Tag Archives: being human

Imagination gone dark

Those who want the world to stop burning must first realize that it's on fire.

Those who want the world to stop burning must first realize that it’s on fire.

Quit selling me your Jesus. Who is thick with thorns?
Don’t bleed your justification while the poor you scorn
Don’t tell me that my color is wrong, that a prison is a matter of fact
When you took away our baseball gloves and gave us baseball bats
Don’t tell me that I need to work, that I’m just a lazy bum
When you sent my job to the Philippines while calling me black scum
Don’t tell me to step up and be a father, when you took mine when I was seven
My mama couldn’t take care of me, she wept “He is watching me from heaven.”
But she believed in the Jesus you sold her that burns like a cross in my yard
She counted prayers and sang the hymns while my brothers lives are scarred
Quit telling me that I love my forty that dims the daily grind
Quit telling me I’m worthless so why should you educate my mind?
Don’t tell me that you value me just to get my vote you take away
You love me about as much as a crack baby born every day
You took away the healthcare to let my people suffer
While praising God and Jesus, filling up your coffers
You spend our money on bars and chains instead of buying books
You take away from teachers and schools, entertaining disdaining looks
Quit selling me your Jesus who is thick covered with your angry words thrown
While wearing the cross you put on your own back, you’re reaping what you’ve sewn.

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.

These Are My People: Marge Swenson

aliciameninga

This is not Marge Swenson. This is my friend Alicia. I love this picture.

abstractmichigan

This is an abstract interpretation of the original picture, minus my friend Alicia. It was taken with my phone, so I apologize for the quality.

There she is with her cheeks shining diamond smiles

Her eyes laughing blue sparkles of periwinkle

She ripples with giggles that bubble fountain-like

Barely restrained by her excitement to honor her calling

I unquestioningly obey her request for open arms

I pull her close to me in spirit love and protection

Warmth and true affection.

“How are you today, my beautiful friend?”

She pushes me away but doesn’t release me

She looks up into my eyes declaring, “I love you, so much.”

We share mutual admiration, forever, for a moment.

I jest with her of how much I love to learn at her knee

To greet, to host, to welcome, to embrace our community.

She laughs at me as if I were the village idiot

I’m inept compared to her. She’s a Mistress of Greeters

I, her apostle.

When the torch is handed onward, I pray I can continue

To honor her beautiful spirit with jovial conviviality

That she displays with the grace of whispering breezes

The dance the spring time brings that blesses each blossom with life

In tandem with the warm embrace of the sun.

MargeSwenson

This is Marge Swenson. She’s one of my favorite people, hands down. She’s just lovely.

Who I Am

I love to see your lumpy, bumpy bits that you hesitate to show.
I love your imperfections because I see you and know I’m not alone.
I love you when you cry in front of me apologizing for your tears.
I love those honest moments with your heart so crystal clear.
I adore you when you’re mad at me and you call my butt to task,
because being that authentic is all I’ve ever asked.
I love when you allow me to hug you with open arms so true.
But best of all, I love who you are and who I am when I’m with you.
Mare Trout Martell

Spiritual Theft

The one way ticket

The broken cocoon

The hung up phone

The crying loon

The losses from gain

The strength of cotton

The shallow grave

The vacant rock-bottom

The dissolution of rest

The combination of fates

The sunken boat

The bone-filled crates

The unaligned ranks

The prayer of confession

The misguided belief

The unanswered question

The white washed skull

The ostrich-headed sin

The ill-fitting shoes

The enemy within

The offerings

Hands of Offering

Hands of Offering

Where there are tears,

offer relief.

Where there is despair,

offer belief.

Where there is darkness,

offer your light.

Where there is injustice,

offer human rights.

Where there is loss,

offer a shoulder.

Where there is a spark

offer to smolder.

Where there is plenty,

offer to share.

Where there is anguish,

offer repair.

Where there is emotion,

offer your being.

Where there are shackles

offer the freeing.

Where there is chaos,

offer a peace.

Where there is frustration,

offer release.

The Firehammer Movement

firehammerThe last few days I’ve struggled to find sleep, respite, comfort, laughter. I’ll be talking with my friends and suddenly I’m overwhelmed with a rage that is so primal it’s as if I am not quite myself. Then, I feel agitated like a caged animal just before feeding time, pacing back and forth. I examine my face in the mirror to verify that it’s still me. Overwhelming grief yanks the rug and my emotions are all over the bar. No reason in my personal life. Everything is just peachy where I live.

This sounds like I should be committed or at least be wearing a tin hat with aluminum foil all over the windows, does it not? And although I’m eccentric, I’m not crazy. Other people are feeling the same waves of intense emotions washing over them as well. They’re tuned in to the pulse of the world and the human “web” of emotional energy.

There is a tone of justifiable reason in the madness that our brothers and sisters are feeling. The shackles of oppression are so large that the only way they can be removed, believe me we’re not supposed to be united in this, is if we work together towards changing the system that has betrayed so many of our blood kin.

I am not attempting in any way to minimize any emotion you feel. I do not wish you to believe that I could. I feel your pain. I feel your suffering. I feel your anger. I feel your confusion, your frustration, your grief, your outrage. I feel it. It’s real. It’s now. It’s an every day occurrence for many of us.

But, I need you. I need you to hear this. The world needs you to hear this, believe (trust), understand me right now. With complete love in my heart I’m going to ask you to stop. Just stop.

Okay, I know, keep the straight jacket for a bit longer and hear me.

I need you to do three things with the sole intention of raising the love energy in this country of ours (provided you live in the U.S.A.) and therefore into the world.

One: CHOOSE JOY!

Refocus these Big Fat Feelings.

Choose one person or group of people (friends are good) and focus on their happiness. Sincerely, just call them up or visit them. Put away all electronics and focus solely on them (collectively or individually) in a non-sexual way. Crack funnies with them. Laugh. Have a sandwich with them. Being just kind. One hour (or as much as you can give). Find a way to connect with another human being that gives you the feeling of unity, of knowing someone has your back. For the time you’re with them, each time something negative comes up, say out loud, “I choose joy.” Yes, it will seem weird. It’s intended to because it’s a verbal stop sign that will help aid you in staying focused on the joy you’re building with your chosen person/people.

Two: UNPLUG!

hands-handcuffs_00409569The corporate electronic slave mentality.

No matter what phone you have, when you type or text, look at how your wrists are located. The larger your phone, as a rule, the more money you’ve probably spent on it which implies financial prosperity. The older or smaller your phone is, the closer your wrists are together. These hands are usually balled in fists around our phones and other electronic devices. They aren’t raised in prayer. They aren’t reaching out towards other humans to find true connections. They aren’t allowing us to see our similarities and celebrate our differences with open hearts. We are being divided by the shackles of a different kind of slavery.

The irony of me typing this on a computer does not escape me. But if you knew that just before I wrote this, I spent an hour and a half trying on the hat that you see at the top of this post, laughing hysterically at myself, and filled with such gratitude that the woman who knitted this hat said my joy was payment for the hat. Well then, you’d understand that I DO unplug and PLUG into humanity. I go visit my ailing friends. I take time to hug anyone I meet. I make this effort because I don’t want to forget that to love means to be as one with the Divinity that I see in everyone I meet. Yes, even you.

Three: RAISE THE VOICE OF LOVE!

Right now the world feels oppressive more so than any other time in my personal history of 46 years. I’m not kidding when I say that the emotional angst that our country is struggling with has permeated the energy of the world. Nobody seems to feel like they’re being heard over the voices of the most vocal and violent. It’s as if this has given permission for people to forget that they’re harming others.

I trust you. I feel as if I can share this with you because this is important. Right now it feels to me like the most important words I can share with you. I love you. I don’t have to know you. I don’t have to understand. I just have to love you. You’re a human being like me. You have struggles and victories just like me. You get hurt, your blood is just like mine and flows red from the wound. When something amuses you, you laugh or smile just like me. When you eat too much or not enough you experience the same sensations in your body as I do. We are humans. You are beautiful, compassionate, and your voice needs to be added collectively to this pool. Say it with me, please my sisters and brothers, I LOVE YOU!

Let’s break this cycle of anger. Let’s work together in unity away from the shackles that our “Corporate Masters” have placed into our willing hands. We can do this if we love one another, connect with one another, and choose joy. Wrap one another in the peace you wish existed. Help one another to learn to trust again. If we unite, they will fall from their tower and we, as a free people, will be able to, as the Unitarian Universalists say, LOVE THE HELL OUT OF THIS WORLD!

I’m a human, not a lady

I am not a good girl

I am not a good girl

Why do I need to act like a “lady?” What does that even mean? Be a yes, sir, no ma’am demure wall flower in hopes that I’ll get picked to be the next Cinderella? Does that mean I have to put someone else before me always and pray that my needs get met because I was a good girl and followed the rules?

Why do I need to play like a boy when I can be a woman and ditch cars, ride horses, bake cakes, kick dirt, saw wood, paint wordy pictures, dream just like any other human? Why does that even have to have a gender placed on it? We all know what we can do, why separate the two?

Why do I have to be respectable in public when the public slut shames my gender? Starts war upon my sisters with horrible results and back-alley horrors committed against their beauty out of spite, anger, jealousy? Why do I have to bow down to the “mighty” man of six years old because he was born with a penis and I was not? Fuck that. I’ll be who I am. You adapt to me. I’ll color just enough inside the lines so that you’ll have no choice but to look at my art, but when you start telling me that a sun has to be yellow and not purple, we’re no longer friends and I don’t have to be nice to you any more.

Why can’t I be passionate no matter where I am? No matter where I’m going? No matter what I’m doing? If I feel it, why should I make an excuse for loving my life and everything about it? This seems insulting to the very gifts I’ve been given. This seems selfish of me to hold back the beauty that is everything I am. It’s disgraceful to not be passionate about the life-gift we’ve been given and I don’t think it has anything to do about being a sexual being.

I treat my body like a temple, not a mausoleum. I don’t need quiet pristine walls to know that I’m alive. I need vibrant colors, loud music, laughter and singing, dancing at all hours with colors winging the ceilings and candles and joyous arousal. I need hats and capes, and delicious chocolates dripping with harmony. I’m here to live life not pretend I only want a little bit of a taste. I want the whole damn thing. I want to swallow it whole and chew for hours on ideas and thoughts of what I see; experience on every level.

Why can’t I treat my body like a motel if I want to? Why can’t I take a lover into my arms, no matter the number, no matter the reason? Why should I be held to a different standard than someone who happens to have different genitalia? Why do I need to limit myself to the taste and pleasures of one gender? What if I want to dip fingers into honey as much as I want to lick my lips up the honey dipper? Why can’t I smear sex on my body like peanut butter if I desire it? That’s a horrible double standard and I refuse your rule book, your little black marks, your stigma, and your anger towards my freedom to choose what I do with my body. It’s not some body. It’s MY body. See that? It’s not called YOUR body. It’s MY body. I can have a revolving door if I choose, so don’t dictate my hours or my calling. It’s not your motel to run. I’m sorry you’ve found the Bates Motel more to your liking, lurking with the dead and dispassionate. That’s not me.

I refuse to love unconditionally. If I were to do that, I’d be God or Goddess, or Buddha or Christ and I’m not any of those. I’m a human. I can look at you with disgust if I want to. I can refuse you entry to my chapel of horrors and my circus if I don’t like your act. I don’t owe you anything which, as many misconceive is what love is when it’s unconditional. That, in many people’s minds means without question. I’m not going to love someone who harms children, particularly me. No way. Been there done that and I’ve served my life sentence every day since my birth. No. I will not.

This part I can agree with. I will speak my truth and I will live as honestly as I can. Not for your benefit but because my spirit is peaceful when I know I’ve done my best to follow my own compass without your rules holding me to unrealistic and unreasonable behavioral constructs that do not belong in my body, mind, spirit, or hands. What I will further agree with is that if you trust me with your heart and I trust you with mine which means we vow, with word or not, to never betray that trust intentionally, you will never again have to feel alone.

Not Soon Enough

To be placed in saint’s clothing as if death redeemed

The unresolved battles that forced childhood screams

From the mouths of his children starvation abounds

For the three little words that nary met sound

From his lips that lay silent and poison the earth

From his violent life that began with his birth

There will be no clock hands stopped in his honor

No looking glasses covered now that he’s a goner

There will be no wailing with heartbeats bereft

Absent black cotton gloves like W. H. Auden suggests

No kerchiefs stained with tears to be tucked into pockets

No loving memories or pictures in lockets

No words of compassion for the soul left to cry

That embraced angry notions and turned a blind eye

There are no clothes befitting to cover his bones

He chose life without love. He perished alone.

What clothes shall be placed on the dead deemed unworthy?

While he is yet considered unfit by the clergy.

I loved you anyway

I take a deep breath and realize that I’ve exhaled the negative people from my life by persistently being positive. I got accused of being draining, of taking too much time, of making them feel not good enough, of always being angry at them. Well here’s some thoughts for you, “sister:”

Draining is spending 6 hours listening to you lather rinse repeat 10 years worth of things you won’t change. Draining is trying again and again to show you the beauty that everyone else can see but yourself. Draining is lifting you up so you don’t drown in your self pity for 10 minutes. Draining is when we’ve beaten the dead horse to dusty bones that blow around like the floaties in a snow globe.

Taking too much time? To make sure you’re comfortable when you’re hurting, to make sure your needs are met, to come rescue you from another meltdown, to come meet you where you are/pick you up/believe you with tissues in hand, to listen to your troubles and offer solutions only to have every single one shot down because you really don’t want to change, you just want to complain?

If I “make” you feel like you’re not good enough, perhaps you need a new prescription for your shit colored glasses. It’s you who doesn’t think you’re good enough, not me. You repeatedly say that you’re not worth much, that you’re not important, that nobody loves you but like I’ve been saying for years and thankfully don’t have to any more, YOU ARE WORTHY! YOU ARE AS IMPORTANT AS YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF TO BE! YOU ARE LOVED BUT DON’T BELIEVE IT!

It’s not anger you’re feeling from me. It’s frustration that I’m exhibiting. Frustration that in the entire time I’ve known you, loved you, cherished you, cried with you, hugged you, laughed with you, shared with you, struggled with you, battled at your side, you called me a liar. You told me that I was wrong for believing in you. You made it very clear that everything I saw was nothing but shadows, slight of hand, and flash paper designed to distract me from your ugly interior that reeks of self-pity and self degradation. That every word I ever spoke encouraging you may as well have been a flaming bag of dog shit left on your porch.

Frustration from trying so hard to paint your gray with the colors I see and as fast as I could whip out my palette and liner brush you already had the roller of gray loaded and ready. Like gunslingers we’d sit facing each other with coffee cups loaded to full and the battle for your beauty would begin. I’d lose again and again, but I didn’t give up until you finally did. You surrendered to the gray and I had no choice but to walk away. I couldn’t take it, not for one more day.

If you’re going to point a finger accusing someone of despising you and taking away from your life, again, go into your bathroom and look in that reflective thing over the sink for a long time. That person standing there is why you can’t see yourself clearly. She is the one hiding your beauty. She is the one not believing in you. She is the one stopping you from being everything you’ve ever dreamed. Now, walk out of that room and until you can look her in the eye and say fuck you, my life my rules my way, don’t look back. Don’t ever look back.