wrap your arms around me baby like a circle round the sun

I'm headed back to NY on the Metro-North (doesn't traveling alone make u think a lot? Sometimes that's why I don't like it...). I'm coming from the camp that I spent 5 glorious summers at as a child. Standing at the bank and looking out at the lake I realized that I new the tree skyline by heart, it was etched in my brain and the feeling of being there had since been covered by other bullshit and I was able to put my mind at ease for the first time in a while. My eyes relaxed, opposite from the way I walk through NYC as if I have blinders on, with music plugging up my ears and foul smells barraging me. Wide open spaces trigger something in your brain that makes it easier to relax, to see, to breathe, to think, to feel, to love (sidebar: is this why prisons "work?" Hmm.). I am eternally appreciative of the memories I have from this place and the lessons I have learned (boating, swimming, firestarting, first aid, how to be a good friend, helping, sharing, what poison ivy looks like, how to appreciate every little thing God has given you-- to name a few). More so, I am ever-grateful for the people who graced my life at that time and continue to do so today. There is something special about the kind of relationship that 13/14 year old girls have. You know everything about each other- partly because, due to the time-on-earth:experience ratio there is less to know but also because there are no holds barred knowing that this person loves you and your secrets are just important to them as they are to you. I am ecstatic/awed/thankful to report that 10 years apart changed nothing and seeing these special ladies helped me to hold a mirror to myself and know that I love me because they first loved me--- before I was even me!

this isn't a mood swing

"We have been lost to each other for so long. My name means nothing to you. My memory is dust. This is not your fault, or mine. The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the word passed to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing."
- Anita Diamant, The Red Tent

so, a man grows his whole life not having health insurance, we know it happens-- i mean happened!?-- in our great nation. he's about 45, maybe slightly overweight but in seemingly healthy condition. he goes to a free check-up day in the clinic and finds out that he has had a certain heart disease for years-- a chronic disease. however, shortly after receiving the news, he begins to show symptoms, becomes sick and dies from what would seem to be an acute onset of the disease. an acute onset of a chronic disease? seems oxymoronic, no? relate it to the placebo effect-- some people taking the drug, others unknowingly taking the sugar pill but effectiveness of the respective pills across the two groups is virtually the same. therefore, the body reacts equally to information given as it does to the actual agents working within the body. ah, the power of the mind. was he better off not knowing?

in the article, The Americanization of Mental Illness, author Ethan Watters says, "The idea that our Western conception of mental health and illness might be shaping the expression of illnesses in other cultures is rarely discussed in the professional literature."

i can't speak for other cultures but i think we can look at the male-female relationship as a microcosm for this culture to culture relationship (or lack thereof) that Watters is discussing (or the culture to culture relationship as a microcosm of the male-female relationship-- depending on how you look at the world). And if we think about what makes these two relationships similar is that A- they are dynamic and B- there is potential for there to be a "dominant" and a "submissive," if we aren't careful.

in looking at the male-female relationship within the realm of health, the power struggle is at play. let's take P.M.S. for example. Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. Syndrome. hey disease-namers... it's not a syndrome, it's just what happens. it is what it is and now it has a scary name to make it into something ugly and not the natural, life-giving process it is. (Semi-sidebar: I'd like to see these words come to pass: "After we pass this bill, being a woman will no longer be a preexisting medical condition."— Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives.) maybe we just shouldn't name "illnesses" at all (we should definitely stop labeling things that aren't illnesses as such). sure it helps the doctors and maybe it calms patients to know that they have X and can treat it with Y. but, maybe, as an entire society we are calling illness upon ourselves by giving the Enemy a name. we have power in our words; sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me? WRONG. More like: "Reckless words pierce like a sword,but the tongue of the wise brings healing." - Proverbs 12:18

so, maybe we are better off not knowing, after all.

i have a problem making titles

8/3/09
Enjoy.


Women, you walk around half broken
half fake
your minds working overtime
not in the name of love
or beauty
or life
but because you can't seem to unite
what you see in a magazine
to your phenotypical design
self-projected hate
flying through this space
covering your face
in the scornful gaze of a woman who has forgotten
where she came from.

women, you have forgotten where you came from
you have forgotten the age-old stories of your mothers
inopportune amnesia has caused you to ignore your god-given intuition
or maybe you made the decision
either way,
you have forgotten
where you came from

you have forgotten the babies you nursed
and the children you have lost
you have forgotten the barefoot walks
on sun-bleached sand and moist forest floors
you have forgotten meeting by the shore
in the late morning sun to braid
wildflowers made of color and air
through the hair of other women

women, you have forgotten your sisters

their full lips and matching hips
no longer seem familiar to you
and you let their long necks stoop
and spines crumble
under pressure
and in the absence of
the strong rope weaved from the hair of every woman who came before her
It is the only thing that will keep her from falling
over the edge of the mountain called self-hate
but women,
you have forgotten where you came from

you have forgotten the first full moon you saw clearly
that night that all the women in the village
washed the lifeblood from between your thighs
with water from the River
while your mother fed you mooncakes and wine
and your sisters sang to the goddess within you
that had come of age in the short time you are lent on this earth

but women,
you have forgotten where you came from
because you let this man tell you
to stop being a bitch
well take your closed mind and your small dick
and get out of my bed
because i'm going to the river
to wash your musk from my sheets
in the sweet scent of wildflowers made from color and air

i had forgotten where i came from
i had forgotten what i could learn from the breeze
the difference between the scent of a new season
and the lingering stench of a dead animal
i had forgotten my strong brown legs and my soft brown belly
i had forgotten why they were meant to be that way
i had forgotten that half of the world's population
was comprised of Eves
and who they are
is a part of me
now we can start to be
the way we were meant
loving, strong, clairvoyant, beautiful...
remembering is the first step
to being free

All about schools?

It's All About Schools- NYTimes Op-Ed by Thomas L. Friedman

i read the above piece on my blackberry as i lazily lounged on my much-anticipated SNOWDAY! concisely, Friedman puts forward that every missile sent wailing to an Al Qaeda target should be accompanied with the building of 50 modern schools for boys and girls. i was immediately brought back to the world created for me in Mortenson's Three Cups of Tea. there is a set of children in the world that have none of the school options that we have available in the u.s. when you are old enough to make decisions a rich, well-dressed man comes to your home, his highly-shined shoes contrasted against your dirt floor, perhaps his sweet cologne mingles with the rotting/medicinal smell of a sick family member in the next room and he says, "I will pay for your family to live if you come to my madrassa to get your education." thus, fanatics are made, not born. in the end, money speaks and instinctual drive to survive overshadows the desire for justice and living by principal. you would do the same.

a prayer once prayed by a Jesuit priest:
dear lord, thank you for your many blessings.
please provide food for those who hunger
and a hunger for justice for those who have food.
Amen.

Shatter my heart so there may be room for Limitless Love - Sufi saying

on the healing powers of death. Enjoy.

"If one believes that the Life/Death/Life force has no stanza beyond death, it is no wonder that some humans are frightened of commitment. They are terrified to go through even one ending. They cannot bear to pass from the veranda into the inner rooms. They are fearful, for they sense that there in the breakfast room of the house of love sits Lady Death, tapping her toe, folding and unfolding her gloves. Before her is a work list, on one side what is living, on the other, what is dying. She means to carry through. She means to maintain balance." (p. 143)

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
Women Who Run with Wolves (1992)


as a culture we believe that death is the end of the road, the last stop. we do not openly accept (the way many antiquated cultures do) the time after death as a real and important stage that we must pass through. yes, pass through, not end at. the dance between life and death carries on everyday with or without your acknowledgment. day after day death claims life while simultaneously paving its way. as a life, a relationship, an experience or even a book ends, part of you dies leaving ashen ground in its path... the ash rejuvenates the land and your heart and soul may prepare for the tender, new growth.

so... maybe we shouldn't imagine lady death at the aforementioned breakfast table, impatiently gesturing but, rather, as a wise mother who knows when enough is enough and accepts, even welcomes, the necessary deaths to make room for new life.

this doesn't just apply to love relationships but in every aspect of our life in which an beginning or ending, a birth or death, can occur.

balance. be a constant pursuant.

seeking title

Photo: Sun rising (with a vengence?) over battered façade of El Morro, Old San Juan


Enjoy.


_______________________


Yesterday we eloped
Shotgun wedding style
In preparation of our love child
The baby announcement reads:

Join us in celebrating the birth of I
Daughter of proud parents me and myself.
Lovingly acknowledged by granparents mother earth and father god.
(To be baptized at no church
By godparents Past & Future Self. )

She was born between disbelief and despair
Nights of memories forgotten come back to scare
the poor child
While gilded hopes floated past her sleeping form to be breathed in
in the fitful way of the half dead.
Simultaneously starved and fed
Still
she arose

The Lotus
Emerging from the dregs
Of her own old soul
To be born again
In the way that we people sometimes do
Not emerging from the womb
Legs and eyes and fingers
new
No
To be created from her own broken rib
Having reached epiphany at the moment her insides were turned out and she watched her own heart pulsing in the palm of her hand
She turned herself around and walked away for good
Leaving a shell of herself marooned in a different time...
and started to feel again
Not the muted touches
And cold caresses of shadows and ghosts
But dark red kisses
And peaceful mornings
Deep sleep
And hearty laughter
A soul awakened
To its own timeless beauty
And unceasing will.