Blogger Recognition Award!

Sharing is Caring! Spread the love, and bloggers unite!

Big thanks to Tina at Invisible Illnesses Blog for nominating me!


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The Rules:-
1. Write a post to show your award
2. Thank blogger(s) who nominated you & provide a link to their blog
3. Give a brief story of how your blog started
4. Give 2 pieces of advice for new bloggers
5. Nominate 15 bloggers of your choice for the award
6. Comment on each blog to let them know that you’ve nominated them & provide a link to your post.
I’ve got a ton of posts about how my blog came to be, but in a nut shell… I began writing as a form of therapy and ritual. I was out of my mind since my body was all out of whack. Getting all my emotions and frustrations out of me and onto the page (and screen) has been a tremendous revelation of self love, diligence and commitment!
Now, I don’t follow too many blogs and a majority haven’t been terribly active, but I did my best!
7- Rosemary Fairy (although she doesn’t blog really any more, her IG is still inspiring)
My two pieces of advice for new bloggers would have to be read a lot and write a lot. Even if your feeling uninspired, just jotting thoughts and ideas down can spark inspiration. Also, go get out in nature. Take off your shoes and earth your feet. I swear, Gaia does wonders when we open our hearts to her and her inhabitants.
Blessings and love,
Tally
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WHY DO I WRITE?

Writing was always a therapeutic outlet for me. Ever since I was very small and could write, I always did. If I was upset or just happy, I would write about my day and boys I had crushed on. Then as I got older I seemed to resent it more because it was forced in school. I still journaled often but it was full of teenage angst and I never wanted to write more than I had to. So I fell of the page for a while until one weekend at Aura music festival, I rediscovered what I needed to do.

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I was wondering around checking out the vendors and all the festival had to offer. This was my very first festival all by my lonesome, so I had complete freedom and uninhibited will to go and see everything and every one. It was a full moon, I believe it was valentines day as well. I was walking around looking for a fire to join, and I stood in front of a barrel I felt good about. There was a tall boy next to me who was blocking the moon light and I remember scooting over so I could have a clear view of it. I mentioned something about it to the couple of hippies around this barrel and they all admired as well. The tall boy next to me looked back at me and introduced himself. He was a good looking fella I might add so I knew I was in trouble.

His name was Mattias. He was Swedish and he had gotten himself a VIP pass and he too was all alone at this festival. We got to talking and had a lot in common and spent some time together for the next day then continued a relation for a little while after that. But while at Aura, he had brought some blue cap mushrooms with him. And if you’ve never had blue caps before I suggest not too take as many as you have, moderation with those things because they are troublesome little devils. We both probably ate close to and eighth and thats far more than I’ve ever consumed in one sitting. Needless to say, it went a rye very quickly.

Fungus takes a little bit until you can fully feel it coursing in your blood and effecting your vision, tripping you out, making you dizzy, and giving you the damn yawns. We wandered to the main stage and I think it was PapaDosio that we saw at that stage. I had seen them before and I love them; so I sat against a tree, listened attentively and waited for the trip to start. I remember watching an LED poi flow from this guy who was absolutely killer at it. Thats when the mushrooms hit.

I saw light trails coming off of everything moving, like in Donnie Darko when he sees that plasma pulling people to where they go. Everything got outrageously bright, like the sun had just risen and we were as close as we could be to that bright star. The trees got much taller, and I shrank smaller. It was super cold that night and I started shaking. I still don’t know if it was the mushrooms, just the cold, or both but I had to get up and go back to my tent. It wasn’t even because of me shaking, but because I was tripping hard and it was the most cerebral I had ever experienced.

It took what seemed like an hour to get back to my tent, I’m sure it was only like ten minutes though, but time slows down and speeds up all at once when you take psychedelics. Since I don’t take them often, that was definitely a factor of my super crazy mind falling out of my ears. I got back to my tent, and immediately burritoed myself into my sleeping bag and flew off into my head. I don’t exactly know if I fell asleep or stayed awake just tripping out, but either way this is what happened.

I mandala of Egyptian hieroglyphs, and geometric shapes all swirling in a vortex toward a black hole kind of center. I kept hearing me or some other manifestation of myself telling me to write this down. YOU NEED TO WRITE THIS. YOU NEED TO GO FIND PAPER AND WRITE THIS DOWN. YOU NEED TO WRITE A BOOK. WRITE A BOOK. I woke up at sunrise, took the craziest poop of my life, peed a gallons worth of pee, then went on about my day. That very week I believe I started this blog and began to write my heart out. I later found my voice, and the inspiration for the novella I am currently writing.

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So why do I write?

I write because its good for me. It heals my mind, and keeps my voice loud. Even if no one reads or hears, its my free form of therapy.

I ask you, why do you write?

Blessings and love

Tally

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Commitment

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So I just finished up watching/listening/embracing Torie Michelle Feldman‘s webinar for finding your medicine compass. Usually I don’t like to seek external help/ guidance from others (my darn aires moon), but this was truly heart opening. I could feel the radiant energy she holds and gives. This was a discussion about committing to your lives purpose, whatever it may be, and exploring ourselves, and realizing that we are READY to take action and share our gifts with the world.

Now, my issue is, what are my gifts? Writing, crystal healing of sorts, and dream studies are the oly things i feel i could fully offer people. So what am I committed to? I have no idea, I’ve got too many things pulling in all directions. I’m being drawn and quarter by the thunder horses in the sky and soon I’ll split off in all directions and see where I land. But I don’t feel I should like I should allow my self to be split in so many ways. I feel like I need to be guided to the HIGHEST calling. Is it dream analysis/dream work to help guide people into there own path? Is it yoga, crystal healing, movement therapy to help nurture and heal the body? Is it the written word and transmitting my message through the ink and pen? Is it sustainable living and sharing the insight and easy applications of ones life to better our holy earth? Is it to be a musician? An up cycling artist? An herbalist? A pot critic? A life coach? WHO THE HELL KNOWS?

I know. I know that I know. It just hasn’t surfaced yet. I pray it will come to me in my dreams, as many of life decisions have. I have been listening to my dreams since I was very , very young and still unknowing of what in the world these crazy images and symbols could be? I am confident that it will come to me, and when it does, everything will change.

 

 

 

 

The day I trained for Waffle House- Mystery & Terror at Centura College

Hmm. What to say. Well I worked for Waffle House for about three days and then decided to resign. I had a bad feeling about it. Working for them would have ruined the magic of it all for me. I went with my gut which was the right choice because I found a new job that I fucking love. Anyways, I went to Centura College to train for two days then I would work a day or two as what they called “Door Corps” which I called door whoring. Thats another tangent. This is my story of my two days in said college and the ridiculously random series of events that occurred.

I was early, yet still speeding. It couldn’t have come any quicker. I was so excited. Waffle House. I was telling every body at work about it and getting the situation way more hype than it should’ve been. I noticed that most of them were wearing white shirts with black pants and shoes. I looked down realizing my unintentional outcasting. Fucking black on black. Another guy had a blue shirt on so I was immediately relieved. Others were early too. Thankfully I wasn’t going to be the only punctual one. We went in, signed in, and walked to the classroom. It looked like a typical building with encouraging walls and photos of past graduates.

Every one chose a seat. There was a couple conversations of being tired and how early it was. Each of us had to do a third interview with the district manager to ensure that we were good for the job. There were seven of us to start off with. The guy in the blue shirt I mentioned, he was sent home because he had a neck tattoo and that darn blue shirt on so he wasn’t aloud to work at Waffle House. It was my turn.

The guy greeted my with a corporate looking smile. We talked. He asked me about my goals, he told me about the job, we shook hands and that was basically it. His last words to me were, ‘where a white shirt next time’ and smiled with an affirming nod. I mentioned the comment to the HR lady at the front of the classroom and she said in her cute southern accent ‘Yeah I probably told you black shirt, I’m sorry, but it’s okay I fought for you to stay,’ with a smile of course. I felt so happy! They wanted me there! I was on my way to that sweet money tree with this place.

Some time went by, we watched the sexual harassment videos and all that good work shit. It was time for a break. Our trainer went to go get us some food. Everyone was mingling and becoming more friendly. There were two Shakiras in the class, me, a gender neutral named Sydney, and a couple (girl and guy). We all finished our food and the couple went outside for a cigarette. I stayed in the class, Syd did as well and the Shakiras went for a drive. We all reassembled except for the couple and the trainer.

Not but two seconds later the girl bolts into the room screamed ‘Whats the address? Whats the address of this place?! I need an ambulance for my husband, he just collapsed! He’s choking, he’s gonna die! Whats the address’ and ran out hollering for help. Mind she was also on the phone with 911 while yelling. The tall Shakira sprung into action because she had medical training and knew CPR. The three of us that were left stood around then walked to follow the others and their chaos. A teacher or employee of this community institute followed us out. We ran all around the parking to yelling their names until the teacher/employee turned the corner and found them there.

The husband was lying on the curb gasping for air like a fish out of water. His skin had turned that sickening blue/purple hue. It was a site of shock and a bit of horror. Shirt open, stomach barely taking in oxygen and his mouth was wide open making odd noises. His suffering was something I had never witnessed in all my days. Not but fifteen minutes prior to his almost death, we were joking about and inspirational wall of alcohol facts, which just seemed like an out of place thing at a community college. We exchanged mockingly-casual words about it and he mentioned that he gave up the stuff years ago. I told him that was a good choice. Now here we both were again, just not so mocking or casual any more.

Tall Shakira yelled for scissors and an ERM (emergency resuscitation machine?). In the meantime, the three of us stood by and watched as she performed CPR and pushed in his chest with her entire body. The wife was hysterical at his feet praying and trying to get him to do anything but die. All of us were hollering about the ambulance not being fast enough and wondering what would happen after this ordeal was over. Do we go back to the classroom and continue to learn our Waffle House lingo and prices of the entire menu? What the hell should we do?

The police were the first to show up. One, then two cop cars and all the officers got out and slowly strutted over to the curb. Arrogantly with his hands on his belt one cop asked, ” okay so who saw this happen?” We just said “we came out here and he was on the curb not breathing.” He didn’t say much to that and the wife had stood up to talk to him about it. So her and a different went to the side and discussed the series of events. Shortly the ambulance finally had arrived. Four or five people jumped out and began to bring him back to life. At this point had a stopped breathing because the fucking police officers didn’t know how to perform CPR on a dying man. Midlothian’s finest I’m sure.

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Our trainer wasn’t back from break yet so we all went back inside for a minute to see if she was in the room looking for us. When we came back outside she walked out at the same time. We gave her the low down of the situation and then we got on the subject of heroine. Apparently, they both had track marks and were potentially coming outside so frequently for ‘smoke breaks’ but those may have been bogus excuses to sneak a little high into their day. The cop pulled the wife over to the hood of the car and were having an extremely serious discussion. All I could hear of it was that she didn’t have any knowledge of him taking drugs and then he started going through her purse to see if she had been lying. Her expression was worry and defense. The cop looked suspicious and eager.

Meanwhile the other cops were searching the surrounding area possibly for the alleged drugs they threw out. The arrogant one, with aviators who was the most stereotypical power hungry cop I’ve seen in a while ( ironically wasn’t white), was turning over flower pots, sifting through the dirt, looking through those not very ecofriendly cigarette butt stations that every one is supposed to use but still litters regardless, and ultimately was unlucky in finding the evidence he wanted. The other one talking with the wife and putting her purse back in sorts while looking disappointed as well.

By now they proceeded to put him on a gurney and take him to the hospital. They hadn’t taken him away yet but we all were on the sidewalk trying to console the wife and at the last moment before lift off he puked loudly and coughed up what he was choking on. It just looked like barf mixed with the hamburger he had for lunch. He sat against the wall breathing deeply and trying to explain what actually went down. He apparently choked on the piece of burger and that was that. The cop turned to us girls and asked “Are you all finished here?” We looked at each other and didn’t say anything just nodded and shrugged with indecision. He retorted “okay then” and made the ‘shoo-ing’ gesture with his hand clearly to get us to go away from it all. We all acted offended, paid no mind and lingered a bit longer. Our trainer told us that we weren’t going back to class, we could just go home.

Once it was done we all exchanged numbers. I smiled a sympathetic smile at the husband against the wall. We all just grabbed our stuff and went home. Later that night I got a text message from the wife saying “the guy you met at wawa?” and that was the last I heard from anyone of those folks.

After all of that, what had just happened? That whole ordeal took maybe around forty five minute to an hour. Never in my life has anything remotely interesting like that occurred besides my unfortunate encounter with ulcerative colitis. Did he actually over dose on something? Were they truly junkies hiding drugs and sneaking shit around this college while simultaneously training for a fucking Waffle House job? Or was all of this just some freak act of nature with a gossipy twist? I guess no one but the couple will ever know what truly happened that morning. Accidental druggie thing or a complete and honest accident?

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Grandmother’s House I Hoop ~ 

so I have been living with my grandmother for about 5 months now. It has been quite a pleasure but at times not helpful to my health. In response to that, I’ve been hooping more, and really practicing my focus. I caught some commercials while watching Edward scissor hands, and some meditation was in order. This is how I heal

Sorry for the mess ups 🙏 but thank you for watching! ❤️

 

Self love Saturday

As usual I’ve been very neglectful of my blog. I’ve had a whole lot going on from finally owning a car again, to looking for new homes in a new city. I’ve been in an online intensive, basically a class, and that’s taken up a good amount of free time because it has homework and group meetings. I’ve also been experimenting with podcasts so I’ve been speaking instead of writing, since time hasn’t been on my side. I just have to figure out some technical issues before posting them.

So I’m going to begin again with little bit about the 5 basics of writing and journalism (who what when where why), and those will be the launching of a new leaf. I love turning new leaves 😊 the new moon has just passed so that is my inspiration. Today I shall begin with a little who…


 


My name is Tayler. I began calling myself Tally when a customer at work asked me “what’s your name?” The question didn’t make sense since I had a name tag on, then he rephrased and asked “what would you like to be called?” And Tally was born.

No one has ever asked me that question, so I though of that name from a series of books by Scott Westerfeld. I associated with the main character and her name just came to mind. Later on I realized it could be an anagram for my full name as well, which I just thought was near.

I turned 22 this past June. This was the first birthday I had celebrated in two years. The past few I’ve gotten sick the week of my birthday and was too miserable to do anything.

I hoop and dance. I sing and write. I recycle and craft. I really enjoy reading and hiking, And I practice/study different philosophies. Diving into Divine Presence and breath work has molded me into the eclectic spiritualist I am today.

I was born I Key West, Florida but grew up in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Although I didn’t stay for long after I got my first car. I’ve visited North Carolina, Nebraska, New York, Arkansas, Missouri, and West Virginia. One day I will see the other 42 states.

I am a stereotypical dreamer, and usually if I have to motivation to accomplish it, goals will be reached, dreams will be reality. I’m too curious and indecisive, but that’s always led me into some crazy circumstances for the best.