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Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Tag: disabled chronicles

Disabled Chronicles, No2e1

I casually came to know his name. He was next up to get dosed after my trial at the hospital. When I bid my awesome nurses goodbye until my next maintenance dose, I cheered on Joe (not his real name) and wished him (in absentia) and the team of nurses well and good luck. If the medication worked half as well for him as it did for me, I knew what kind of life changing experiences he was lined up

Disabled Chronicles, No.2e

Her finger landed in the space between my eyes gently, like a soft cat paw, sending a hush of quiet energy through my body and mind. “In meditation they tell Us to tap and focus here…” She couldn’t have known about the year I spent in meditation study under the Sant Mat tradition with Steve. And how before he doula’d us into the sacred silence of meditation following the teachings of Saint Kirpal Singh, he’d touch the same space between

Disabled Chronicles, No.2d1

There was a taped interview I did locally when my art was presented at the gallery last year. I got dressed and showed up that day, sure that my hat and winter shawl were all in place. Camera pointed at me, mic catching my lilting voice, charm on fully – the interview went well. The videographer assured me he’d send a link once the clip was compiled. When the link arrived some days later, I eagerly watched it, waiting for

Disabled Chronicles, No. 977764784

Those three weeks you spent trying to find a place to get a pedicure and all you kept getting were tacit, ‘No. we can’t do that here’ responses. But you’ve come to expect as much and just keep trying. You tried today, hopeful you’ll find a place and look forward to feeling pretty and taken care of, only to be given two more No’s to add to the self-esteem devouring weeks you’ve been having. You just stop, mid-voyage and silently

Disabled Chronicles, No. 291

The Void The hem of her robe caught my eye from the periphery through the plate glass. The yellow floral pattern wrestled with the egregious wind, to keep covered the curves the mischievous gusts insisted on uncovering. I’d just got done asking the deli manager to help me get a cup of water, which I was ready to pay for, when she announced that water was free. Placing the chilled, covered and strawed cup on the counter facing the window,

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