Schadenfreude

As I’m scrolling through my newsfeed each day, I noticed an unusually high ratio of hate. Hate Justin Beiber? That’s okay. Hate Westboro Baptist Church? That’s okay. How about Democrats? Republicans? Atheists? Gays? Women? Men? Goldfish? That’s okay too.

I am all about personal freedom. I believe that every person is entitled to their own opinions, beliefs, and ways of doing things. What I don’t understand is why the hate of such ridiculous things? If you want to hate something, what about poverty? Hunger? Rape? Acid Attacks? War? Human Rights Violations?

These are things that should be hated. These are things that should not be tolerated, but we do. We allow it because it isn’t in our own backyard. It’s okay because it isn’t directly affecting most of us, thankfully, on a daily basis. We turn our face away because we believe that people, all people, should be like we are.

If you’re reading this, you at least have electricity with pretty good odds you have clean safe water to drink. If you’re reading this, you’re probably not worrying about soldiers breaking into your house, killing the man/men and raping the women. If you’re reading this, odds are you have at least a rudimentary education that taught you how to unlike the millions of children who will never witness these words. If you’re reading this, odds are you’re using some sort of electronics device that cost enough to supply an entire village for an entire year clean water, food, and/or medicine needed for survival.

The generosity shown by the United States when 9/11 happened, when Katrina hit, when, most recently, the tornadoes hit in Oklahoma, is amazing. That’s because it happened where we couldn’t ignore it. We couldn’t walk away because the victims of these tragedies are our neighbors, friends and relatives. They have faces like ours. They were our friends, neighbors, countrywo/men. It was if our banding together would prevent another of these tragedies, whether man made or not, from happening. A NIMBY attitude that permeated our popular culture and brought unity where there had been division.

Think about this: The people in a remote village in South Africa, in Russian States, in China, in Singapore are someone’s neighbors, friends and relatives too. They have faces, but they don’t look like our well fed American selves. They don’t have the resources we do. They don’t have what we do, but that doesn’t make them any less of a human being. That doesn’t mean they deserve any less dignity or recognition for their accomplishments. We instead focus on their “failure” to be as we are. That’s victim blaming at its horrendous “best.”

Hate is such a nasty thing. It takes away from our compassion. It takes away from our kindness. It blurs love into a meaningless statement of favorites instead of being the action it is intended to be. Think about what you dislike. Now think about all the wonderful things we could be doing for each other right now in the name of love. Do not tolerate the abominations against humanity. Find a way to change the hate speak into love speak. It’s the only way the human race, humanity, will survive.

These Are My People: Peacock Feathers

Peacock Feathers

Peacock Feathers

From her lips, anguish spewed

like a witch’s window skewed

Hurricanes of self pity storms

Anchors of the loveless mourned

Eden justified with words then spoken

Taking up arms, to mend the broken.

The potent omens

the yet sung dirge

balked faith healers

faithful purge.

Sacrifice

When I was growing up, military was a part of our family. My dad was a Seabee (Construction Battalion), later, my brothers joined the Army and the Marines. My Grandfather and great Grandfather were both Army. It was just accepted that to serve the United States of America was a great honor. My family was lucky enough to have our boys brought back home safely. For that I am grateful.

But there are those like this: “I have a POW/MIA bracelet that bears the name of a Michigan Marine that never came home. Robert Curtis Borton Jr. Missing since 1966 during his first few weeks in Vietnam. Please think of his family that lost him and the future he never had.”–Ron Martell

I wrote this with them in mind.

Sacrifice

The bagpipes howl

“Amazing Grace”

Drums beat hollow

21 shots placed

The blackened sky

hangs its veil

The heavens give

a hero’s hail

to fallen comrade

man of war

from his daughter

and wife he’s torn

by seductive tendrils

of patriotic pride

under red, white, and blue

his final goodbye

Spirit Tribe, I call you

Artist: Jenica "Hen" Fredrickson A member of my Spirit Tribe heeded my call.

Artist: Jenica “Hen” Fredrickson
A member of my Spirit Tribe heeded my call.

Spirit Tribe, I call to you with the words of a starving human
I am greedy for your attention to my withering roots
Water me with your colors spilling freely
Reach out with your own inspiration
That is begging release from drought.
Wrap yourself in a wet paper towel
That offers just enough moisture for you
To find me clinging to the smallest sprinkle
Of disconnection from your creativity
From that bond that unites the visionaries
Because of our hidden tendencies to obscure
Our innermost desires to run naked
Through the streets covered in kaleidoscopes
Spirit Tribe, I beckon you forth from your dream-world
I am but a pool reduced to a drop, withering
Spring forth with your overflow to spread unhindered
Release your inhibitions so that you may find what you seek
Let me spill my ideas, beliefs, fanaticism on you
Like hot coffee or iced tea that brings deepest refreshment
Put on your brightest clothing without fear
That builds up your unique version of yourself
Into full fruition. Seek and you will find me
Waiting for the touch of your brush on the canvas
Believing in your mastery of your own vision
Twirling like a dervish to the music we’ll create
With words and paints and sounds unheard and unheeded
Disregarded by those who can’t see the world as we do
Dismissed by the gardeners as weeds to be pulled
From a society that at its best is ugly with stained beliefs
But at its best is a tribute to resilience, tolerance, and power.
Spirit Tribe, I beat my drum to hail your arrival
My confetti sits untouched in a bucket by my door
Waiting to shower you with praises for your bravery
Longing for your belief in yourself to find its way to me
Believing that every feeling you can create into tangibility
Is a gift that’s been wrapped for too long as an unsent package
Knowing that I will gladly accept you as my own
Because we already understand the ways of things
We already “get” the planes, shapes, patterns, styles
And we can’t help but feel lost because there are no ties
That bind us to the material plane when we are free to be
Who we are with abandoned shadows stepping into the light
Open your floodgates, remove the starvation for your beauty
Evaporate my longing for our bonding in the name of art
Come, my Spirit Tribe. Heed my call and come.

These Are My People: Oshun Avani

http://www.monzeeki.com/ New York, New York Photographer Monzeeki

http://www.monzeeki.com/
New York, New York
Photographer
Monzeeki

Just for today,
I will honor the knees at which I kneel
Taking preservation in wisdom dripped
From oceans of tears and millions of stars.

Just for today,
I will offer my actions without expectation
To those who suffer poverty in all ways
In their bodies, in their actions, in their spirits.

Just for today,
I will be grateful as I prepare my meals
Mindful of the preparation in my hands
Filling plates with sustenance, love, laughter.

Just for today,
I will hold a my tongue from anger
Keeping tolerance at the forefront of my mind
Defending against injustice with a considered heart.

Just for today,
I will hold the brothers and sisters of my spirit tribe
With compassion and kindness in the Light
That guides us to one another in graceful exchange.

These Are My People: Ben Stotler

Yule 2008

Yule 2008

I know that you love me.
I feel it on my skin, in my skin, like my skin
In my spirit, through my spirit, with my spirit;
Snaking its way through my body
Like my breath and blood.
Unashamed to explore the recesses of my reflections
Sorting through my sacred spaces like a wild child on a spending spree.
Moving forward even when encouraged strongly to turn back!
Turn back and don’t look at that pile of filth, of lies, of dastardly deeds
Stacked in the furthest corners that I disguise with masks,
Masks that vulgar people disregard with acceptance.
You refuse my please with tenderness and compassion.
You gently pull back the world I keep hidden beneath my bravado.
You don’t cringe.
You don’t run.
You just coax me from beneath my veil,
Encouraging me to seek the day with a new, braver face.
That which is my own, truly my own.
Because of this trust you’ve established with me
In an agreement of lifelong complexity,
I comply with the oxymoron of trepidational courage.
And this, my love, is how I know without a doubt that you love me.

The Mute Woman

How to make a daisy crown

How to make a daisy crown

I made daisy crowns and dandelion necklaces.

I climbed trees with my knees scraping bark

to see what was on the other side of my neighbor’s fence

or down the hill, or off in the distance on a sea of treetops.

I drank water from the dog bowl to see if it tasted different.

I tried cat food to see if they liked things the same as me.

I wove elaborate stories, like plays,

that I repeated until I had them memorized

then performed them to blank-faced audiences of dolls.

I became a mosquito scratching relative legs until they sprayed me away.

I watched from my window, every day through winter to see the first robin of Spring.

I dashed wildly, madly through the scented Autumn leaves.

I splashed loudly in puddles

when I didn’t have on rain boots and when I did.

I drove a pedal car up and down the sidewalk in front of my home;

Mine was green, my brother’s blue.

I rode my bike as fast as the wind

skinning the ends from my toes for riding barefoot.

My baby doll became a real child needing care

right down to being walked in a baby buggy, pampered and cuddled.

I sang songs when there were people around

and when there wasn’t.

I wore the brightest clothes I owned with pride

but refused to wiggle my fanny at school for embarrassment’s sake

foregoing the envied bunny tail.

I dreamed of long hair like my favorite Aunts

but my hair was wild, unruly, and never behaved appropriately.

I played race car with the electric socket and a key

learning just how many people I could scare at one time.

I saw my world as beautiful, wondrous, and awe-inspiring.

My memories have not been muted, although faded a bit,

Dog-eared around the edges, notated and rewritten with crayons

reversed into a parking spot reserved for each one.

I take them out and drive them around adult conversations

but they get dismissed as comical fancies

disapproved of as childish rubbish.

But they’re wrong.

My childhood held many terrifying horrors.

I don’t think these wonders I hold in my memories are comical or rubbish.

They represented my soul unfurled like a battle-worn banner

proclaiming my liberty from my aggressive oppressors.

They were a time of exploration, learning, and comprehension.

They were and are my life boiled down to the simple things

that so many struggle toward, but I hold dear to my heart.

These Are My People: Diane Rutherford

http://hipish.free.fr/graphics/feelings/sadness/?id=149

A poem for Indi and Diane

I heard you crying

There are no words for their deepened grief that can make it any less.
There are no words for their bereavement that can make end time regress.
They understand that their valediction can bring the nethermost sadness.
The tenderest of beings and the sweetest of souls, finds rare solace.

They do it anyway because the honor of the hard won trust
moves gently around their spirits like precious diamond dust
They give their love with wild abandon from one soul to another
with unwavering faith and elation, like a good child to their mother.

The tenderest of beings, the sweetest of souls, find rare solace;
steadfast between these kindred hearts this their solemn promise
Until the last star vanishes, until the sun goes dark,
there will always be a place, within each others hearts.

Traveling

Traveling

Traveling

My body probably won’t travel far.

I doubt I’ll dance among the stars

But, OH! The places that I dream to go.

I want to see New Years enter into Times Square

Eat cotton candy at the Iowa State Fair

I want to flash my boobs and earn my beads

for Mardis Gras in New Orleans

I want to experience Easter in Israel

 to visit London where the tower fell.

I want to drink a pint in a pub in Dublin

then head towards Venice with building crumblin’

I want to hear mass in Vatican City

to eat bread and cheese in Switzerland’s alps; pretty

I want to smoke a fatty while in Jamaica

head “Down Under” for some Sydney, Australia

I want Fourth of July in Washington, D.C.

then a week’s vacation in the Florida Keys.

To travel these places would make my heart sing

If I dream hard enough, I can imagine anything.

Notes to myself

Here are some things I jot down so I don’t forget them:

  • May 10, 2014: I overheard the phrase clever flaws. It brought to mind an odd coagulation of things perceived as character flaws that somehow work together to make an interesting human. I have one such friend that is as fiery as can be, extremely capable of defending herself both verbally, intellectually, and physically. She’s beautiful, wicked smart, compassionate, strong, and brilliantly alive. Cleverly flawed and perfectly human.
  • May 7, 2014: She’s put a rock on that relationship. It means to put a gravestone on a bad relationship of any sort and put it to rest. It no longer serves a purpose in one’s life. It’s kapoots, over, finished, never again.
  • May 7, 2014: “My once fire colored hair has turned to smoke and ash.” My 19 year old son was pondering what he will look like when he’s old. I found it extremely vivid in the imagery.
  • May 6, 2014: Two Haiku’s I wrote for a friend of mine:

Haiku Number One

The worst thing she’s done

Stabbed fiery into her life

Creating Success

Haiku Number Two

Exclamation point!

Set free without a whisper

an explosion, loved

  • April 24, 2014: Crystal Beeler was getting ready for work while I sat on the edge of her tub watching her straighten her hair. We were talking about things that were happening in her life, things she wanted to do. Somehow she opened her mouth and rainbows and unicorns started dancing. That’s a lie. What isn’t a lie is that she said, “The problem with people is that we’re looking at everyone’s front door from our bone filled closets.”
  • March 11, 2014: Want to make your own body wash? 5 cups of water, 3 bars of any soap finely grated, melt together in a pot until the soap is dissolved, allow to cool a bit, put in jars and use at will. My sister-in-heart Shannon Looney gave me this recipe and I love it.
  • February 9, 2014: “Indigo Children are those who have seen and remember the face of God.” I’m not sure where I heard that or maybe read that, but I am an Indigo Child, so I found it interesting. I haven’t decided whether or not this applies to me in the way it’s worded which is why I saved it so I could simmer the thought on my back burner where I put many of my deep questions I like to think about as well as the not so deep.
  • January 20, 2014: “Some days my hands look so old that I have to imagine youth weaving power back between and around my fingers like warm mittens and wedding rings.”
  • January 20, 2014: There is an incredible woman named Lady Astarte that lives in Knoxville, TN. Whenever I get to be around her, which has become quite a bit less frequent than I’d like, we always experience whales of laughter and hurricanes of words that build up incredible energy. She’s one of my favorite people.
  • November 3, 2013: An idea I had for a country song: Barbeque buddies and back-door neighbors
  • October 12, 2013: For some reason I have the definition of vulgar. “vul-gar Pronunciation: VUHL-gur\ Function: adjective Etymology: Middle English, from Latin vulgaris of the mob, vulgar, from volgus, vulgus mob, common people Date: 14th century 1a: generally used, applied, or accepted b: understood in or having the ordinary sense (they reject the vulgar conception of miracle — W.R. Inge) of or relating to the common people: plebeian b: generally current: public (the vulgar opinion of that time) c: of the usual or typical, or ordinary kind 4a: lacking in cultivation, perception, or taste : coarse b: morally crude, undeveloped, or unregenerate: gross c: ostentatious or excessive in expenditure or display: pretentious 5a: offensive in language: earthy b: lewdly or profanely indecent Synonyms: Common or Coarse
  • October 6, 2013: “Uniqueness is inherent beauty.” From the television show “Bones” Do not underestimate the power of your experiences that alter and/or enhance this uniqueness. Spirit and body combine to create a fantastic array of lovely, valid, worthy persona. “We seldom think of what we have but always what we lack.”
  • October 3, 2013: You can live under my willow tree. There’s always room for you; always a vacancy.
  • September 24, 2013: You know da po-po when you po’ po’. They keep the bros and hos from go’in loco in da hood when they up to no good, shut ’em down.
  • September 20, 2013: Kiss me until I’m stupid
  • September 11, 2013: Phrases, phases, pens and pages
  • June 28, 2013: Country song idea for chorus: written in Nashville, TN with Lyle Hoskin while watching people enter The Grand Ol’ Opry for the evening show:

Cowboy boots and the itty-bitty skirts,

tight blue jeans and the red plaid shirts,

we’re red-necks

drinkin’ long necks

raisin’ hell like your mama warned you about

Scream, “YEEHAW!”

We’re from the South ya’ll

Raise ’em up! And drink ’em down.

  • June 6, 2013: “You feel and find the significance of life.”
  • April 21, 2013: Turquoise, pumpkin, lemon <– three of my favorite colors
  • March 30, 2013: “I heard a bird sing every word within her repertoire, Many verses that she sang for she had traveled far.

If you keep notes, share a couple in the comments. I’m interested in your thoughts.