Saturday, October 8, 2011

Live Free

One year in New Hampshire. A mere 365 days and I have completely transformed. A rebirth in every sense of the word.

When I arrived here I had one pair of worn-out sneakers, a falling apart car, and a heaviness on my psyche. I had no job, one friend here, and no real hopes for the future. I was lost and confused. Running away from the known and entering a world of mystery.

Now, exactly one year later, I can finally say that I am happy. Great job, wonderful group of friends, good running car, a few pairs of new shoes, and a great deal of affection. When I left North Carolina, I was an introvert...a hermit even. I had no friends there my age and rarely left my bedroom unless I absolutely had to do so. Now I thrive on being around people...even groups of people! I make people laugh, I dance randomly, I throw an occasional party, and I live spontaneously. I am looking forward to my future again and enjoying the present.

Perhaps this is the gift with which my mother left me. A lesson to live life to the fullest before it slips away.

If anyone had told me where I would be today, I wouldn't have believed them. I couldn't have at the time. But it is real and genuine. True happiness. And I am grateful.

Friday, March 18, 2011


We do not need more televisions, we need more communities.
We do not need more of a work ethic, we need more playtime.
We do not need more money, we need more lovemaking.
We do not need more time to clean our houses, we need more time to climb trees.
We do not need more degrees, we need more wisdom.
We do not need more make-up, we need more appreciation of natural beauty.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Divine Feminine

It is mid afternoon and I am lying on my bed. The breeze blows in through my open window and the sound of sirens overpowers the birds’ beautiful songs.

I am keenly aware of my menstruating body and its cycles of discomfort and ease. I am contemplating life. I am contemplating my femininity. I am contemplating our present, overly masculine society. My feelings fluctuate between a heavy sadness and a perfect tranquility.

My roommate walks down the hall with his heavy footsteps. I immediately enter a space of frustration. Not over his steps alone, but over the steps of every man…modern and historical.

For as long as I can remember I have carried a sort of vendetta toward the opposite sex; an unexplainable disdain for their very presence. I couldn’t possibly count all the boys I beat up as a young girl, usually for small offenses. He called me a name, tried to play with my toys, talked too much, didn’t talk enough, or looked at me funny. Whatever the reasoning, I enjoyed watching them squirm. I especially enjoyed laughing as they ran away in tears…soaked in shame.

The last time this happened I was eighteen years old and drunk. I was at a festival, walking down the street with a friend, and a guy behind me grabbed my ass. Without a thought I turned around and punched him in the face. He cupped his nose and mumbled “you fucking bitch” as he ran across the street. This time, however, a sense of guilt appeared in my psyche. Did he really deserve that? Did it actually teach him a lesson? Could I have gotten arrested for assault? I couldn’t be sure if what I felt was my own or the mass opinion of our society, finally creeping into my awareness.

I began to question the reasons I felt this animosity toward men. I had a close relationship with my father, I was never sexually or physically abused, and I had never witnessed my mother being hurt by a man. So why did I display this pattern of violence?

Now, lying here on my bed, I understand it more clearly. It isn’t just my own experience that drives me, but the experience of all women everywhere. The history of rape, violence, degradation, and persecution that lives in my very bones. The condition of our current society and ideas…including all its sharp, hard architecture, dominating mental views, and Christian “morals”. The bombs, the wars, the corporations, and the rape of the Earth itself.

Perhaps femininity, as we’ve always perceived it, is false. Maybe it carries with it strength, passion, and power beyond what men could possibly comprehend. The strength to overcome any obstacle, the passion to change the world, and the power to get others to join us.
I don’t hate men. I am merely pissed off about the extreme imbalance with which we are living. It is time for women to stand up in their Divine Femininity and bring the world back to its center. Bring us back to our true and inherent power.

Thursday, January 20, 2011


I believe life is one giant masquerade ball. We are all dancers in an intricate, complex, joyful, and often extremely sorrowful event. Every song is a moment in time...fleeting and unique. We choose with whom we dance, when we dance, and when we sit in the dark corner alone. We decide when to wear our mask and hide our face, and when to reveal ourselves in full vulnerability.

The last 3 years of my life have included a great deal of sitting in the corner...watching the dancers from a distance. Before this, I was dancing joyfully and easily with a partner, until I became bored and curious. I chose a new dance partner...a masked man dressed all in black. We danced passionately and feverishly for the first few songs. Then he became tired and weary. Rather than choose a new partner and continue the dance, I followed him off the floor. We sat in the dark together for what seemed an eternity. He would leave the room for long periods of time and I would wait. Occasionally I took the arm of another man, but always returned to my corner. Waiting. Always waiting.

One day he returned and we danced joyfully for one brief song. I wanted it to last forever, but nothing ever does. Finally, we began to tango furiously. Then, during our final number, he pushed me violently to the ground and collapsed himself. The music stopped. The dancers froze in time. Life faded.

I lied there upon the floor, motionless, for months.

Then a tragedy occurred and all changed. The dancers slowly began to move again. All masks were removed. Vulnerability was revealed.

Now I am dancing once again. More with a group this time and more joyfully than before. Less dependent on a dance partner. More alive.

What have I learned from this experience? Every dancer has the right to choose their moves, with whom they dance, or whether they want to dance at all. They can lock themselves in the next room or collapse on the floor. I can chose to continue dancing. Continue living.