You Feel Me? Rambling Prose, maybe Rhyme…IDK IDK

Steph—-you will be the only one who grasps each line

When we were little girls we used to sing about sipping cider, now we sip our coffee before the sun

We don’t talk about what’s to come, we talk about the past. Reminiscing on our lessons, on the things that we’ve done

We laugh and we have answers—-but then, we were little girls whose dreams were lost in the patriarchy

We ponder aloud, “Who could we have been? Where could we be?” Because no matter how hard we love, this shit is still bitter tasting

“Did I ever belong to me?” I ask. She says, “No, we never did and oh my God- I was so fucking stupid.”

Don’t say that. Don’t say that; It wasn’t our choice that the system degraded us to nothingness

The only goal then was marry someone and have some children…

On our own, we held no worth

But my beautiful sister, we know now—-we know, we know, we know

We know so deeply its reshaped our bones

You know its not just keeping tabs, its using what we have, to seal up the wounds in the gaps where it stabs

That, or bleed out, bleed out—- I think they’d  rather the latter than to simply sit down and ask, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh the places you’ll go and the places you’ll see,” I grew up on that shit but its forsaken me

False promises, Seuss. Don’t say that to little girls, it causes them to dream while their under the roof, or glass ceiling really

But——We are who we needed; We are who we needed. And, We have all we need, behind our eye-lids

We let Silence do it’s work and then for our kids—-we sit with it, no teaching-no preaching—just being

Can’t wake the dead with a kiss, maybe we can rouse them with our metaphorical fists

Cause I’m not ever going to stop blasting this shit, if I ever do might as well slit my wrists—-but only with a butter knife 

So as not to cut too deep, I’m not letting go of this world, I don’t need it- but it needs me

I’m rambling on at this point because my coffee is getting cold, and as the warmth leaves my cup, my ideas start to fold

So now its time for me to sit here and think, of all the things that mean nothing and are everything to me

Rambled and Written by: Stacy Johnson (Day 2 Crone, 6-26-19)

Inspire.

I hope, I hope,  I hope like hell 

you wear your feelings loud, not well.

Blast your heart from roof to roof.

Make sure this world knows your whole truth.

Your every experience is important, 

You can’t let your thoughts lay dormant.

Inside your mind you hold the key,

It sounds cliche but listen to me,

This Universe is on your side,

Conspiring to ease the tide.

There are no corners, no walls, no seams,

Just Endless possibilities 

What could be, what could be, 

If you just step out- if you just break free.

There is no such thing as break the mold,

The mold is not real, there’s no such hold,

No such hold, weighing you down.

Listen, can you hear the sound?

“You’re supposed to be here,

You ARE  supposed to be here!

Do something. Do something. 

JUST GET IT STARTED,

It doesn’t have to be clear!”

It’s all on You, it’s yours hands that create,

Don’t tap out, don’t take the bait.

You CAN DO ANYTHING, BE ANYTHING,

BUT first you must let yourself Dream Things

You must, you must be willing to dream, manifest  in your thoughts, see the unseen.

With your  hands- work, 

With your soul- receive, 

let go of fear, 

then 

Achieve. Achieve. Achieve. 

Written by: Stacy Johnson

Thanks for reading, Friends. 👣❤️🔥

Your child is not a Christian

Recently while listening to Richard Dawkins’, “The God Delusion,” I had to pause and let some of his words wash over me—they were cleansing, if you will.

I won’t quote him directly, but here’s the jist:

**There can be indoctrinated children, and there can be children of Christian parents, but there are zero Christian children.**

Obviously, a few years ago I would have wanted to battle back and proclaim that MY children were believers and students of the Holy book. I would’ve scrambled to find the flaw in his statement—- but deep in my noggin, I would’ve been arguing, not with Dawkins, but with my own indoctrination.

As much as I would’ve wanted to believe my kids WERE Christian kids, the truth was—every belief they possessed came directly from me or the Bible stories I’d allowed them to learn. Sure they knew scripture, but how did they learn it? –Me, a curriculum I’d chosen, a class I’d taken them to… Sure they knew the prayers, but how did they know who to pray to and the format of recitation? Me! These weren’t things they would’ve ever approached on their own. They were simply babies who wanted to PLAY! But my kids were my echo chambers, they were simply regurgitating by beliefs right back out at me. It’s scary to think how deeply I had sculpted their entire world view and reality. Shits terrifying, man. Wheeeew. Breathe. Even scarier is the way some folks never realize what they are doing….

Fortunately for me now, as a deconstructed exvangelical, when I read Dawkins’ words, I was in complete and total agreement. It was actually freeing to hear someone else saying what I knew from my own childhood and in raising my kids.

Every single attempt at raising Godly kids is a form of indoctrination. From reciting scripture, creeds, and prayers at young ages, to attending weekly services, to routines of the home. Every time a parent intentionally places their belief system into the mind of their child, they are indoctrinating that child. Every time a child declares they are saved or that they’ve had a God experience, it is simply a replication of what they’ve witnessed from adults around them or is a fictitious response to hormones released in emotional situations. Again, a fabrication of that child’s reality set up by someone else.

Children are born religion free. Again, when a baby is born, their brain has zero knowledge of any religion. Yet, they are divine. They come to us with an awe-struck curiosity for the mystical experiences of nature. They are bright eyed and eager to explore, they worship in the form of wonder. Wouldn’t it be grand to approach guiding them, with that same joy of learning that they implore. When THEY ask about God, faith, sins, the devil, as parents we show excitement and present them with timelines of all the major world religions, allowing them to see for themselves the bigger picture. There is NO indoctrination in that method. And, there is no right answer, therefore no pressure to conform out of fear.

I remember the fear that being a Christian places within parents. The “their blood is on your hands,” approach to training up children. Hell, I pulled my kids from school so I COULD INDOCTRINATE them to think like me.

I remember feeling afraid when they “sinned.” I remember crying out to God that he would guard their hearts. I spent literal nights awake trying to envision a way to best teach them so they’d know God’s Love….

But now I see, if you look at your child as a fallen being to be saved, you’ve lost the chance at letting the magic of life teach them. Their own Life is their best teacher. You are cutting them off from their own flow when you’ve set the default state of being as a religious one. They have very little chance at growing beyond that default setting, and for many Christians that is their hope.

How sad. But that’s what you get when generation after generation sits in the church pew and never does the work of thinking. You get uneducated worldviews, partnered with indoctrinated beliefs, sculpted into little robotic beings, passing off their ideals as the ONLY right way, all the way into their adulthood, and this then repeats itself with their children. And it’s ALL misinformation, but they live from default because it’s safe and requires no conscious effort to learn new ways and new information.  It’s frankly, an irresponsible way to live.

For me and for my children, I did the work of reprogramming my default settings. They will not have to deconstruct, they will not have to “go astray” or “leave the fold.” Together, we are free to let Wonder, Curiosity, and Life be our teachers. Please join me in ending the brain-washing of our youth-they deserve better. They deserve to be the joyful explorers that they were literally born being. Let us, as adults, give our children the space they need to be here, free from your default settings.

Thanks for reading! XO

Dear Patriarchy

Dear Patriarchy,

I was placed into your grasp as a little girl. I ate the crumbs from your gnarled and mangled hands. I watched you work the system and create a breed of subservient little female beings. You chewed us up and spit us out and told us our purpose was to simply be present to help You. You needed our fertility, open our legs for your pleasure and your cum. Carry your babies so you don’t fade away into oblivion. We sit here now foaming at the mouth ready to rip your fucking throats out, and you tell us to smile, keep quiet, be a lady. Meanwhile, you’re lusting for the blossoms in the church pew, with your pious and godly wife sitting right there beside you. But she doesn’t know how to be the Slut you need. The Sacred Whore within, she’s never unleashed. You did that to her. You, Patriarchy! You told her to be good, but with everything you are, you like em bad. So so bad. You told us to be honest, but you’ve got your secrets. You snicker, and you smile, and you keep things under the table. Your army, your squad, your “good ol boys”—- they uphold you as the Man among men, and while your wife may be fooled cause she’s a product of her raising, just know-your daughter won’t bow down to ANY SYSTEM that’s degrading, she’s not just the winds of change-she’s a fucking tornado. She is tearing this shit down and you don’t know what to do. You hang on to your faith cause it ALWAYS WORKS FOR YOU. Cling to your traditions, the empire built by men for men, but your daughter yells, “No!” She’s watched and she’s listened to every command made on her mother and her sisters, she’s thirsty for the blood of every person whose ever said, “A woman’s place is in the kitchen.” She is harsh and bold and she is ready to hurt your feelings. She yells, “Fuck you and fuck your religion! You pieces of shit-stealing the minds of the innocent, and they can’t even think critically enough to harbor resentment.” Your daughters are coming for you, Patriarchy, are you shaking in your work boots? We are coming for you, right after we untie your shoes.

Written by: Stacy Johnson

Glorious Girl, a poem

So you’re turning 14

That’s a big number to mommy

You’re turning 14

I didn’t know it’d be this hard on me

See, when I was 14, I let my divinity go…

I cut my beautiful hair, I traded in lion king panties for lacy underwear

I went from having never been kissed to loving someone deeply, and being completely dismissed

At 14, my first heartbreak left me different but not totally broken

with threads of insecurity, my heart was stitched up but gaps were still open

At 14, I watched on confused as the light of innocence left me

Hell was coming, no matter how hard I prayed, no matter how much they preached grace, I still knew my place

After every sin, I knew I’d need to repent again,

and so this game of guilt and shame was one I could not win

At 14, I understood fear to be the driving force, behind every single of one my life’s choices

It wasn’t about following my heart, it wasn’t about using my smarts, I’d only be okay if I learned early to play it safe, stay inside the boundaries so I’d be covered by grace

At 14, deep longings for more, resounded in my spirit, but because of indoctrination the flow of life couldn’t heal it. My divinity whispered for me to draw near, but I simply could not hear it.

See, I didn’t know I was still perfectly precious, I didn’t know I was still totally infectious, Being a sinner is what I let define me, not the amazing woman who was hiding inside me

So, Baby girl I just have to share, you carry a warrior’s glare and you have a mighty stare,

Your wear your armor daily with your strands of gold and copper hair

YOU know your truth and with YOUR hands you build your empire, and don’t forget like a dragoness, my girl you can breathe fire,

Your veins hold the pulsing of women

who fought so hard to be here, hold up your hands and cup their courage should you ever find yourself in need, dear

You have fierce wisdom of Athena

And great beauty of Aphrodite

Put them together and channel that strength, it’s beyond almighty

In your mind you carry the intuition of Dione and you hold wilderness of Artemis, listen to the call from within, she won’t leave you mistaken

Baby girl, at 14, you can begin to manifest your dreams, you can leave people behind if they don’t align, don’t feel guilty and deep down just know, that’s how you grow

And don’t you for one second think a mess-up is reflective of who you are, when wounded be proud of your scars, and deep down in the marrow of your bones, know your beauty, your truth, and your worth.

And baby girl at 14, when insecurity creeps in, acknowledge her presence but don’t let her win, make her an acquaintance but not a close friend,

Remember you earned your place on this earth, you get to be here for this moment in time, and though you’re only 14, you’re able to see, that this in itself is truly divine

When mommy set out to write this for you, I let my mind go back in time, I don’t know why but I started to cry and so I stayed there for awhile.

That girl was beautiful with a heart of gold and smile she could not hide, but oh the sadness, such sadness were hiding in those green eyes.

I saw the Universe in those eyes, and I heard a whisper in the wind, you, JUST you, you are enough, so I let that voice rage from within,

I placed my arm around that girl sitting to my side, I said- chin up sister, it’s a matter of time, you’re gonna be just fine,

I gave her a hug and left her there

because 14 year old me, could not see it, much less try to live out and be it…

My baby girl now, I’m calling you out, I see your glory, your beauty, your grandeur….and at 14, if there’s only one thing you let engulf you and fill you up, please let it be that warrior raging within, “I KNOW I AM more than enough.”

Written by-Stacy Johnson, April 13, 2018

I wrote this last year on the eve of my daughter’s 14th birthday. I needed to channel the energy I was feeling into something positive, as 14 was a tricky year for me…

MY GLORIOUS GIRL:

******Today, I watched that 14 year old, stand before 150 high school band students and play a solo. A 3 minute piece that captured the magical essence that is my daughter. You see, my girl had only picked up a saxophone 9 months ago. Her teacher didn’t believe her when she told him she’d be first chair by Christmas, but SHE believed in herself, and that’s all she’ll ever need. She is not only first chair, but was was chosen to do that solo, I couldn’t have been prouder to watch her play up there. I witnessed the anxiety ridden tears throughout the week, but SHE GOT UP THERE AND NAILED IT. She cupped that courage and it paid off. I cried. And I’m giddy. She’s brave.

Thank you to:

My sister over at The Irresponsible Blogger, she reminded me that today was International Women’s Day and this poem goes right along with celebrating women, healing women, and empowerment of women. Thank you for reading, Friends!

My BEST GIRLS and Me (plus one sleeping lil guy):

Is Jumping the Answer We’ve Always Needed?

🤔 Hmmmm. I was at the Trampoline Park today, and it dawned on me, “Wait, what? What is happening to all the humans here, right now? Why are we all so happy, so giddy, so joyful? What is it that has reached the oldest of gents to the tenderest of tots, spreading smiles amongst all?”

Jumping!!!! Unified Jumping is what!

I looked out and laughingly embraced the genuine, true, heartfelt smiles beaming from one person to another. There was no shame. Age didn’t matter, size-shape-color-gender-class-socioeconomic status-political party-religion-sexuality, none of it mattering as we frolicked like that of antelopes from one trampoline square to another in our matching psychedelic socks.

With giant leaps, and super strides, we all take our shot at suspending gravity’s pull, our time in the air is held with grins that are real, extending from our mouths to the wrinkles at the corners of our eyes. There is no faking, these are the smiles of time-less fun.

I people watch a moment longer and I nearly cackle. The variety of jumpers is pure hilarity, and each kind of jumper has goals.

There is the gazelle strider, allowing only one foot to touch each patch as they swiftly glide from one end of the entire park to another. They are unaware that anyone is around them.

There are then the knee-tuckers. They spend time in one patch really getting a rhythm before moving to a neighboring square. Usually, knee-tuckers are young and they falsely hope that by tucking the knee, they’ll achieve more air-time, instead they plummet.

There are the spread eaglers. From one square, they accomplish toe touch after toe touch, after toe-touch, until at once, a leg buckles, they wobble and become uneven, sometimes falling, they must rest.

Also, there are the big boy bouncers. They rain down without warning onto whatever black patch is nearest them. They have no care for who is in their way, rocketing small children into the air, often leaving parents confused as to what just happened. Their force propels them furiously multiple squares away. As if they’d never been there at all.

The stiff-leggers are usually middle age, and they either can’t move the way they once did or simply have forgotten how to loosen up and bend at the knee. They stay in one black square for at least 3 minutes before stopping and walking to another patch.

There are also the runners. These are the folks who enjoy the spring of each bounce, but they do not jump, instead they launch into a sprint, having enough control to dodge those younger then themselves. However, at times, a runner’s front half moves faster than their feet, leaving them face-planted on two patches.

We also have the adolescent gymnasts. Often, they use several patches to display the parts of their floor routine applicable to the space they’re allotted. Onlookers are awed.

Next, there are the tots on their one black patch, trying to escape their care-givers with fierce determination. The care-givers are those who have sheer frazzled terror on their faces, as they understand their child is one gazelle-strider away from being booted into eternity.

Finally, there are my favorites, the humpty dumpty jumpers. They bounce, flop, roll, twist, face-plant, back-plant, ricochet, and donkey-kick all in their own little space. They are content. And, I like watching their joy! I get completely cracked up as I see them ricochet off the side trampolines with fervor and smiles. They don’t give a shit about anything but landing their jump. They range in age from 5-65.

Anyhow, today-as I tried to keep my one year old out of harms way, I just took a moment to embrace ALL THESE PEOPLE who paid money to be able to become mutual jumpers. Jumping in mass brought us all to a common place of shared happiness. I decided that perhaps Congress should meet under this circumstance of shared jumping. “Perhaps, jumping was the answer to all that is wrong in this world, perhaps jumping was the way of the future?” I pondered. Did our ancestors use jumping to bridge some kind of gap, I mean, we are all here, and we are all loving this, it’s like it’s in our DNA…

Before my very eyes the walls that divide us, were being bounced into oblivion. And, while I can’t put my finger on exactly how, I know for sure that jumping is taking us places…

Could mutual jumping be the next frontier????

🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂

(Yes, this is me being a dork, this is my weird humor, I find random moments-hilarious at times, ima crazy- I know!)

A Day In My Life

My life is a WILD ride right now. I’m talking late night drinks, my tits out all the time, there is some crack involved, there is me- hungover in the bathroom, me- bent over in the shower, and there are even asses in my face, multiple asses… WILD. You get the jist………….

Or do you?

Picture this, it’s 11 pm, darkness has descended and the house is quiet. You sit back, allowing your eyes to close and a smile appears. “It is finished,” echos through your delirious mind. Then: Like thunder erupting from the throat of an angry God, the Three Year Old bellows, “Mooooom! WAAATTTEEERRR!!! I NEEEED Waatteerr.”

I leap from the recliner, milk dripping from my exposed breasts, Baby Brother unhappy to be bothered with unlatching. My back CRACKS, as I jump up. OhmaLort——This is it, my time hung over the tub in the bathroom is really wearing on me.

Bath administration is getting evermore tedious as my tots rebel regularly and I’m forced to lean and stretch my body in ways that even the greatest yogis would be impressed by. I’ve been a bath time contortionist through four children now, and bending over in the shower to wash them is not only dangerous, it gets painful night after night.

And, did I mention the amount of asses I tend to that are not my own? There is a multitude of ass-wiping and ass-checking that is involved on the daily. Between the two littles, I don’t know that an hour passes where I’m not greeted by that of an ass.

Soooooooo, my WILD nights aren’t exactly the kind of wild I had originally alluded to, but it is wild here, nonetheless. And I freaking LOVE IT, sometimes.

Here’s a small rundown of a day in my life that doesn’t include any of the 4ness that’s happening throughout the day, like me being lost in the depths of my own mind 90% of the time, here’s a go at my day:

I homeschool The Wonderer full time now, She’s a 5th grader. Soul Sarcasm is a freshman and is at school  from 7-7:30am and I load the babies up and stay there to bring her home for LA/World Hist and then she goes back to the school  at 9, I pick her up at 12:35. During that 9-12:30 slot, I’m schooling the Wonderer and I try to do calendar with the babies, Riot (3) and Stout (14 months) . At 12:20, we do lunch for the littles and hustle to get Soul Sarcasm. Stout falls asleep in the car, we get home at 12:45. We eat “big girl” lunch together then they start their online classes at 1:00. At 2:00, we try to sit down and read poetry/listen to a classical piece, look at a piece of art, study logic/argument/philosophy/Quaker queries/ ancient wisdom from abroad/ or a scientist and read one family read-aloud, right now it’s Big Magic. At 3:20, I have to get Soul Sarcasm back to the school for softball. From 3:40-4:40 I play with the Littles and prep dinner and clean up our school messes. Then I pick S. S. up at 5. Throw in the Wonderer’s extracurriculars that occur at 12:40 twice a week at her school, plus piano and guitar at 6:00 pm and Friends, after dinner, after clean up, after chores, after all the WILD moments added to the mix, I’m freaking spent. 

Never doubt that I am not wallowing in a magnitude of gratefulness for this WILD life I live. But hear me clear, choosing to multi-school, choosing to be a full-time care-giver, choosing to spend EVERY DAY, EVERY HOUR with my children is not an instant gratification way of being. There is hardly ever an accolade, or even a praise, but there is always a multitude of, “I love you,” “Will you read to me?” “Can we play this?” “Can you help me with that?” “Momma, I unloaded the dishwasher.” “Momma, I folded the clothes.” “Momma, will you rub my back?” “Momma, that artist was amazing!” “Momma, read that line again.” “Momma, thank you!” And these young voices come to meeeeeee, when it could be someone else, and that is all the glory I need. I won’t end this post right there, because I don’t want you to think I’m lost in the cloud of frufru. Cause the truth is, while there is beauty in this way of life everyday, there is also shit every day, literal shit and metaphorical shit.

And, there is also me, hung over (the tub)—- and crack on every corner (ass-crack that is) —— and let us not forget the lactating titties out for all to see when the neighbor drops by.

…..there you have a day in my life….

WILD!

Don’t wake the Babies


Calendar Time with Riot
The Wonderer working on Grammar
Southern Cabbage for lunch
Soul Sarcasm actually Smiles


A witch stirring her cauldron

Stout wrestles this giant snake with ease


There was an old lady…


Hunting for treasure from fairies and gnomes in our neighborhood


The shirt says “Mommin and Killin it x4”
my Sister sent it to me when we were surprised with BABY 4
Breastfed Baby thinking he owns my boobies.