I feel like I keep writing the same thing over and over again, possibly because I'm thinking the same things over and over again. The same thoughts and questions about existence, God, spirituality, raising children, being a good partner, what to expect from my partner, how to resist being unhealthy in mind and body...these thoughts pervade my mind constantly, and I never know if I find acceptable answers to them, or find peace about them. Take the first three for example: If everyone has a thought about What Is, about Who Is, and about inevitable death and the afterlife, the question remains as to who is right? But my question has been, does it really matter who is right? We all end up at Death's door in the end, and we will all have to pass from this life to another, where we don't really know what will happen from experience. After our spirit passes, we will all find out one way or another, but we won't be able to share that with those who are still on this side of ...

I am writing this subjectively, which is good, because it shows just how much a woman can be shaken to her core when her womanhood is questioned, threatened, demoralized, and abused by other woman because of exercising her right to physically breastfeed in public...without a cover. Let me begin by getting out all of the things that have been freely said to me as I voiced my questions to the common social mores of today regarding this highly-uneducated area of sensitivity. "Women have a responsibility to stay modest while they breastfeed." "I'm all for public breastfeeding, but I don't want to see your breasts." "It's fine, but she shouldn't let it all hang out." "That's what blankets are for" (from a gay man). "That's private." "You will cause men to lust" "How would you feel if a woman just walked up to your husband and exposed herself to him?" These are all generalized statements...

But what good Is a dream But to tear down A wall of finite Stability But what good Does a faith That no one else Sees As a stronghold Where you need to huddle upon being shaken Why does a vision Exist abundantly When the feelings Of pursuance Feel close to Imminent Death For what do we Live If we can't have Assurance That hopes and dreams Are more than myths Why should we dream Why should we have faith Why should we envision Why should we LIVE If not for hope

I wonder why It takes so long To figure out If you are New I never doubted Years before You were an anchor The only, True I wonder if Now is the time To ask my heart To get In line But the only Deep regret Is what we missed Were some Good times I really wonder It it's true Because I can't Find if It's you

If I say it outright It won't be right It won't sound right It won't feel right It won't see right It won't act right It won't heal right It won't hurt right It won't Make A Difference. I wish I could see I'm not The Only but I Still Matter and Make a Difference Like an Only is Forever Seared

It took me four times To be the mom I knew was inside Of me It took me four times To learn to open The closure I forced For it was incomplete It took me four times To learn that I am Not always Correct It took me four times to understand The wound I had forgotten Was yet wet It took me four times To apologize to My inner love For her angst It took me four times To consider if Now was the right time To lend more trust It took me four times To see that I was still Holding lots of me Inside of me It took four times To realize My teachers Were all My mini Me's. It took me four times To truly love Like I used to Openly. And I've still Got souls To Live For, Four.

I can feel a divide Between our hearts That I know shouldn't exist but can't Find It's parts There should be a bridge Somewhere close by That holds the planks I need to walk to Your side I thought there was a truth One I knew for sure But all of you are blended And whirl by in a blur It's necessary at most That I keep these parts Because even though Snarled My keys fit Your locks I feel a divide That I just can't shake The beauty of this life The glue It makes By Monica Padula