I met young Christina in a meditation I was hosting. I have had the honor to mentor her in Reiki. She amazes me with her intuition and resiliency. She is a young woman with a wise soul.
Christina Regan is currently a senior at The University of Texas at Austin majoring in history and minoring in business. She is an aspiring writer and poet seeking to attach meaning to all the little things that are a part of this wondrous life.
A Glorious Transition
I know I look the same
But I can assure you that I am not
The girl who bores a badge of shame,
The one who is so easily forgot
So, I gathered the broken pieces together
Picked myself off the floor
And in the meantime, learned nothing is forever
When we’re constantly wishing for something more…
I assure you now I am a new person
Not so replete with pain
But rather much more certain
And have everything to gain
I finally see with perfect clarity
Love beyond condition,
Live out my ever-elusive verity
And it’s all due to this glorious transition
One in which birthed me,
Yet most importantly freed me
Jani Lovelace. What a perfect writer’s name. I met Jani when I taught her daughter in a meditation/yoga camp. Jani astounded me with her life’s journey. She understands how to integrate imagery and art with her gentle words.
Jani Duffy Lovelace
As a child I began writing in journals. I found great comfort in having a place to land my tears,
complex feelings, and well…a constant friend.
As an adult I dabbled with creative writing. I attended Suny Delhi, upstate New York. I majored
in English and Creative Writing.
My path lead to me to attend Schreiner University in Kerrville, Texas. I studied journalism and
continued creative writing.
While there, I found a passion for short story writing.
I have been compelled for most of my life to write. It is the one thing that pulls me out of bed at
night like a magnet. It’s like oxygen and without it I can’t breathe. It’s as if the ink hitting the
paper injects my soul.
I currently live in Austin, Texas. I have two amazing daughters, who have given me much to
I have my own business as a Medical Massage Therapist. Health and wellness have always
been a passion of mine. My plan is to write articles and curriculum to share with the general public and students to help expand knowledge of this ancient healing art.
Fire and Ice
I didn’t see it before-this energy that was there. A sort of background music to my life. I’ve often spoke of how I thought life would be better played to music. I just didn’t realize it already was. I couldn’t hear it. I’ve been too preoccupied with injecting myself into my plans. I wish I could go backwards, slow down, listen and let my body and mind catch the rhythm.
I didn’t get that choice at the time. I had to hold on to the safety bar and grip with white knuckles to survive. I wasn’t in danger. I had security, yet my mind did not feel safe. I was in a constant state of abandonment and I needed to walk on fire for most of my adult life.
In this way I couldn’t see my truth, I couldn’t see the love that was there; the friendships, the happiness. I’ve been pummeling towards the fiery pit of my soul.
There’s a protective iceberg sitting just below that of which I have refused to expose. I need that iceberg. It keeps me alive. It doesn’t allow love in.
I essentially push everyone away who tries to love me. I sometimes let people in and I can feel that ice melting a bit. The fire within me will start to expand, that’s where I start to grow. I will let the growth happen and then retreat. I will look for the fault, the despair, the ugliness. I shut down before love can get in.
It’s how I protect myself. I never let my mother in after I left her at 15 years old. I know she tried. All the gifts, the emails, the attempts to be a part of my life moments. I didn’t let her in. Sure, I invited her to the things. Received her gifts graciously. I could not let her into my heart. I kept her at arms length. She did not see me. She controlled me. My emotions were her emotions. If I cried it was because she was upset. If she loved, I was expected to love. She whispered daily into my ear that I was her life. I was her oxygen. What she didn’t know was that I was fuel. I was slowly pouring the gasoline over my life and lighting the match that would burn it all up.
I could not breathe with my mother. I realize now that she gave me life and then took my oxygen for herself. As an adult I have learned that I need my own oxygen. I need my own space. Going through life fighting against my internal battle of fire and ice, trying to survive. I never realized that the two are independent of each other-neither can exist together.
Right now, in this moment, I don’t have my iceberg. I don’t have my fire.
I’m have background music humming and the song in my heart is singing gently, “You’re living.”
I don’t really know how to function without my protection. Losing those two forces has left me vulnerable, immobile, open to love.