on forgiveness

 on forgiveness

Maybe forgiveness is softly spoken in, "I'm sorry" 

or mixed into cookie dough and new memories.

But when did I edge my way out of the joy?

What did I sacrifice until I succumbed?

I heard echo's of words trying to be spoken,

the great Siren's song, luring me to the shore.

The barnacle covered crags of my weather worn heart,

too tattered a thing to endure.

But her bosom was soft,

and I needed that.

Satiate my wounds, cloak me in things that sparkle,

things that remind me of the stars I am born out of.

He said, "The dead are done with their declarations" (Radar)

I heard, "What words have I yet to live? What memories have I yet to create?

What papers have I yet 

 to honor my soul in?

Lend to me just another moment, just another chance,

to shed my unbearable truths and show you how I used to shine.

Before all of this, my sparkle was bright.

Before all of this. Before I would fight.

Before, the dust swirled and danced, melded and molded

and formed, into me.

Let us add the eggs, the butter, the sweet

sugar. Let us make something new.

Let it taste as good as it feels

...to forgive.

Katie Vaino

Works cited

Radar, Dean "History", www.kenyonreview.org,

 https://kenyonreview.org/kr-online-issue/2017-julyaug/selections/dean-rader-763879/

The Cabin

 The Cabin

Okanogan Lake

Queela's nose aflame, intoxicated by the first scent of that sweet lake air.

A tepid afternoon would break with the cracking of lightening before the first rumbles of thunder trembled through the valley.

We would witness the dark clouds roll in, majestically, bringing with them whipping waves, turning our peaceful lake into a torrid body of water, white caps crested on each wave and the wind sprayed cascades of water across the sky.

It was in these moments I would rush to the water, with my siblings, screaming with excitement to ride the wild storm.

I felt free in those waves, I felt alive.

It was holy.

Katie Vaino

Katie Vaino 2020, honoring my mother.

Mother Mountain

Mother Mountain

On the trail We become,

Wanderer,

Remembering the grace shared by the ever changing faces Mountain reveals.

Two feet do not fail me.

Our hearts endure trepidation, to ascend the deep roots carved into a mountain.

The mountain simply holds us, our becoming, in the heavy fallible parts diluted with sweat and tone.

Laughter overcomes,

Complete awestruck,

To witness with our own eyes the vast views only achieved by honing our inner strength.

It is moments on the mountain we earn by loving her so.

Katie Vaino

Grandma's House

 Grandma’s House

 

 

The long driveway, barking banter, the arrival

Gumboots awaiting our growing feet in every size

Container’s, saved and waiting, ready for the journey to the swamp

The long walk, which spot first? 

The barren lands of the fire-pit?

The cold-room, to shuffle aside preserved foods to find a salamander.

The smell of musky earth and Grandpa’s old tools.

The barn, sawdust piled to the sky. 

Flinging our hearts first.

The pond. 

Unbroken waters.

Eyes gleaming, a croak,

A flicker of a water skeeters gliding gracefully, skillfully across the expanse

Water beetles bobbing to the top, swift with the net

Hello sweet dragonfly larva, chomping at the bit to devour another tadpole

Frog jellies, wiggling beans, laugher and giggles

A garter snake, a prized catch, we holler to the gods at this conquest

Grandma addled the eggs, mother goose is away

The bell chimes, our voices are named, summoned from another land.

Time for dinner.

That old smelly bar of soap, rinsing swap smell off small curious hands.

Beets, pickled beets, Grandmas pickled beets.

Fresh rolls, the fork hits the plate

The crickets play their nightly serenade

The clock ticks, the bumble-berry crumble served hot, the ice-cream melts quickly

Hungry eyes devour the sight while waiting for the last to be served. Begin.

She makes tea, earl grey

The murmur of adults at the table.

Just enough light to take one more journey outside

The cats start arriving, not intending to be the dessert of coyotes

The Earth here holds childhood

Sinking into the mud

Settling into the soft breeze

Nestled into the trees.

 

Katie Vaino

 

 

Worthy of Beauty

Worthy of Beauty

        It was a cracking in my skull, as if someone had thrown me against a cement wall, that woke me up on March 10th 2019. It was a morning like most mornings over the previous few years I had awoken to. Around five o’clock the previous night, the first bottle would pop, or the first shots of vodka would hit my glass, and it was numbing time. At first, it was just meant to take the edge off, the edge off of being a single mom. The edge off of being alone. The edge off of being far away from my family, and what felt like a Universe away from my best life. I was angry, I was sad, and each glass I poured took me further and further away from the truth I desperately wanted to be a dream, my current life.

     I couldn’t understand at the time why God would expect me to be able to handle raising three kids on my own. My best shot would be to find a partner, but who would want a used up, mom of three, who could barely hold herself together each day? These words created the sad Universe I had developed for myself, not one full of hope and wonder, but one where self sabotage and escape had ruled the decision making for the majority of the previous few years. It was somewhat criminal, the kind of hell I would put myself through, and in many respects it is a million miracles and God who kept me alive during those years. 

 

     It was a small wonder, that this particular morning and this particular headache were the last I was willing to endure. There was just the right amount of self hate and physical anguish that shifted me in a new direction.  There are moments where God shows up in a whisper, in a decision that is different from others, and in this moment on this morning, I chose to never wake up with this pain again. I promised myself on this particular morning, that I would never drink again, and in fact, I would lead my life in a direction of self love. God cracked through the headache and heartache that morning, to give me a glimpse of something new.

 

     Giving up my addiction to numbing pain meant that I had to start to feel it. No one really prepares you for this brutal truth, and it takes on a new level of learning how to survive the pain of life. Rather than numbing my pain while harming my body, now I was healing my body and spirit, but letting the pain of my past exist. I opened up the shadows I had so faithfully drank away, and held space for them to hurt. Memories of my childhood started to flood in, and I began the long and never ending journey of shadow work. Shadow work is when we turn towards the things we so desperately want to avoid because they cause us a degree of pain. Healing is extraordinarily messy. Even messier than the hungover woman with the cracking headache. 

 

     I placed my healing in newness. Rather than my typical choices of drinking and dancing, I instead spent endless hours roaming Mount Diablo with my mountain sisters. We poured our hearts out on the mountain, and the mountain, unphased and unchanged by our outpouring, held space for our healing. The mountain, and my sisters, began to raise a new woman. We would hike, regardless of weather, to reach new summits,  discover waterfalls and explore new trails. We paused along each journey to simply take in the wonder of how impossibly beautiful this mountain, and life truly are. On many occasions we would stop at Twin Peak’s to marvel at the sunset and how our lives were changing, hear the wind howl through the canyon and whisk through our hair. I felt so alive, I felt like I could spread my wings and take flight, flight into the life I truly wanted. It was in these moments that I was shedding a skin of weathered and worn pain, and freeing myself of burdens I had held onto, unknowingly. 

     Right around the celebration of my first year of sobriety, I read an essay written by Cheryl Strayed from her book tiny beautiful things. In this essay, Strayed writes to her former self, “One hot afternoon during the era in which you've gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin, you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding a string of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do.”. I read this essay three times in a row. In these words Cheryl Strayed expressed something so undeniably true that nothing could prevent the waves of tears that would release each time I turned my gaze back at the page. What Strayed reminded me of is how I turned away from loving myself all those years, not believing I was worthy of living a full, beautiful, abundant life. But I was wrong. I do. 

 

     Each day that I wake up, headache free, ready to live my best life, I remember the whispers of God that morning. That I deserve to wake up feeling free, feeling strong and alive, feeling worthy of all the tiny beautiful things life has to offer me. My life was not meant to be a constant stream of sad stories and torn apart memories. My life is meant for me to fully show up into the woman who not only survived all the hard things, but flourished because of the way she grew from them. 

 

Works cited:

Strayed, Cheryl. Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar. New York. Vintage Books Original, 2012.

 

A love story, one year of sobriety

In celebration of my first full year sober I wrote this essay. I hope it touches your heart, and opens a floodgate to deep self love and compassion for your individual, gorgeous, journey in life. Love Katie

I Chose Me, Finally.

I sat there, the moment was slow, my belly felt the churning of anxiety, my heart felt the sinking sensation
of defeat, and I realized I have found myself in the leading role of another toxic romantic relationship.
You see, I was married for 9 years to a man who I first believed was one of the kindest, gentlest humans
who I had ever met. I believed I was safe, I believed he loved me, and I believed when things began to
change that it was somehow my fault. This pattern of finding myself at fault is a common thread, one
taught to me by my mother, and my mother’s mother. I believe we, the strong women, all women,  want
so badly to see the good in other people that we make it almost impossible in our minds for them to harm
us, and therefore we find a need to internalize blame in order to try and redeem others peoples failing
qualities. 

When I met my husband, I knew on our first date that he was the man I would marry. I could see myself
living a long beautiful life with him. I fantasized about the beautiful children we would make together,
and the fulfilling life it would be. I played out this fantasy so much that when darkness started to arise in
the relationship, red flags which were more like burning bridges, became background noise to my ever
present image of the perfect life I had seen in my mind. It was during this time that I stopped fully
accepting reality and became much more interested in fiction, because fiction was safe and reality was
not. Little did I realize this is what trauma does to us, this is how we cope.

It would be many years of living in this ever evolving fantasy mixed with reality. I learned to be a
professional people pleaser in hopes I could shift the reality more towards my fantasy. If I was a better
person, he would be kinder. If I made the house cleaner, he would be more relaxed. If I was more fit, he
would find me more attractive. If I created a wonderful social life for us, he would have friends. Little
by little, I lost pieces of myself. Like watching the flowers wilting on a rose, trimmed from her stem to
simply enjoy her beauty, I withered without my connection to my essential source, myself.

When the marriage ended I remained the wilted rose. Full of shame, left alone with three very young
children, in a Country that was not my own. I began to drink so that the paid didn't always feel so painful.
You see when I pressed the bottle to my lips, oftentimes I would find a smile, a lover, a wild night of
movement and joy and the feeling full aliveness. The next day the aliveness was gone. The lover had left.
The dance was over. It was me, in my pain, in my illusions, full of hopelessness.

On one particular night of quenched thirst and aimless swaying on the dance floor, he grabbed my
hand. I looked at him, his beautiful dark skin, deep eyes, full lips, strong shoulders and towering
figure. I was butter. That night turned into weeks, then months of laughter and dancing and child like
joy. But then one day, there was a shadow, and that shadow began to grow. I started to see the same
darkness I once had experienced with my ex husband, and I started trying to rationalize evil deeds,  again.
I found how I must be at fault, how I deserved this treatment, and ultimately stepped into the same
feelings of unworthiness I had finally escaped. From one lion's mouth to the next, I was gripped by my
jugular. You see, when my heart gets involved, I lose all rationale. 

My next move was to run. I began to avoid, block, delete, and yet the lion would find me again. I was
the prey that was bleeding out, leaving a trail for my hunter. A part of me wanted to be hunted and a part
of me wanted to be free. There was something intoxicating his hunt, there was something I craved about
being wanted, even by the exact thing that would kill me. I had to accept that deep down in my being, I
had needed this to happen again. I needed the push to choose a different path, that did not lead me back
to the lions den.

It was a morning in March, after a late night bender of bad decisions and blood poisoning that I looked
in the mirror, at the sweet girl that had her heart broken too many times. I looked at her with so much
love, so much sadness, so much desire to help her change, and I promised her I would not drink again. I
promised her that together we would feel all the feelings that we kept escaping from. I promised her that
this would be the last morning waking up with the headache that claimed the full day in bed, and the
piercing pain of hiding her greatness in bad decisions. This would be the day that self sabotage was no
longer an option. I chose me, finally.

Katie Vaino March 10 2020

Whole Hearted

The gift of age is my soul reminding me gently I have a limited amount of time here. I have been trusted with the task to again tackle the deep seeded roots of pain that this life has chosen for me. My task is to love. To be of service to others.

Through deep healing and peeling away each layer I am scratching the surface of the magnitude of power we each have winthin.

I have prayed for healing. I have prayed for release of pain. I have fantasized about a strong goddess, unapologetic person who is capable of every dream....lead with deep purpose that is truly meaningful. I have dreamt of what it is like to matter greatly, to effect positive change and hold the hands of those who want to see a better us. A safe space to lay our truth out and sift through the confusion until we can see, ahhh...it was always love all along. I am love. And then I realized, I am that woman.

To live with our whole heart.  This takes massive courage. I have learned that my biggest challenge is fear and holding myself back from living from a place of joy. I have come from a place rooted in pain, a place where my roots became rotten and no matter the spiritual growth I experienced, I was still coming from a shallow base that couldn't connect to the abundance awaiting me.

I grew new roots. I found my roots in my friends, my spiritual leaders, my mentor, my teachers, my children, the teachers of the past and present. The seekers who look for a deeper truth, a deeper meaning in life. A sense of purpose and an understanding we are spiritual beings who posses a body but we are not this body. I found abundance in the source, the soul feeding waters we can replenish ourselves in. The kind of love and support that gives me the power to see my potential, to take the leap of believing in myself. To see myself as others see me. I have been guided by angels, living in the form of people, of animals, of rich culture, of fresh air and the natural beauty of the forest. The ever reliable movement of the waves and the gentle hug of the breeze.

My vibration is strong and it use to attract wanted and unwanted energy. It was a magnet to all things. It was not until I realized my value, the respect I deserve...that if you want my time you must value me, be a trustworthy person, a person of integrity...and I will be that in return. If these basic agreements cannot be made, then I will not give you the gift of my time. From making these agreements within myself I have watched people fall away and new ones arrive. The intention has been made.

My daughter was born suffering. Her eyes revealed it all. I saw her pain and felt I had failed her. I saw so many tears and from birth she would look at me screaming and hurting. I wondered why God would give me, a broken woman at the time, a child who so badly needed her own spiritual healing. How would I ever be enough to help her rise up above this place. No one could touch her, or look at her besides me. She would burst out screaming if her Dad tried to hold her to give me a rest. She couldn't sleep...this went on past a year. She is now 7 and has made leaps into divinity of her power. She is my living angel. It occurred to me today that her witnessing my deep healing is a part the story of her life. From my own healing I am able to support her from a new place of compassion and strength. She is the most powerful being I have ever met and perhaps my deepest purpose in my lifetime is to help her see her own magnitude. Rise up my child, my sister, my teacher my goddess, my mother....for you are all things.

The piece of advice I will leave you with today is show your children your growth. As I was packing them up to leave for school and hustle into our van, my daughter was moving slowly and I ended up screaming at her to hurry up. I am not, I repeat...NOT a morning person. Once we were on the drive I deeply apologized. I told them that my response to them in a negative way has nothing to do with them, that is me struggling. I tell them how amazing and perfectly THEM, they are. When people respond to them with anger in any way, it is that person struggling with them selves and to never take it personally. Do not take on the burden of others. I am far from perfect, I make mistakes all the time but I own them, explain them....teachable moments all day. Give them the gift of seeing we are always growing, always trying and we want to help them even while we battle our own demons.

Love,

Katie