A Life of Lies

This Friday, I have something special for you. Yes, the latest chapter in #TroubleTexasStyle.

It is from old friends that we have not heard from in a while – Chad, Rose (Cassie), and Grace (Calypso). The last time we heard from them was when Reb and Stacey stopped by to borrow that rifle. Of course, that was weeks ago. For us…and for them.

At this point in the story, after getting everyone where they need to be, and basically together, we are fast forwarding a bit. And things start to pick up pace a bit, too. Things are happening fast for all of them.

I honestly hope that I can keep up their pace. It is still my goal/hope to finish this series off in 2020. Because quite frankly, I think we need to get on to the next part of this story – Reconciliation, Texas.

Not to give any spoilers, but once this is all said and done, there will need to be loads of healing and rebuilding in Sebida. Thankfully, there are plenty of basically good, but slightly flawed people to do just that. To transform this small Texas town from its racist, classiest, and judgmental past into a more inclusive, accepting, and sustainable future – for ALL. Yes, even those blue-haired Betties. After all, haven’t they been victims as well as perpetrators?

And isn’t that what we all need right now? Reconciliation.

You see, I believe that writers/storytellers are the architects of the future and the custodians of ancient wisdom.

Most people recognize that to build something solid, something that will withstand the tests of time, it takes planning. Architects take that to its summit, drawing blueprints and bringing to life a vision for the future.

Right now, we are all afraid and angry. Disconnected and disappointed in our leaders, one another, and ultimately ourselves. We fear that the future is bleak, if we have one at all. And that makes us lash out in anger. And in that anger we forget something…

In order to build the new, the old must be torn down.

To make way for new growth, somethings must die.

That is the circle of life that we have lost touch with. Just as we have lost touch with each other. Even those we love the most. And yes, many of us have lost touch with ourselves. We don’t know who we are, what we believe, or what truth is anymore. Because our TVs, computers, tablets, and phones are so loud that they drown out that still, small voice of the divine in each of us that tells us our truth.

Right now, we, like our friends from Sebida, live in uncertain times. We are fighting things that seem too big, too entrenched, too powerful. After all, that’s just how Sebida has always been. But those blue-haired Betties and their husbands know that things are changing, that even Sebida cannot hold onto the old ways forever. And they’re afraid. What happens to them? To their families? To their way of life?

No one wants to be seen as a bad person.

And honestly, no one is. None of us are either heroes or villains. We are all a bit of both. Yes, undoubtedly, some are more of one than the other. But so are we all a reflection of our cultures, our faiths, and our history, both universally and individually. As I said, none of us sets out to become evil. But the family, place, and time we are born into plays a role into forming who we become. And each decision that we make along life’s road push us in one direction or another.

In this chapter, in particular, the dichotomy between Chad and Gerald plays a large role. Chad must face his own shortcomings. He must recognize that the old ways are not always the right ones. That is hard for all of us. To face our failings and to recognize the failings in those who raised us. That journey of self-reflection is gruelling and brutal.

I understand that. It is how I feel every time I look in the mirror. I was a cute baby, adored even. I was an awkward child and teen. Then in my late teens to twenties, I blossomed. While I was never beautiful, I exuded a sensuality that attracted not just men but everyone. The past twenty years have been a cycle of losing and rediscovering my ‘mojo’ as I call her.

But at fifty-five, when I look in that mirror, at the fat, grey-haired woman, it is hard not to mourn that woman-child on the cusp of her power. It is incredibly challenging to step into the blessed role of wise-woman and leave all that behind. To accept that this body I deplore is every bit as much one of the goddess as that one had been. This is not the imagine of a goddess in our modern world…

My goddess, myself

Yet, this is the goddess that reigned for over twenty thousand years from France to Siberia. Before the Venus de Milo or the Mona Lisa, it was she that was the epitome of the divine feminine. We know this because archeologists have found hundreds of these figurines. They postulate that her corpulence represented the abundance and plenty for which the peoples prayed. Fertility. Life.

But like Chad, I measured myself not against my truth, that still small voice I knew was right, but against the prevalent world view. In my case, that young, beautiful, and thin are what matter more than wisdom. In Chad’s, well, if you ain’t given up on my rants and gone to read that chapter, you’ll see soon enough.

There is another factor in this chapter, though. One that we all need to examine in our own lives and those around us. That is Gerald McBride. Yes, I killed him off in Chapter 8. No, he has not come back from the dead. But ghosts are always more powerful than their human forms. And in death, the man continues to cause trouble.

The thing is… in his final selfless act, did he find redemption? Probably not. One good act cannot usually balance the scales of a lifetime of bad decisions. But it can illuminate something important…


We all need heaping helpings of this one right now. For ourselves and others. But I am getting ahead of myself here. We can’t walk the road to forgiveness until we have settled our futures. Or can we? Maybe that path begins before the other one even ends?

I encourage you all to walk this journey with me. To rediscover your still small voice. To find our truth (mine won’t do for you). And to begin to live that.

That might seem a daunting task. Maybe you aren’t even sure how to do that. Where to begin. Let me make a couple of suggestions…

Turn off that TV or computer (after reading this chapter, of course). Put down that tablet or phone. Facebook ain’t going nowhere. Twitter will still be tweeting all that fear and angst when you pick it back up. Trust me, the world won’t come to an end if your battery dies or you forget where you left the thing.

Now that all those distracting dings and voices are silenced. Take off your shoes. Yes, I know ‘Winter is coming, Jon Snow.’ Now, step outside. Feel the dew, the grass, the dirt beneath them. Yeah, trust me I know how cold it is. But that just reminds you that you are alive. Really ALIVE.

Now take a walk. It can just be around your backyard, mine usually is. It may only take a couple of minutes. We don’t want to get frostbite, after all. But look up at the sky, whether it’s grey or blue, whether the sun is shining or you feel rain drops on your face. Just spend two minutes connecting to the world. The real world all around us.

The rest is up to you. I can’t walk your walk. I can’t even point you in the right direction…other than understanding, acceptance, respect, and unconditional love. But those are universal truths of which there are so few steadfast rules.

The next step is yours…

Goddess bless you on your journey,

P.S. If you want more of my bullshit, you might find this week’s @HomeCrazzyHome blog interesting. It doesn’t matter.

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