A random radical woman is lovable as she is.
She craves “I” hugs instead of “A” hugs.
The kind where she hugs you until you feel her pulse
but not long enough to become awkward.
She has a tender heart for jagged edges worn smooth
polished into good memories of bad decisions.
She loves random conversations that high dive
deep into the humanity of ones character
fearlessly raw with scars of warriors victory
or dark with the ashes of the charred Phoenix
She loves to reach deeply into social culture
tasting the air of festive debauchery or meditating wholly
Surfing the climatic waves of intense concentrations
Splashing musical colors over every participant
I know you are grieving. You are heartbroken.
Are you breathing? Are you praying by holy token*?
Have you inhaled the violent sky? Beat fists upon your breast?
That which turned your lover’s eye: disintegrated; dust to dust.
*Any gift of prayer is a token.
Mother God, benefactor of all that is holy.
You have led us to this place together as a community and bound us to one another through faith.
In the beginning of this Advent season, may we remember your unexpected appearance among us in the birth of a child.
You make yourself known to us again and again but we sometimes are deaf and blind to you. Help us to clear our ears and open our eyes to your word
God of Peace, whose ways are not our own and whose coming among us cannot be predicted, we dare to welcome your surprises, seeking to be awake and alert, and to fully embrace the unexpected. That we might be changed by your appearance and transformed into loving vessels with radical acceptance.
Now let us feel your presence as we live as you taught us and pray as you taught us: Lord’s Prayer
At the edge of my bed,
I sit next to my altar,
Head bowed to read the labels
I begin my prayer of good health
Body: To omeprazole, Atorvastatin, Effexor, naproxen, trazodone, prazosin.
I eat the blood from my hands
Offering up body parts
To the lowest bidder at the highest cost
And here I stab myself with sugary revelation
I used to pep talk myself
That tomorrow will be another
Just a little pinch
Shaking hands fearful heart
Just every day without justice
We fight in the sewers and streets
Our blood runs on emergency room sheets
Save us! Redeem us! Grant us life!
But their god makes them blind
To badges of regrettable illness or injury
Umbilically attached to our wrists
Half a handcuff for only falling ill
A paper sign with handwritten letters OUT OF SERVICE tacked to your record
“I have not died. I am not dead. As long as you remember me and tell my stories, I will be immortal. I am one with you now. I am the energy you need to get through this. I am the power that warms the sun. I am the winds that blow through your hair. I am the very water that you drink. We are all moving together through this Universe, one journey at a time and I have not forgotten your love for me. You are my voice now, but I will speak though your acts of kindness and love, acceptance and encouragement. I have not died. I am not dead. I am now as the breath of God.”
Where once the grass is flooded green
now the colors changed the scene
the sky is gray the air is chill
the flowers no longer on my windowsill
Queen Anne’s Lace or dead daisies smiling
thistle spurned their purple beguiling.
The cornflowers nod their tired heads
getting ready for Winters bed
Goldenrod has turned to Green
to match the seasons changing scene
Fairy circles closing ranks
singing hymns of praise and thanks
Blessed am I to shiver the chill
As autumnal turns the spinning wheel
I sat on my porch watching the day pass.
Down the street, in a white picket yard,
anger forces an acrimonious rise in volume.
A part of me wanted to call the police to restore order
But my privilege allowed me to snapshot and assess.
Clearly they were having difficulty communicating,
But that doesn’t mean they deserve to die
because they want to feel heard. Temperature cooled
Like air conditioned souls validating the issues.
I hate that my racist thought got afraid first
Reason correcting my reaction. Guilt, shame, sorrow.
I breathe deeply the breath of their frustration blowing
Volcanos and whispers with wide gesticulations and relaxed stances
I want to be raw like that when I become angry
But I have an unreasonable amount of anxiety
That leaves my outrage in my back pocket, hidden from view.
I wish them peace as I retreat into my home.