We ARE the Missing Threads

Soul heartedly

If anyone has ever told you, “In order to be loved, you must first love yourself…” and left it at that, I want you to recognize that this is a very dangerous and melancholy mindset to dwell within. What does it mean to love yourself fully, and how is it humanly possible to grow into a space of self love if you believe that you are unable to receive love from others if you don’t even know what it means to love yourself? I want you to know that it is extremely difficult to feel isolated in the world, cut off from support for fear that you are being judged for your imperfections, which represent proof that you don’t fully love yourself (right)?

Love is not something we can do alone. We are all the missing threads that complete one another, and if we become so absorbed within our own heads that we become blind to the outside beauty and numb to the outside energy that is yet a vital part to our being. So if anyone has ever told you this, they are probably not lonely only children and have never truly been in a place of extreme isolation and desolation. And yes, both of these things are only illusions… but they can become so real in the physical world if we truly believe we have to conceal our love within ourselves, solely.

Love has to be reflected, whether it is in the eyes, in energy, in clear lakes, in the stars. We have to realize that we’re part of all of that. I have learned that others’ perception of selfish love leads one down a desolate path plagued by ego. The egotistic mindset haunts you, whispering all your imperfections and insecurities to you through the gusty wind.

What we must learn to do is expand our minds to the external beauty and cultures and how this is a total reflection of us. What we see in the eyes of others: the anger, the beauty, the cosmic illumination, the ever-changing colors, sparkling blue oceans, intimidating red hues as real as the core of Planet Earth– these are all reflections of what we have within us. And we have to learn that these are all safe qualities. We have to learn that living life to the fullest means making mistakes and consciously not following rules staked down in our paths. That we cannot exist for ourselves, because without knowing others and without knowing the world and the outer worlds, we have no way of understanding ourselves in the least bit.

Because if we release the anxieties of our personal lives and expand our minds even further into the Universe, we might realize we are an essential part of all of it. That the Universe exists in all of us, and for us. And the we exist for the Universe, that we are the Universe. We are whatever we want to believe. We have more power than we think. And yet we think too much.

Most importantly, we must realize that there is a multitude of magical beings desperately hinting their love and attraction towards us, frustrated that we still don’t recognize that within ourselves despite our constant strides towards “self-love”, still blinded by the fog of guilt and not being perfect yet. We won’t ever be perfect as we perceive it, but in the eyes of many complimentary beings, we are so perfect as we are. Some are even blind to our self-perceived imperfections because they see us as their own beautiful reflection. Not only are external factors a reflections; it is two-sided. WE are a reflection of the Universal, Godly magic and beauty in everyone else if we can see ourselves this way.

Most importantly, love has to be reflected in words. You need to understand that you are so beautiful as you are even in your imperfect health, facial flaws, inconvenient setbacks, etc… and that so many people are already placed in your path, eager to love and accept you for all of that whenever you allow them to. Loving yourself is accepting yourself for all the beliefs you lock down deep within, accepting that everybody has insecurities that won’t be resolved no matter how hard we try until we surrender to acceptance. 

And accepting that nobody else we love will ever be perfect, so we must learn to love beyond the flawed perceptions and into Truth and wholeness of oneness.

®Camille M. Garcia (2017)




Soul heartedly

But isn’t it hard to leave the disorganized disaster of your first apartment and your only hometown? Isn’t it heartbreaking to abandon all ten thousand of your soulmates whom make up one sixth of this city’s population, even if only for a month? Isn’t it frightening to not know your destination?

But I do know my destination. My destination is to release all of my fear, all of my doubts, all of my skepticism out the windows, flying at eighty miles per hour so that they are free to roam the wilderness and foreign grounds, but they may never latch onto the high plains again.

All I know is that if I do not do this, I will be succumbed to a twenty-one year long pattern of high plains lifestyle; where words are stated but not acted upon, where unreliability is the anticipated outcome, where love is timid and limited. Another thing I know is that my imagination cannot fathom another frigid Antarctic season, in which limbs freeze and inflexibility is a custom trait, and fog resides heavily atop the mind.

My imagination can, however, foresee the colorful culture of the unknown and un-acted upon possibilities. Those possibilities are not timid, are not limited. Those possibilities are sculpted from love alone. Love from a higher source, love derived from intuition.

Flame of Intention

Poems, Soul heartedly

If there was a way to make you happy, I would.

I would sing by the Fire every evening and hope you’d be there listening.

I’d write out the reasons you deserve happiness

with a stick in the dried ditches of the Plains.

I’d sing Elton John songs persistently in the car

channeling your happiness of the past.

I could dress up in all the most brilliant costumes

making a fool of myself to the rest of the city.

(I already do.)

I’ll drive around town with my windows rolled down,

singing from the depth of my heart

sending fire into the air.

You know, beautiful people do not always have beautiful souls

but I believe yours may be the most beautiful blue soul in the land

And I see that those who deserve happiness shall have it.


In reality, We are not hopeless creatures–

there is always a way to create happiness for others in some way

with thoughts, rituals, writing, or public appearance

so that when those sad eyes fall upon You, bright light,

their hearts fill with a hopeful Fire

a desire to feel zest for life again.

And that future happiness may well be inspired by You, dear soul,

so go out and create smiles with your tone of voice,

with the energy you manifest each morning,

with the molecules you consume.

Feel with your whole soul,

feed and fulfill your body with Earth,

feel the Flame of intention

that will always save something.


Hello, Home

Poems, Soul heartedly

One year ago I walked

barefoot through a cave

This year I walked

barefoot through a forest


I ate corn tortillas cooked on kal (limestone)

made by the strong

worn hands of native Mayan mothers

for forty days in a row–

Now my staples consist

of coffea arabica

and native Colorado flower tops.

Last year I drank Yucatecan limonada

Now I drink the flower essence

of Sedum lanceolata–

But I’ve done too much driving in this time

back and forth

for forty miles

Now I serve time (as well as Earth)

on my feet–

Feeling stronger after bouts

of vitamin, mineral, and essential amino acid


mold poisoning

an unbalanced place of residency

Lost my mind–

I’ve come to settle in a place of peace

where light pours through seven long windows

and I stand on green carpets like grass

Slanting walls like tree bark–

A home almost as old

as my old soul.

Home is home; home is everywhere here.

Here, we can drink tea all the time


I  feel how much warmer my hands have grown

I feel love radiate from every cell in my body

as I hold each cup and say each name


We’re so happy you’re back

Everything has changed

yet time stood still for four months

and still

I run through the rain.

the fight

Poems, Soul heartedly

what if

there was a way

to live without wasted time

what if

there was a way

to regain time wasted

what if there was a way

to regain time wasted by others

what if there was a way

to live every moment with meaning

to mend holes we’ve made with actions

that counteract our wasted time

and the wasted time of others–

i had a theory come to me

to live life as if

i were living for not only one

but 9 dying people

including some dying souls–

i am one of them

killing myself slowly

maybe even rapidly–

but in the process of realization

i am beginning to find motivation

and the strength to live this way–

it beings with every step

every thought

every word

every action

that i am living not only for myself

but for others who have strived

and those who are still striving

to live a life of prosperity




Today I reconnected myself with the Earth.

I didn’t know where I was going when I hopped on my bike, but I trusted the guidance of the great Spirit in the brilliant blue Sky, the shining Sun, the Wind that rustled the Leaves on the Trees, and the scare but beautifully formed white Clouds hovering in the distant Air. IT led me to a secret, sacred place. It is, I’m sure, a place that very few citizens in this city know about. They probably don’t care to know.

Hidden between two walls of trees changing colors runs a stream. A manmade path led me to Nature’s path that led me to the Stream.

I walked my bike further down the narrow dirt path surrounded by tall yellow and green grasses until I reached a place invisible to the outside world. The “outside world”, of course, meaning all things unnatural that would pollute Earth’s fragile soil—but this place remains preserved and practically untouched despite the flaws of modern modifications to civilized Cheyenne. I set my bike up against a tree with about five thick branches sprouting up from the ground a few feet above the Water.

I didn’t know what else to do, so I sat in the cradle that those branches formed, facing the stream, and wished I had brought a book to read. When I looked up, a small yellow dot shone through the yellowing puff of leaves on top of a branch that swooped up over the River on the opposite side. I had ventured down this path once before, but I hadn’t taken the time to sit in a Tree’s cradle. I realized that I was not only sitting in a tree above the water—I was sitting in a living chair. A chair with roots connected to the Earth. A book wasn’t necessary; I savored that moment, acquainting myself with this new place in solitude.

I took in my surroundings, the beautiful living things that are only seen by the crawdads and leeches from day to day. I breathed in the surprisingly warm air appreciatively. Then I began to talk, to ask favors of the Spirit that I found myself so connected to in that moment. I also spoke of my gratitude. I was so grateful to have absorbed so much Sun on an October day and found a place in Nature to meditate, right in the middle of civilization.

Eventually I stood up on the branch but I didn’t feel like leaving this peaceful place, so I began to stretch. Before I was aware of my actions, I was doing the Tree Pose in a Tree. I stretched my arms out parallel to the branches. Salutes to the Sun while facing the sun behind that patch of leaves in the sky followed my tree poses. It was then that I finally understood why doing yoga in nature is the real way to do yoga, and the most beneficial way.

My feet were suffering in my modern moccasins, though, and I had to get them off. I climbed out of the tree and walked further down the path until I found another opening to the stream where I walked down and sunk my feet into the wet sand. I sat down and immersed both feet in the Water, glad to finally be officially reconnected with the Earth again. The water washed up memories of cleansing my body with water in a similar hidden stream that I’d discovered last year in Laramie, the town I dreaded living in (until I found that stream to dip my feet in). These water sources are so real to me—raw, unfiltered water that falls from a Higher ground and mixes with the Earth and its various stones to become healing. Holy water. So I washed my legs and arms with this same holy water that connects all living beings and became one with it all.

Upon emerging from the depths of the Earth, I felt instantly more awake than I had when I first entered. My senses were more intense. I could breathe clearer. I thanked whatever it was that led me there, and I thanked my own trust in that intuitive sense. I thanked the wheels of my bike that took me there even when I was hesitant to use my own strength.

Threads of Destiny

Poems, Small Miracles, Soul heartedly

I know why the air is clear.

I can almost see those glistening threads,

some thick and some thin

 binding all organisms,

some large and some small,

Together—one silky strand at a time.

Some hang loosely, so fragile they may fall

or break with the slightest gust of wind.

Some are tight, pulling Us with a force

across oceans, hills, and sidewalks

Together—those transparent threads,

some short and some long,

are our destinies.

Some are attached to the heart,

others to the feet; only one string between

two of the living—

I can almost see them all, billions

springing from each one I encounter,

radiating like the sun in all directions,

connecting living grass, water, soil, and hearts

Together. And when a heart stops beating,

its threads detach and depart

from all cells, all hearts;

coiling and collecting themselves


I know why hearts ache.

Transforming into liquid form,

they unite with fallen threads of the past,

creating streams, rivers, seas, and oceans;

dancing gracefully, they form waves,

nourishing the remaining organisms

that spring from the aged Earth–

I know why water is clear.

Gradually the former threads gravitate

towards the warmth of the sunshine,

placing blessings upon threads still hanging,

some loosely and some tightly.

Ascending up to the heights,

They eternally evaporate

And fall into

the Web of Life




I yearn to paint under the morning sunlight

and sing to a new crowd of people each night,

to write stories under the shade of a tree

and drink tea in coffeehouses painted green,

To sing to a new crowd of people each night

in dimly-lit cafés and bars with warm lights

and drink tea in coffeehouses painted green,

to pick steel strings and bow deep harmonies

In dimly-lit cafés and bars with warm lights,

I yearn to hear voices speak loud, soft, and bright,

to pick steel strings and bow deep harmonies

I yearn to be somewhere my soul can be free.

Those Holy Bones


Sonnet 1.

I saw her relics last July enclosed

within a sheet of thin glass on a cross

inside the center globe, carefully posed

so that none of the magic would be lost

though hundreds of years have already passed

those holy bones remain preserved and blessed

and dispersed amongst nations east to west

secluded from the turmoil of her past.

Think of the bones buried beneath the earth

unseen by human eyes for centuries

yearning to reveal their stories since birth

of love and death and untold mysteries

lying nameless within the ground unknown

until we seek and hold those holy bones.



surrounded by beige bricks

and unsmiling faces

plastered with skin-colored cream

to conceal their real identities

stares of judgemental young eyes

engulfed in chunks of dried black liquid

while walking amongst creatures

smelling of cheap perfume

artificial stimulation

of computer screens and coffee

create dark circles and lines

for those who have not yet conformed

to a living shape