"no one asked you to mediate"

oh, but you did.

stoppoutingwhiningaskingmetovalidateyouaffirmyoutellyouthatyouaren'tdoingthewrongthing.

its only bad timing if you let it be

I've spent years watching you do things the day before they became cool.

I've always thought you were cool for creating that (accretion)

I've watched dozens of raindrops fall through your outstretched hands.

I've always thought you were alive for allowing that (lability)

I've heard love song melodies cry from your un-tuned lungs.

I've always thought you were brave for belting that (expression)

I've seen sparks fly from your eyes to the hearts of grown women.

I've always thought you were fly for flaunting that (xenogamy)

this is a lesson in reading between the /'s

There was a time when o/-/-/-/-/m was my G/-/-. The pinnacle of all my s/-/-/-/-/-/-/a/l encounters. I have l/-/-/d about it most of my life because I was a----d of the repercussions for such a so-called "s/-/n". There was a time when I u/-/-/d L/-/-/s to fill the v/-/-/-/'s within me because I was too t/-/m/-/d to approach a G/-/- that was only available via m/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/n, too s/-/-/-/-/d to imagine that I am s/-/-/f-s/-/-/-/i/c/-/-/-/t and div/-/-/-/-/y inspired and l/-/-/-/d un/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/y. There was a time when I (-/m a h/-/-/-/-/-/-/t/e) thought I knew a/-/- of the world's p/-/-/n because I had been a/-/-/-/-/d as a c/-/-/-/d, my i/n/n/-/-/-/-/c/e taken by a w/-/-/-/n held down by a m/-/n who r/a/p/e/d for pleasure and payed in d/-/-/-/s. There was a time when I // for a/-/-/-/-/-/-/n thinking I could wear the world's h/-/-/t on my s/-/-/- and make it v/i/s/i/b/l/e so that we could be s/-/-n; not realizing that I was never a part of that s/u/-/-/-/r/i/n/g, that "w/e" no matter how hard I t/-/-/-/d. There was a time when I didn't s/-/-/-/k up for y/-/u because it was in/c/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/t to my p/a/r/a/d/i/g/m.

There was a time when I let go of the past.

And the lines that defined disappeared.

Class d/i/s/m/i/s/s/e/d

Torches Together.

Lost brother/Gained sister.

fake smile/real emotions.

eyes crying/teeth grinning.

bitter/sweet.

old friends/new family.

past/present.

sad/overjoyed.

tired/ecstatic.

slow dance/fast moves.

grandparents/grandchildren.

swing/rap.

swearing/vowing.

numb/aware.

drunk/sober.

nerdy/cute.

tall/short.

tan/white.

cabernet/merlot.

torches/together.

forever.

today we wed a blessed circle of juxtapositions.

I Thought I was over that (out-stepping my stride)

still trying to save my melody

(in everyone I meet)

looking to amend abandon

(still feel her heart *beat*)

want to be your mother

(reverse the cycle of defeat)

cause if you were my daughter

(we just might feel complete)

The Parable of Whiteness

"Imagine that you are in a white room, with white wall, white floor, white ceiling, no corners. Imagine that you are suspended in this space by some invisible force. You are dangling there, in mid-air. You cannot touch anything, you cannot hear anything, and all you see is whiteness. How long do you think that you will "exist" in your own experience?

-"Not very long. I'd exist there, but I wouldn't know anything about myself. Pretty soon, I'd go out of my mind."

"Actually, that's exactly what you would do. You would, literally, leave your mind, Your mind is the part of you that is assigned the task of making sense out of all the incoming data, and without any data incoming, your mind has nothing to do. Now, the moment you go out of your mind, you cease to exist in your own experience. That is, you cease to know anything in particular about yourself. Are you big? Are you small? You cannot know, because there is nothing outside of yourself with which to compare yourself.

Are you good, are you evil? You cannot know. Are you even here? You cannot know, because there is nothing over there.

You cannot know anything about yourself in your own experience. You can conceptualize it all you want, but you cannot experience it.

Then something happens to change all this. There appears a tiny dot on the wall. It's as if someone has come along with a fountain pen and squirted a tiny dot of ink. Nobody knows how the dot actually got there, but it doesn't matter, because the dot has saved you.

Now, there is something else. There is You, and there is the Dot On The Wall. Suddenly, you can make some decisions again, you can have some experiences again. The dot is over there. That means that you must be here. The dot is smaller than you . You are bigger than it. You are starting to define yourself again--in relationship to the Dot On The Wall.

Your relationship with the dot become sacred, because it has given you back a sense of your Self.

Now a kitten appears in the room. You don't know who is doing this, who is causing all this to happen, but you are grateful, because now some more decisions can be made. The kitten appears softer. But you appear smarter (at least, part of the time!). It is faster. You are stronger.

More things begin appearing in the room, and you begin to expand your definition of Self. Then it dawns on you.

Only in the presence of something else can you know yourself. This something else is that which you are not. Thus: In the absence of that which You Are Not, That which You Are...is not.

You have remembered an enormous truth, and you vow never to forget it again. You welcome every other person, place and thing in your life with open arms. You reject none of it, because you see now that all that appears in your life is a blessing, presenting you with a greater opportunity to define who you are, and to know yourself as that. "

-- Neale Donald Walsch, "Friendship With God: An Uncommon Dialogue"

Cherish these sacred relationships. Discover the beauty of finding your Self in another's heart. Please.

Please.

Katrina showed me God

I want you to know, love,

that you don't deserve to be treated that way.

That you are the definition of powerful feminine beauty

too incredible to fathom

too great to go unwanted.

I want to tell you that it was wrong for him to do it,

that you warrant Everything this world has to offer

but you only receive everything of his scorn.

You are the vision of God-created perfection

men should be silent in awe at the wonder of your presence

unable to formulate sentences

(let alone putdowns)

Need to show you that power has your face

righteousness your walk

courage your stare of disgust

confidence your words

and inspiration

your everlasting light.

(For you, love, I will speak)

Impresario of the Here and Now

I l | a | u | g | h | e | d with God today.

A lot.

Out loud.

With dead people.

In a cemetery.

Forever.

(until the twelfth of never)

Was that inappropriate?

(so is your Lexus)

God didn't think so.

God thought it was

F u n n y.

(another pleasant valley Sunday)

destroying dissipation

Today I will attempt the life of intention.

A life in God's rhythms.

I've come to realize that my own subdivision of this divine time-signature is merely a sorry manipulation.

To establish control.

To remain comfortable.

To feel righteous in all my un-meditated acts.

But today I will fill hunger with the taste of spring and the prayer of life.

And I am not alone.

a day in the life of the wary.

A halo of matted hair and some mascara made me feel pretty that day. Scribbled high-water hand-me-downs and a tie-dye tee with a fuschia pullover made the girls look nice. Reeeaaaal nice. So nice that I had to give those ta-tas a quick squeeze, just to make sure I could really be so fortunately endowed. I right-eye winked at the shadows of my not-so-childbearing hips and slipped on some moccasins to complete the look. Outside: rain. Toss on a gortex and smile at the skies. We laugh our way to the bus (you and I) and fumble with change. Sit down with The Stranger and begin to read. Interrupted. Old toothless man at 12 o'clock stares at the curves of my legs. Instinctively they cross. "Let me read your pants" he spits, or something to that effect. The air changes as i stutter polite euphemisms in response to his crazed lustful mutterings. A sigh of relief is expelled when he exits the bus. Normalcy returned.

We wander up the hill past the Sakura samurai's and Asian cartoon look-a-likes. Their skin is pasty, as if the only light they have ever been exposed to are the rays of their laptoptvcellphonemicrowaves. Curiosity piqued, I crane my neck for a look inside that elusive convention center. My face contorted with laughter at the absurdity of the world, I hold onto you for support as we strain our calves up Pike. From the ground, a voice calls out. Don't make eye contact. But I do. He is dressed for business--purple pinstripes on black suit jacket, hair coiffed just so, suspended in the act of a shoe-tying maneuver, face gaping in wonder. At me. "Did you know you're the most gorgeous girl in all of Seattle?" Its his earnest tone that I cannot shake. Just thank. "Don't thank me. Thank God!"

Thank God. Yes, thank God there are still a precious few left who freeze in awe at the sight of a carefree smile. The rain has stopped.

But 8 blocks later its a different kind of stare. One that outlines curves through the bulk of my baggy clothes, nodding in approval as he gives me a number on the scale of attraction. Timid smile/averted gaze lets him know that he made me uncomfortable. Gives him the power he wanted. With all the dignity a walking meat-market can muster, i step closer to you, and hope he didn't notice. Scowl in disgust as i attempt a walk without hips for the inevitable re-assessment. It works. Next victim.

Descended the stairs to an oasis of purity. First go the shoes, then shirts, pants, bras, underwear. Next its fear, the eternal guard, anxiety, alert. Drop by drop of sweat we are cleansed of the toxins of a patriarchal world and freed from the ever-present submission. 3 brief hours of respite in this spa-like heaven give the dangerous illusion of liberty. Outside, the world continues to suppress its mothers, daughters, sisters, lovers. You sleep a dream without nightmares, and I watch you in tears because I never want you to wake up to the pain again. But we have miles to go before we sleep. With a gentle nudge of the foot I coax you awake and we leave the imagined safety of what feels like our mothers to be born again into reality.

We can cope, you and I, because this is our calling. To run for those who have no escape. You return your armor and we link arms in a protective sign of love to ward off further advances. It works for a time and we can laugh with little worry. We diminish our fears with guffaws. On top of the hill. On top of the world. Yet soon we descend to the beasts. Didn't remember how bad that bus stop was.

Our bond is severed and he sees his opportunity. he is lacking in stature, grammar, manners and intelligence. his eyes reveal that he can no longer see the difference between right and wrong. Just like your dream, he approaches with 1 thought in mind and pulls at my jacket. It repels water but not harassers. No hello, no charm. he just spits out that word. That awful word. no. no No No NO NO! i see fire in your eyes as the dream approaches truth. But you would never let that happen. Not to me. And I would never let that happen. Not to you. Not to us. We make it out of the mine field without a scratch, but my pride has been stabbed. Wish i had been quicker to respond. Wish i had taught that bastard a few things about chivalry with a well-aimed punch to the scrotum. But it would have ended badly. It always does for us.

If I could do it over though, I would take my wounded self by the hand and tell him that he is scum. That I am not a "cunt" that needs to be "fucked". That I am more than he has ever been, or could ever hope to be. That I am not afraid.

But i was. And so the cycle continues.

Thank God there are still the precious few.

(And thank God I still have you)