The Heart of Poverty

When we visit places that are poverty stricken, we often witness acts of kindness that go far beyond what any of us could picture ourselves doing. On the reservation, people adopt anyone who is homeless, despite it adding to the number of mouths to feed on a low to zero income. At least a roof is provided, and a family, to one who is lost and in need.

Well, I certainly still have a roof over my head, and its not in the house of my own family. But despite the college degree and everything else, I am starting to understand poverty a little better. How joblessness leads to hopelessness, discomfort and despair. But in such moments of desperation, I think we all need to ask ourselves what really IS the most important thing to us. Is it important to me to hoard the money I have left and deny my friends something as simple as a meal to share together? Is it important to me to become cynical and depressed?

I know in my heart that I am hopeful. That I believe in magic. And that being poor, if anything, is a chance to focus on the things that really matter. Instead of wearing my sharp edge down to the bluntest it could be by applying to position after position after position, I want to keep myself sharp. I want to start my own business. Make my own way. And the only way to do that is through the community we share with others. If we don't have money, we can have food stamp meals, or dumpster dive food. But as long as we're sharing, the rest will work out. As long as we are believing in our future together. The rest will work out.


But I say that maybe because I have a backup plan... I can move back home. It wouldn't be the worst thing to spend time with my family and live closer to best friends. So I've got nothing to lose. The next month I spend in Portland will not be a waste. No matter how much money I make or lose.

the badlands

the other day, i was showing judy pictures of my trip to pine ridge and beyond, and I came across a video i took on my digital camera of the badlands. i was trying to capture how quiet everything is.

this morning i realized how entirely impossible it is to capture that. imagine... let me upload my video on to my computer (already we have the buzz/fan of the computer), i am sitting in a room or house with air conditioning and refrigerators and someone doing the dishes or eating crunchy cereal -- and i am supposed to hear that silence again by watching this video. Or i am outside where there are cars and people and sidewalks and construction, pressing "play" on my camera screen wishing silence could play out of the speakers and return me again to the calm of the land.

imagine sitting on the grass... and still feeling so distance from the true, rugged, unpopulated land.

the badlands hold the crumbling earth and let it sit there quietly and delicately. occasionally a bird will land on a fragile piece of consolidated dirt and it will slightly tip itself out of place and tumble as far down as its weight will carry it.

this land might seem scary... and lonely. but we need land like this. it holds the pain of humanity and lets it dry up and stay and take shape and fall apart. it is beautiful.

the calm of the land. i need that calmness sometimes, when i am hurting, to just let myself be the brittle fragile formations. to be in the quiet and solitude that listens and is silent and respectful to all that our soul is trying to hear and listen to and love.

the city has a different allure, the run-ins with strangers and unexpected encounters. things to buy from every corner of the world. a lot more things in general. pavement, covering up what used to be, containing the trees and the rivers to parks and pathways we visit when we get the extra time. time to be in nature.

well what if we are nature? part of it, i mean, not just visitors to it? it is part of us... for as long as i live, i hope the badlands and those hills in south dakota can hold that same silence... that they can always be a place to revere and respect what is desolate and fragile. that the only song you can hear is the wind and the insects and the birds. that the hum of everything else will have the respect to shut off and listen again...

sometimes

sometimes there is absolutely no reason to be spending my time on the internet.
sometiems my body and soul are ready for a change long before my conscious mind even begins to contemplate one.
sometimes i'm in an unexplainable mood that wants to do nothing but read a silly book about high school romance, fearing lost potential, and going on an epic adventure.
sometimes i need to get out of the city. badly.
sometimes i have poetry inside me waiting to be writen.
sometimes the thing i'm most afraid of doing is exactly what i must do.
sometimes the time is ripe for whimfully buying a plane ticket to visit a far-off soul-friend.
sometimes a simple visit to the farmer's market can keep me gleeful for the rest of the day.
sometimes i need a night all to myself for painting and singing loudly to sad love songs, even when i'm desprately in love.
sometimes my visions of a better world can harness my life into a place of complete dedication and hard work.
while other times i wander completely "off track" and into a quiet space of input and solitude.
sometimes, when i'm feeling particularly wise, i realize and appreicate that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my life or me.
sometimes i make it my entire bike-ride to work without stopping. without even thinking about how badly the hills hurt. just breathing, meditating, and wishing the air weren't so polluted.
sometimes i feel lost because of my need for direction. my need for a vision. my need for creating my future. and all the uncertainty that lies therein.
sometimes i just need to keep going with my dreams.
sometimes it takes pushing through.

I also believe in Equality

Some freedoms be damned.

Equality, to me, is more important than efficiency. Equality, a sense of shared burden, effort to lift the burden together--to each carry a piece--leads to deeper happiness and authentic joy.

Capitalists have got it wrong. I swear. They do.

What good is a higher GDP, even a higher "quality of life" full of material things, if a segment of society MUST do the grunt work--disempowering and undesirable jobs--and the rest of society then carries the guilt deep down inside of knowing they got an unfair deal...they got off easy.

Capitalism and efficiency aim to produce more in order to garner more profits and harness more material goods. Capitalism hopes that there will be a trickle down effect with materials and happiness. That the more capital we accumulate, the easier our lives are, and the more joyful our souls become. Efficiency = fulfillment.

Really, not everyone's souls work this way. Joy comes from within, from our actions, from our contributions, from our sense of self-value, authenticity and empowerment, and explodes out. Joy comes from community, from lessening the load for others, from giving, from selflessness, from justice.

While some people deeply care about efficiency (the people who invented capitalism, presumably), efficiency does not make everyone giddy inside. It is also not the answer to everything.

What's traded for efficiency in our competitive capitalist society? Respect, equality, fun, love, compassion, generosity, spontaneity, altruism, authenticity, empowerment, togetherness, fairness, justice. These are fundamental parts of the human heart--the human race--that we fold for the sake of efficiency.

I can't believe in this system.

I must believe in equality. In valuing each person on earth the same despite their contributions, talents or skills. "I am woman; therefore, nothing human is alien to me." I must believe in a system that empowers people to do work that is empowering and desirable. I must believe in a system that strings humanity together and redistributes the burdens for everyone to carry pieces of. I must believe that if efficiency neglects so many core human values, equality and democracy must be prioritized for the sake of humanity's soul, for the sake of fulfillment and for the sake of true gratitude for our time on earth.

I don't want to spend my time here so hung up on efficiency that I neglect compassion, generosity, and spontaneity. That I neglect to enjoy life. To love it. To love others, fully.

These Things I Believe

I believe hope can be inherited.
That a whole lifetime need not be spent convincing yourself that you are magical.
I believe those who came before me did not tread a path simply so I could voyage down it or relax at the end--but so I could dream even further distances--practice even deeper love.
I believe truth comes in whispers found deep in your soul and we are better off for all the times we let our soul-whispers sing.
I believe in giving permission to sleep in, say no, and opt out when your heart most needs it.
That giving permission for others to push you in their direction is like giving permission for someone to quietly usurp all your dreams.
I believe that kindness must find her way in to the most rusty parts of our beings.
I believe it is never too late to begin, we are never too tied up to come clean about our deep longings.
I believe that men need to hope and cry and be held in loving arms, too.
I believe anyone can be an artist.
That art can set you free.
I believe in the humility of knowing little, of being a beginner, of asking for help.
That if I am so privileged to inherit hope, to inherit belief--my life work then becomes to pay it forward.
I believe that together, we can open doors to the wild possibilities of the human heart.

What things do you believe? I'd love to know in the comments below.

The Hardest Thing About Having Nothing

Is Having Nothing To Give
-Andrea Gibson


What would I give if I had everything?


-value to people who are deemed worthless
-justice
-patience
-hope hope hope
-sisterhood among brothers & sisters alike
-wild possibility
-the courage to dream
-smiling eyes that read, "yes...you can"
-tools & resources
-collective spirit
-lots of apologies
-a great alternative to capitalism
-a tiny push at the beginning
-permission to follow your soul-voice
-permission for men to be emotional
-permission for gender flexibility & loving who you love, simply
-my extra garden produce
-a garden for every home
-a home for every family
-a family for every child
-children for every community
-a community for every lost teenager
-a lost teenager in every heart so that it never forgets what it feels like to be tender, rash and creative
-creativity for every impossibility
-a soft hello to doubt...a place for it to wait while belief takes its turn

on brows of courage

wild love
anxious possibilities
dripping pollin
sweaty and raw
nervous and ready
unshaved legs
sun-salted skin

deep pause
slow breath
smiling temples
neighbors-
lounging in the sun

fading sky
finger lines
across sweaty faces
atop windshield pollin

dripping eyes
finger lines
across cheek's cowardice
smudged fear
on brows of courage

leaping belief

wild love
anxious possibility

Wokiksuye

The dust is sifting between the creases of my hands
Ready to drift into the air like the memory of you in our minds
But the air is god and so is the dust
And these sharp dry grasses that crunch beneath my feet & hands
They’re god too
And you are in them
Calling to us to remember:
Wokiksuye

Remember your cries from the trove as we shot at you with your backs turned running
Remember the tears down your sundried faces as you marched from the Carolinas to Oklahoma, and on to desolation
Remember Little Moon and Big Horse and Lost Bird and Red Cloud
Remember the sprits dead at birth, not buried, but drifting
Drifting in the wind, drying on our faces, buried ‘neath the mud:
Wokiksuye

Remember when we go home to the place where the wind is blocked by buildings & trees
Where the sun is shielded by awnings, ceilings & clouds
Where the grass is sprinkled and soft on our bare feet

Remember that the wind, the sun, the grass
Still carry the Lakota
And still carry us, too.
Wokiksuye

Remember that the Lakota are still breathing in Pine Ridge
Still standing ‘neath the blanketing sun, a top the wounding grass
Fighting for something we might never understand
Because we’ve never been massacred, shot at, with our backs turned
Running against the wind—
The very wind that carries us:
Wokiksuye

This is our history, children.
Wokiksuye!

Twenty Congressional medals of Honor
Awarded by the Federal Government
To members of the 7th Calvery
For the Massacre of 350 Oglala men, women, and children
In 1890 at Wounded Knee.
Wokiksuye!

Stolen sacred hills
And desecrating carvings to remind the Oglala:
This is no longer your land,
You are no longer free,
We will raid & scalp you
Fearlessly, shamelessly
Wokiksuye!

Catholic boarding schools
And ethnic cleansing
Cutting ponytails
And corporal punishment
For whispering words in Lakota
Wokiksuye!
Wokiksuye!

Remember the sundance and the vision quest and the sweat lodge.
Remember forgiveness and difference and retribution.
Remember—the Lakota are a living struggle.
A living culture.
A living family.
And we are all family:
Mitakuye Oyasin.

They’re asking us to remember.
Wokiksuye...

12 Things Healing Truths I'm Trying to Remember

1. "A heart that breaks open can contain the whole world"
2. Losing my understanding of the world will eventually make way for finding deeper truths.
3. I can listen for answers without knowing the right questions.
4. Laying in bed crying can do a lot for a battered soul.
5. I am not alone.
6. Love is stronger than hate. Forgiveness is stronger than animosity.
7. I can be brave enough to acknowledge deep pain.
8. Hope.
9. Patience.
10. The burden is not mine alone to carry.
11. Healing takes space and gentleness.
12. Silence tells many secrets to the heart.


What soft whispers do you tell yourself in times of healing and rebirth?

Midterms.

I simultaneously love and hate the library during exams.

Love it because the energy and momentum to soak in (or cram) as much knowledge as possible is a joint endeavor.

Hate it because people look they they're about to burst and I wish I had time to leave love-notes and give every single person fresh fruit and hugs.

May you find joy and peace in these high-momentum times, knowing that they are a rare experience in shared urgency.

Coming Alive

"The worst mistake that you can make is to think you're alive when really you're asleep in life's waiting room." - Waking Life

Here's what I'm practicing these days, as the end of my undergraduate career creeps up on me:

Step out of the waiting room and into the party...no matter how hard it feels. No matter how much it feels like "it's too late" or no matter how much I wonder, "why invest so much when i'm about to leave?"

Stay awake. No matter how strong the pull of sleep-walking can be. No matter how tired my eyes are or how deeply I just want to give up and rest. Feel this whole process. The anticipation of the end. The excitement of the now. The fear of the future. The small pangs of regret. Just feel through it all... awake to it all... and when i've had enough, when i've truly sat with these different feelings and let them speak their minds, then tell them that it's time for bed... that i've given them my time and i've got other things to care for now.

There is so much to be awake for these days... even the scarey, ambiguous unknown... esepecially the exciting new adventures. But there is no past or future that can live up to my present, so I'm going to stop letting them compete... withdraw my present from the competition, and just enjoy it. Just soak it all in. Just have fun.

22.

It's even and balanced and full and round. Completely devoid of the restless wildness and wonder of 21. But definitely no teetering 23. Simply 22.

Here are 22 things that are simply true about my life right now:

1. I am in love and it's not that messy. It's actually REALLY sparkly!
2. I am engaged in my school work more than ever before.
3. I am forming my legacy here and it feels really great.
4. I am becoming more comfortable with what I don't know and it actually feels good. Like a new beginning.
5. I am learning to work through the moments when I hate my paintings.
6. I am loved by more people than I usually acknowledge.
7. I am excited for the future, and conjure up crazy images of what it will look like all the time.
8. I have hilarious parents who have given me many gifts. We have different values on some things and I'm learning to accept this.
9. I sometimes feel guilty for all the opportunities I have had and still do have.
10. I am constantly trying to share my opportunities with others--to empower opportunities for others by shining light on their talents.
11. I hate dirty bathrooms & kitchens but I am definitely a messy bedroom gal.
12. I never made 'soul mate' friends in college, but I did meet so many people at just the perfect time. In a way, I've become much more of my own soul mate.
13. Friday nights alone in my bedroom with absolutely no plans is one of my favorite times ever.
14. On one hand I have no clue what I will 'do with my life' after college in the traditional sense of how it will be labeled. On the other hand, I know there is no detaching 'who I am' from 'what I do' and in this way, I feel completely unafraid.
15. I've always loved cooking without a recipe.
16. Cooking with a recipe is a new found pleasure.
17. Admitting that I don't know is always better than trying to pretend that I know.
18. Talking with Jodi on the phone is always the most therapeutic experience of my week. Even if I'm listening the whole time. (Ok, that never happens :)
19. My spirit relies on my body's health for its' health. Therefore, biking, fresh food, sleep, and singing are the best things I can do for my spirit.
20. Feeling sexy is still important to me, even though I've stopped shaving my legs and hate unwanted harassment.
21. No one has a perfect sex life. Including me.
22. My UGG boots make me extremely happy. Even though for 4 years I refused to wear them because I was too anti-UGG. (My mom bought them for me in high school and I didn't even have them in my current house until I called my dad before Inauguration and had him drop them off so I wouldn't freeze). Best change of heart ever. But I still rock them under my jeans. I'm kinda a closet-UGG lover.

sinking into the feeling

feeling 'emotionless'--it's like the idea of being 'classless' or 'raceless': neither actually exist.

the "privilege" of being in the upper-middle class is that you can feel as though your class is unimportant. it doesn't hurt you. you're classless. you take it for granted. and the "privilege" of being white is that you can feel like you have no race. or your race is irrelevent. it doesn't hurt you. you're raceless. and all's free of cost to your spirit.

the same applies to gender, sexual preference, nationality, age, etc.... the groups of dominant categories take for granted their ease in lifestyle. not realizing the ease. simply living with it as if it's normal because society has deemed it so. normal & attractive & desirable.

somehow i want to express how i think this applies to claiming an 'emotionless' state. so often when i'm feeling good--when i'm at a peaceful place in my soul, or still and without anxiety or saddness, i claim 'emotionlessness'. i claim that nothing is new. that all is still. 'same old, same old'. down-playing the joy found in the calm of my heart. neglecting to cheer for my simplicity & ease... not wanting to look too deeply into the eye of the joy, secretly fearful that i might find a storm brewing... secretly terrified that i've been fooling myself. that, in fact, i'm just as much of a mess as ever and i have absolutely nothing figured out.

how do i let myself sink into the realities of my joy and not fear moments of inevitable sadness or anxiety? this is something i'm struggling with just as i struggle with my whiteness, my class, my [at least outward] heterosexuality, my privilege. how do i use my privilege to influece joy without shielding myself from what's true and what's real--what's painful and what's scary? without trying to pretend that i've got it all figured out.

i think there's got to be a way to let reality be fragile. to handle my joy and my privilege with care--just as i do with my fear and greif, the parts of me that are oppressed. to remember that no side of the spectrum is more important than the other. that it's a circular cycle, and that in fact, my joy needs my fear. my privilege needs my oppression. my stillness needs my mess.

Video against Divorce Bill for already married gay couples

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

more info go here: http://www.couragecampaign.org/page/s/divorce

is it enough
to walk home
with the cool wind
softly brushing
your face and chest

and the warm sun
quietly kissing
your forehead
and cheeks?

your body will
whisper
to your complicated mind
that she loves being
touched and caressed
in this way

in the way that
wild mother nature
has perfected
lovingly, tenderly

and your soul
will tell you 'no'
a 15 minute walk
simply will not do

do not go inside
and close the door
to mother nature's love

do not leave her waiting
for you to sink into
her outstretched arms
while you sit in front of a screen
buzzing away your brain

that simply will not do

The Youngest of Four

Being the last of four means having less of these old photos
And even less video. But searching through the boxes I found me

Mouth wide open with no teeth surmounting a giant car on its back
On the carpet of my grandmother’s living room

Arms up in a pile of dead leaves just big enough to swallow me
One is falling and I am reaching for it, sitting thanks to my sister
Who held me from falling back into the dried pieces of maple and oak.

Body flying on a swing with my knees up to pump and my hands out
To smile, next to my brother who’s cancer treatment had just begun
To puff up his cheeks and coat. I didn’t really notice then.

No smile sitting on my older brother’s lap, afraid of the quiet deer lying down
Because a deer ate my hair once. I looked as though I was crying silently.
My brother said silently with his arm petting the animal “I’m not afraid.”

Eyes straight ahead, with a mouthful of my hand, covered in chocolate pudding
From my nose to my then-white tank-top, chocolate handprints also holding
A spoon parallel to my shoulders, my tiny stomach half the size of the licked-over bowl.

Shirt off, gray sweatpants on, and a giant cassette player hooked to the elastic
Just below my belly-button. The chord made a V below my neck
I made a thumbs-up as I wondered around the house in my own world of music.

The last one to be breast-fed, last one to send off to pre-school
Then college. The last one to be assigned the least severe curfew
Last one to be trusted with a learner’s permit on 495, circling the district.

My finger circles over the mouth, arms, eyes, belly-button all glossy
All the same texture, all silent, all smaller and further back in time.
All full of the meanings we attach and detach, names and dates written on the back in cursive.
Names some of us will never forget until we are forgotten too.

But I can still remember these. We can still gather and search through boxes as a family
Still breathing and remembering how to remember, how to gather new forms that bind us
Beyond those barely-still-elastic rubber bands wrapped around our glossy silent selves
That cried and held and dared and survived, and mostly smiled.

Unless You Wildly Believe

Twenty minutes late on the first day of class, the sound of my painting professor's leather boots clapper a top the studio floor that's stained with years of student splatter.

"Let me tell you how you can succeed in this class..."

Professor Klank pulls a stool into the middle of the circle, luckily facing my direction, and begins on an hour-long speech that will convince me that this course just might change my life. He hands out our syllabus and proceeds to explain that it is a "non-syllabus" because this course should be fully participatory, and therefore equally discovered rather than dictated.

His hair is bright white, yet spiked as if he's 24 in an extreme rock band. He is petite, but in no way docile--this guy definitely works out at 60-odd years old. And the bright white line of facial hair no wider than a pencil that traces from the bottom of his lower lip to the end of his chin goes far beyond original to the territory of distracting. But the sweetness of the permanent lines he's engraved across his temples from his smiling eyes has the power to pull me back to that place from which his soul speaks.

In a slow but demanding voice, he says to a class of 20 students, "Do not place your canvas upon the easel to lay your paint strokes down unless you wildly believe that what you're about to create will set the world on fire."

Klank catches the spark of intrigue on my face, and his icy sky blue eyes pierce through his silver lashes and stab me like a syringe filling my lungs with oxygen.

"Of course, your ability to reason will remind you that, in fact, you will not create a masterpiece. But your rationale, your reasoning, must not stand in the way of your belief in yourself to do something master-full. The belief itself is the most radical masterpiece there is. And what you ultimately create is no where near as important as how you ultimately create."

At this point, I'm completely hooked into what this guy is saying, and I glance around the room expecting to see other faces as excited and transfixed as I am. But that's not the case at all. What I see instead is clusters of women sorting through the syllabus for some kind of tangible directions, or rolling their eyes at the strangeness of this wild professor's words.

And that's when he makes the jab.

"There is nothing I detest more in this world than mediocrity," he says in a matter-of-fact yet non-smug way (as hard as it is to imagine).

"Without wild belief in yourself as wonderful, master-full, and potentially brilliant, who you are and what you make in this world will never escape the bounds of mediocrity. And that goes not just for art, but for whatever you do in your life."

He goes on to tell us a story about wearing a fur coat to his in-laws house and the disaster that ensued (tangential, for sure)...and continues babbling for another 15 minutes about his family life. I admit this guy didn't give us hardly any direction about what we'd be doing in the class (a bit challenging for me, especially--the only non-art major in this advanced painting class), but who cares! How often do you meet a person, let alone a professor in college, who truly wants you to expand your boundaries of self-love and wild authenticity?

Maybe I'm not supposed to be in this class to learn more about the technicalities of painting. Maybe I'm supposed to be in it to learn how to call myself a painter. How to believe that I'm an artist. How to grant myself permission to feel certain that I am master-full. And how to believe that just maybe, my work will set the world on fire.

Finding your Magic Juice

me: "caitlyn, i want to tell that cute guy in the flannel that i really love his beard! but i'm scared!"
caitlyn: "but you're carrying that juice..."
me: "yeah, so?"
caitlyn: "well, anyone who carrys around a hug jug of lemon, ginger, and i can't even pronounce that last word..."
me: "echinacea (ECK-UH-NAY-SHA)"
caitlyn: "yeah, that... anyone carrying that juice can say whatever they want to strangers."
me: "really?!"
caitlyn: "yeah!"
me: "...you know what, yeah! you're right!."

so with my palms sweaty in nervous anticipation, i walked right up to him, leaned over, and gently said, "i really love your beard." to which he replied through a humble simple smile, "thank you." i smiled back and said, "your welcome" then walked out the library cafe doors, heart thumping with the thrill of following my spontaneity, the bliss of saying "yes" to my inner voice of adventure.

the most coincidental part is there's a promo i have down pact for this juice i'm obsessed with and always carrying around. after someone asks me, what's that huge jug of juice your drinking? i answer something like this:

"why, it's my MAGIC juice. it has all the essential roots that will cure all your bodily ailments and keep your from getting sick. AND, it has the power to make your heart do silly things--like pump to a more true rhythm. want to try a sip?"

little did i know how comforted i would feel, how much power i would grant myself simply because caitlyn reminded me of my own silly claim: this juice is magic, and therefore, i am magical carrying it.

have you ever felt like you have magic powers because of something you carry with you? a pair of awesome rain boots? a bright yellow jacket? that simply fantastic scarf?

i'm convinced that with or without the cape around our necks, we each hold magical powers inside of us--ones that if we dared, would reveal to the world our deepest soulful selves...the selves that unashamedly compliment the cute stranger across the room.

what do you say? what magic is brewing inside of you these days? and what ways do you grant yourself permission to let your magic shine for the whole wide world to see?

sharing is...

today was the first day everyone of the 10 students in my poetry class including myself was present. mary, our professor, requested that we come to class ready to share something about ourselves that would help everyone get to know eachother better... something sort of personal and vulnerable but not too vulnerable.

i knew, for me, this would be a great time to mention that i'm--bisexual? interested in women at the moment and who knows whats next?

still i found my heart pounding so hard that i think the zipper on my zip-up sweatshirt was bouncing up and down. i kept turning different phrases around in my head of different ways that i could start...

"i fell in love with...." no, too personal.

"i'm questioning..." no, too broad.

i felt so happy to be able to go back to elementary school. my claim to fame is being the only white girl in my class--something people in the northwest who don't live in some inner-city somewhere (and even there) have trouble even comprehending! You can count the number of black students that go to Lewis & Clark on your hand. So this seemed like a nice starting point?

Then there's my family background, my father being a pastor and now a famous author.

Then there's me, going to college, exploring my sexuality thinking i might be "bisexual or--" i don't say the word "lesbian." i can't handle that word it feels so heavy and full like giant breasts with a painting of a man and line going through his body on a pin on a leather bra. Female on female porn, butch women, the erotic poetry heather and i perused in the sauna (such a great thing to do by the way), the woman i told i loved this morning... where do i carve out myself, of what clay was i the product? how much of this identity is just draped over us like earrings or jeans? how much are we capable of creating ourselves?


I want to be myself, truly, inside and outside, turned on and turned off. i want to grant myself the greatest pleasures and survive my biggest disasters. i want my heart full and for its overflow of water to turn the mill in my brain. i want to get all my nourishment from the ever-flowing forces of love. god's love, friend's love, men or women who have learned different ways to love, teaching me now new things about love as i teach them how to love me.

all this boiled down to an introduction. take your time, but its short. who are you today?


we are daring for sharing the right amount of so much. my heart slows down, quieter and quieter til i can no longer hear it pounding. the next person talks about a small town near train tracks. And i feel at ease again. for the diversity of the energies we bring, and for letting mine exist today.

the most incredible things about 2008

living in italy.
beautiful bohemian hippie loves.

the sound of train tickets being punched.
the ache of a backpackers back.
miracles with jodi in sicily.























the cows and mountains of switzerland.
























bebop music club. the songs, laughs, flirtations, friends and beers.
chianti red with dinner. and long after dinner.
ruined boots from cobbled stone streets.
letting go of my hair.


the view from via dell'oriuolo.
























8 canvas paintings.
santo spirito capuccinos and conversations.
motocycle rides through the hills of tuscany.
the mess they led to.
admitting messy truths.
again and again.
sore calves from the hilly siena streets and the first real word i knew in italian. "macchina!"
feeling like a real secret during carnival in venice.
a week alone in the rain of torino.
swimming in the deathly cold blue grotto.


biking through killarney national park.


a 6 hour conversation on a plane that turned into an awesome job offer.
ranman's big 6-0 surprise.
perfect-fit thrift store jeans.
my heart cracking open in philly.
sleep walking and then waking up.
nudity in ann arbor.
if i were my own best friend.
latin american history.
mikey graduating from something he loves.

barak obama and dancing in the streets.
a shared purple bedroom & laundry basket.
cuddling to sleep.
growing deeper into love.

accepting complexity.
finding clarity.
never shaving my legs.
a holiday season of giving time and thoughts over gifts and money.
and not one single argument!
a tinfoil extravaganza new years party.


thank you from the bottom of my heart. what a privileged yet challenging year it's been. i'm wondering how 2009 will shape itself, with such an expansive platter of options on the table. i doubt it will be any less eventful than 2008. i have a feeling that 21 years old doesn't lend itself to uneventful unless you make it so. and that's certainly not the way i roll! :)

the drops that let themselves go

last night i lay myself to sleep
in fear
of the dark
that imagination
painted--
the dark
that became my
straight jacket canvas
my steel caged cell
the bars, my head
could not abandon

tonight i rest my head
with trust
in the light
that drips through
my midnight ceiling--
the light
weightless paint drops
of white
and gold starry
abondonment

the drops
that let themselves go
from the dark
that imagination
painted

the true you

i've been on an old-home-videos-kick ever since my dad converted tons of footage from when i was a little kid onto DVDs. i've been spending far too many late nights with the television glow pulsating against the bedroom walls, refusing to shut my eyes and end my peek into a long forgotten past. the thing is, i'm hooked to what my two-year-old-self is revealing to my twenty-one-year-old-self.

behind my two-year-old blond frizzy ringlets, in my deep brown eyes and quiet concentration, i see a self who slowly reflects on the world around her, and shares only her most processed thoughts (save the silly ones--she loves to share those). as my two-year-old-self rips the paper off a big christmas gift box, and proceeds to get excited about all the things she could use the box for, rather than the kitchen that's inside of it, i see a self exploding with imaginative thoughts and dreams unavailable in a tangible world. as i lay on the couch and my 5-year-old-brother explains to me that "Y" is for "yolk" and i unashamedly ask "what's yolk?" four times before i finally comprehend, i see a self full of curiosity, humility and eagerness to learn. a self so willing to be taught.

as i watch my two-year-old-self pounce, ponder, play, and pout, i watch with a feeling of pure, accepting love. look at that beautiful child, i think. look at her being HER, i giggle. what a joy. what a gift to be 2 years old and not yet weathered enough to reflect on flaws and shortcomings. to feel not enough.

i'm hooked to these videos because of the chance they give me to love again. to re-live unashamed curiosity, wild imagination and quiet concentration without judgement and without fear, but with complete adoration and acceptance.

look at that girl, i think to myself. the true you. i love her. and i know in the most honest and brave parts of my heart, that the love i feel for my two-year-old-self is the same love i can harvest for myself today.

coming in

i'm trying to think of how this whole gay rights movement can continue forward. being possibly lesbian/bisexual myself, these sorts of things come to mind. what can i do, what can others do to bridge the divide of understanding and equality between the ever-ranging spectrum of sexuality? while it seems like we're closer than ever to seeing gays as human beings with equal rights, it still can be so tricky to figure out how to navigate identity in social situations with strangers, family, and friends.

we often refer to the process of revealing ones non-heterosexual sexuality as "coming out." the closet was the metaphor for the secret life homosexual people had to live around their non-accepting peers. to come out is to open up about ones sexual identity or history. if we refer to the platonian model of the myth of the cave, coming out of the closet could be like emerging from the cave of ignorance into the light of truth, knowledge, community. this process could be purely enlightening for all, leaving the darkness for the openness, breaking down the door.

but the idea of the closet itself is problematic for the closeted and the outsider, because non-acceptance is assumed. because our society has been so ignorant about gays in the past (and continues to be), the gay person is afraid to come out, and the other person is also accredited and perhaps justified in allowing the wall to exist in the first place.

still this process really places the person who is coming out in center stage. they are being watched, judged, and monitored on their delivery, their timing, their story, their history, their complexity. once the closet door is removed, the focus is on the person walking out. we're now in the same space as the others who were born without closets encapsulating their sexuality, but we're new additions to their lives. our whole history is morphed under a new lens of this alternate identity, and people begin to wonder--is that why he or she hated PE class? is that why they broke up? is that why you got in fights with your family? suddenly, a detective game begins, where did homosexuality intrude? was it there in the nursing infant? did it come about because of tv shows? did another individual trick someone into sleeping with them? what has happened here, and there? and why has this person been hiding? (have they been aware they were hiding?)

everything begins to be searched for evidence. the clothes people wear, the make up one does or does not apply, the height of someone's shoeheel, the length of one's hair, the shape of one's face... styles are formed, subcultures are created so that communities can be formed, people can feel part of a group of others who are like them and accept them. but really, these fads are no different than other fads, they are expressions of a people with a common interest. yet within that group united by a common interest are so many different stories that cannot be boxed into a uniform, style, or identification system.

what i'd like to reclaim are the views of the gays who have or have not decided to come out. i'd like to explore what happens when people come into the space that occupies our deepest identity? what happens when we come into those places within ourselves? i think in some ways coming out is like turning yourself inside out. with all your deepest instinctual inner patterns exposed and the tough skin tucked backwards, one loses a sense of protection. with practice, perhaps this process can feel empowering, but in order for us to feel comfortable and strong i think we need to develop a new layer of skin. this new skin layer is a patchwork of identities, styles, elements of subculture which make those who do not feel like they belong have a sense of belonging. but instead of creating unity, we end up divided like gangs in our separate code-language choice of clothing and hairstyles, giving off vibes of our territorial identity in order to protect our deepest instinctual selves in the power of numbers, names, and stereotypes.

before one finds this community, this subculture, how can one come out into the world, timid and afraid without shriveling in the sun? without roots connected to a well of nutrients and water, the dark moist cave is far more safe than the dry vast desert. we need to belong, but how does that process begin when such bold lines are being drawn around to distinguish one subculture from the next?

before i knew there was a such thing as me identifying as anything but heterosexual, before i had discovered the depth of my sexuality, i had no concept of the closet doors enclosing my body. it wasn't until i closed my bedroom door to the outside world so that i could discover what its like to love, that i could even sense a sliding door closing, with little slits in that i could look out of, but no one could see in. it wasn't until everyone started asking if i had a boyfriend, that i found it so hard to say i had a girlfriend instead. and when i shielded the truth, i stayed put with the outdated clothes and unfashionable shoes keeping me company in that dreadful closet i began to learn so much about.

but when the questions disappeared, or when my lover reappeared i felt like the power of my love could bend fields of wheat like waves of wind, with no boundaries to keep it in. so how could this tight closet space be applied to my ever-expanding concept of love?

perhaps the closet is bigger than we think it is. this is what i started to realize.

when i got all my friends together, gay or not, and spoke openly with them about my sexuality among other things, it was like we were lighting candles in the dark, or pressing walls backwards with our numbers and our knowledge and support. the roles even start to seem like they are flipping, so that people who do not accept gays seem to be in a closet of their own ignorance, keeping them from experiencing the world as it truly is: as a place with all forms of love roaming present and increasing positive energy in the universe. how could they be so closed off?

its up to them to come out of their closet, as much as its up to gays to invite people into theirs. ultimately its not about boxing either side in, but about working together so that these four-sided patterns can disperse into whatever space one wants to create for themselves in any given time. i don't want a closet. i want a field. i want to be naked. with those who are unafraid to shed their patchwork, and let the darkest places be warmed by the truest light of acceptance.