Author Archives: Mercedes

About Mercedes

live authentically. serve wholly. love indelibly. heal.

on relishing…

did you ever wonder what happened to the joy, the laughter, the long pseudo-melancholic silences pondering philosophy, the artistry of the sky at night and the peace and weight that a good book leaves with you when you’ve read it time and time again? where did we lose the time for these things?  the desire to chase these things or make time for them?
that comfort and weight and joy of these is no longer with me, and i’m looking to find that peace again. it’s good and it’s not, all at the same time.

redefinition is part of life, part of the cycle and it has to be accepted. to change is to grow and we all should want to grow. but even in the joy that i try to find in my new life, there is a deep longing for the joy that both once was, and that was once full of potential. i miss being swept up in those arms, laughing, feeling desired and desirous, and the feeling that i was going to be devoured from the inside out, knowing it was full of love and passion and fire and intertwined intimacy.

i don’t know that this void will ever leave…and that thought leaves me with the dichotomy of every broken heart. the bittersweet knowledge that it will never truly go away.

it’s interesting how like souls are drawn to the same questions. There’s a heft in that void when we crave more than status quo, yes? i find it intriguing that something so speciously empty can be so heavy. alternatively, it’s odd how something so vitally important to us gets so easily lost in the daily detritus.

i don’t know where so many people have lost their lust for life.  Gluttonous, wanton, and sheer passion for living.  for taking each day by the hand and saying ‘where are you taking me today?

my bedroom has large windows near the ceiling, just over my bed.  i’m sure there’s an architectural term for them, but they span the width of the room and follow the arch of the ceiling, meeting at the beam in the center. they are behind the head of the bed, so I see them as soon as i walk into the room.  last night, after a ludicrous day at the office, after family was taken care of, and gym time spent, i lay with my head on the foot of the bed and watched the heat lightning light up the sky.  i prayed for rain, for all i wanted was to go sit in it and let it wash over me (and it’s finally warm enough to do so without catching my death).  it rained this morning, and i watched it fall through my home office window overlooking the back yard.  conference calls had me tethered to my phone and laptop, but i wanted to just go outside and sit nude in the rain, letting it wash my concerns, doubts, worries and stresses away. not sure my elderly neighbors would appreciate this, though. something i’ve not done in ages. maybe it will rain again tonight.

i collect orchids and books of poetry.  i listen to audible books too often, and miss listening to music more.  i relish silence, as I don’t often get it.  silence ban be seductive.  it pulls you in and you think it will be too overwhelming, too lonely.  to not speak?  does that mean I lose value or don’t exist?  no, silence is such purity, such stillness.
such peace.
you offer so much, such freedom of thought and speech.  it is amazing to me, just the openness when you know nothing of me or who i am. just a few words on so many bits of paper (so, to speak).  it is gracious and kind to flatter me with such an ear towards my ramblings. may your karma be returned to you ten-fold for these deeds.
i too relish the night. i like losing myself in it’s mysteries and quietude

Why a mother’s food is always cold


most days, i don’t get to be lazy. or at least, i don’t feel like i get to be lazy.

i don’t feel allowed.
i think that it comes from an innate sense of low self-worth, that my therapist would says stems from my mother. she’s probably right. i’m 41 and i don’t she’s ever told me she was proud of me or if she has, not in a demonstrable enough fashion or often enough that i remember it.
in any event, when it comes to ‘lazy days’, i’m learning. i’ve been struggling single mom or struggling married-to-an-abusive-deadbeat man, that i no longer know how or when to relax. even my most recent two week vacation, over christmas and new years, i still worked and checked my email. i’m an officer/VP at my company, and i work in tech, so i never really get time off unless i’m out of the country AND leave my phone at home.

i got up reasonably early (sleeping no later than 8:30). did shit around the house and chased kids. none of that feels lazy to me. i still felt like i had to ‘do’.

it makes me feel dumb. the need, the incessant need to constantly do. I don’t know if its ptsd from past abuse, or the constant, ever looming, nag from my mother making me feel like the lowest of the low because i went to kroger in my sweatpants and no make-up.
I can feel the disapproving look all four and a half hours away, Mom

i was doing goal planning the other day, new year’s day, actually, cause apparently that’s what i do to relax, set goals. sigh. and the method i was using spoke about relaxation and colors of joy and what do you like to do when you’re free and joyous.

i had nothing.

it was very depressing. i haven’t been in ‘that’ place since i’d left my first husband. i had zero clue who i was after all the brainwashing and abuse he put me through. i did my fair share of belly dancing, temple meditating, dancing on tables at bars and twenty-somethings to finally figure out who I was. and dammnit, if i’m not pissed off to be right back in that place again.

so, i’m trying to think about how i might want to spend a lazy day. i think coffee or alcohol would be a must. or both. probably both. I think a book and crochet. maybe a movie. definitely sushi. I think i could be my most laziest at the beach, with alcohol, a book or four and no kids. just plop my fluffy ass in a chair and drink and read the day away….and then go eat sushi, sit on the balcony of my hotel with more alcohol and read more.

but i’d have to be alone. if the kids or my partner were with me, i’d never be able to do it. i’m too much of a caregiver type person, i’d constantly be fussing over who needed what or breaking up/participating in an argument, or cleaning up after someone or yelling at someone to clean up after themselves.

you get the picture. this is why a mother’s food is always cold.

On the Importance of Quietude


I was selfish this weekend. Blatant, unabashedly, selfish. Sequestering myself in a lovely hotel suite on Friday afternoon, I made some time for myself. I only did what I wanted. Nothing that ‘needed’ to be done, nothing that ‘should’ be done. Only what I wanted. I spent hours in bookstore and selected four new titles to read through the weekend (as of this posting I’ve finished two)… and I took my time. I picked up and I put down. At one point I had a dozen and had to cull the stack slightly. I debated Moleskine journals versus leather-bound sketchbooks. You get the point… I did it slowly and thoughtfully, allowing myself the time and the luxury of being in the moment. The rest of the weekend, I stayed in sweats, ordered room service and read.

I’ve not turned on television or music at all during this time, nor have I had phone calls or emails. A few texts (and by a few I mean, 3) only. By the time I check out, that will have been 47 hours of silence.

2013-08-09 16.22.20

It was decadent.

I also did a lot of thinking and pondering, and sorting of things that I’ve not made time to digest. Allowing myself the quiet and space to recuperate from life and rejuvenate from my responsibilities helps me to be my highest best self. I see that now. I’ve said to my family, I don’t have time to ‘insert anything related to self-care here’. And in doing so, I’ve done us both a disservice. I can’t be the best I need to be for them, nor myself, if I don’t make time for the care and keeping of me.

And wow, does it show. Over the last few months, I cry easier, get more easily frustrated, and I found that I’m harboring resentments that are either trivial and silly or they are downright toxic. And I KNOW better than to allow emotional things to fester like this… but getting in my own way, I disallowed both the notion and actually experiencing quietude in my life.

Quietude   Definition and More from the Free Merriam Webster Dictionary

A quiet state. Repose. Mind boggling states of being, as they felt so huge and foreign on Friday. I realized that I had to consciously make myself slow down when I went to the bookstore. I had to consciously force my shoulders into a relaxed state. I had to consciously let go.

Being fully present in the cocoon I created this weekend, was both intriguing and alarming. I saw how short my attention span has become, reaching for the mobile device (which had made no noise to indicate a message of some kind was received) every 10-15 minutes. I felt myself become bored and tried to remember what that felt like, so I’ll recognize it the next time it shows up. In our ADHD culture, we don’t often allow ourselves to feel boredom. Once the tiniest inkling of it strikes, we’re off to do something faster, bigger, better, shinier… anything ‘more’ than what we’re doing. I allowed boredom in and let it stay awhile. It came to visit a couple of times over the weekend and I had to make more conscious efforts to stay in my chair. My monkey mind was telling me to get up and go shopping (‘you need new clothes for work’), or to go to a movie (‘you know you want to see that Star Trek movie AND it’s probably in a dollar theater somewhere’), or other things similar to this.

Reminding myself that this stuff used to fill in the empty spots or buying things or short-lived experiences (like the movie, which I would also sometimes equate to ‘stuff’) doesn’t add to the quality of anyone’s life. It adds to the quantity of things in your life, which I might add, don’t fill the empty spots at all.

It’s been liberating, this realization (or re-realization), that it’s acceptable to be somewhat selfish when it comes to taking care of yourself. No one can, or will, do it better than you will. By the same token, no one can fuck it up as greatly as you can either.

I’m making a list of things that I will try to work on… things I’ve realized that have to be a priority.

1) Inject more quiet in to my day. No TV, no music, no audiobooks. Just quiet. It unfettered the mind and allows it to go to some pretty interesting places.
2) Move. Get out of bed a little earlier, go to bed a little later, actually take a lunch break and get up from my desk and walk. If the day’s schedule allows for no other form of exercise, walk.
3) Make the time to cook really good food. Life is too freaking short for take out. (When you extrapolate this one out, it also means making the time to plan and shop for everything required to cook really good food).
4) Limit screen time at home….for everyone.
5) Remove toxic relationships and behaviors from my life. (Even though the last few years have been huge in this area, it’s still obvious that some are still there.)
6) Live with more integrity. (This doesn’t mean that I am living without it, but rather, is a note to further refine how I live with integrity and how to do it better.)
7) Spend more time with friends.
8) Laugh more.
9) Love better.
10) Write. (Every.Stinking.Day.)

and lastly,

11) Schedule the next Weekend of Quietude. (I think this must become habit.)


It’s just not possible that I can sleep any later than 7 AM anymore.

This feels more a harbinger of lurking middle age and a reminder of life’s responsibilities than any number of crows feet I might see around my eyes in the morning mirror. What the hell… at least watching the sun rise is a decent trade-off.

2013-08-11 07.25.47

(I’m also learning, as I approach middle age, that I must start writing down the brilliant writing ideas I have while lying in bed watching the sun rise, all while cursing my inability to sleep late. They don’t like to stick around, or aren’t as clear, by the time I make my way to my laptop.)

i want to live in a world where…


i want to live in a world…
where i can go barefoot everyday.
where the grass is soft beneath my feet
and the hard Georgia clay sticks to my heels.

where the roar of the ocean is never far away.
where my pulse matches the undulation
of the waves, kissing on the shore.

where the creativity in my soul is expressed
in the labor of my hands and
the sweat of my brow.

where laughter and love and conversation
flow like the water that so often
quenches the fire in my spirit.

where friends are family
and family are friends
and my backdoor is always welcoming loved ones inside.



the bulb, knowing only the cold earth around it, its envelopment complete, has no knowledge of the sun, or of it’s power. it sits dormant, biding it’s time. only it’s not fully aware that it is biding it’s time.

the sun, radiant in it’s all it’s life affirming glory, gently lords over the whole of the universe. so many worlds under it’s dominion, so many things relying on it for heat and energy and for sustenance… and yet it pays no heed.

at the first warming of the earth, the long silent bulb warms and becomes aware that YES… this…THIS is the moment it wasn’t aware that it had been waiting it’s whole life for. reaching, ever reaching to be closer to the source of such amazing and soul-fulfilling warmth. pushing through the all-enveloping earth, the nascent flower struggles to reach the surface, slowly breaking through the monumental obstacles seeming to keep it from the finding the source of the heat that caused it’s awakening.

the sun continues to sit at the centre of all, seeing all and nothing, simultaneously. as it’s sweeping gaze passes the particular field wherein the tulip resides, there is a small, green protuberance otherwise curious and out of place. each day, it’s gaze passes over the field, seeing ever more evidence of growth of the small flower. each day, it’s gaze is longer transfixed to the spot of ever growing greenery.

petals and leaves finally have the chance to unfurl at the dawning of the sun. as the sun’s rays grace the tender petals and the newborn glory of the flower’s petals grace the sun’s gaze, the mutual feeling is one of a long held breath, exhaled.

how does one put into words what the sun means to the tulip, or what the tulip means to the sun?



When I’m here…there’s a crispness to the wind.

It’s cold, and stings as it whips across my face.

Aged and faded lung ta gallop just as fervently through the mind as the freshly offered.

All is well.

May you be filled with loving kindness.
May you be well.
May you be peaceful and at ease.
May you be happy.