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.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
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! :)
Thursday, January 8, 2009
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
Thursday, January 1, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Immerse.
My dad's mother, Grandma Mary Lou, has a life-story full of rich, shakey and beyond all else--inspiring tales. For Christmas this year I asked for one and only one special present. Answers to the following questions:
Where does happiness come from?
What was it like having a child (my father) at 17 years old? How did it shape who you became?
What's the most challenging lesson life has taught you? Was it also the most important?
And the last, she gave me a short response to over the phone...
"Do you still have dreams, Grandma? And if you do, do you plan on following them?"
"I think it this age, Rach, dreams shift from things you want to do yourself, and turn to things you want to be present for--to wittness in the time you have left. I'd love to be around to see the birth of your first baby. The unfolding of a whole new generation. That's a dream unlike anything you could wish for yourself. And you'll understand it as soon as you wittness it."
Answers to these questions are only the very beginning of a monumental story about to unfold. For years, I've been wanting to sit down with my Grandma and the tape recorder, and let the big red button capture the timeless stories and adventures of her life. This woman--daughter of a famous Southern Baptist Radio Preacher, run-away teenager and mother at age 17, political propaganda artist in an all-male D.C. studio, penny-by-penny single mother and bill payer for 3 children, and eventual President of the Mail Office at the White House under 3 different administrations... you can only imagine the stories of creativity, making-do, laughter, and juicy-insider secrets my Grandma has bottled up in her memory. And at age 77, she's not slowing down or holding still. She has a Mac PowerBook, bright orange crock shoes, goes swimming every day, reads a political book a week, cares for my two younger cousins after school, and does stained glass and oil paintings in her basement art studio.
Can I just say that if I do half the things in my life that she's done in hers, I'll feel pretty proud of my accomplishments.
This year I'm going to take the step to follow through on the idea I've had for years. I won't let another year pass without hitting the big red button. Without starting to record my Grandma's priceless story.
Although a bit early, the title of my new year's resolution list and my word of the year is Immerse. It's long and hefty and all wrapped up in the unavoidable feeling that a pivitol chapter in my life is nearing a symolic end. I'm feeling the pangs of nostalgia and worries of regret long before this last semester has even come, let alone gone. But nostalgia and regret are not the notes I want my song of college to end on. Even if it's tough, this list will challenge me to soak in every special 'last' of being present in a place and with a community that has expanded my mind and soul by immeasurable heaps.
What's at the top of your New Years Resolution list? Your word for the year that speaks straight from the soul?
Where does happiness come from?
What was it like having a child (my father) at 17 years old? How did it shape who you became?
What's the most challenging lesson life has taught you? Was it also the most important?
And the last, she gave me a short response to over the phone...
"Do you still have dreams, Grandma? And if you do, do you plan on following them?"
"I think it this age, Rach, dreams shift from things you want to do yourself, and turn to things you want to be present for--to wittness in the time you have left. I'd love to be around to see the birth of your first baby. The unfolding of a whole new generation. That's a dream unlike anything you could wish for yourself. And you'll understand it as soon as you wittness it."
Answers to these questions are only the very beginning of a monumental story about to unfold. For years, I've been wanting to sit down with my Grandma and the tape recorder, and let the big red button capture the timeless stories and adventures of her life. This woman--daughter of a famous Southern Baptist Radio Preacher, run-away teenager and mother at age 17, political propaganda artist in an all-male D.C. studio, penny-by-penny single mother and bill payer for 3 children, and eventual President of the Mail Office at the White House under 3 different administrations... you can only imagine the stories of creativity, making-do, laughter, and juicy-insider secrets my Grandma has bottled up in her memory. And at age 77, she's not slowing down or holding still. She has a Mac PowerBook, bright orange crock shoes, goes swimming every day, reads a political book a week, cares for my two younger cousins after school, and does stained glass and oil paintings in her basement art studio.
Can I just say that if I do half the things in my life that she's done in hers, I'll feel pretty proud of my accomplishments.
This year I'm going to take the step to follow through on the idea I've had for years. I won't let another year pass without hitting the big red button. Without starting to record my Grandma's priceless story.
Although a bit early, the title of my new year's resolution list and my word of the year is Immerse. It's long and hefty and all wrapped up in the unavoidable feeling that a pivitol chapter in my life is nearing a symolic end. I'm feeling the pangs of nostalgia and worries of regret long before this last semester has even come, let alone gone. But nostalgia and regret are not the notes I want my song of college to end on. Even if it's tough, this list will challenge me to soak in every special 'last' of being present in a place and with a community that has expanded my mind and soul by immeasurable heaps.
What's at the top of your New Years Resolution list? Your word for the year that speaks straight from the soul?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
At the very center is Trust
Shawna, Alternative Spring Break 2007 New Orleans, photo taken by sonia
At what point, at what moment, do we lose the essential Trust in ourselves to move mountains with simple intentions? So often it can feel like the world is conspiring against us, suppressing beauty, limiting potential, drowning curiosity and fervor with mind-numbing complacency.
But today, this incredible woman gave me a very strong reminder that no matter our means, anything and everything is possible with Deep Conviction. And all it takes, is one foot in front of the other. Small Steps. Small Breaths. And Daily Listening to the stories of hearts and souls unafraid to continue walking in an age of paralysis.
Today, I am letting the Truth come out. I completely Trust that I can...
share stories of Courage that move people to act with Compassion
build my own website
complete the Zine "if i were my own best friend"
be present enough to embrace my community
have patience with the Great Unknown of life after college
expose the honest truths and fears of my complicated heart
make up for my self-doubt with deep belief and caring
What whispering truths is your heart telling you today? Let them sing freely in the comments below.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)