What are my qualities if I am to be called Woman?
Is there a list of qualifications?
Is it my ability to bare children?
Is it my integrity, my class, my respectable manner?


Am I uniquely beautiful as many women are from birth or is it my butterfly center. If I am too be woman is it due to my beautiful smile, my hair kinky curly straight or its wave. Could it be my skin bright caramel black berry chocolate milk or white. If I am a woman am I mere a descendant of eve. Does the roundness of my breast or the sweet nectar of my kiss suggest that I am woman.


Does the soft caress of my hand or the sultry voice indicate my sex.
If I am to be called woman what does this constitute. Am I a woman merely because I am female. Does the way that I dress speak and handle my business say that I am a woman. Am I to be called a woman if I am educated and speak with a calm tongue, in confidence.


Is a woman a woman, simply because she proclaims to be. Are their some qualities we must possess to show the true nature of a woman.


The Webster’s Dictionary says that the woman is just an adult female person. While the Webster’s Thesaurus corresponds woman as being lady or female.
I know many women, and they have many qualities and none of those qualities suggest that they are women by simply being female. We are woman by the way in which we stand, for what we believe in. Our motherly instincts, our strive for the success of our own and family. Our classy dress, the arch of our brows, and swell of our lips. We are women, standing along side our men. Building our family foundation, nurturing our children.


We are women by our emotional bouts, our sensitive moments,
Our stern and disciplined tongue.


If I am to be called a Woman, I am too be one that has an invincible spirit, a fighter, a lover, and a child of God.
　
Author Aija M. Butler
all rights reserved
copyright 2010
Excerpt from Life Honestly After, The Undeniable Equitable Truth, PublishAmerica

Flip the Script, My Halloween Revelation


So its just hours before the Haunted Halloween Howling, and I am just about done with the hollabalu of the costume hunt. My children were like savages searching the party papers for costumes that peeked their interest. For about a week now, my daughter has been asking me what it was I was going to be for this bewitched night of treats and trickery. I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t planning on dressing up that is. I love to make cute and spooky treats for the kids, but I don’t dress for the occasion.

Well after much pondering on the matter, since my daughter refused to let the subject go, I began to list a few of my alter ego fantasy’s just to see what I could come up with. It wasn’t hard to list but, after reviewing its contents I found that none of the costumes were fitting. I thought that maybe, just maybe it was time for me to be just plain ole me, no sugar added.


I decided that perhaps I would ditch the old lace front and glossing lip gloss in exchange for my natural curls and CarMax. Yes the true me, hidden under the new age Hair Does as opposed to the Hair Don’t. Truthfully, I could have ditched the old additions a while ago, but the idea of hairloss due to kemo therapy plagued my mind. It does so every time I attempt to wear my natural hair. Just a psychological issue, weird maybe, seriously yes.


Well in these last hours of the night before the ghosts and goblins come out, I will flip the script. Instead of running out to get a costume for the party I will merely take the one I am wearing off. It’s high time I embrace the scars of my survival and learn to accept me. After all, I can’t expect anyone else to do so, if I can’t accept the many pieces of me, now can I?


all rights reserved
copyright by Aija M. Butler
a Journals Diary

My Nemesis, The Birth Of Leliel Andras
CHAP. 6 SNIPET: Into The Light
AUTHOR: Aija M. Butler


Joy stepped into her bathroom and starred into the dark. Her first thought was to call on God. She wanted him to show himself and explain his actions. She couldn't she how they were justified. She walked slowly to the tubs edge and looked into the deep oval ceramic surface and sat on its edge.


The room seemed to expand as if the walls were no longer there. All she could see was a bright light, that appeared from just beyond the tub. A calming glow that moved her to sway softly, as the luminosity calmed her soul. Tuning into her consciousness she turned on the water to the tub. The golden handles with pearl tips seemed to reflect small sparkles of gold onto the water, as it filled the bathtub. The room was well lit by the golden highlights. Joy watched the waters flow as if hypnotized by the clear crystals falling from its spout.
As the water surfaced towards the tubs edge, she could visibly see the steam hovering over its top. She could feel the soft warmth of the clouded steam, and in it she calmed her weeping heart. She felt a great sense of peace.


Though the chill of the bathroom flowed from her feet against the tile floor, she was warmed by the presence of something or someone. Curious with the urge to feel the closeness of her husbands spirit, she called out to him. Joy prayed that her lack paranormal belief would not hinder her possibility of experience. She quieted her self and looked into the empty space filled with light and steam from her hot bath. In it he stood quietly. She was fearful at first, at this presumed presence of someone that had passed on. She nearly fell from the tub. She would have easily hit her head and knocked unconscious.


Joy held on to her chest frightfully aware of her close walk with death and inhaled slowly. Grabbing on the flesh of her chest she grabbed both the garment of her oversized shirt, and the thin tissue between her breast purposely to test her conscious awareness. Pain was definite and her eyes were focused even in the dark of the night. Slowly releasing her shirt, she placed her hands toward the illuminating light in an attempt to touch just the hem of his garment. Unable to feel the cloth she retreated and shook her head solemnly, then violently, as she realized her disbelief caused her to loose touch.


Just in that moment the peace that had culminated her mind, body, and spirit dissipated. She was tired and worn. Her back slumped over and depression quickly settled. Moving from the tubs edge she turned her back towards the door and the light was gone. She slowly crumbled to the floor and fell into a tantrum of unexplained volatile convulsions, as she cried for mercy and understanding.


“Dear God, Why has Thou Forsaken me. Why must I stay to die alone in the hellish ways of this world.? What am I do to do with this life, now that all that I have loved and cherished has perished?”


“You live..”


Joy peered from between the small cracks in her hands. Slowly she uncovered her face. She could have sworn to have heard Jakes voice, but nothing was there.


“Hello!” she called out. Making sure that her mind was in fact playing tricks on her. She was even fearful that the voice would again answer her. She too thought that she may be loosing her sanity. Things that were happening were not of this world. She

So I wanted to find out what the big deal was with this Twitter business. I set up an account months ago but I had yet to test out its true function. With all the opposing social networking sites I got confused to tell you the truth. I am a working mother, with whom just started a new career. I am in school, and dealing with terminal disease. My mind is on its way out the door. So you can imagine my thoughts on all these sites for dating and networking your business as they say.


“Google me…” I think that is such a cute line. Be careful you may want to type in your name and check that out. You never know what your nemesis will exploit. So any who. I decided to conduct a small experiment with Twitter. Face book was no good. All my friends were persons I actually knew, and I wasn’t that bold yet. I wanted to vent yes. I wanted to talk trash, yes. But I wanted to do it where the opinions were non-biased.


Venting to strangers is always a breath of fresh air, for all party’s considered. The person venting doesn’t expect much just for a good listener, or shoulder to cry on. Perhaps a oh or wow, here and there; but never a solution. The listener, has no real pressure. All he or she is there for is an ear, and adlib, when necessary. Comments are welcome, as well. Its not like you know the people right?


Would you believe my publisher approved such garbage? Such a gamble on the exploitation of someone’s life. I can. Who doesn’t love a good scandal.? As long as their dirt isn’t dished. Many will sit back and say that I have completely lost my mind. Perhaps, this is an attempt at social suicide. A cry for help. Maybe you’re right. I’d just ask that you have mercy on me since I’m technically a sickly woman and reduce your urge to throw rocks to perhaps the use of cherry tomatoes or rice. I thought that was funny.


So it began. My quest for release. A chance to take up some group counseling to render the pain of depression and uncertainty. I felt as if my head was about to explode. I made an appointment to see my mental health doctor. Just my luck, it was canceled the day before the appointment was set. That’s the county for you.


So there I was with an old pill bottle that had 2 refills left on them. I didn’t feel much like being sedated. I was too blah. What ever happens, happens sort of attitude. I felt like I had been a victim of a bad batch of botox. Not pretty at all people. I couldn’t smile, laugh, or show emotions of anger and sadness.


A resolution was in order. I thought why not tweet my issues. Everyone does. They tell either what’s on their minds, or dinner menu, who looks best or worst on the red carpet, and bad mouthed whom ever they so wished. It wasn’t a fashion show or popularity contest. Everyone was invited to tell what they were up to. So I decided to take 7 days of my life and do just that.


Tweet! Tweet for 7 days 100 tweets a day, exploiting my thoughts and happenings of my day. Whether embarrassing or contrary to popular opinion, I would tweet the truth and nothing but.


During which time I would journal my thoughts, see if writing out my issues help to rectify some of them. By my venting to the public about my problematic mental instability, I could get to the bottom of what was really bothering me. I could be going through the emotions of accepting my illness. I fight daily with this notion. For If I surrender and accept my fate. I admit to defeat. I’d