I am here.
With no apologies to the ballad of Tam Lin.
This is another queer love story—
When your beloved trades skin for scales, let yourself become the dark earth beneath their belly; the warm rock upon which they bask.
If you awaken to a bear, bade them rest among the gloaming green.
Bury your head into the impossible softness of their lion’s mane and breathe their sacred name.
House an ember in your heart’s forge until it is a hearth, and know that if this
Is all there is
It would be enough.
Plunge your love into the well and emerge holding your unblemished heart.
Long story short, I’ve moved a very long way from my home, and I am thrilled that while I settle into my new life, I will be able to connect with my surroundings in such a lovely way!
“When you see something that is not fair, not right, not just, you must have the courage to stand up, to speak up and find a way to get in the way.”
—Rep. John Lewis (D-Ga.)
Amoret hits it right on the head, and I can’t wait to be shoulder-to-shoulder with her.
“How dare I be discouraged in the work by anything so trivial as the fear of personal failure?” – Paul Williams I am a white cisgender woman. I will mess it up. I will do it wrong. I will have good intentions and they will sometimes translate into shitty actions. I will be thoughtless sometimes, selfish […]
These are not the times for glory or fame—these are times of synergy and connection. The very best of us will become the little lines between stars that will construct constellations, making sense of the glimmers in darkness, guiding the way.
Lady of innumerable pieces, of splintered expectations,
of the thousand cuts that hew coarse stone
into glimmering gems…
Akhilanda, so broken she cannot hold fear—
crocodile-rider, brave balancer who stays steady
even as the beast snaps and whirls, drawing
prey underwater faster than undertow.
Teach us the lessons of the center that cannot hold,
of long nights spent on the floor in the dark,
of the change that spurs growth, of the sacred
wounding that leaves us fractured, faceted:
whirling and luminous with inner light.
Deirdra Harris Glover
Words shape consciousness.
The words we use, especially when we are in places of prominence, authority and privilege, bleed into other’s worldview.
Right now, indigenous peoples are gathering at Standing Rock Sioux Tribe to place their bodies between the water, their heritage sites and the oil industry. Some are calling them protestors. The U.S. Chamber called them “anti-energy“. Buzzfeed haplessly used quotes around the term, “sacred ground” when describing Sioux territory, including ancestral graves, prayer circles and other sites of irreplaceable indigenous history.
The Standing Rock Sacred Camp is possibly the largest gathering of amassed indigenous peoples, united in protection of the earth and its water. Many more bands, nations and tribes have expressed support by sending supplies and contributing to legal funds.
The company responsible for the pipeline construction have erected fences on land that is not theirs, and churned the soil without legal easements in place. They have hired private security and used chemicals and attack dogs on the camp’s residents.
If this were land owned by the wealthy and white, tearing down fences someone built on their land would be hailed by the media as common sense. If violence occurred in defense of white land, the majority would cite stand-your-ground laws, even castle doctrine.
Words shape public opinion, permeate society’s consciousness. They way we speak, in commodities and two-sided conflict, doesn’t apply to this sort of action. Our vocabularies have lost the means to convey this combination of strength, fear, and resolution. They are standing for their ancestry, their culture and dignity. They are standing for clean water as a part of The Sacred, water as a human right, and water as a universal need. We can build a world without oil, but it will be inconvenient. To the Standing Rock Sacred Camp, they can build a life without their stones, their cairns, without a pristine lake, but it would not be worth living.
I went to bed last night but didn’t sleep. I struggled to relax, but my body struggled against it. After a few hours, I decided the best thing to do was to gracefully fail at sleep and do something rewarding instead.
I snuggled our old man dog, who is having more bad days than good. This time is precious.
I began an academic abstract. I wrote the conference organizers for more clarification because it’s to do with comic books, and I’d love to excitedly, academically speak about some of my favorite creators.
I brainstormed for the school newspaper. It’s election year and my senior year –I’d like to see us carry home a few armloads of awards.
I did a bunch of paperwork for school.
I am setting aside time to take practice GREs to see if I’m prepared enough or if I should take a preparatory course.
I made my husband breakfast, which was lovely. We don’t usually get to linger over pancakes and drinks on weekdays.
I have a huge list of things to do today, but none of it seems overwhelming anymore.
Obviously, this night was not meant for sleeping. It was meant for putting feet to flame and deftly leaping about the room.
The trick is knowing when you’re given time so that you may actually use it.
It’s been a year since I went back to college. In two weeks, KidSib and I both report to campus for fall classes.
So much has happened in the last year. The most important accomplishment is arguably that I have kept two fears at bay.
One fear dogs my steps. It reminds me of how I tanked in college back in the ’90s, and whispers that deep inside I’m probably still that girl. I made a lot of bad, entitled, offensive and self-degradory mistakes in the ’90s. I hurt myself. I hurt a lot of people. This fear bites at me, and tells me I don’t deserve good things… that I shouldn’t get my hopes up, because I’ll find a way to wreck it. This dog doesn’t come around often, but when it does, it will chase me for days.
When it comes, I want to lie down and let it gnaw my bones.
Another fear circles me, and it’s a hulking beast. It’s aggressive, feinting, and clever. “You’ve accomplished everything you once thought was difficult. What will it take for you to accept you will succeed? When will you announce your worthiness, take orb, scepter and crown?”
In 1991, my high school pity-passed me in Algebra II. Everyone knew it. It took the shine off my cap and gown, but I was grateful to be done with it: I would be a phenomenal actress and never touch math again.
In 2015, I decided to get a journalism degree. It’s a Bachelor’s of Science. Scientists need algebra. I almost quit. In the first week of July, my spouse and I practiced middle-school algebra for three hours a night, and then I would do that day’s homework. I wept. I came dangerously close to breaking down at least two times. By final exams, I found myself grinning as I worked problems. “What will it take for you to accept you will succeed?”
Yesterday, I got my grades back from summer semester, where I took four challenging classes in four-week semesters. My grades were fantastic, but there was nothing more gratifying than the A in college algebra.
There was a moment where I remembered I can do everything. I am Gloriana the Sun and the velvet expanse of galaxies. I am The Moon, reflecting other’s light. I flow from one shape to another to suit my purpose, bringing my will to bear. I accept the orb, scepter, and crown.
I have no fear of success, no fear of failure: those old dogs may follow me on ragged paws, but they are not mine.
Once upon a time, yesterday in fact, there were two chiefs. The elder was a priestess of Oshun, and the younger a priestess of Yemaya. They agreed to confer, with students observing them, on a subj…
Source: The Way It Should Be
This is so lovely, and is a great model for how we should respond to one another when distance creeps in between us… for that is the growing space