To Del with Love

I am the vibrant colors
In tomorrows perfect sunset
I am the wind whipping like autumn 
Through your hair
I am the fragrance that makes you remember
I am what is yet to be discovered
Over there
I am the best yet to be decided
I am the flavor on the tip of your tongue
I am the running of the race
When there is no strength for the standing
The compassion of the heart
That gives even after it is burned
I am the yearning of the spirit to find the wisdom offered
I am the coffin that is buried away from the light of Sun
I am the very membrane that keeps you warm and protected
I am the erection of the soul when nothing turns you on
I am the weeping eyelids of the mother
Running tears like rivers down the back of the forest
Waiting for fevers to break after illness has lost
I am the strength to stand when nothing else matters
I am the shattered pieces of glass recreated to reflect
I am the eyes of the goddess
The soul of the cauldron
I am the fire at midnight
When all else is dark and cold
I am the hand that will guide you
The arm that will steady you
The back that will support you
And the eyes to see clearly on
I am the pumping blood of
This modern day messiah
I am higher than life and lower than death
i am all that is left
I am love

First Love

I met him on a Sunday. I was eight years old. I remember spinning around in my Sunday best hoping he would notice. I remember Tommy Wiessner looking at me like he was jealous. I remember liking it. Tommy gave me a red satin heart shaped box to keep sacred things in. I have it to this day, almost thirty years later. Stephen and I were cosmic. We were magnetic. We made butterflies appear in stomachs. We were speechless and nervous and awkward. We were first love.

Our love lasted ten entire years. I will never forget segregated lines. I will never forget being a grade ahead and being offered one more grade. My father didn't feel it would be good for my social life. All I could consider was Stephen Carl Thompson. We had a class or two together. There was lunch and assemblies. There was recess. I will never forget the day when a water spout started travelling off the Bay and over the land for a short time which seemed to last for an eternity. We were seamed together and scared as though we were constructed as one being. We may have held hands. I honestly don’t remember. What I will never forget is the moment that water spout felt so close, the wind whipping so strong and the fibers of our very soul shook to the marrow of our making. We were petrified. Just in the nick of time, the spout fell apart and it was the most amazing thing to watch! I loved him.

I remember swing-sets and ninja moves. I remember Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He was Raphael. I was April. I remember his window facing the playground. I remember every late night that my Mother spent upset that my father was not yet done in his office. I remember those same nights meaning more heat, more time, more lust spent staring at Stephen’s open window. I remember my youth.  I remember eye contact meaning everything. I remember the sweaters we had that were negative opposites of one another. So similar. So familiar. So correct.

I remember the letter I wrote composed in Spanish. My Spanish was not as good and Sandra’s translation not as accurate. That letter required my parents to pull me out of school and homeschool me for almost three years! In the letter I quoted songs. I did the best I could with the Spanish I had learned. I was not good enough. The mistranslation cost me my freedom. I was monitored. What was worse, I was taken away from Stephen. I saw him at church and how grateful I was that my Pastor father was so incredibly active but my mother even walked with me to the restroom. I fumed. Lost I felt without him.

Little did I know how much worse it could be! When I was fifteen he and his family returned to their roots in Alabama. I mourned for him. I missed him more than I knew my young heart could handle. There were phone calls and letters. None of this would ever suffice. I transpired against my father’s wishes. I purchased a plane ticket at seventeen. I was fresh out of high school. I arrived in Alabama not having any idea what to expect.

We walked many miles. We talked about many things. We planned a wedding on a leap year, on a day that could only come around every four years. He bought me a gold ring. I liked silver. We moved back to Tampa. He lived with my Uncle. We mis-carried a child. We loved. We fought. We kissed. We talked. We wrought iron dreams in streets paved with anger. We wondered at the meaning of our young existence. We offered persistence to stories not yet written. We strived for greatness. We waited and stated things that were meant to be forever, however forever was not yet understood by either. I regret nothing. Even when he moved back home, I was alone and aching for his kiss. I knew however we were meant to live separate lives. We danced over stars and underneath overpasses. We even had adventures underneath streets and in cemeteries. We were fearless. We were not permanent.

My first taste of forever danced and dissolved. I missed him desperately yet moved on. We kept in touch over the years and I later knew he married, had children, loved. I have dreamed of him on a regular basis every month of my life since the first day I laid eyes on him.  The year he died in that tragic car accident with his young son Nathan, I had just released my first album, After the Rain. After the Rain was the title track of the album and happened to be a song I wrote for him when I was fifteen and he and his family moved away from me and back to Alabama.

I dream of him still and believe I always will. I know he and his son are running in the sunshine in another place, another time Sublime energy is forged with the knowing of your first love. I was glad he could be mine and know that his love will stay with me for the rest of time. So much of my experiences in love have been shaped by the anticipation, the eye contact, the dreams and the stories that Stephen and I shared. The music, the sunshine, the laughter and even the waterspout! Ninja moves on hillsides waiting and trees I climbed in yards no longer there. I remember it all. The melodic intonations of the baby grand and the secrets we sometimes forgot to share. I will never forget. Love is sacred. I am love. Memories are eternal. Long live Stephen Carl Thompson. Long live first love. 

Clothesline Festival at USFSP

            Like Buddhist prayer flags in the autumn sun these survivors shirts blew in the October breezes. As a survivor myself, each story resounded as though it were a scar on my own arm. The power of their resolve rang of freedom: true freedom in the sense that nothing would ever take away their strength to stand strong. I danced with joy to know that I was not alone. My sisters and mother had not fought in vain. We were an army of women ready to succeed. We were witnesses to the unspeakable pain. We knew nothing would ever dissolve our purpose.

            Each shirt had a story to tell. Women at tables nearby sat ready to arm women with knowledge of how they too could find their freedom. Women at tables nearby sat ready to arm women with knowledge of how they too could survive. Women at tables nearby sat ready to catch the tear of a woman who might cry. The visceral energy of the moment stood poignant against my chest. It shook me to my core. I took pictures that were meant to speak the words I would never be able to speak. May we always remember the story. May we always remember the red road of pain. May we always remember the obstacles it takes to set our soul free. May we always remember how to speak. 

The River Jordan

With less than six hours to sleep, I wrestled with these poetic words in my head. As every writer knows some of the best things ever written have been in the middle of the night, from the seat of a toilet, or the most frustrating: when you have no way of recording it. That being said, I hope someone that reads this gets something major out if this post since I DID get out of bed to write it.

Those who have not taken the time to understand me often judge me or say harsh things in regards to the fact that I cry a lot. My eyes can be seen welling up with tears when my sensitive feelings are hurt, when I am frustrated, or even at times when I am angry. I am also quite sensitive to the world around me. I went for years not watching the news because I couldn't handle some of the horrible things that go on in this world on a daily basis. However, my eyes can also be seen flooding at something amazing I have just experienced or even the empathic connection I receive when someone filled with joy takes the time to share their story with me. The truth is that I can tend to let my emotions get the best of me. The truth is it is something I work on every day.

What I would like to point out (though I realize I am preaching to the choir here) is that we as human beings have a whole gamut of emotions that we are meant to experience. I have been accused of being bi-polar, schizophrenic and called such things as "spaz" since I was little. The truth is I just feel my emotions completely. I had a co-worker once that really didn't get me at first. In the beginning we were constantly bumping heads. One day, he said to me "You really need to stop letting the little things get to you". I said, "Perhaps, but you know what the beauty of it is?" He said, "What's that?" I said, "The little things really get to me". I can't explain the joy that a butterfly passing by offers me, the magnitude of the beauty of twilight, the Sun rising or setting, a good conversation, etc. The beauty of the little things are the strength that keep me going through a world that also contains a lot of darkness.

Society at large has become afraid of their emotions. Many do not know why they feel what they feel, how to express what they feel and have one or two expressions for everything. Like the Rhesus monkeys society has begun to exhibit some seriously aggressive tendencies in situations that certainly don't call for it. The General Population has largely ceased making eye contact and I cannot even count how many times I see a table in the restaurant where all parties are on their digital device and not even paying attention to the beautiful beings in front of them. I am scared for the current status on emotion. As sensitive as I truly am (and that is not really all bad) I know that most people that mock my emotion really just don't know how to deal with their own. Please remember that I clearly stated I DO let my emotions get the best of me sometimes and I AM working on this. But, I will never apologize for tears.

Life can offer you rivers of pain. Life can provide you with rivers of joy. This is my River Jordan. I will be victorious. I will seek daily to maximize my potential in this life. And if a bitter young woman wishes to call me an over-achiever because of it, I will pray that she is blessed with the happiest ordinary life she can create. When did we stop dreaming? When did we stop inventing amazing positions to fulfill "when we grew up"? When did we stop looking up into the sky to see what shape the clouds could make today? When did emotion become a bad thing?

I am passionate. I am on fire. I am honest and very good at saying I am sorry when I have done wrong. I am a work in progress just like the rest of us and I hope that perhaps this touched someone in a very relevant space. I love the amazing people in my life and am grateful every day because I know there is no way I could be the woman I have become without every integral part of my enchanted life story.

Three cheers for honest tears!
Three cheers for emotion.

Epistemology

"We were naked and drinking coffee making plans to change the world while the world was changing us." Dave Matthews.

This semester has already been a tidal wave of new thought and I am only at the beginning of the third week. Along with the combined pressure of work-related obstacles, financial trials, and relationship dilemmas, this last month has offered much pressure toward the Diamond forging nature of this enchanted life.

I have been meditating and ruminating much on the concepts of perception, social awareness and relative truth. My mind has been dabbling with quantum physics (at an extremely novice level) and the acceptance of lessons I have been wrestling with for years.

My life is brilliantly beautiful and I have so much to be thankful for. I can feel a new chapter falling in place before me and expect this brilliant Harvest (Full) Moon to bring beautiful new opportunities and new challenges still.

I have five classes this semester. Cognitive Psychology, Social Psychology, Women's Mental Health, Spanish I, and an Honors Seminar. It always intrigues me how without knowing enough details to engage this level of awareness, the Divine has led me to choose courses that perfectly harmonize with all I am supposed to be learning at this time. My Spanish Profesora also has a degree in Clinical Psychology and is a poetess. I knew neither of these details about her when I chose the class. The art that surrounds my natural existence astounds me daily. Dr. Salnaitis, my Professor for Cognitive introduced a couple new terms to me in a conversation we had after I shared with her two poems I wrote during her class (relative to the material). Personal epistemology. Social Constructivism.

Here are relative definitions before I continue.

Epistemology: Concerning the origin and methods of human knowledge.

Personal Epistemology: The study of how the individual develops a conception of knowledge and how they use that knowledge to understand the world.

Social Constructivism: a sociological theory of knowledge that applies the general philosophical constructivism into social settings, wherein groups construct knowledge for one another, collaboratively creating a small culture of shared artifcats with shared meanings.

Social Constructionism: Theoretical viewpoint that humans do not discover reality directly; rather they construct meanings for events in the environment based on their own prior experiences and beliefs.

Schema: (Cognitive) general knowledge or framework about a particular topic; schema then processes and organizes new information received on that topic

So here I write a couple poems in my Cognitive class. I feel compelled to share them with the Professor. In turn, Dr. Salnaitis gets chills as I read the poetry to her and asks me to email them to her. We engage in conversation and she suggests I look into the new terminology. I set up an appointment to include her in the process of deciding which degree to seek out next. I go home to embrace the new knowledge these terms have to offer. I go to the University of Colorado at Boulder's website to look over the degrees I have interest in again so I am prepared to discuss my perceived options. While reading the breakdown of the PhD in Philosophy they offer, I see the word epistemology which I would have not understood had Dr. Salnaitis and I not had that discussion. I do research, take notes and sit down to read my current chapter for Women's Mental Health. Within the reading are the terms, epistemology and social constructivism. Coincidence? I think not!

My life is a beautiful matrix lined with poetry and obstacles. I am excited for this meeting as I know it will illuminate even more knowledge I need to move forward and make the correct decision.

As I have been going about my day I have had many epiphanies already. After a month of being estranged from my lover as we worked out our recent relationship hurdle, I feel healed and satisfied just laying next to him again. I realized as I lay against him that some people say more just by skin contact than others do with thousands of words. I realized that I waste a lot of energy trying to convince people to see me. Some people are never going to get me. The beauty is SO MANY DO!

My eyes welled with tears as I realized that I am loved by so many...so let the haters hate! I like harmony. I desire peace. I have always liked the end result of working out details between parties. However, due to personal epistemologies and relevant perception of the individual world around each of us, there will be times where harmony cannot be reached.

As I lay in bed next to the man who speaks with his skin, I was engaged by the program he had on (he fell asleep). In the program "Weeds", one of the main characters is Jewish and is teaching a class of young Jewish boys. Further into the program a psychiatrist is engaging another of the main characters in session with an extension of Jewish principle. He is talking about how the Divine places us equidistant from opposite polar ends (in other words dark vs. light; right vs. wrong; lust vs. love). The Divine then allows us to choose our path. In a very yin and yang sense of this discussion we are centered between dark and light at all times. This struck a very deep chord with me.

In my Honors Seminar, taught by Dr. Cassill we are studying the sociology of ants, the inequality of krill and the Haves and Have Nots of Human Society. I am engaged fully as my personal epistemology writes this brilliant story for me. I am in love with my life!

I give all of myself everyday and walk closer always to my highest self (the journey is long and worth it) and I am grateful daily to each and every one of you who have given me the puzzle pieces I need to put this beautiful portrait of a life together.

"I've been working and working but I still have so terribly far to go." Nina Simone

Subliminal

Perspective alters perception

Mental protection for

What we are afraid to never find

Sublime offers messages

Beyond subliminal vestiges

Cresting mental peaks

We seek passage to the Divine

Inter-twined with our Humanity

Ethereal realms feel like insanity

What if these things were planned

So we

Found one puzzle piece at a time

Refraction

Sleeping demons

In Pandemonium lie

Dormant there

In the back of my eye

Retina refraction

Produces satisfaction

For those neurons present

That recognize

Pattern finds

A way to produce sight

Just like waves of rolling sound

Wake me up

In the middle of the night

Sight over symbol

This freedom I have found

Demons laying down