We Are Energetic Beings

We Are Energetic Beings

There is a sphere around us.

Translucent and weightless, it encases our every movement, clear as cellophane, invisible to all except the inner eye of our sixth sense.

It constricts around us like a second skin under times of duress, clinging to our forms as fear, anger, and pain sucks out the air cushioning the space around us until our brilliant sphere is flat and concave.

There it stays, stuck to our skins, until it can be filled again by hope, by love, by a breath of peace that gently expands our sphere like a bellow, giving us room to grow, to breathe.

And yet throughout this dizzying melee, this dance of ins and outs, we cannot see it. We can only feel it.

We feel it in the urge to step away when a stranger steps too close, their sphere pressing invasively against ours. We feel it when we enter a room and sense immediately the fight that just ripped the air with its violence, although no words have been spoken. We feel it when our loved ones approach, and everything around us gets bigger, lighter, more precious.

We live within these energetic spheres. And when they constrict, when pain or illness or death or life impedes our ability to love and live openly, we feel trapped within our own skins, our bodies becoming a prison from which we can’t escape.

This is when we must fill ourselves with love, with friendship, with purpose and passions that excite and entice us. This is when we must consider what fills our sphere, what stretches it wide with visceral energy, fizzing brilliantly around us like champagne, encouraging us to reach, to grow our sphere even further out into the world.

This is when we must name the draws, the energy thieves that pull from our sphere, making it smaller, crushing it on top of us like an avalanche. We must name them so that we can refute their hold on us. We must tell them: You no longer serve me. You are not welcome in my sphere. You take away from me, so that I, in turn, have less to give myself, my beloveds, both that I have met and those I’ve yet to meet. You constrict my world, hold it closed like a snake’s embrace, and my world is too beautiful to tarnish with your smallness.

We must name them all: people, places, objects, actions, thoughts that spin unchecked in our heads, scripts we’ve not yet learned to change. Ones that tell us we deserve less than we do, that we’re not miraculous, sensational creatures just the way we are, deep-seated beliefs that refute the undeniable truth: that we have an extraordinary gift to give the world.

We must reclaim our spheres, omitting all we can that no longer serves us, consciously feeding and filling the space with love and wonder and gratitude for the wide-open future, so full of beauty and possibilities.

We are energetic creatures. And as such, we can choose to be depleted by holding onto parts of our lives we have the ability to release. Or we can open our arms and choose to be filled, so that we may bestow our unique genius onto the world: our greater, collective sphere.

Let us choose to fill ourselves, and by extension, this sphere that holds us all, uniting our world as one.


** Many thanks to the incandescent Tyler Bel for providing the inspiration for this piece.

7.7.7 Writer’s Challenge

Hi all!

This week I got tagged in a writer’s challenge called 7.7.7, designed for authors currently working on a novel. In this challenge, you are asked to go to the seventh page of your novel, scroll down to the seventh line, and post the following seven lines of text… and then tag seven other writers to do the same!

Which… in point of fact… feels to me like it should actually be called… but I digress.

So without further ado, here is my 7.7.7! …..(7.) <— Had to do it.

On page 7 of my YA Fantasy novel Elements, my leading lady, Amy Wells, is sitting alone in a bustling coffee shop, having just met with a trauma specialist regarding the three month fugue state she went into following her mother’s death.


Amazing how sometimes you can feel loneliest when you’re in a crowd. My throat tightens, and I look down at my hands, blinking furiously. My mother’s voice rings in my ears. Wells don’t cry, Amy. Wells never cry. I obediently focus on slowing my breath, looking upwards until the hot prickliness of grief retreats back under my eyelids. A girl’s loud, garish peal of laughter invades my concentration. It’s so free and full, it burdens me with bitterness as I’m reminded again of all I’ve lost. I have to get out of here.


And there you have it! My 7.7.7! (Why yes, I did indeed whisper another “seven” in my mind just now.  Ah, dear reader, you know me so well.)

Many thanks to Fumbledore over at Words from the Sowul for tagging me! I’m off now to tag me my seven!

(I may have just imagined myself swirling a lasso over my head, all John Wayne style.)


The Foda

I Am Dawning

Today I got up before the sun


My heart clanging high against my ribs in a rhythmic dance

Like the pots my parents would bang on my return after some great achievement

Fear lurked in each shadowy corner of my room

Stinking like milk left out on the counter

I didn’t know why

My heart clanged high and I didn’t know why it stretched me wide with wary fear

Up I stood

My naked feet padding against the rough nubs of my ancient carpet

Fear following close behind

Why, I asked him

Why are you here

He said nothing

Which only served to remind me that silence can be the scariest sound of all

I emerged into blackness

Turning on lights throughout every room

In hopes the glow would chase him away

The morning air blew frigid from my kitchen window

Trees outlined against the opaque sky like hulking demons

A practice in shadows

Bewitching me

As I floated in the hour between dusk and dawn

Feeling wrong, all wrong

And then at 5:54

The cock crowed

And Fear fled from its cry

As the indigo sky slowly flooded with light

Transforming the heavy canvas into a pale blue sea

And I realized as I sat there

Hot folds of steam wafting from my tea cup and painting my nose and cheeks with its warmth

That I

Trapped within the confines of my mangled body

Ravaged by illness

Have felt proverbially waiting in that witching hour

Frozen just before the dawn


As my broken body shudders and transforms into something utterly new

And a smile perked my cheeks in tandem with the rising sun

Words so clear and long forgotten reverberating into the clean morning air

That it is always darkest

Just before the dawn

I took a sip of tea

The soothing liquid cascading down my throat

And I watched the sun rise

Bringing with it a new truth in my heart

I am not my Fear, lurking, obscure in untold shapes

Abstract and unknown

I am the rising sun

And I am