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...