enjoyed the coolness. Looking around we noticed how isolated our surroundings were. Old sheds and a worn house with a connected car port. There were cars in the bay area of the garage and many tools and things persons use that live by the farm and it’s ways.

We slept some more.

The next morning we went back earlier. We noticed the front storm door barely hanging off its hinges. We wondered if anyone even lived there. A light glowed from inside, a faint flicker. We knocked. The door fell off its hinges. We carefully removed it. It was a money item and money was what we needed to chase down the ghost. That knowing needed to be satisfied that lurked inside us. The storm door was an easy and quick sale. Later we went back and entered the home. It was eerie and strange to be there. It was as if the persons that once lived there had abandoned it a long time before. Everything was dusty and in disarray.

My eyes focused on the treasures left. Others had come before us and had ransacked the place, throwing everything into a heap on the floor. The furniture and crystal glasses, pottery urns  were worth a lot of money. We decided to somehow, someway remove the contents that were left and sell them. We did this for over 4 months, each day a new and lucrative find. It fed our habit, and the insidious ghost keeper was getting its fill and more.

The ghost chasers were happy in a warped sense of thinking and reality for us  was this day, this moment.
The “WHATEVER” word comes to mind.

The kitchen pantry was filled with canned goods. The basement was full of vacuum sealed glass jars filled with home preserved goods. A summer garden bounty lined the many shelves along with the dust and cobwebs. We didn’t know how long ago they had been preserved and were careful about spoilage. As we cleaned the dust and cobwebs off of the jars I thought of all the work and loving care that went into each Mason jar.

For a moment I remembered my own mama making her homemade ketchup, sweet corn, applesauce, peaches. I remembered how my sisters and I tried to help. The bounty from our summer garden, a feast to be thankful for on a freezing winter day in front of  a warm blazing fireplace.

It was not cold, it was the heat of seven suns, the hot suffocating Michigan heat in the air-filled our senses.
The bounty was our manna this day.

I often wonder what happened to those people. Were they old and unable to care for themselves? Did they become senile and there children put them in homes? Why didn’t the children have a caretaker watching over there prized possessions?  Did they not care, or maybe didn’t have the time?

These things did not concern me. To us it was like a job. We went like clockwork everyday to rest and then we would go inside and find something we felt would bring us funds for the days activities.

My mind does not allow regrets because I know it was a part of my growth process however painful and degrading it was.

“We are as a mist, appearing for a little time and suddenly disappearing.”

Reference: James 4:14


Becoming The Phoenix

Opens in my other blog Cryominute

I have been shown how to love everything about myself.  Not to be ashamed of who or what I once was, or what I once did.

By trying to escape that past vibration, that past negativity, that past failing or darkness of self and soul, I was doing the universe an injustice.
It is something that addiction does to a person and this addiction it cry’s out for relief. This relief comes in many forms and fashions. A day job is almost impossible to maintain when you are in the tight grip of addiction. It knows nothing but to fill that empty spot, and when it cries relentlessly you start all over. The song that addiction cries is not a pretty one. It controls you in ways and takes you places you never thought you could or would ever go.

Dark paths and alleyways.

Few see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The light they see may just be their final utopia as they pass into the great hereafter.

I am fortunate that I saw the darkness enough and experienced the abyss of loss, heartache and despair too many times. That helped me to focus on the true light that was just ahead.

It has been a long and weary road at times but I persevered.

I realize now it was my own inner strength, my light holding me gently and not letting me go.

I have a unique reminder of that troubled time in my life.

It is a solid brass key.
For me a KEY that has made all the difference.