California Dreamin

          

        For over two decades, I dreamed of living in California. I had the idea that I wanted to live in the Bay Area for awhile, because I knew that San Francisco needed a chapter in my Big Gay Life. I longed for a beach-side life. I believed that there had to be somewhere along the coast between the Bay Area and L.A. that I could live close to the Ocean. I also longed for the California Cowgirl life, living somewhere on a piece of land where I could garden, maybe have chickens and goats, ride horses. I have always wanted a rose garden, to commune with horses, and to learn to fly a plane. I figured all of those things could be possible with a California countryside life. Perhaps all of this could coalesce into One Wonderful Life: Bay Area, Ocean, Countryside.

            I didn't know much about Santa Cruz. Now, I do. At the change over from 2011 to 2012, the beginning of the last year of the Mayan Calender, I left the Seattle area after 14 years, and moved to California. I tried to find work and aliving situation in San Francisco or Oakland, but nothing was falling into place despite best efforts. Then all of a sudden, through the Sisterhood network, I was led to Santa Cruz (a mere 60 miles from SanFran), a beach cottage that was available to rent, and the Sisterhood hand-over. Skip the city and head straight to the beach, the Divine Beloved said. As so, I did.

It’s hard to believe that as this year closes, I’ve been in California for two years now. These past two years have been a time of huge transition, as one would imagine.  It is said that Santa Cruz is one of those places that people come to heal. For me, being in Santa Cruz, aka ‘Paradise’ has brought me to a more healed, whole, healthy, mature, clear, strong and centered place than ever before. Maybe it’s the consistent sunny days. Maybe it’s the negative ions from the salt water and air. Maybe it’s the sand between my toes. Maybe it was a horrific romantic heartbreak resulting from a narcissisticly abusive involvement. Or maybe, I was just ready to go there: emotionally and spiritually purge self and soul down to the core, as I had to do materially to prepare to leave the Seattle area after so long. Whatever the factors involved, this transition has changed me forever, for the good.  I will never be the same. I have moved out of victim consciousness to never return.

            Dreams continue to come true, now that my dream of living in California, near the Bay Area, has been achieved. I have been living in my dream beach cottage two blocks from the sea, and growing a small vegetable and herb garden on the patio. In the Spring I camped in Yosemite National Park for the first time, and I plan to go back again and again. I have visited Big Sur many times, a place my maternal grandfather loved. I am participating regularly in a community jazz workshop, and I have my Etsy shop up and running. I now have what I would consider a ‘grown-up’s car’: a completely reliable ’96 Toyota Camry 4-door sedan.

          It hasn’t been easy. There have been many dark nights of the soul: the narcissistic abuse I suffered,  the slow-going of making new friends in this tight-knit small town community, the death of my aunt, who my mother was estranged from for decades, my need to take an intentional break from my mother for awhile, deep intensive therapy and soul searching instigated by the narcissistic abuse and continued by my empassioned desire for emotional wellness and freedom from negative beliefs and childhood trauma. Deep, hard, powerful, transformational healing work, guided by an excellent therapist. It's been painful and exhausting. And deeply rewarding. 

       Also, It’s expensive to live in California, while the wages in the Santa Cruz area are low. It’s been a difficult financial struggle; at times I have wondered how I would make it, and not wind up living in my car.  Add to that, my reproductive health issues have reached a turning point, requiring some serious consideration and intervention, and I haven’t been able to afford health care to address the issues. I was barely making it with about $150 to spend on food and fuel for the month, after my minimal bills were paid. I looked in vain for higher-paying work, or a less expensive place to live. I thought that maybe I wouldn't make it in California after all. 

           In the midst of this struggle, a friend needed to re-home one of her dogs, a deer-point Chihuahua named Lezzie. Yes, Lezzie. I haven't been able yet to bring myself to get a new cat, even though my dear Bobby died two years ago. But I am not a person who lasts long without a pet, I adore animals too much. And animals love me automatically. They take easily to my empathic nature, and my healing touch. So Lezzie came to stay with me on a trial basis. We haven't made it official yet, but it's been three months, and she's staying with me. She's super sweet, and then also territorial and protective. It's kind of nice to have someone other critter take some of the responsibility of protecting me. I've been on my own for so long, self-preservation is a full-time occupation, and it can get exhausting and awful lonely. A little dog helps mediate all that. Me, with a Chihuahua! Hilarious! Would have never thought that would happen. I would love to have a German Shepherd. And a Yorkie. Lol. 

       So, with my efforts to find other work and/or other living situations failing again and again, I sort of gave up looking. A bunch of wonderful Sister-friends generously helped me when things got very dire financially, and I was able to get caught up on bills and get some food in my cabinet, and gas in my car. I decided to just survive as best I could on what little I had coming in. Anemic due to my menorrhagia , and unable to get the much needed help of a gynecologist with no health insurance, I got to the point where there was nothing else I could do to solve my conundrums on my own, and I just turned it all over to my Higher Power, or the Divine Beloved as I like to refer to Her these days.  And wow, did She deliver!

       I went to a Halloween party that my co-worker friend was throwing. While there, I hit it off immediately with one of her longest, closest friends. Turns out, this new friend had a room to rent in her family house out in the countryside, for considerably less rent than I was paying for my beach cottage studio apartment and utilities. As the house was only five miles from work, I could also save a considerable amount of money on fuel. And in lowering my overhead by a few hundred dollars a month, I could now afford to purchase the health insurance through my employer. So despite not knowing this woman or the others living at the house barely at all, I jumped. I took a leap of blind faith. Sisterhood is powerful, and again the Divine Beloved provided the perfect solution through the Sisterhood network. 

       And with this move, there are so many interesting details. The house is a beautiful old Victorian style countryside house with a barn in back (can you say dream house?). It is surrounded by apple orchards, and down the road a piece from the strawberry fields. There is a lots of space, space for me to set up a arts and crafts station, a functional vegetable garden already in place, fenced dog-friendly backyard with several other sweet dogs, a rose garden with over 50 rose bushes on the property. My coworker friend is a pilot. Her friend, the one whose house it is, owns a horse and rides horses and knows lots of horse-women. Living in an apartments in the barn are two guys that are musicians who play piano and guitar, with a piano and music studio set up in the barn, just what a singer needs. There is a big eat-in kitchen, and my new friend is an excellent cook. So much that I have wanted and needed in one fell swoop.




               There is more work for me to do. I will be pursuing options to deal with my menorrhagia and may consider having a hysterectomy, which entails a six week recovery and time off of work. I am just barely above anemic. The health crisis has taken my toll on my body, my energy, my weight, my skin. I still have belongings in storage in Seattle that need to be retrieved (an eliminate that bill). My car needs front brakes and a CV joint, which I have not yet been able to afford. My budget is in transition from the old 'barely making' it level, to the new 'i might make it' level. I have a pile of late bills to pay. My Etsy shop is up and running, but I'm lucky to get one sale per month. My website needs a rebuild. I need to find an outlet for vocal performance, not just musical workshop. There are million places I want to explore in California. I have a few friends now, and still no real, good romantic partnership. I need a cat.

     But, I have this feeling that there is much yet to come from this next chapter. That this move and transition will provide for many blessings, and journey me down the road of my life in really positive ways that I yet cannot see. I hope to have more time with horses, time with airplanes, time with good women who have been born and raised in the Central California Coast area, who are rooted in the Land and the Sisterhood network that exists here, strong, underground, close to the earth, sweet, kind and reliable.

It's a new world and new life, and I'm feeling good.

Revisted

An avalanche of heartbroken
revisted
in but a moment
whenever i see you

shattered dreams
tarnished memories
are all that stand true the test of time
since last i heard you say
'i love you'

used wrecklessly
as a skirmish of your twitsted games

you were careless with my heart

for this, i cannot forgive you
beloved

this life
wasn't meant
for Us

our love out of time
that spans so many lives
brought only lessons this time
a glimpse of Us
a hint of Us
that i could only long for
and you mercilessly destroyed

forgiveness is not possible
without acknowledgemt of truth
and you are a pathological liar
my darling

Next life
come to me ready
AFTer disarmament

there will never again
be an opportunity
for you to devastate my
heart and soul again
so,
this life may be the end
of Us

Your delusions of grandeur
too toxic
twisted you are
my love
my enemy
my destruction
my beloved

Next life
This
will not be
revisted

November Writing Challenge: Coffee

5:30 am, Ann starts stacking the coffee-filled filters to prepare for the morning breakfast rush at the diner her play uncle owns. Blowing gently on the top of the pile of white filters in her hand, she pulls off the top one her breathe set free, and sets in on the counter. As she rips open the pre-measured foil coffee packet of Farmer's Brothers, her mind wonders if that interesting customer will come in today: that woman who looks sort of like a boy in her cap and man's pants, who sits with the owner's nephew and friends in the back corner. She is kind of curt and gruff, and laughs at the dirty jokes the guys tell, and occasionally tosses a greedy-eyed look in the direction of Ann and her breasts that pop out of her black and white waitress uniform. That look always gives Ann a rush of adrenaline, a strange warmth comes over her body head to toe in an instant. She wishes her boyfriend's kisses gave her that kind of feeling. She squeezes her thighs together until the memory-induced arousal fades. The foil packet emptied in the filter, she sprinkles a little salt on top to cut the bitter, then blows apart another white filter, adds to the top of the pile and repeats this process until there are at least ten pots of coffee prepped, while the three brew on the hot plates: two regular, one decaf. It will be ten years until she realizes why that boyish-woman's glances give her such a rush. And once Ann figures it out, there will be no turning back.

November Writing Challenge: a story in five sentences.

One time, after the rains started, everyone ran outside in glee. Suddenly, clothes were being stripped off and tossed into the puddles. Drain pipe cracks burst open, creating outdoor shower spouts that poured onto the lawn. The people brought out their shampoos and soap, and lathered up. Bubbles and laughter mixed and mingled, as dirty feet and clean bodies brought joy to the entire block.

November Writing Challenge: Rainy Days

Rainy days and mondays always get me down

it's true. and that's ok. somedays it's good to let down and be down. then when the sun comes out the next day or two, there is a renewal in spirit, a shift, a mini re-birth. and this Scorpio Mars child with inner Bat medicine loves a good rebirth moment.

my favorite way to spend a rainy day is to have the day off first of all. then wake up early, after sleeping in some, say 8:30 or 9am. make coffee. pack a bowl. get into comfy house pants and warm cozy top. wake n bake, coffee in hand. listen to the rain against the window, read a little, feet up.  then get into a Project. not just a little puttering, but a Project. clean out and rearrange the entire closet. or cook a big pot of soup while baking some cornbread and brownies or other goodies. or set up to do an art project or craft project and work until late into the night, only stopping to watch SNL and fall asleep.

rainy days are home days. stay at home, stay in the home of myself. be comfortable, dry and wam, while the storm rages on outside. cocooned within the waves of water through the air, birthing a creation, or rebirthing the self one more time.

November Writing Challenge: My Favorite Place

There are places on this planet
that speak to my soul
whispers of past lives
and cross dimensional familiarity
with etheric genetic patterning,
something magical connects when i'm there:

New York City, especially Lower Manhattan
Maagen's Bay, St. Thomas
The Colorado Rockies at 8500'
Mt. Shasta
Sedona
The Rio Grande just south of Truth or Consequences
Tuscon, Arizona
The coastal hills between Half Moon Bay and Santa Cruz
Seattle
Big Sur
Venice Beach
Lisa Vogel's Land

But my most favorite place of all
is within myself
Finally
Securely in my skin
after years of working within
Standing on my own two feet
without shoes
in my own thoughts, in my own perceptions
listening to my intuition
and the Divine's internal expression
in my dreams
in my very own bed
held safe and secure
in knowing who i am
being who i am
the end.

November Writing Challenge: Food, a day in the life

Alarm on phone sings: 'Shine Bright like a Diamond..."
sure, sure, sure gimme ten. snooze.
Three more snoozes later and peel myself from the bed, and head to the bathroom.
"Shine bright like a diamond..."
damn, i'm on the toilet and the phone is on the other side of the cottage.
oh well, sing along.

Dog yawns, peaks out from her blanket burrow and does her morning yoga. Downward dog looks so normal on a dog. Glass of water and morning med, 'take on empty stomach, one hour before first meal'. check. Dog walk.

Make a protein smoothie or hit the Burger King drive-thru for a sauage egg and cheese biscuit. Do I have any instant oatmeal in my cabinet at work? I think I'm out. I really should make those thick cut organic slow cooked oats anyway, that's better for you than the instant. ok ok, Protein smoothie: blueberries, banana, protein powder (whey and rice not soy), fish oil, molasses, damn i didn't ground any flax seed last night, ok skip it, almond milk. Blend. poor into mason jar. Drive to work.

Drink protein smoothie while reading emails. Multi vitamin, morning supplement, coffee, vit C. Drink water, drink water! fill up water bottle. want a donut. there are no donuts. drink more coffee. drink more water. vit c. Break.

Take a walk, smoke a cigarette or get a pop tart from the vending machine. Do none of the above. Back to work.

Lunch. Shit, i forgot my lunch, good thing i have some cans of soup in my cabinet. or maybe i run out to Subway for today's $2.50 special sub. or Erik's deli, no too expensive or Safeway for one of those pesto-turkey-avocado sandwiches. no, i need to lay off the wheat, no sandwiches this week.. Someone is ordering chinese, wish i could afford it. i want pizza! OR Lunch: 1/2 cup brown rice, 1/2 black beans, 2 cups steamed mixed veggies garnished with 1/2 a lemon's juice, olive oil and a dash of sea salt OR i actually made a big pot of SOMEthing on sunday to last the week OR whatever leftovers i scraped together from the night before and a can of sardines or tuna or clams. oh hell, whatever, it's food and i need some calories and nutrition. Can't i have a girlfriend who cooks for me?

4pm i'm fading. more coffee? no had enough. vit c. water. oh yeah, i have some mixed seeds and nuts in my cabinet! phew, protein saved me from the chips in the vending machine. not really hungry but energy low, i could just.curl.up.and.sleep.right.now.under.desk. Finally time to go home.

walk dog. take nap. not really hungry but gotta eat. can't someone cook for me? i could run to Jax and get a burger. no, no, don't spend the money, i know it's only $2.39 for a Jumbo Jack with cheese. Ooo, maybe I'll splurge and go to the diner and get their special, maybe they have a steak and veggies tonight. no no, can't afford that. ok ok, go to Safeway, get some steak from the Manager's Special bin because beef is too expensive but this is 30% off and i need beef and animal based iron. But oh shit, it's corn-fed beef ain't it? well that sort of defeats the purpose don't it. corn=bad. corn=belly bloat. fuck it. i can't afford to eat all perfect, take the good with the bad. i got rice at home. and some broccolli. ok a balanced meal! but i gotta cook now, which means wash the dishes first, and then cook and then have more dirty dishes. Can't i have a girlfriend who cooks for me? i should have gone to the Palomar for two cheap happy hour beef tacos and called it a day.

now i want cake.

can't i just photosynthesize? it would be so much easier

November Writing Challenge: Childhood Memories: Lapless Grandma

My maternal grandmother retains the moniker 'Lapless Grandma' in my mind.

I have no idea how that came about, or when, or by whom, but I know why. You see, I come from a long line of fat women, and Grandma was very fat. She was fairly short, perhaps 5'2" or so, and when she sat down her big round lower belly (we are of the two-bellied species of fat women) spilled over the tops of her short thighs at least half way to her knees. So, there was no lap to sit upon: Lapless Grandma. To sit on her lap, you had to kind of half sit, half lean on her knee, as if you were actually sitting on her lap, and just lean into her soft curves and folds of flesh. She smelled familiar, like my own skin, and she was warm. Always in a dress and her wavy short dark hard brushed neatly, the Old Country still lingered on her. Her mother had emigrated to the States from Naples, and homemade pasta was still made on the linoleum-topped, metal-legged kitchen table in her Newark railroad car apartment above the corner grocery store in the Italian neighborhood. The metal pasta roller machine was always attached, awaiting the next batch of dough.

Images of her apartment linger in my memory: a black and white tv in the living room, which was in the rear of the building. We accessed her apartment via wooden stairs not much more sturdy than a fire escape, that ran up the back of the two story brick building. The backyard was concrete, with little spits of grass revolting up through the cracks. And she had a dog, a Beagle. I still love Beagles. Down the street was the community swimming pool with a concrete bottom and a shallow end and a deep end, where my sister and I would play in our ruffled bikinis in the sweltering inner city heat of the summer. I remember thinking how cool it is to know this woman: she is the mother of my mother! Isn't that interesting how that all works? When Mommy was a little girl, Grandma took care of her and fed her and raised her just like Mommy is doing for me. So curious!

I remember our trips to visit Grandma in Newark, the drive west on Route 22 from Plainfield always exciting and interesting to me. Even as a small child I loved a good road trip. I knew we were starting to get close when we reached the ball-topped water tower with the city name 'Union' on it. "The Water Ball, The Water Ball" I would exclaim from the back seat of our square-shaped royal blue Plymouth station wagon with the fold down seat in the 'way back'. I never ceased to be amazed and comforted by this site. The Water Ball was like a special friend to me, we had a connection, we knew each other, he would recognize me waving from the back seat of the station wagon, and send his energy of solidity and purpose to me. The highway would be split by this point, with a middle section between each direction that contained gas stations and convenient stores and the triangle shaped pizza shop that we would sometimes stop at for slices of Sicilian pizza. Sicily was the part of Italy that the boot was kicking away, I was told, but we made an exception in our tribal allegiances for a slice of good Sicilian pizza pie.

I knew we were even closer to Grandma's when we would change highways, and the road would dip down, with the city would be up on the hills on either side of the road. We'd go under bridges that were regular city roads crossing over the highway that was dug down in a trench of concrete. Then up out of the trench, and we would pass a sprawling cemetery, where Grandma would eventually be buried. Our family was still small then, just the four of us: Mommy, Daddy, Chrissy and Me.

There was a time when Grandma came to live with us. I don't really know why, I was too young to understand such things, and the family stories remain disjointed and unclear in the telling and in my memory. But what I do remember is Saturday mornings. Mommy and Daddy would sleep in, and Chrissy and me would get up to watch Saturday morning cartoons and kid shows: The Bugalloos and HR Puff N Stuff and Scooby Doo and Wonderama, and Soul Train at Noon to finish the set. When Grandma lived with us, she would be up early, and she would help us get breakfast. We kept the cereal in the cabinet above the deep rust colored stove in the kitchen. It was too high for Grandma to reach, and instead of going into the pantry and pulling out the step stool, she would get the hinged wooden salad tongs, and use them to extend her reach to pull down the box of Cheerios or Cap'N Crunch. To this day, I use tongs to get things out of the tops of the cabinets that I can't reach. You never know what small thing you may do that will affect a child in your sphere of influence. I always think of Grandma when I do that.

I didn't know Grandma long. She died when I was 5. She was 56 years old. I've been told different things about the cause of her death, and I honestly can't keep it all straight: complications with diabetes, maybe pneumonia. Possibly a broken heart, or lingering resentment and anger from being left by her husband with three young girls. I'm not really sure, but I know there was a lack of health on several layers: mind, body, spirit that keep her life short. As the eldest of my sisters and cousins, I'm the one that got the most years with her from our generation. But even with just a few short years of her in my life, her memory is deep in me, her spirit touched me, and my body, although a smaller version, is a reflection of hers: soft curves and folds of flesh in triplicate, emanating warmth and ready to take a loved on in my embrace, and this time, with room on my lap for a child.  Ann Degisi, descendant of the Rossi family of Naples: my Lapless Grandma

Grace: what's in a name?

"That's because you *are* grace",  he said.

We were in a sprawling meadow, green grass on low curvy rolling hills stretching out to the horizon.
A bright sunny day, with a glowing pink mistiness to the air.
I leaned on the wooden fence's top railing; he was on the other side of the fence, staff in hand, wizard's hat on his head, long cloak flowing.

It was one of those old school fences, with simple design, like the kind we had in front of the house in Plainfield, NJ. The supporting vertical posts were roughly hewn logs, with two larger holes bored into them. The cross posts were also roughly hewn logs, each end of the posts place in the wholes of the support posts, two levels high, continuing on across the meadow, like an army of double-crossed H's.

We had been in conversation for awhile in my dream. I'm not sure about what, but it was meaningful, and my subconscious was consulting with this particular Spirit Guide about the true meaning of me, what am I here for anyway. Or at least that's what I think would have made sense. It's often hard to remember the specificity of dreams, even lucid ones, with epic life changing insights.

I*am* grace. Right, of course. Something clicked into place in my soul. I *am* grace. I am grace. Grace is what I am. For so many years, I carried with me the thought "But by the grace of god go i." So many really stupid mistakes made out of ignorance, lack of parental and adult guidance, lack of family and financial support. The eldest, the family scapegoat, exiled after my father's death by the circumstance of it, thrust into adulthood un-prepared, un-warned, un-guided, un-supported, and grieving. The synchronicites of random acts of kindness and generous blessings of acquaintances supported my faith in a Divine Source while my faith in the God of my Religion was crumbling at the seams.

If it wasn't for grace, I would have been pregnant at least twice accidently by random men I did not know well. If it wasn't for grace, I could have been in jail for check fraud or shoplifting.. If it wasn't for grace, I could have been an alcoholic. If it wasn't for grace, I could have been chronically homeless instead of the few bouts of short lived homelessness I experienced. If it wasn't for grace, I could have been dead now, another suicide statistic. If it wasn't for grace...

I've always naturally extended grace and patience to others. I know what it is to struggle, and so I have an extra measure for the struggle of others. I know what it is to internalize and be hard on oneself about those struggles, as if a capitalist, racist, sexist structure doesn't stack the odds against someone from the jump who doesn't abide in the privileged positions on that access. I understand how it is to have low self-esteem, to think so poorly of oneself that you accept poor treatment as the norm, and to think that all the challenges of your life are your fault, and so I encourage the power in someone, as it lies dormant, and forgive and allow and flex and bend when someone's ability to be reciprocal is diminished.

Before I understood cultural appropriation in the way I do today, I was attracted to the image of a kanji and had it tatto'd on my back, my first tattoo.. It is one of the precepts of Falun Gong Chi Gong, the Chi Gong practice that is illegal to practice in China, and yet many revolutionarily do so, en masse in parks. Their mind-body-spirit practice is an act of politcal resistance, it's quite impressive. I had been practice Lotus Crane form of Xi Gong, a different practice and lineage, and knew the deep benefits of being in touch with and intentionally 'exercising' one's energetic system. There was a group practicing Falun Gong in a park in my city, and I saw the banner they had displayed on the park fence, and one of the kanji's just jumped out at me and spoke to me, called to me on an aesthetic level and soul level. It is the kanji for the word 'ren' which roughly means patience in English, but more accurately means forbearance: or holding back a punishment or effect or point of accountability when it could be enacted. In other words: grace.

I had the dream meeting with my Spirit Guide several years before this meeting with the kanji. I had contemplated for all the time changing my name to Grace. But, what would my mother think, I wondered? The name she gave me is a lovely name: Stephanie. It comes from the Greek 'stephanos', meaning 'crowned one': crowned with a crown one earns through merit of their beneficient actions and conquering of challenges. It is a good name, but also a name that somehow never seems to fit 'who I am'. I could relate to it conceptually, and appreciated the beauty of it, but something never quite identified with it. My mother told me that when she was pregnant with me she had decided that if I was a blonde, my name would be Laura, and if I was a brunette, my name would be Stephanie. But then, when she first saw me, she just decided in the moment to call me Stephanie, despite my almost platinum peach fuzz on my head.

I started going by the name Grace about a year and half  after moving to Seattle, after telling my girlfriend at the time about my dream meeting, and my thoughts around the whole thing. She said 'oh my goodness, of course your name is Grace, I'm going to just start calling you that." I met a lot of women through her as I became more settled in Seattle, and everyone from then on called me Grace. It was a transitional time and transformational time in my life, as I transitioned out of the persona of Stephanie: loud-mouthed cleavage-showing drinks-too-much hot head Italian-Pollock from NJ who became a nomadic hippie and landed on the West Coast in a Honda CRX with her girlfriend. Grace moved me forward into a life where I took my raw skills of Sight, energetic sensitivity and interest in healing through trainings and education which gave me language and skills for my gift of grace and compassion and understanding for others as an empathic, highly sensitive person. With a Mars in Scorpio, I've had several re-births in my life, and this was a significant one, from Stephanie to Grace. From earned merit reward to unearned gift of generosity, compassion and love.

You can tell how long someone has known me by if they call me Stephanie or Grace. Some people made the switch with me, some came along eventually. Some just know me as Stephanie, and that is perfectly ok with me, I am still she. That *is* my name. Two of my sisters call me Grace, two of my  sisters call me Stephanie. I am both Aunt Grace and Aunt Stephanie. And sometimes when old friends and lovers call me Grace, it just seems odd and inappropriate. I don't mind if people stick with Stephanie if they knew me when.

When people meet me now, as Grace, many often comment on the name saying that they love that name and mention a beloved grandmother or aunt who had that name. I smile and nod and say that I do my best to live up to my name. And I do. But for the grace of God go I, and so I give this spiritual gift of Grace to you. At your service.

Travel

After months and months of travel
and years and years of wander
road weary and dusty and bone ache tired
it all trails off and leaves you There

and so you build a home around you
and you bloom where planted
ending the endless searching
with your soul still standing

and you pick up all the pieces
of your torn-apart heart
and stitch and weave it back together
hoping no one sees the scars

and though your thirst for travel
is only quenched in your dreams
you stretch the hope as far as it goes
until it's bursting at the seams

and you spend your sleeps in Astral travel
and your wakes in misty day dreams
with reaching rails of trains on tracks
still calling you endlessly

somewhere beyond the reaches of your hands
and the beating of your heart
beyond the whipsers of your dreams
and old scars torn apart

lies the Home of You and all its Whole
the answer to your call
for the pieces you have put together
is the meaning of it All.


And the Road is always calling
and the Travel never ends
when seeking for your Highest Self
is the End to your Begin

Honor the She

July 30, 2012 at 2:02pm

What will happen to the poetry
After all our words have been co-opted and commodified
How can one just stand by
And believe they are justified
In their dissension
That lacks critical thought and analyzation

We must dig deep these days
To stay true to our roots
We must dig deep these days
To keep our roots in the ground

As the landslide of misogyny
And the erosion of integrity
Floods our streets
With blocked water drains of shame

It’s a struggle to battle the game
It’s a struggle to battle in this game

They say it’s always darkest before the dawn
And although America finally elected a "good" president
(after eight years of stolen elections)
the damage was done
the damage was done
and so far away seems the dawn
and so far away seems the dawn

We must dig deep these days
To stay true to our roots
We must dig deep these days
To keep our roots in the ground

And let’s stop fucking around
With all this post-post-post
post modernism
Post everything trend
Because the one thing
That isn’t ‘post-‘
Is the bullshit
That is co-opting reality and definition
With the politics of identification
Trying to put biology itself
Into extinction

And let’s get one thing straight:
I’m not
Yet my love has no bounds
capable of loving
all of Mother Earth's creations

But I do know the war wages on
Against women of my female sex
Seems the power to give birth
Is deemed the newest ‘weapon of mass destruction’
To be searched for in the Mother Earth’s caves
But this Power of Mass Creation
Is what actually exists

So quick, check all your notifications
And re-post all your memes
Stay glued to all your gadgets
The webinet
And all glowing screens:

Mother Earth is powerful
And Females are Strong
And many of us have woken up
And are refusing to play along

So give thanks for your life
The body bestowed upon thee
Give honor to the She
Give honor to the She
Because She is the reason
You breathe

Stop focusing on image
It makes one’s soul thin
Go back to within
Where She keeps the love and the healing
Stop hating your body
Stop playing along
With the lies we spoon-feed ourselves
With media’s smoking gun

Because you are perfectly you
And so am i
You are perfectly you
And so am i
And so are you
And so am I
And so are you

Hold fast to the poetry
Feel Her sing to your soul
Dig deep to stay true to your roots
And honor the She
And honor the She
She’ll keep you whole

Out

October 11, 2013 National Coming Out Day

So I pretty much figured out I am a Lesbian sometime during 1992, with the support of some musical theatre fag friends (and i say fag as a term of endearment, hope it doesn't offend you). I was 25. This was after many promiscuous years with men, a few boyfriends, and one long term on-again off-again abusive relationship with a guy which eventually ended when he left me for my 'best friend'. Musical theatre saved my soul after that, and the connections I made within theatre community, and the experiences I had as a result of those connections led me to my personal awakening, and a break through of the spiritual and intellectual limitations that my sheltered, dysfunctional and fundamental Christian upbringing had ingrained in me.

I had one more short but good relationship with a very sweet, wonderful man after I came out, so for a while I figured I was bisexual. That is, until I had a real relationship with a woman, and then there was no going back. Literally and figuratively. It was during that relationship, and my Saturn return, that I relocated from the East Coast to the West Coast.

21 years now, and still I get 'i love you but don't approve of your lifestyle' and 'would you ever consider a man?' from relatives. Being gay is still one of my many 'wrong choices' I've made, apparently, according to my mother. I have no idea what it would feel like to have parents supportive of who I love. My father passed well before I came out.

As a Femme Dyke, I come out all the time, almost every day. I guess I don't 'look like a dyke'. And therefore I am invisible as a Lesbian. (This is of course due to patriarchal gendered stereotypes.) On the arm of a Butch, I become visible for who I am, and I feel more 'in place' in the world in a certain way. It is one of the things I love about the butch/femme dynamic: who and how I love becomes visible, and assumed heterosexuality falls off me like the ill-fitting cloak that it is. Some radical feminists critique butch/femme as gender. I do not. For me it is a way of being, my sexuality, a dance in which I participate, not for the purpose of 'performing male/female gender roles' but because it is very precisely female, a dynamic that occurs between two women, that has nothing to do with men. A woman I know recently said that she felt that Butch women were how women would more likely be naturally, if we didn't live under patriarchy. I tend to agree. Not everyone does the butch/femme thang. But I love it. It works for me. It's my sexuality, my sexual orientation within my sexual orientation of Lesbian.

And I am a purist when it comes to Lesbian: Lesbian means I am a woman who is romantically and sexually interested in other women. And when I say woman, I mean female.  Lesbian = female homosexual. That definition has not changed, even though there are males living as women and having relationships with females and calling themselves Lesbians. This offends me deeply. And despite pressure within the 'queer' community, I am not interested in having sexual relations with males, even if they are 'living their lives as' women. And, I know lots of cute and sweet trans guys, but I not interested in anything beyond platonic with trans guys, because they are no longer living their lives as women. And for holding to these positions I get called transphobic, and hateful communications from strangers, and a death threat from the 'transpak'. Well, I think calling a male person a Lesbian is lesbophobic.  And I think calling a male body and male body parts female is delusional and offensive.

And so I have rejected 'queer' as a moniker. It invisibilizes me as a Lesbian. I also reject 'cis' as a moniker. It indicates a false binary, and I consider it hate speech, as it not only invisibilizes me as a Lesbian, but nullifies the very real oppression I experience because I am female. Please don't call me 'queer' or 'cis'. "Gay, Inc." did not consider the needs of Lesbians, and so in protest we started having Dyke Marches. And now "Gay, Inc." has become "QueerTrans, Inc." and still does not consider Lesbians, And, to quote a sister friend: the Dyke March was neither. I reject ALLA that.  And I reject gender altogether, as I believe it is a hierarchy that subjugates and oppresses females. and I feel that the current political agenda of "QueerTrans, Inc." re-ifies gender by encouraging performing stereotypical gender presentation, and that is damaging to women.

So yes, I tend towards a radical feminist politic, and lesbian separatism as a way of life. So be it.

But I hate no one: i do not hate men, nor do I hate transgender or transsexual people. It's the problematic, captialistic, patriarchal structure that I hate. So to quote Lisa Simpson "The whole damn system is messed up!"

~Radical Femme-inist Dyke~

Pi, Circles and Women

I love the movie 'Pi'. and when i say love, i mean *looooovvveeee.that.movie*. I am endlessly fascinated by math and the interaction of numbers and number systems. I am additionally fascinated by the numerical coding of the Hebrew alphabet and the numerical relationships between words. I am tenuously curious about Kabbalah. And I am perpetually fascinated by the numerical identity known as Pi.

I rented the movie  "Pi" for the umpteenth time last week and watched it, drawn in and enraptured as usual. The black and white cinematography, the directing, the acting, the not-quite linear plot are very well done; the movie is much deserving of it's Sundance award. And the curious mystery of the connection between chaos and order, numbers and language, and the connections to the Divine fascinate me ...

Via Wikipedia: 

The number π is a mathematical constant that is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. It has been represented by the Greek letter "π" since the mid-18th century.

Being an irrational number, π cannot be expressed exactly as a ratio of any two integers (fractions such as 22/7 are commonly used to approximate π but no fraction can be its exact value). Consequently, its decimal representation never ends...  The digits appear to be randomly distributed, although no proof of this has yet been discovered. 

Also, π is a transcendental number – a number that is not the root of any nonzero polynomial having rational coefficients. The transcendence of π implies that it is impossible to solve the ancient challenge of squaring the circle with a compass and straight-edge.

(emphases mine)

I've always considered lines and squares and edges to be male, and circles and curves to be female. This is my own relational perspective, but I don't think it's a stretch to understand it. I often say that if the world had been built by women, all buildings would be round and cylindrical or maybe cones (like a tee pee, perhaps), road structures would include more curves and less right-angled intersections, that calendering and scheduling would revolve around natural cycles (circles) such as the moon cycle, and the corresponding tide cycles. Curvy, round shapes would be the beauty ideal, not flat, linear shapes: the common body shape of a woman would be normal, expected, and not something to be overcome with starvation diets and exercise addiction. A flat stomach with angular hip bones and rib bones jutting out would seem unusual and perhaps unhealthy. In short, I think patriarchy is geometrically dominate in our world structure as well as every other way: everything is a representation of the phallus. If women had structured the world, everything would be a representation of the vulva. I for one, would much prefer that.

So I get to thinking...

You draw a circle. You draw a line through the middle of it and measure it: that's the diameter. It seems logical to think that there would be a constant numerical ratio between the diameter of a circle and it's circumference (the measurement of the edge of the circle). But there's not. That equation is never finitely solved. The number trails off endlessly. Endlessly. You can't nail it down. You can't actually quantify it. As of the end of 2011 (according to Wiki) super computers have been able to solve Pi to over ten trillion digits and it still never completes. It is a transcendent number.

And I think... as a woman who loves women, and I mean I *looooooooove.women*, I know women to be hard to nail down, to be complex and mysterious even after decades of knowing them. That they are all curves and circles and rounded shapes, endless depths of being, sometimes irrational (and that is not a judgement), sometimes random, and always transcendent. It is through the love of a woman's body (her round body, her rounded vulva) that we find a woman's heart and a woman's mind and a woman's depth of being. It is through the wondrous discovery of the relationship between the line and the curve, the rational and the irrational, the analytical and the emotional that we find a gateway to the Divine Feminine. It is through the Divine Feminine that we find a gateway to the Universe, and Universal Truths and transcendent connection. 

For me a masculine god is a lie. Creativity is inherently Feminine: it is from a woman's womb that life emerges. It is from a woman's body that the universe continues. The circle, concentric circles, the spiral: these are the basic structures of life, found in the micro and the macro universe.  A galaxy is not shaped like a box or a cube. (The Borg was cube-oriented... I won't go there now, but I love the symbolism of Star Trek). The inability to finitely define the relationship between the line/diameter and the circumference/curve indicates Divinity to me, shows me in the circles and spirals Divinity in nature, that a Divine Force cannot be dismissed as non-existent. And that Divine Force is clearly and unequivocally Feminine: all round and spirally swirling, not easily defined, endless and transcendent.




http://www.pithemovie.com/

No big deal

So, I was chatting with the male sibling of a friend the other night. A male friend of his had joined the party we were at, and my friend's brother told me that when he first met his male friend they had been involved in a threesome with a female.

I didn't even blink.

I assumed my friend's brother was totally hetero. He seemed to be that way, was interested in a female at the party. 'Acted straight'. But he wasn't totally straight.

And

so

what.

It should just be common place, common knowledge, that any person may have any sexual orientation, and you may just not know when you look at or meet that that person. You may have no idea at all. Or your gaydar could be sending off flares. Whatever.

Don't blink. Just accept. in the moment. This is how we undo homophobia.

and the fact that I 'assumed' him to be hetero is an indication of how the heterocentrism of society is socialized into us, into me... even a hardcore radical feminist dyke like myself assumed him to be hetero. telling. it takes work to undo that shit. so perhaps 'assuming nothing' is the goal.

some people are homosexual, some people are heterosexual, some people are on a gradient in between.

It's no big deal.

Don't believe the hype

H/t  http://sometimesitjustiswhatitis.blogspot.com/