Long time, no talk.
Surrender is the opposite of giving up.

Yes, I am living in Milwaukee. Still? Maybe that's the wrong question. Always changing, deepening, and there is no going back to old ways of being.
Working some jobs, but my real work is yoga and music making. I've been writing and co-writing songs and playing them out. Its tremendous fun, and outrageous joyfulness. Real work. Connected to the ground.

I am more myself than ever.

I am traveling to India next week with a friend of mine. A long trip to deliver tea to a old friend of her's at a Tibetan monastery. Time in a rural village with waterfalls and pineapples.


We have thought, for a long time, about the Earth as our Mother. She has nourished us, given us life, cared for us, stayed with us through it all. But what do children do to their mothers? Do we not take everything from them? Do we not drink from their bodies, take away their restful nights, ask for everything they can give and more? Do we not blame them for our pains and demand they take them away? Do we not take and take with no thought of how much we are taking? And, is this not what we have done to our Mother Earth?

Humanity has, like a child, taken everything it can from our Mother Earth, and more.

But for the child, perhaps it is appropriate to take from our mothers. The thing is, children grow up, and this relationship no longer works. Collectively, humanity needs to grow up.

Charles Eisenstein proposes as new relationship to the Earth, understanding it as Lover. When we fall in love, our lover's happiness is our happiness, her joys, our joys, her pains, our pains as well. Co-creation and mutual sharing is possible. A new way of being.

Ahh, we are falling in love, my Lover Earth.

I have traveled a great distance.

I have traveled a great distance.
A journey I neither planned nor expected.
I was locked in a smiling servitude.
The ropes had grown into my skin.
I did not recognize them.
I thought if I ripped them out, if I stood up straight, my riddled frame would collapse.

I guess I did it anyways.

You know, freedom doesn't feel good.
I don't know what I was thinking.
Not for those who have been packed in a box for decades
and shot up with tranquilizers.
The cold air burns your eyes and lungs.
Bones crack, tense muscles rip off the bone because
they don't remember relaxation.

Why did I ever believe freedom was a gift
someone else owned and had chosen not to extend to me?
As if there was ever such a thing as the
"united states,"
as if whatever that is cared about anything except power and superiority.

I am a woman,
a woman of color growing up
with her eyes open.
I am supposed to be kind and sweet and good and quiet and accommadating.
You know, I was never one of those girls who played
with dolls and dresses. I made my own arrows and shot
them at boys.
I didn't like them,
I didn't want to be them,
I was just being me.
Apparently not okay, but I guess I did it anyways.

Call me angry
Call me crazy.
Say I like to exaggerate.
Call me silly.
Call  me small.
Say it makes no difference.
Call me sinful.
Call me a slut.
Say it's all my fault.

You know, I've been told all this anger is hurting no one but me,
but that is a dirty rotten lie.
Not being angry was the most painful thing.
And not being angry was the key to keep me non-threatening.
Contained and in my place and smiling.
Fuck that shit.
I'd rather not shrink to make you feel better.
Figure it out.
I will stand as tall as I am.

I have traveled a great distance.
A journey I didn't plan.
I won't lie, it's had its horrendous moments.
And it's had its laughter.
I promise I had no idea.
I have no idea.
But I guess I'm doing it anyways.

Beatitudes Rewritten

[From daily reflections I receive by email. The Beatitudes rewritten for the human experience of unworthiness. I thought I would share.]

Blessed are those who have done all they know how to do.
When they stop, God starts.
Blessed are those who resist the urge to prove themselves.
They are the owners of true wealth.
Blessed are those who understand that life is a process of growth and healing.
They will grow, and their minds will be healed.
Blessed are those who don't beat themselves up for making mistakes.
They will live a peace-filled life.
Blessed are those who realize they are doing the best they can.
They go within themselves to find a better way.
Blessed are those who hold no against-ness.
They will be open to new ideas and insights.
Blessed are those who keep working toward a better understanding of the truth of why they are.
They will ultimately find the truth.

If I had not...

If I had not done the online search, 

if I had not questioned everything,

if I had not said no,

if I had not said yes.

If I had not showed up, signed up. 

If I had not listened,

If I had not listened to myself,

If I had not opened by eyes. 

If I had not become nauseous and angry,

if I had not cried and wept alone,

if I had not wept in another's arms,

if I had not stood up. 

If I had not taken the risk,

if I had not taken the pen,

if I had not taken my voice back,

if I had not dug in my heels

And dug into the ground. 

If I had not picked up the phone,

if I had not looked into your eyes,

if I had not read from my own book, 

if I had not told truth. 

If I had not dragged myself through the door,

if I had not let go of conviction, 

if I had not bruised my heel,

if I had not moved. 

If I had not taken off my shoes,

if I had not covered my head, 

if I had not let my hair be,

if I had not learned. 

We would still know each other. 

You or me.

Let's see who is stronger.
     You or me.
Staring at this bricked wall counting.

There is nothing to wait for,
     No one to witness, after all
     no one can.
You have seen into me. You have taken
     away my own mind, riddled
          my body with your lies.
I have carried you through time,
     cradled and caressed you,
          clenched you hoping you would
               change.
You are still the filthy bastard you
     always were.
I hate you and I hate what you did to me.
I give you back all the tremors,
     fainting spells, shaking into tears
     falling, after five minutes
          dismantled, dronding in weighted
               sleep without function.
I give you back your "you will just get used to it."
You are not my blood anymore, you
     are not my tears, you are not my
          sweat, my hands, my neck, my
               back, my brain.
I stand here, clenching for the last
time.

Let's see who is stronger.
     You or me.
Staring at this bricked wall, counting.
     One,
          Two,

               You shattered so easily.


I am moving towards an empowered incarnation of myself.

It was you.

Clutching a pillow to my chest for safekeeping
Keeping safe heart center
Attacked by arrow words piercing
my confidence and exposing my shame.
What more can you blame me for?
Thank you for your honest lies, your sincere evasion, your blaming integrity.
I needed to be reminded of my victimization.
After all, the violation wasn't enough.
Am I the one who is pitiful?
Clutching a pillow to my chest for safekeeping,
keeping safe?
Am I the one who is weak?
Speaking with light blue light?
Cut into my left arm, stab through
the right side of my back, lock my
jaw, bind my feet.
My boundaries were not the problem.
It was you.

Let me tell you something.

Let me tell you something.
If a man was robbed at gunpoint, you wouldn't ask for details. You wouldn't wonder what he was wearing, what he did to lure the thief over to him, you wouldn't say he wanted to be robbed, you wouldn't condemn him for walking down that street at that time, you wouldn't condemn him for having money with him or wearing that watch.

Let me tell you something.
You would know that robber was a fucking thief and dangerous, and that's it. You wouldn't be worried about details because you know there are many ways to rob a person.

Let me tell you something.
The details don't fucking matter. I don't have to prove to you that violence was done to me. I don't have to measure it to your denial.

Let me tell you something.
You don't think every time I meet a man, I think about whether or not this guy could rape me? You don't think I'd like to know if a guy I was around was a sexual perpetrator? You don't think my safety is more important than your reputation?

Let me tell you something.
You completely told on yourself. You are sexist, you have blamed me for what is not my fault, and you are protecting your son from his own choices and consequences. Hypocrite, I thought you worked against oppression, not with it.

Let me tell you something.
You will not tell my story. You will not steal my voice.

Let me tell you something.
You are scared. I know you said you weren't, but let's be real. You are. 

Let me tell you something.
Your pause spoke mountains. You are not doing your own work. Your response has been a joke and completely inadequate. Don't pretend otherwise.

Let me tell you something.
This was not an isolated incident, but a chain of violations. You cannot do his work. You cannot control him. You don't know him better than he knows himself. You can't. You are writing his name on the jail cell.

Let me tell you something.
How dare you be angry at me for what you son has done. How dare you. How dare you think I set him back, that I interfered, as if I have done him or you some wrong. He made his choice. He continues to make his choices. Let's not forget who assaulted who.

Let me tell you something.
I am done with you.
Fuck you.


burning through anger to transformation