This past July, a church committee requested a new message on the electronic sign, which faces the Oak Ridge Turnpike. The message they requested was “Black Lives Matter.” The board of the Oak Ridge Unitarian Universalist Church, or ORUUC, voted to approve it, and the message was added to the sign’s series of scrolling messages.
Source: Opinion: Rev. Morrill addresses ‘Black Lives Matter’
Okay, so I’ve been working diligently to amass my work for the first display of my art on June 20th. When I was asked to do this, I’d painted this and that, but focused on writing. Having compiled a book of essays, poems, and commentary, I felt satiated enough to move into another genre. I picked up a paintbrush, charcoal, pens, pencils and sheets of fantastica.
From the Unitarian Universalist song, “You got to do when the Spirit says do!”
Thirty-One Two pieces later I’m thinking, oh crap! Is this enough? Is this how I’m wishing to be marketed? Is it good enough? Will they like it? Love it? Hate it? Feel ambivalent towards it? Will my art, the creation of my brain from the inspirations that walk over it (like a Jamie Lopez styled painting that just drew itself while I wrote this) satisfy anyone?
You know what? I refuse to care. I wash my hands of the anxieties that are cropping up as the witching hour approaches. This means I’m doing something my mind and body consider to be questionable, dangerous, and that is why I need to do it. Even if I fail (and these thoughts are occurring to me) I’m going to do so with a collective work that glistens with the sweat of my effort. That reflect my love and light into the world in such a way that I feel nearly a sexual satisfaction of bringing these colors to life.
I have to keep reminding myself that I’m doing this for me. Yeah, it’s great if other people take a shine to what I do and even more spectacular when they want to give me money to do what I love. I mean, really. Who wouldn’t want to follow a dream, a hope, an idea all the way down the rabbit hole to see how far it goes? I suppose that’s what makes others comment my oddities to me as if I don’t exist because they’re right. I don’t.
I exist when I allow myself to be consumed by the world where art and breathing are synonymous. I am when I am so engulfed in what I’m doing I forget that I’m human. I become another entity. I love that feeling more as I embrace the whirlwind affair that is dragging me into deeper fields of challenge. But then, I come up for air in this physical world to find people doing what people do.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the people I know. I mean, I REALLY love them. They fill my heart with Rod Stewart songs (“Have I told you lately”) and promises of Moulin Rouge (“Come what may”). My head dances with inspiration from their very existence and I touch the promises of their truth with such delicate breaths that it makes me blush with the intimacy they allow me. It’s not even sexual. It’s like hanging out at someone’s house and everything they do, say, or ask is exactly the most perfect thing they could do, say, or ask of you. And with that, it’s a reciprocation of undulating commentary that ebbs, flows, waxes, wanes, drifts, waves, and hurricanes around in mystical walkways. Each word, phrase, or nothing is vibrant with understanding, love, compassion, and sometimes anger, disappointment, intolerance. Human stuff.
What I describe is not always how it is, it’s just what it’s felt like since I heard the words utter from my lips, “I am an artist.” And so I am.
Tuatha Dea inspired, “Blessed Be, Y’all”
Peter Mayer from Minnesota playing “Blue Boat Home”
Okay, so if you read the previous article, you know I REALLY love me some Peter Mayer. His music is considered folk but to me it’s just excellent. He performed back in February at our Sunday Service which was really incredible in and of itself, but his warmth really stood out in my mind. He really doesn’t get why people love that he plays guitar and sings. He loves that he can make a living at it, but it truly baffles him.
Tonight, while he was playing, he forgot some lyrics from one of the songs he was performing. He glitched. He apologized but kept going. I fell madly in love with him at that moment. Not the kind of love you give to a spouse or a best friend, but the kind of love that makes that moment stand out as truly significant. He was beautiful before as I’ve gushed and fan-girled, but that moment, a tiny error of perfection exploded his colors into rich sapphire blues, deep royal purples, and such incredible beauty of humanness that I got the leaking wellies.
I sat at the back of the sanctuary weeping with the knowledge that someone I listen to, someone I know only through music and a couple of random conversations, was absolutely human just like me. It was a profound moment as I heard him asking his Sister Hawk to teach him, his Brother Whale to teach him. As the concert continued he quoted Carl Sagan that we are “…starstuff contemplating the stars…” It meshed completely with what I tell the children when they don’t feel important. I tell them, “Oh but you are, my dear friend. We are all made of stardust and oceans. If we are all oceans, we fill the world with tears. If we are all stardust, we lose our shine. But if we balance between the both of them, there is no end to whom we can become.”
That moment of his human self felt like an emotional anchor snapped taut, that in that moment, I was breathing the same starstuff as my ancestors, of his, and of everyone in the room. It was incredibly moving to me. He was even gracious after the concert when I told him of how beautiful I felt that was. I gave him an Always Beautiful card I like to share with people who move my spirit. He accepted it. I don’t think I could have gotten any more happy than I felt at that moment. Thank you Universe for arranging the starstuff precisely right tonight.
Me and Peter Mayer after the show.
Again, if you want to learn more about him, visit his webpage at http://www.petermayer.net or look him up on YouTube and you’ll hear why I’m such a fan of such a perfectly kind human being.
The cake is a lie. Liberty is not justice. We are not free.
I attended a screening of American Denial. Although we were unable to complete the film because of DVD issues and a computer that suddenly needed 30 updates before it would operate, what I did get to see raised questions that I couldn’t answer. I want to share what I need to ask.
Are you looking at the evils granted by the color of your birth, as an oppressive blind man?
Are you buying your humanity, your right to exist, with the color of your education?
Are you willing to deny your blood, to embrace the hangman’s rope, in the name of love?
If you deny the demands of your father’s beliefs, are you also murdering the heart of the mother’s whom weep?
Did racism have to become, as opposed to the 1950’s and 60’s when it was “okay” to throw coke bottles at a little girl walking to the store with some change she’d saved jingling in her pocket, ironically, an underground railroad of hatred?
Does racism use the same tools of oppression as misogyny does or are they different? How are they similar?
When is impatience for things to change given over to frustrated tolerance that bubbles lava-like under the surface of civility? How long do we have to be patient before things actually change? What needs to happen before real change takes place? Isn’t 60 years long enough to think people would grow up already and see each other as humans? Or is it 160? 260? 560? How long is enough before it’s too much?
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.
This 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.
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
Solemnity spoke
When death comes knocking at my door,
bony feet with dusting robes stepping on my floor
My fleshy shell will open to allow my spirit to soar
I will no longer look at the life of the living
wishing more time for regrets and forgiving
I will return to the spirit with thanksgiving
The height of my body will no longer matter
The color of my skin no longer the chatter
The question answered, my lifeline flatter.
I will gaze with love at those who surround me
with their beautiful faces weeping around me
and I will know that my life shined brightly.
As I pass from this life unto the end
In my very last moments I will attend
to touching your cheek and saying, “I love you, always, my beautiful friend.”
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 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!
The 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!
Lady: hi there, nice to meet you too, sounds interesting you talk about image
Mare Martell: I do indeed. I’m very comfortable in my skin and several friends couldn’t figure out why. So I started by talking to them about how I do it. They invited me to talk to one of their groups and I get to talk about once ever 3 months or so. Qualify that. I’m 5’4″, 208lbs
Lady: So what’s your secret to feeling good about yourself ?
Mare Martell: Everybody else. I looked around me one day and realized that everybody around me was constantly talking badly of themselves and others. I’m too this or too that. I’m fat, I’m thin. My nose is too big. It bothered me. A Lot. Then I started to reflect on why I felt badly about my fat rolls and my…well mostly weight. No, that’s a lie. I hated my nose. I hated my butt. I hated my knees and I thought my upper arms were disproportionate. But then. I realized maybe it wasn’t the body at all. Maybe…
I started to look outside of myself at the humanity of others. Every person I meet has a dark secret. Every person I meet has had tragedies galore. I dig people from car accidents with bright vivid scars because they wear theirs on the outside. What if…what if those deep dark secrets we keep to ourselves for whatever reason, what if they were as visible as a car wreck scar?
What if we do it to ourselves to keep love from healing those corners that we hide under cobwebs? Just like that. Just seeing humanity in others and realizing they’re dealing with the same stuff in different packages and I was cured.
Lady: Out in the light?
Mare Martell: Yes. We see through different eyes, but the stars still shines and the moon still wanes I see through my disguise. Naked as the day I was born. Running wild with my spirit streaking out behind me in lovely colors. It’s like…you are me. I am you.
Lady: why don’t we want love to heal us
Mare Martell: If you think of your deepest secret, the one you don’t even share with your best friend. If they knew…if they only knew what you did…It’s like the (sorry about this reference) Garden of Eden and feeling shame and wearing the leaf
Lady: So when the spirit is strong it shines through the physical shell
Mare Martell: Where else is it going to go?
The more love you give, the more comes. The more you share, the more is given. The more you see the beauty in yourself the more you see the beauty in others. It’s like…Man, I sound like a heavy duty hippy and I don’t even smoke!
But I’ve been trying this particular strain of my hypothesis for over a year and the changes in my life have been…wow
That’s the other cool part. It’s like getting on a train as it pulls out of the
Started out slow and bumpy, picked up and is now cruising. Take care of you. Peace
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Hosanna High Community Burial Project
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 