Wednesday, April 11, 2018


…And as the outcasts in dark corners shutter in pain, the world keeps spinning
I will never glamorize the things that are dark and unhealthy.

The underbelly of society is nasty place to dwell; it is a rebellious, an anti-social and a destructive life that exists out there, yet few have witnessed at its core.

Smokey enclosures, tapping the vein, white and black powder, just a few ways to escape. Erratic movements, calculated words, and the slyness of deceit to get a fix, a smoke, or to find solace in a soulless body…it’s all there. Insane fantasies, corrupted thinking and skipping a meal to keep flies off as a myriad misfits embrace the wee hours of night. Daylight is just too hard to deal with.

The lost priorities, denied hope and fallen angels surround the mind and make it bitter. The friends of the friendless go in packs, because howling at the moon is more than an outlet; it’s an intense plea for warmth.

The hatred of all things normal burns inside. Normal is a distant cry, a tattered rag, and an uncomfortable and nasty space that was left long ago in a world of hurt. The underworld is an exclusive club. It laughs at lilies, caresses thorns and utilizes vulnerability as a dance partner. The lowest of the low dwell there with an elitist attitude yet could care less about it (or anything else for that matter unless it is an altered state).

I caught you knockin’ at my cellar door
I love you, baby, can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done

I hit the city and I lost my band
I watched the needle take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done

I sing the song because I love the man
I know that some of you don’t understand
Milk-blood to keep from running out

I’ve seen the needle and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But every junkie’s like a settin’ sun

Songwriters: Neil Young

The Needle And The Damage Done lyrics © O/B/O Apra Amcos

Salvation in waste land is timid, tired and raw. It is impossible to fathom and coming up, coming out and coming clean is the hardest thing to do, but if you have the will to survive, perhaps it can be done. I found that will in mediation but didn’t know I was mediating.

Because courage can be elusive, much of it is found when we bend our mind. Yet rock bottom sometimes doesn’t have a bottom unless you have crossed over. And it was there, looking at the light, I fought for freedom. I decided life was truly a dream state and I held it, held it close, held it lightly, and there was so much more to do than be wasted.

Sitting still I could easily recover a feeling of bliss (like being high) yet completely sober. There is such contentment in being empty. Empty doesn’t mean not thinking or feeling, it is quite the opposite. It is full, it is personal, it is clear. It is exploring the pulse of your heart, hugging your thoughts, and huge intakes of oxygen. It is gratitude.

And one day you realize, the things that matter are as simple as a blade of grass, the whisper of the wind, the endless stars. And you can become them, just as you did when you were high. But high has a new relevance; it doesn’t come in the form of smoke, pill or liquid. It is mind/body/soul, and it is peace.

So when things are looking like a “cigarette moment” with a little pill and or a cocktail, please remember how that smell clings to the soul. It stains the clothing and ruins a smile. It is ugly, addictive, and kills hopes and dreams. There is nothing romantic, or chic about swirling smoke.

Swirl in your mind, it is a healthier alternative and we need you.

Editor: Dana Gornall

Tuesday, February 13, 2018


"Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, 
and this is both an art and a fortunate accident”.
** Louis de Bernières **

Love: it has so many meanings and so many faces it is very difficult to pin down - but it really doesn't need to be categorized or measured; and trying make one size fits all is dangerous.

When we try to make love something other than it is, it becomes riddled with expectations. Then it is blamed for the let down and the inner pain when in fact; it is our own distortion and comparisons that tear it apart. This is when a relationship becomes a 'thing' based on a memory or a fairy tale or both - everything about it gets wrapped up in delusion.

And if the fire has died and the thighs don’t quiver in lust anymore, it is very hard to rekindle the flame. It takes skill and artistry to keep a spark alive and quite frankly, most of us don’t have the wisdom or the energy.

So when it is over, love often gets lost in the blame and a mess which remains in the heat of the memory. That memory is usually comprised of how it was, compared to how it is and it hurts.
It all becomes so empty – and that emptiness is a hole left in the core of the soul viewed as nothing.

But being empty is what we really need; it's a good thing and it and how real people are brought together. It is the “art and a fortunate accident” the beautiful meeting, and the electricity of bodies colliding to make one. This is an important thing to embrace. Out of nothing, something is born.

This is the artistry in the lesson, and can paint your heart a new color when you feel it has faded to black. Just understanding that our love changes, will change everything - and it does.
Love grows up, it rises, it falls and it is a lifetime of stories.

Don't be fooled by a dwindling emotion, emotion is not solely love. Love is that gift in a fleeting moment. We, you and I can never hold it. If we try, just like water, it only slips away. Like magic, yes, the love has changed again.

To salvage the pride and recapture the misplaced moments, a simple “Thank You” to that relationship is the key. Say thank you for their time, their presence, and all that you (as a couple) went through together. Say "Thank you" so you can move on. This can ignite a big beautiful sigh and perhaps some inner peace. Once you arrive here, it will shed a lot of light on whom you love and how you love. Remember, forgiveness reigns in gratitude.

The best way to love is to let it be. With that, there is freedom. With freedom, there is acceptance and in acceptance there is pure love. It rises from the ashes and is ready to bring us to another time and place.

There are no coincidences – ever  - just a fortunate accident.

-debbie lynn

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Lavender Moments - The Death of a Ballerina

As I took the last curtsy, my head held high in grace, the curtain closed and the applause was bittersweet.

It was the last few minutes of perfectly choreographed movement. The spotlight bathing my body and the sweat trickling down the nape of my neck was overriding the pain of my heart. This pain was trying to escape through my chest and in the blink of an eye, it was over.

I paused in my glory and thought “I was fluid tonight.”

Backstage, unraveling my elegance, the satin brushes my skin. What softness, what shimmer, and what a fucking lie it all is. Every toe on my foot is bleeding, every nail is cracked, my legs ache, and I am parched and so tired—so very, very tired.

Tonight, I am done.

The last performance, the last pas de duex, and the last time I would ever smell the resin on my toe shoes. The last time breathing in the stank of the musty theater or the overbearing odor of elitism coming from an audience—an audience that could never understand the angst, my pain and the darker side of ballet (The Black Swan has nothing on me).

We, (the dancers of the night) weave. We bend, turn out, and we ask our bodies to do unthinkable things; it is torture laced in delicate pink. The lightness, the refinement and the lavender moments eventually give way to mutilated feet, a beaten down ego and a body that has been denied some very simple pleasures, like food. Drug abuse, eating disorders and all kinds of sexual preferences flit around the starved and deranged egos. Almost all have of us have huge arrogance of our craft in monstrous proportions. It is like being in a silk laden loony bin and yet they are my closest of friends.

Creatures of the night, lost in classical music and taking direct hits of adrenaline just to get to class in the morning and do it all over, day after day. And as the realization takes my hand (that I will never be here ever again) I am seized with sorrow. I loved my movements, I loved to dance; it was all I knew for so long but time plays no favorites when we use and abuse our bodies to the edge.

Very few know and understand this tainted grace; it is so well hidden and denied as it stays in its’ crinoline veiled mystique. And those of us who know how much that crinoline itches, know we don’t really like to talk about it. We have an unsung pact to keep it as simple and pure as it appears to be: an accepted practice of silence in honor of the art, and to keep it preserved inside; it’s just what we do.

Like any other feat that surpasses good and moves into excellence, we train to be the best. We forfeit our normal routine, normal life, but what the hell is normal anyway? Our teachers become parents, our peers become our siblings and our home is under the fluorescent lights with a wooden floor. Seems normal.

We are disciplined, we are void, and we are always seeking betterment. We live with pain knowing the payoff is only a few moments of applause and appreciation, but it goes deeper than a curtain call. It’s a lifestyle of perfection, striving to become one with the music, to be the ethereal abstraction floating effortlessly note by note. It’s learning perseverance and the reward is only felt when ice is applied to the torn-up body-mind and soul.

It’s lingering in a cast of thousands and being singled out by one (or more) as special (but no one really is). It’s a dancer’s bane… one day special, the next day, not. Then body gives up, gives in and suddenly, years of training and practice are over.

My two worlds colliding (real and surreal) and then ending with a deep curtsy—my love, my art, and my life.

So, what is next? I surrender to the bow, wipe the tear from my eyes, put my street clothes on and shut the back door. I know it was a good run. I was lucky. I know I gained so much knowledge from living in a world only a handful get to see. I know I was blessed, had some bliss and nothing lasts forever.

The death of the Ballerina: I am no longer performing, but I can take it with me in my mind, forever a dancer in my heart.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017


When I was at my very lowest, I was simultaneously consumed with a deity I could never understand…

As I look back at my past beliefs and the trust I put in them, they were truly congruent with the worst and most desperate times in my life. I thought God was a Man with all the answers - a savior - and I also thought, he was the only way life would be better.

So, I sent all my thoughts and prayers to this Man but I was constantly disappointed. I begged for answers and received none. I cried for change and change never came. I gave my heart and soul to surrender and my life only moved deeper into the abyss. I felt alone, abandoned, I felt cheated by all the “Almighty” and huge resentment settled into my bones.

No surprise I turned my back on god - but I have to tell you - as soon as I did, “GOD” came to me with vivid recognition. I noticed change, and changed cleared the way to this: I saw my problem was exactly where I had placed the blame, and that I had abandoned my own responsibility. So, when I held it (accountability) in my hand, instead of giving it away life melted.

The image of a man-and-his-religion that I had clung to so tightly… softened. The light was different, sounds became cleaner, and what I thought I knew, completely disappeared. It all returned to the earth as a seed - a seed which sprouted many roots and I could feel this beautiful muse from Rumi

“Don't look for me in Human shape. I am inside your looking.”

At first, it hurt to let my precious ideological visions go, but I was able to set aside the ghost of a god that had let me down, and I found great solace in inner responsibility. Little by little, I released the innocent and ignorant vision. I put aside the masterful-mystic and unaccounted dreams as I got real with my mind, my body, and my soul. I found the memory of “God” pumping through my veins and the oxygen sustaining my breath. I found, I am truly alive…

Soon, most of the unwanted burden and blame was gone, gone to the wind because that is what it (GOD) does. It swirls, it grows; it makes lightning and thunder. It rains, it births, and it dies again and again with the seasons. It flourishes, it recoils, it sings a lullaby to the sun and welcomes all phases of the moon. It makes us warm and cold and all feelings in-between, and everyday God” ages us (you and me) a bit more.

There was deep relief in knowing that I didn’t have to call out to the unknown anymore and I took a deep breath of a crisp day. I admired the delicate edges of a drifting cloud and I felt an energy was surrounding me, holding me, filling my soul. 

Something very big came to the surface of a lavender moment -  the rest of it? It was simply null and void. This moment showed its’ beautiful richness which is: there really is another way. Another way to rally internally and raise the vibration. Another way to change the conversation because what we feel inside is so very personal and I wrote:

Hold vigil in your heart
Rise to clean intentions, clear thoughts, love truly rules
This is far from over
I am free and
on bended knee and wounded soul
I drop the vision that bloodlines are shallow
I feel it
I know it
I have to wake up
There has to be another way….

Learning to understand how we operate, gave me a deeper respect for the deity within. The God/Goddess that was buried in layers of dogma came through, and relief held my hand. It eventually led me to peace and (in my mind) that “peace/piece” is all God. But it is not an easy thing to articulate or really understand because peace is a feeling. How do I explain it?

I had (still have) no words, but to own it? That is different. Owning inner peace is nothing short of magical. Owning what we do gives us strength to look back and know all unanswered prayers were/are (in fact) readily available but… I had drowned them out by expectation (wanting water to turn to wine.)

Once this cracked open, I truly found God in all things natural (as we are.) Not a man in a robe, or a judgmental religion but it is in the wind; in the flowers, a dancing leaf blowing across the field and I knew, I just knew, we are our own saviors. Each moment attached to a god-like burst of confidence helps with kinder, more logical and healthier decisions… it is just cool. If we are lucky, the heart chimes in – if we are smart, we listen.

I am done with “GOD” but I love the god inside my family, my friends, everything nature {except spiders} and the sun, the moon, the stars, etc. I love it all dearly. Now, even when things are lowly; it is completely understood, I have created my God-World and I have to live in, and with it, but I let the rest go to see what stayed.

Debbie lynn

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Monday, October 16, 2017


Conformity is a huge undertaking when it makes our gut hurt, skin crawl and feels so very alien and yet, there is a certain comfort in the uncomfortable that we long for, need, and we occasionally wax nostalgic in dreamy remiss.

Sometimes, I wish in another time-and-place there wasn’t any need for validation, because in that “need” we end up swimming in the river of ambitious expectation. We put a lot of hope in humanity that they will ease up on judgments and perhaps try to accept things outside the self. But it doesn’t happen.

And I understand that when there are differences, they may appear twisted and create a fear that rises from the core, yet most of these so-called fears are nothing more than an ignorance and lack clarity. Fears often stem from emotions that are simply misunderstood.

But the masses have a fascination with the wild, mysterious and dangerous side of the soul, and this is where so-called normal people sit. They sit out on the ledge talking; always talking. Talking and assessing things they know nothing about. The language is trite, the mood is somber and painful. Mission accomplished, that ‘normal being’ hurts so many people.

"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are some else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." - Oscar Wilde

In childhood, we learn this trick early on. We learn to size-up a person, a place, a thing with little knowledge of the whole. The opinions are large, and they make us feel better about ourselves… how odd it is to knock someone down to feel better? And the irony of this is: deep inside those insecurities and judgments, is pure jealousy for the unique and the mystic person as a free person….

But as they talk in metaphors, the karmic wheel goes round.

Standing on the outside of many worlds

A loner with thousands of friends
Fitting in only at surface level and never allowed into the circle
Open arms, closed fists
Mysterious queries
Major judgments
The sects always have something to say
And I weep for the future

So please don’t let anyone tell you how far away from the line in the sand we are – just hold their hand so you can cross over it together.

Sometimes, the worst part of being the odd human is the empathy we carry; it can really be confusing and contorted. But to jump in and fix it all isn’t always the solution - and we just have to sit back and let life in. This means better listening, better understanding and betterment all around. No sugarcoated promises and no half-truths laced in sparkling words.

The pictures painted in our world are dulled-to-core so we have to guess at the meanings and try to be wiser in discerning the contrived and miscalculated visions. But the beauty of it all is: there will always be a way to color a brighter scene. An awakening can be found every time we opt out of someone else’s expectations.

The only way to make peace with it all is to step away from the things that don’t make sense to others and release them. Yes, just “Let that shit go.” What works for one doesn’t necessarily work for all and the sooner we wrap our heads and hearts around this, the easier it is to have peace with just who we are.

We are organic creatures that die inside ‘normal.’ Forced to ridged, molded and someone we can’t relate to is the definition of suffering. I bow to the misfits, the poets, artists, musicians and the dreamers…

Thursday, October 12, 2017


Pulling out of the wreck of twisted emotions 
I stand up; brush myself off 
dirty, shaken, and confused
It takes a bit of time before the reality of the moment unleashes its 

fury upon my soul 

I am bitter
I am angry 
I am filled with an unfamiliar energy that is trying to consume me
I resist
I don’t like the way I am wearing this emotion
I try to run; it follows me
I try to forget; it hangs on
and just when I am at my edge
a sudden rush of truth
explodes inside
tears turn to relief
Relief turns to forgiveness
I unfold
intricate tapestries play a song in my head
a matrix of experiences
golden leaves and blacked skies
it all makes no sense 
yet every single moment has, had and will have purpose
hands to the heart center
and like seasons we cycle
so I avow to let the healing begin again
and again
it’s fall 
-debbie lynn

“Of all the paths you take in life, make sure a few of them are dirt” – John Muir

Tuesday, October 10, 2017


[Note to self - The ill considered]
[Note to self - The ill considered]

Please give me your silence; it offers so much more.

It isn’t fair to stand behind words have no substance and transparent disinterest. The vapid “I am sorry” that acts as a filler of insipid concern (as if there is nothing else to do or to say) – it leaves a cold chill.

Sorry: An overused and trite expression that so easily pops out the mouth into thin air, and is expected to take care of business - So casual… this malady; it is meaningless and I just have to ask, why bother?

I watch you wrestle with unimaginative empathy as you embezzle feelings (because you have none left to give) and I wonder where the truth is actually hidden in you these days. Are you so damaged that there is no way out?

I don’t think so; I know you better than that – and numb really isn’t your best color.

Perhaps you could put the ego/pride aside if only for a moment - and remember. Remember what it was like to love fully, deeply and without a reason. Remember when your wild side was mystic, enchanting and vividly expressed with elegant intent.

Remember when you were happy?

Apologies are only as good as the designed intention, and if you think yours is clean – you are wrong; it is dirty. I implore you to bathe in some indigo authenticity. Not for me, for your heart, for your honor and your truth.

This reflection holds many secrets and you have shown me the empty well as an example of who not to be. A forgery, an imposter an artificial soul that is intoxicatingly gorgeous but completely dead inside and I weep. Addictions are real.

One day all that plastic will break down to nothingness, with only a shell of who once was there – but not to worry, change is good as long as you are able to get above the frenzied garbage of the contrived. Being true is self-evident when we see through rose-colored glasses but when blinded by an old story there is nothing rose-colored about it… and you know.

It isn’t that I am looking for the original to come back, it is just a longing to have some semblance of that beautiful essence I know exists under a guise of empathy laced with sadness – and all the words of void that are spoken out of obligation, (not significance or care) are so frigid.

Take a chance and run ablaze.

Give me your fire, your warmth and comfort. Lost is a place to be found again and again so please don’t be afraid of the light - your darkness doesn’t become you. All I ask for is the truth no matter what kind of pain it inflicts, it is far better than unattended words that are never going anywhere.

-debbie lynn