Category Archives: Causes

TRIGGER WARNING! How long will you stay? DV/SA

The story I’m about to share with you is intense in emotion, digs into some really dark corners that many keep locked and heavily guarded. I am not opening the door with the spotlight shining in to require pity, request comfort, nor to have anyone claim, “Bless her heart.” I am shining the light into my darkness so that, hopefully, my flashlight can reach someone who feels betrayed, solitary in their suffering, shameful, or guilt-ridden. I end this first paragraph with this:

IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. I BELIEVE YOU.

The month of April is Sexual Assault/Domestic Violence awareness month. For those of us who have survived through these violent crimes, it’s an important month to help educate others about the necessary resources to protect ones physical, mental, and emotional self, commonly without financial ability to pay due to the clandestine fleeing that can be crucial to becoming a survivor and not a victim.

I’m not going to spout statistics, or at least not a lot of them, because those are just numbers. I want to share with you my face.

meage6This is a picture of me at around age six. By the time this picture was taken, I was already quite skilled in how to be the twisted version of the good daughter. I had secrets I couldn’t tell to anyone or my mom and my brother would be killed. I already understood that I was good for one thing. I was so carefully bred to be a victim, I never associated (even up until about six weeks ago) myself with that word or with the fact that things that happened were violent crimes against my person. I just felt like I’d survived, my mom and brother were still alive, life was good.

When I’d reached age 21, I was in full blown PTSD (non-combat trauma). When I read off the symptoms back then I sincerely believed that someone had been following me around writing my every move. It was terrifying to realize that other people had gone through the same thing. It was even more petrifying to realize that it happened to me. Denial is a vicious place to live.

After intensive in-patient treatment, several years of intensive outpatient, and then several MORE years of follow up (as needed) therapy, I feel comfortable and confident in saying that I’m on the other side of PTSD with minimal triggers. It took me 40 years of hard work (30 years actively) to get through the shame, the guilt, the depression, the feelings of being unworthy that were planted from the time I was very young.

The way that I identified myself changing from a total sexual being into a loving human being took devotion, courage, strength, guidance, and determination. It was a life or death battle that left me weary, broken, bloody, and sometimes hanging on by a thread of the Fates. But, as my matriarchs taught me, whether by grace or design, to thrive is the best testament to victory over that which demanded submission.

I ask you this question:

How long does it take before you say enough of a bad relationship? How far will you allow the violence against you to continue before you fight back? How much will have to be stripped of your personal dignity before you look around and say, “I can do better. WE can do better.”

I say, the time is now. Tomorrow may be too late to save one more girl from rape. Tomorrow may be too late to rescue one more child from starvation. Today. This is what we have. Join me, humans, in rescuing ourselves from one of the greatest tragedies and the source of our joint suffering, the lack of equality between genders in the name of LOVE, for the purpose of LOVE, with the intent of LOVE brought into action.

If we do not stand together as the majority population and demand equality, then we fail our sisters, our mothers, our grandmothers, our daughters, our children, our humanity. Men that wish equality are those we should cherish, nurture, encourage to defend, but never to rescue us. You can’t expect those who wish to keep us under their heel in the name of religious or political beliefs to release us from slavery (as the article this was inspired by) stated. That’s like allowing a wolf to watch ones sheep or a (JOKE ALERT) police officer to guard a doughnut.

Maya Angelou kept rising despite the anchors that attempted to drown her. So shall I rise whether anyone follows or everyone shies away from the truths. We must move for unity and equality, but for the right reasons, because it’s the right thing to do.

The Witnesses

To honor Good Friday, I was asked to write a poem. I do not proclaim a faith, just a belief in love and the goodness of the human beings that walk this plane. The three part poem below is written from three perspectives witnessing the crucifixion. When it is read, it is from three different voices they come. I hope it speaks to your spirit if you’re so inclined.

The Witnesses

Verse One: The Observer

I’m not a Christian, but Lord, if I was,

I’d not stand by and watch them offer up applause

For that man they called a criminal for preaching about love

For the one some call Messiah, while others cry Peaceful dove.

I stand here in the crowd as they cheer this brother’s pain

My heart is filled with sorrow, as his beaten body strains

The laughter that I hear from the festive vicious hearts

Breaks something inside of me, tears my faith apart

I want to scream above the crowd, “HEAR!”

In a voice shrill and loud, “ME!”

With my head no longer bowed, “LORD!”

Releasing my own funeral shroud, “I AM NEAR!”

But I am weak, just human. I am nothing compared to them.

But maybe, my kindred spirits, that’s what moves me to condemn

For I love my God with all my heart, and in God’s house I walk

I serve in supplication, I don’t just talk the talk.

I am not a Christian, but Lord, if I ever loved,

I’d heed the wisdom of the dying man, and thank my God above.

Verse Two: The Participant

How dare that man pass his judgement down on me!

Who does he think he is, telling ME how to believe?!

I’ve learned and taught the toe-RAH

I’ve worshipped at the sacred altar

I’ve cantered every prayer

I can recite them without flaw or falter.

Then this mortal man comes along and claims to be

Far more holy than even me?

The Son of God? Oh, reeeeaaaaaaallly!?

I’ve fixed that preachy “Love Thy Neighbor” fellow

I paid my thirty silver to hear him scream in falsetto.

Sometimes the laws I enforce prevent me from doing what’s right

I pass the coins to Roman hands, let them bloody their own hands tonight

This should make my people think twice before leaving our faith

To follow a crazy instigator, that rejects my loving God’s face.

Verse Three: The Intimate

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid to show my face

“Oh Lord, why’d they tell us that Yeshua fell from grace?

You showed me my friend Judas with thirty silver in his fist

Forsake my dear beloved with cold betrayal’s kiss

You let my holy brother be taken

from the garden where we prayed.

You allowed him to be arrested

when you could have let him stay.”

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid they’ll point at me and say

That I was clearly one of his. That they’ll kill me the same way.

“Oh Lord, why have they called for my redeemer to be killed?

When ne’er a drop of anguish from his gentle lips have spilled?

I do not feel you near, Oh God, I’ve lost your loving light

When they took my sweet friend, Yeshua, away in darkest night.

If I weren’t hidden in the darkness, barely safe from Roman harm

I’d scream out my torment, beating my chest to sound alarm.

“Hosanna! Hosanna! I sing to your precious name

Hosanna! Hosanna! My finger points my brother’s shame.

My faith is ever yours, even when I don’t understand.

I mean, you took us through the desert, 40 years we wandered sand

And yet, my Father, I hide here, within this darkened room

I wonder, holy patriarch if his death will also be my doom.”

I am hidden in the darkness, despair my wretched dominion

Oh God! My Loving God! Remove my deserter’s vision.”

It’s goodbye again

Purvi Patil; Woman sacrificed.

Purvi Patel; Woman sacrificed.

Put away the American Flag.

Set it down as it waves goodbye.

Do not worry about Democracy, Justice, or Equality,

we let those die a long time ago.

We buried them next to common sense and reason

under the false gods of profit/prophet;

the golden calf of a jesus

(not to be confused with the son of God)

that they gave up believing in because we asked with $$$.

We put God on money so we’d worship worthless paper

the most beautiful angel aka the devil

without realizing

we have already surrendered

to the greatest liar that ever lived.

We keep giving him CPR while claiming compassion.

We keep denying love,

embracing our things

our material things

that don’t keep us warm at night

that don’t ease our loneliness

things that destroy our hope in humanity

one sound byte at a time.

We’ve stripped the women down to bare bones

Shaming their bloody thighs,

Forcing guilt and hate on their skinny/fat/average/stunning

Holy vessels that bear immortality

While denying the necessity

Claiming their bodies as our own

without their consent or with.

It didn’t and doesn’t matter.

If you have little melanin and a dangling bit of flesh

between your legs,

“Welcome, my brother!

Here’s the buffet of aborted dreams,

chastised subservient minimum wage workers,

incarcerated doctors, lawyers, and physicists caught up

on a planted charge of illegal drugs

that wouldn’t be illegal if we could find a way to tax them.

While we watch from 250k houses at their 25 million dollar complexes

The destruction of the burning world

The loss of brown skinned people stacked like firewood

Into tiny cells of persecution

With our personal shame and guilt their oppression.

We’ll pat each others backs while drinking fine whiskeys

Made by child labor in some off-shore company of who gives a shit

Smoke cigars lit with extinct herbs from some country called never-mind.

We’ll prop up our feet on elephant skin sofas

Kick our pristine boots free of hard labor

Grin and congratulate ourselves on a job well done.

Put away the American Flag.

Set it down as it waves goodbye.

http://www.wncn.com/story/28664509/first-woman-in-us-sentenced-for-killing-a-fetus

George gets burned

My young neighbors, George and Gracie. I love them.

My young neighbors, George and Gracie. I love them.

I stepped out my front door into the spring weather with the bite of winter nipping my skin, still hanging on to hope that it will last. George sat shoulder slumped on the concrete wall. He lifted his feet as Pumpkin the ever terrorizing Chihuahua let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought about his morose. As I tugged the yapping pup along beside the tubby pup, George hollered at me, “Mayor? I think I need one of those hugs when you put the dogs back inside.”

I nodded and smiled apologetically as Pumpkin continued her tirade against the world, Piggy chugging along beside her. Duties all done and accounted for, I placed the still overly verbose Pumpkin inside calling for the older canine to come. After a deep breath for some muffling on the shrill bark, I opened my arms and George ran around to accept the hug.

“What pain is on your brain?” I inquired as he broke the hug and dribbled to the ground in his pajama pants.

“We’re going to have to move again.” He explained. “It’ll be cool and all because we’ll have a pond, but I really wish we could stay this time.”

“Why do you have to go?” I asked. “I’m going to really miss you.”

“We can’t pay the rent any more.” He said like it was a litany he’d become accustomed to. It hurt to watch him curl up, knees to chest, tugging his hood over his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked glancing the parking lot to notice a Rent-An-Expensive Couch van pull into the broken parking lot.

“I’m hiding from them.” He said in a hushed tone.

“Why?” I prodded him further. Yes, as an adult, I’m hyper aware of debts, payments, bill collectors, and even rent-expensive-cheap stuff places. I shouldn’t ask because it’s none of my business, but I really like George and Gracie.

“They’re here to take away our couches. My mama said just to let them take the furniture already, but the babysitter won’t do it. We get woke up because they come too early in the morning and we hide so they don’t know we’re there.” He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I won’t have a place to sleep if they get in.”

“I’m sorry you’re experiencing that, George. If I could help you, I would. I don’t have any dollars either.” I leaned on my cane and watched the eight-year-old American boy hide his shame.

“Mayor? Can I ask you a question?” He pushed back his hood when the truck started to back out of the parking lot having not retrieved the sofas. I nodded ascent. “What did you mean when you said black lives matter? I’ve never heard a white woman say that before.”

I winced. George has a way of speaking his thoughts and ideas that, quite honestly, I haven’t seen in a child in a very long time. “It means to me that we are all human and should be equal, but we’re not. I protest against those people who want to keep us different because I don’t believe that’s just.”

“People don’t like me.” He confessed. Like a true questioner, I asked, “Why not?”

“Because I’m mixed.” He said pulling his hood back over his face. Then in a voice that is small, nearly broken, very fragile, he shares something so tragic it made me weep. “Sometimes,” He stated ever so softly. “I feel like I’m a mistake. Like I wasn’t meant to be here.” And he covered his face with his hood completely obscuring his beautiful honest face.

I had to breathe deeply because the mixture of anger, sadness, compassion, and longing to ease his suffering were so strong, I got the wellies.

“George, please stand up.” I asked gently. He complied and I took each of his shoulders in my hands and leveled myself with his true green eyes. “I need you to understand something, believe it and feel it deep in your heart, do you understand that?” He nodded so I continued. “You my beautiful perfect human friend are never, no matter what anyone else in this world tells you, are NEVER a mistake. You are a bridge between the two. You are a leader with an extraordinary gift for storytelling. You ARE the future of peace in this world. Do you understand what I mean?” I felt completely intent with my purpose. He looked up at me with such an open comprehension that I felt like I was looking into something way bigger than he or I.

“I understand. But people…” He started to say when I interrupted him.

“People can be nasty, vicious creatures, but so can they be humans who don’t understand the differences. Black lives matter because ALL lives matter. You are so important to me and to your sister and your family. Even if they say hateful words, they always, like me, will love you. Black lives matter, George, because you think I’m better than you because I’m white. I promise you, my beautiful friend, we are equals in spirit. We are equals as physical beings. Just because we have different melanin doesn’t…”

“What’s melanin?” He interrupted me.

“It’s what makes your skin darker than mine and because I have less, I’m more pale than you are.” I explained.

“That’s it? That’s what’s different?” He looked at me incredulously. I nodded my head. “Well that’s just plain stupid.”

“George, my friend, I couldn’t agree with you more. Want a cupcake?”

“After another hug?” He asked, his eyes no longer filled with tears.

“Absolutely. We’ll break bread together.” He grinned back at me as I went and got two applesauce cupcakes topped with green holiday frosting. We sat in the spring sun feeling the icy breeze sharing each others company, heart to heart, spirit to spirit.

Fighting

ONE, TWO punch

ONE, TWO punch!

I’m being hoodwinked

I’m being mislead from

my firm belief that EVERYthing

matters

It is irrelevant how tattered

my vision becomes or my

failing belief that *I*

can make a difference

that *I* matter

I pick up the tape

and wrap my hands individually

like Halloween candy

Protecting them from

broken fingers

fumbling grasps

Reinforcing my purpose

as if it matters

to ANYone else but me.

I wrap my hands in justice

eliminating foes

with ONE-TWO punches

Powerful with animosity

Strong with furious passion

of faith and

conviction

Does it matter?

Damn right it matters.

It ALL matters

It matters when my eyes

open in the morning

with deep breathing snoring

lovers wrapped up warm

against my ample body

It DOES matter when

I grab my fists from the floor

where I carelessly threw them

after another violent day

of fighting

for what matters.

It doesn’t phase me

to hear the onslaught

of rage streaming

silently from his lips

second thing in the morning.

It doesn’t occur to me

to let him remain split

into shards of himself

It doesn’t push me

But it pulls me

yanks me

spanks me

drags me

slams me

punches me

infects me

bashes me

beats me

thrashes me

It pummels my beliefs,

stomps and screams

tantrums LOUDLY

FURIOUSLY

But I take it because

it matters. It all

matters

I tape up my hands individually

like pocket tissues

cd’s

candy promises

of sweet

sweet

returns

My taped hands protect

them from

broken fingers

fumbling grasps

reinforcing my purpose

with paladin-like

integrity

honesty

all in perpetuity

all into discarded

thoughts of coffee ground fantasies.

It’s all good.

It’s all real.

It all matters.

*I* matter. THIS matters.

We Stand United

We Stand (this link will take you to SoundCloud) is a song written by Laura Davis. I wrote the lyrics for it while she did all the hard stuff with the music and performing.

When we came up with the idea, we’d just attended the protest for #blacklivesmatter It was truly inspirational and empowering.

Love Thy Neighbor No Exceptions

She approached me after I wrote a poem and asked if I’d be interested in collaborating. Sure, I thought, why not. I asked what she wanted the lyrics to include and she was adamant about them declaring unity in the name of love. Done deals. And so, with pen in hand, I stared out the window, drank a LOT of coffee, and 15 minutes later, I had the first two verses set up. She pushed and verse three with the chorus came flooding through. I didn’t hear back from her for a while, maybe a month or so. After church a couple weeks ago, she asked if I wanted to hear our baby. DUH!

We went into the sanctuary, opened the grand piano, and she began to play. I admit freely that I stood there crying as if I were hearing angels singing the song of love for all my brothers and sisters in the heart of equality. We hugged like new parents cooing over our newborn anthem.

I recorded it this week in that same sanctuary using my phone, of all things, and my computer. But none caught better sound (no mics, mixing boards, autotune, or anything like that) than one particular video which, with my limited home studio, I brought this out to show you.

We Stand is performed by Laura Davis

Music is written by Laura Davis

Lyrics by Mare Martell

2014, THIS IS OURS!

December 14, 2014

I apologize for the delay in posting. For someone that likes to spend time contemplating the Universe, volunteering on the fly, putting my hands “in the dirt” when it comes to getting a project done, I have been doing just that.

On Saturday, 12/13/14, I spent a bit of time with my husband, snuggled up and cuddly which is rare in this wild month. Then I headed over to the Dollar General store to clean out their candy supply so The Red Cross would have give-away for the Christmas Parade that evening. I came up short. Not only did I come up short, but I had to put some back. By the time I got done, I had, and I wish I was exaggerating, 13 cents to my name. At 5PM, I met Miss Sharon Crane at the Red Cross and we got ready to move out and line up. It was a ton of fun. Here is a picture of one of my favorite people and me in my Viking hat made by Freddie Nechtow.

Miss Sharon Crane and me

Miss Sharon Crane and me

After the parade was done, I got home a bit after 10PM. Then I had to get signs made up for the protest the following day.  I posted them previously, so I won’t redo that, but you can find them here. That kept me up until 2:30AM.

On Sunday morning I was exhausted, but knowing that I’d get a million hugs at church, I got up, got dressed, and drove over to ORUUC where I attend. I gave many hugs because we found out that a beloved member of our church had passed away. The waves of sadness washed over my heart and spirit already weary from physical exhaustion. It felt heavy in my heart. My arms gave comfort to anyone who asked. I felt compelled to offer far more than usual, but the feelings were also far more than usual. It was odd.

After a brief time at home, I dressed and headed down to K-Town to meet with people I didn’t know to join them. Here are a couple of pictures from that day. My friend Laura stood so proudly on the corner. It filled me with great joy to see her courage. Although I don’t want to post her picture without her permission, I wanted to mention that I love her very much.

LTN121314 protestgroup121314Then on Sunday night, I rested with my husband. On Monday, I started working with Not In Our Town to get a large donation moved and begin sorting through it to find out which agencies would best benefit everything we have assembled. That is working in conjunction with TORCH (Trinity Out-Reach Center of Hope) to provide Christmas for those who have nothing to give but want to give something. When that part is done, all donations left over will be distributed to several area agencies to help fill their coffers with goods and clothing.

So, if it seems as if I’ve been neglect of my writing, there is, indeed, a good reason for that. I’ve been a busy gal collecting ideas and experiences to translate into more stories and poems to share with you. That will be continuing until next week because I’m already signed up for a spectacular series of fortunate events next week as well.

May your holy days, however you celebrate or don’t, be filled with the love and peace I feel sharing with you these activities. May strength to do what you can to make a difference in your community be given when you feel you may not have it. May your needs be ever met with enough. May you know that you are loved unconditionally. Peace, love, and light, Mare Martell.

Protest March

Today I will join in solidarity against police brutality suffered by my fellow human beings. It would seem some police have forgotten they, too, are human.

image

image

As a Unitarian Universalist it is my honor to be a pilgrim for justice and a fool for love. #blacklivesmatter #iamuu #lovethyneighbor

The Can’t Cant

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I cant. I cant. I cant.
I am afraid to say breathe. I’m afraid to reach out. I’m afraid for my friends. I’m afraid for my people. I’m afraid for my tribe. I’m afraid of the police.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I cant. I cant. I cant.
I’m pulling on my leggings. I’m pulling on my hoodie. I’m pulling on my black clothing. I’m draping on my colorful cape. I’m standing up with you.
I can. I can. I can.
I am. I am. I am.
Black lives matter.

Hands up! Don’t shoot!

Black lives matter!

I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!

Black lives matter!

My brothers! My sisters!
‪#‎blacklivesmatter‬

The reign of blood

Stop the Hate

Stop the Hate

I ride with my brothers and sisters of all races and creeds;

To rear up their own steeds in unified protest;

To ride the momentum of waves of grief

Heeding the cries of mothers for their stricken children

Comforting tears of fathers for their lost legacy

We beg our inheritance returned from the barrels

Of the guns, drugs, and forced disintegration of segregation

Of caged familial relationships in the name of

Law enforcement in a police state.

Oh, Lady Justice! Raise your blindfold!

We beckon you to turn your marble eyes

Towards those who insult your intention!

We call out in solidarity for your scales

To balance the inequality that takes our skin

And uses it against our fellow Americans;

Our future! Our could-have-beens:

Strong leaders, bold teachers, smart cookies, fast learners,

Good parents, good people, good workers, good earners

Had they not been vilified by unjust practices

My blood, as theirs, is caught in the web of deception

Colored every nuance of brown, every color of tarnished brass.

You’ve stolen my generation’s heirlooms

Away from the breathing world

Crammed them into the darkest days of greatest sin,

The murder of my brethren; their only “crime” is having more melanin.