Poem of the day.

Sonnet 43

I search for your trace in the faces of others,
in this rough, winding river of women,
in their braids and barely submerged eyes,
in their soft sliding steps skating out on the foam.

Sometimes, I find I can make out your nails:
fugitive, oval, children of cherry-trees.
Sometimes it’s your hair I catch flowing by,
burning into water your portrait of fire.

I searched, but no one else had your heartbeat.
No one else had your light, or your dark forest clay.
No one else had such delicate ears.

You are whole, exact, you are one apart from many.
And so I’ll go with you, traveling and loving,
a wide Mississippi into a feminine sea.

 

Pablo Neruda (Translated by Paul Weinfield, 2013)

Yeah right you're moving to Canada.

I've been keepin' this in the bull pen for today :)

People love to threaten to move out of the country if the candidate of their choice doesn't win the presidential election. Whatever. Seriously? Your life is that tenuous? Your life is so tied to your external environment that you wouldn't survive with a [insert opposing party here] president in the White House?

Well, here's a hopeful note from someone who's lived with less than she's wanted for a fair bit of time. Get over yourself. The world is not going to end tomorrow if you don't get your way (nor will mine - I have feelings too). Take some time today to remind yourself of all of the things that you already have, that comfort you in the bad times, and remind you of how beautiful life is in all of the other times. And maybe eat a cookie.

I'll be drinking beer tonight watching the results, maybe probably disenchanted, and maybe eating some sweet potato fries, because those are sounding pretty good right now.

Peace out mofos. See you on the flip side :)

Ack! Lent is coming!

I haven't given anything up for Lent in years. My life is already about deprivation. Not a day goes by that I don't willingly live without something I want. The only reason I'm considering going to weekly Lenten prayers at my church is because everyone goes out for bagels afterwards. I'm tired of living through Lent, listening to people detail their wonderful deprivation skills, their ability to go without. Am I being judgmental? Definitely.

I am often judgmental. As long as this depraved habit doesn't affect my life in too negative a way, I usually just forgive myself and move on. Except then I miss out on what Lent offers for me (ah, perhaps individualism could benefit me in some way in this instance). Maybe Lent offers me a reason to spend less time on the computer. Maybe Lent offers me outside time for gardening, or more yoga and less ice cream, or vice versa. I don't know.

A while back there was a significant other in my life, in that he was significant because he'd seen me naked, and an other, because he wasn't a lady from my gym locker room. He was always looking to be more spiritual. He tried and tried to be monk-like without actually being celibate. We listened to monks-chanting-psalms on tape in the car. We lit candles and read the bible. When he was upset, I read to him from my favorite book of sermons.

This all felt like an act, like a play with meaningful lines, but with actors playing parts, not real people living their real lives. It all felt false, and I felt empty. On the surface, for me, it looked like I was making good decisions-I'd chosen a good Christian man, hadn't I? But being in this relationship made it feel like someone stuck a maple tap into my heart, and blood just dripped out day by day. I needed an infusion, and I was lost.

Sometimes spirituality is empty because it's only on the surface. We can't make something happen in our souls. We can try, but there has to be a response from the other side. Even Mother Theresa felt like God didn't speak to her. Being "spiritual" doesn't always mean what we think it means.

Maybe take some time this Lenten season for your spirit, in whatever way feeds your soul. I will continue to contemplate the ritual, as I do every year.

Until we are called to rise...

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies--

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king--

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Sexual Zeitgeist

When a prostitute can comment on the sexual zeitgeist of an age, you know you have to listen. And since I've read this editorial/commentary/opinion piece, I've thought to myself, "I wonder if it was always thus? Have sex workers always had their fingers on the pulse of the sexual heartbeat of the nation and/or culture?" I think this might be entirely possible.

I feel lonely sometimes, though I am rarely lonely in its truest sense. I am not hungry for human affection, or love. I'm not even hungry for canine love or affection. But there is something deep inside of me that longs for touch that can only truly come in the form of a significant other, a romantic partner, not because sex is the be-all, end-all, but because that's what it's there for. It exists as an outlet for true and honest intimacy. We pervert it all the time, but at its essence, that's what it is.

So I strive towards that end. I search to express my sexuality in ways that are honest, and true to who I am as a person. I try to be honest with my words, with my tone, my body language, and my physical appearance. I may fail in any and all ways at one or more times, but I keep trying. I want connection, but I only want honest connection from someone that wants to connect with me. I don't want false intimacy. I've had enough of that for a lifetime.

Ah, the good old days...

Genuine politics -- even politics worthy of the name -- the only politics I am willing to devote myself to -- is simply a matter of serving those around us: serving the community and serving those who will come after us. Its deepest roots are moral because it is a responsibility expressed through action, to and for the whole. - Vaclav Havel