Overcoming

It is my experience that the nature of prejudice is stemmed from ignorance. I admit, that as a woman from a multiracial background I have historically found personal offense to all forms of prejudice or racism. It is only through education that I have learned to put aside my anger and resentment in order to make an effort toward positive change. In this case, educating the less enlightened has become my calling. It isn’t easy as some bigotry cannot be conquered in the hearts of others. That requires a willingness to learn, which is an active decision for both parties involved. An example I give of my personal experience involves a discussion in the classroom when I was attending junior college.

It started in this way. We were discussing the reasoning behind affirmative action in a government class. I saw through the corner of my eye a young man who raised his hand and stated the following words “I don’t see why we even have it, slavery happened so long ago. It has nothing to do with me”. I confess my personal irritation rose like a fire inside my chest, but I knew better than to respond with anger. It is far better to respond with calm logic and reasoning. So I raised my hand and responded calmly. This is what I said “if you take a people from their home to lands they know nothing about, then refuse to educate them beyond basic language functions, you are crippling them. Then, if you then continue with three hundred years of lesser educational opportunities, lack of qualifying textbooks, and racial segregation designed in favor of the other what you have then is generations of people who were purposefully held back from society.  Affirmative action is designed to even the playing field and while some people complain that it takes positions from other qualifying students, it is nothing compared to hundreds of years of having education flat out denied”. What followed was a discussion where it was revealed that there are still some resentments that time has not healed. The class came to the conclusion that even though slavery and the civil rights movement happened before many of us were born it was still relevant history. We are still overcoming former failings not as white, black, Native American or Hispanic people, but as a nation of people wanting to see change for the better.

Perhaps my way in combating prejudice is not all that creative. My way is simple. I consider where would be oppressor’s anger or ignorance is stemming from. Is it lack of knowledge or a personal feeling of hurt, inadequacy or failure? I choose to respond with less anger and rely on my reasoning. At times I get no headway with that individual, but I do tend to win the agreements of others. It is not so important to change the minds of a select few who cannot look past their personal feelings in order to see a bigger picture. It is more important to prevent the corrupting of minds by instilling a strong respect for the diversity of this world through education. In short it is important to lead by example. If I provide an ‘other’, then I can’t be classified into one role or space. An intelligent person is then challenged to think that if there is an other than ‘what if?’ If I have inspired that, then I consider it a win. 

In the feels

sin¹

sin/

noun

1. 1.

   an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law.
   
   
2. My greatest sin is not allowing myself to sin...
   Mental illness, used to be treated like a hapless, cursed disease. The wilder a person is, the more wretched they become. Depression? I am not sure most even believe it still exists. Maya Angelou wrote in her book, "I know why the caged bird Sings" that she was referred to often as 'tender hearted'. Having a soft, malleable soul is like an affliction. So perhaps it is aptly put. 
   I am easily moved by the suffering of others. 
   Isn't that a thing? Sorrow seems so out of the proper element of things. Misery and pain. I cannot help but to feel moved by the suffering of another. So much so that I have forced myself to become numb. 
   The Dali Lama said "happiness is the natural state of human existence". Not in those exact words but, if we are meant to be happy then all things that makes us sad is unnatural to our normal way of flowing being. We are SUPPOSED to be in a constant state of happiness. According to this thought, but because we are moved by external elements, we cannot escape the tendency to sway toward misery. Yet, we continue to seek out the joys in life in hopes of combating with the sorrows. 
   
   I was coming to the third grade when I first thought of dying. I thought of it as, a blissful relief from the elements I could not control around me. 
   How she raged, my mother. With the passion of a person who is mentally ill. With the hurt of a person who was deeply wronged. As she raged, I became contained, shrinking under the tempest. Cowering in the storm. 
   As I passed from child to adolescence, I contented myself with the knowledge that someday, someday I could grow up and move off on my own. I could make a family that was not broken. I could mold the outcome... 
   I neglected to understand one valuable piece of knowledge. That is, you can move, you can change your name and even become a different person. This is normal to change. However what you can't do is erase the voices in your head permanently. 
   You must live with them. As they shaped you, you must then shape them. You must do this diligently so you can have those moments. Those precious moments where you are in a natural state of bliss. 
   

   tor·ture

   ˈtôrCHər/

   noun

   1. 1.

      the action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as a punishment or to force them to do or say something, or for the pleasure of the person inflicting the pain.

   I think it is time to say that enough is enough. I have tortured myself. Over and over. I have forced food into my body to try and hold off the pain. I have denied my body food to try and starve the pain. I've told myself my feelings are insignificant, that my suffering is not valid, thus, I did not give myself even the slightest acknowledgement.... I have not allowed myself to really feel. 
   Why? Because it makes people uncomfortable. Because I have cared for THEM more than me. Yet, it has only bought me alienation. It's done the exact opposite of what I wanted it to do. 
   

   love

   ləv/

   noun

   1. 1.

      an intense feeling of deep affection.

   I know what love is. It is not easily manipulated. It is not easily won or lost. Yet, this pithy definition is but the tip of it. 
   I've waited so patiently to be showed I am worth loving. You cannot convince a brick wall that it is alive. In this way, the old hurts, the past dramas and all the broken links are instances of times when I have willingly gone into that unnatural state of misery, in the hopes of finding something that I always had.
   Love...
   I have the love inside of me. For so many sometimes it seems it might burst from my chest and wash the world in pink and purple.
   It does not make me miserable. It makes me nostalgic. It makes me emotional.
   What makes me miserable is when the connection becomes lost and I do not see my love reflecting.
   But this is a problem that many have. In this age of misunderstanding. In this age of texts, phone calls and video chat. IN this age where contact is seldom and when it occurs it is so fleeting that it is more like butterfly wings brushing the hem of your shirt... I need a fucking hug. I need to lay in bed with an arm around me and fingers brushing my hair. I NEED to touch.
   I'll keep waiting patiently... 

Normalcy

I am not good at plain speech.
Unless of course, it's my novels. Then yes I can do it. Most of my personal ramblings are entirely too poetic. Entirely to... unreachable.
Maybe it's just how I am. When I try to convey the deep feeling within I am often left with music ringing in my ears.
Well hell ya'll I am a poet. I dream in lyrics.
This becomes a problem when trying to communicate.
How desperately I want to communicate. To share a little of myself with others. To be validated in the doing.
But why?
Why indeed?
I know why.
Because I have been silenced far to long. I am the weird and the confusing. I am the dreamwalker.
This now... this can be uncomfortable. I understand that. I strive to expect nothing from anyone. It is so much easier this way. So much easier to cover your glasses with mud instead of rose petals.
So damned depressing.
Ah... humanity! Humans... we are such animals.
I have dug too deep.
I just want to say that I have seen you. I have seen your words. I have felt your presence. I have found within these something worthy. Something valid.
I honestly don't hate anyone. Even those who have tried to silence me, tried to kill me.
I just want to be heard. I want to be seen. To be felt.
There I go dreaming again
------
She walks into the shadows. Where misty lights seem pinpoints in the distance. They are beacons. They call and she follows. She cannot help it.
There is a shivering that starts at the base of the spine and radiates out to the arms and legs. Freezing her fingers and toes. The icy feeling seeps into her bones. A sick, heavy feeling weights her chest. Yet she continues on. Constantly moving forward. Reaching out when she feels close enough, only to catch air.
Disillusionment...
Still, the promise of warmth drives her. Her hunger pushes her, each fumbling step to the next. Towards those pinpoints.
The last vestiges of hope.

Just something for healing self

All he secrets

All the magic

Lay shuttered up in your heart

Having stopped only

When you gave up on hope

That miracle that feeds the spirit

When darkness is high

And the wounded souls you reach out too

Reflect the light within

In ways that are horrific

And sad

But you lay down

You open yourself up

In the last remnants of hope

You offer yourself as sacrifice

In hopes of feeling that sweet moment

When everything makes sense once again

In hopes of returning

To that girl in the forest

Shining hair and glossy eyes

That beautiful memory

When life was pure

And tragedy, just a bad dream

You give up your body

Expose your inner sanctum

In hopes of receiving

Caresses most dear

Hands painted with love

Everlasting

 blessed sacrament

and when it is over 

and the sacrament has not happened

you cry from the hollow

the emptiness

which comes from the lack

and you pray for another chance

next time... maybe

next time

Love

Love which should be given

from you

to you

love most divine

wait then for your sacrament of flesh

wait and wonder

-Orhea the Dreamer 

Healing through words

I have a natural gift for healing, I've been told. Yet over time I have not truly embraced it. Why? Because scientifically, there is no basis for it. It is all belief, it is all spirit.
Last year, I picked up a book about medicine men/women, written by a Native American healer from the plains. He was Lakota of origin. He spoke of the trials and tribulations that lead a medicine person into the path of healing.
I read about his near death experiences, his bouts of sickness, his overcoming, and his visions. I began to understand that the path of a healer is a rocky, painful one and I didn't want it.
In the book, this medicine man also mentioned his desire to NOT become a healer. It's too hard. Too demanding, and too much relies on him... All of this I understand perfectly. All of this resonated so much that I put the book down and haven't opened it since.
I don't want the obligation, I don't want the responsibility of aiding the healing of others. It's too much, there is so much pain in this world, and what about my own pain? Whose going to help me with that?
Well now, in my path to education I've recently seriously considered going off to graduate school. Aiming higher.
Enter the reading.
I've attempted to contact psychics before with mixed results. However, I thought, what about trying once more? I submitted for a one question reading asking if I should even attempt to go to graduate school. I never thought I could, it is so expensive and I honestly didn't think I was smart enough.
A few days later, I received my voice recorded reading...
This lovely, soothing Australian voice told me that yes, I should apply to graduate school, at least three...and I would get accepted. This would be good for my long term career. And...did I know that I was such a gifted, natural healer?
"You have such a pure and gentle energy" she said..."You will help many women...for I see you work with women best. They will come to you for healing...You will find your own way to heal."
Indeed...
Just like that I am reminded of my drive to heal. My need to aid others. My horrid (and annoying) habit of taking responsibility and 'feeling' for others.
But what about my OWN pain?
No one acknowledges my own pain. Everyone has said I should just get over it...I need to 'man up'and move on.
Yeah...if it were that easy...if only.
1. I can be a selfish person.
2. I can be a self -less person.
3. I NEED
So...it's just occurred to me a method I wish to try to heal myself.
Healing through words...I've worked out problems by writing poetry...conundrums, feelings...
but what about studying the meaning of words and filling them with healing?
I'm going to give it a try.
Stay tuned.......

Even roses have thorns

I know what it is like to wake up alone and know that it is the best thing to be.
I don't know what makes us crave companionship so. To have a mate and to be wanted. It's a desire that drives folks to do things they know better than to do.
We do it anyway.
For a chance at a tender kiss. For the opportunity to be held. For the joy and comfort of knowing you're not in it alone.
   The truth is... you are. At any given time that person you hold on to can decide it's over and move on with their lives. You and your life will be alone again.
It is said that every person is made with a counterpart. A twin flame if you will. A soul mate. A soul mate is a person who is what you need them to be just as they are and you are what they need you to be. Together you work in sync, bringing each other to mutual joy, love, and spiritual fulfillment.
Ah I love the concept of soul mates!
I was infatuated the moment I heard of it, years ago. Yet could it be possible? Could somewhere out there be a perfect match for you, right now?
Yes
Yes indeed because there are billions of people in the world and I think making a soul is kind of like carving animal sculptures by hand. You'll have several the same size, some smaller or larger. You'll have some with markings that are closer to others.
Basically, no two are a hundred percent alike but there will be those that go better together than most.
Some people don't believe in soul mates. The idea sounds too perfect, and people grow so much through their lives. They change and become different.
I think that's where my animal sculpture comes in.
What if we have a few soul mates?  Those people who are what you need when you need them, until you don't need them anymore?
     Startling concept but couldn't it be possible? After all what happens if you meet a soul mate and that soul mate dies? It seems cruel to think that the one left behind is stuck mourning their beloved.
What happens when a soul mate relationship ceases to be a soul mate relationship? By this I mean that, it is very possible for a soul mate relationship to become sour, due to neglect or because one partner evolves past the other, or a great many possibilities.
Well then the purpose of that relationship is done and it is time to move along.
You know what? Lets just get rid of the term soul mate all together. Let us instead think about the possibility that we are all spiritual beings. As such we are constantly seeking improvement. What level of improvement that entails varies from being to being. However what I want to focus on is this.
We crave each other. To be fed spiritually,mentally, and even physically, by each other. We crave companionship and life partners. We do this because without these relationships life seems less shiny. Without these relationships our spirits tend to fall slack and yes we can keep up routines. Yes we can be perfectly happy with the status quo. But... are we learning?
We are born naked and alone. We will likely die alone too. Yet, it's not so depressing. As long as we lived, loved, and experienced life.

Damn though, the idea of soul mates just seems so darn appealing. So beautiful... but even the prettiest things can have thorns, like roses...

The Fetish

She bleeds on the page
it pours in red rivers
spiraling down the whiteness
a stark contrast of solid and wet
but it is just a page
what makes it exceptional is
the red,red blood

It's the heart that does it
Pumping the life juice into the palms of her hands
the same heart that makes love seem so
attainable
and yet not

The same heart that connects
foolish syntax
from heart to head
back and forth
in and out of balance

Each day the veins crack open anew
tears and jagged edges
burn and rip
until the veins are open enough
so that she will write

She will write and bleed
a cadence of ups and downs
a means of remaking paper and pen
computer and keys
blank, white screen
endless possibilities

It is her fetish
Her strange kink of pleasure and pain
Endless yes and thus
so full
so very full of hope

Thinking too much

There is this stale bitterness in the back of my throat.
A vivid, intensely heavy feeling in my chest.
The sense of longing doesn't ever seem to go away.
Maybe that is an aspect of humanity, the need, the desire to have connections.
Yet we are meant to be confident, independent, not needing these things. So I am doing my best to ignore it.
I thought I have grieved enough, but apparently there is more...

In other news I am getting back into a new college regimen. This one will be different. I'll be working and I"l be working out. I also did a few online.
I am so sure I should be reading by now, but I have this ache inside of me, and I figured I'd just write it out.

Can you feel the little pieces?
They are scattered in the wind
Tiny purple, pink, and blue hearts..

They float away and as you try to reach for them you realize
they cannot, will not stay

the pieces break down again
now little ripped shreds glitter in the sun

the last of their time

but we are humans and this is life
so it's time to move past
always going forward
always driving toward the end

we live for living
what else is there?

I wanna be Ms. Frizzle

Picture this... 

 

You're standing in front of a crowd of people, and you were assigned to give a speech. This is your first time. Your hands are sweaty, your chest heavy, and you're wondering if you practiced the speech you wrote enough times to memorize everything right. 

You begin, fumbling along the speech, but you get through it, until your closing words, which you get completely backwards!

It's too late though because you messed up and now you're mentally calculating the quickest exit out. 

Then, surprise of surprises the crowd roars in applause. "Congrats on the misstake! You'll do better next time! Great job messing up!" No judgement, only encouragement. 

It's beautiful isn't it? Unfortunately, you're not likely to see it happen. 

  I think about the many times I've cried over the sorry state of my world. People don't understand each other, and few truly make the effort to do so. There is constant fighting over ego. Everyone wants to be on top, when I always thought that the world was round. Everything in a circle so that no one is on top, some may be closer to one side of the circle than others, and so they are wiser more capable. Yet essentially we're all the same. All on even playing grounds. We're all here to learn!

Understanding Regret

  I have solemnly sworn to have no regrets. It's a goal I am working on. To let go of the past and step into the future. Yet it is a tricky endeavor if I keep pounding into myself. Thats why I joined the 31 day self love challenge, so I can learn how to reprogram the way I think. It's got me thinking though on what I want to teach and why.

  I want to teach people how to not regret. To recognize mistakes as an opportunity to learn instead of a punch to the ego. Only if we let go of ego can we find happiness. I truly believe we are all meant to find it. If only we believe. 

  Celebrate mistakes! Throw a friggin party, enjoy that you messed up and now you know how NOT to approach a situation. Doesn't it make sense that we are born without instructions so we can't get everything right at first? Once upon a time we were toddlers. We said words incorrectly until we were corrected and finally understood the correction, or we listened to the words enough time to make the corrections ourselves. We learned to crawl and to walk under the same principle and that is this. Keep going, keep moving forward, learn from the mistake and you wont have to repeat it!  If you look at it this way there are no regrets.

Ms. Frizzle

  Depending what generation you're coming from you might understand my analogy. However, for those that don't know about my idol teacher, I'll explain.  Ms. Frizzle is a fictional character in a series called "The Magic School Bus" which was a television series and also a series of childrens books. Ms. Frizzle was a classroom teacher who also happened to have her own magic. Whenever there was a problem needing solving or a concept needing to be learned she'd call for a field trip on her magical bus. The class went to prehistoric times, inside the body, into the ocean etc. What I absolutely love about Ms. Frizzle was that whenever someone did something incorrectly she would chime "Thats it! Take chances and make mistakes".  Ms. Frizzle was a sage of the classroom. She understood that through error can we make connections and learn what works. There is never only one correct way to do something. 

  I want to be Ms. Frizzle. I want to teach the value of a mistake and encourage retrying. I sincerely hope the rest of the world follows suit. In the coming times of mass communication and global education it is high time to approach education in a way that promotes the diverse population of students. We are all students in life and when you stop learning you stop living. Lets stop beating up ourselves and each other for screw ups. Can't we? 

Take chances! Make mistakes! By all means, live. 

Love Prohibited

As of the first, I have committed myself to a thirty one day love challenge.
The information for the challenge can be found here, any time of the year.
https://www.facebook.com/events/1532973040295644/?ref_notif_type=event_mall_reply&source=29

Today is day three, in which I am asked to look into the mirror and telling myself these things:

You are loveable.
Your worth is not measured in the size of your body.
You have purpose.

Now to write about my experience!
I sat in front of the mirror timidly. Looking at myself, really looking has always been a problem to me. I don't like how I am so quick to zero in on the flaws and make mental remarks about them. However, I was prompted not to look at my face, to focus on my eyes.
So I hunched over the sink. Tilted my head just so...
The first thing I noticed is that my eyes are allot warmer colored than I realized. They're like melted chocolate, deep brown, with a hint of caramel undertones. My pupils dilate, and I see myself.
I really see.
Anger
I see how angry I am. Angry that I have to do this in order to help myself. Angry that I can't just already love myself, I couldn't just already be okay. Anger that I feel shame.
I push past the anger and I say "You are loveable."
My eyes water... so I say it again, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. "You are loveable" I repeat. "I am loveable."
"You're worth is not measured with the size of your body... " I repeat it.
What was that last bit? I check on my phone at the prompt, then I look in the mirror again, noticing my shaggy brows, the freckles on my cheeks, then commanding myself to look past the tired rings under my eyes. I look deeper. I look into my eyes, which are hungry for this. Hungry for what I am about to say next. Needing to at least hear the words, if they cannot yet believe.
"You have purpose" I say.
I know... my eyes return back at me. I know....Where have you been?
And suddenly I remember myself as a skinny little wide eyed girl. I used to stand in the mirror for hours modeling. Selling myself my own toothbrush or soap in my own make believe commercials. I was made fun of for it, but I didn't care then, I was just having fun.
"momma" I say to myself
But I push those memories away. Or I try to, but in the back of my head I say Momma.. why?
Why can't you help me? Why was I hurt and no one did anything to stop it? 
Tears roll down my cheeks.
There isn't an answer.
Yet, I sit here, typing this to you and feeling accomplished. For the first time in a long time, I looked in the mirror, and instead of telling myself I'm too fat, my nose is too big, I'm too yellow, my hair is too wild and crazy.. I shut that nasty part of me, that nasty mentality that only seeks to render me into pieces. I shut it down and for a moment, I lifted myself up.

What whiteness means to me

  Let me just first start off with this little explanation. First, and foremost, I make every effort to consciously remain objective in regards to race. However, my feelings behind it are often subjective. I have been a victim of bigotry and as a result, my mind takes it's opinions based off experience. This is just natural.***

I am made increasingly aware of my own whiteness.
It has always been so. Growing up I was not allowed to forget that I am one of the palest among my siblings. I am still not.
  When I was in elementary school, I had a kindergarten teacher who automatically assumed I was white. Her name is lost to memory, though I would not use it if I remembered, but I do remember this. I remember her treating me just like the child I was at the time, a sweet little girl. She was kind to a fault and there were never any major issues. Except the one time a big red haired boy pulled my hair and I cried. I had no idea, or rather I wasn't aware that every time my mother came to pick me up, afore mentioned teacher called her the babysitter. I did not know that because of my whiteness, my teacher assumed that she couldn't possibly be my mother. It all came out later when my mother revealed to her the truth, and I was late for a Christmas pageant. Said teacher no longer treated me like a sweet little girl, and took great delight in making me uncomfortable when she switched my position in the pageant. I remember not understanding why things had to be different, but I do remember the reason why I had to switch classes and make friends all over again, with a black teacher was that my skin didn't match with what the world wanted to see.

  Later, when I entered middle school, I went to a school filled with mostly black and hispanic people. One would think that there at least I would be able to avoid discrimination. This was not so. Quiet, and afraid to draw attention to myself, I kept my head down and made few friends. I made straight As got perfect attendance, and I was perfectly miserable. Issues escalated when my mother came to pick me up one sunny day at lunch time, and a girl came up behind me, smearing hair gel over my face.
My mother was angry, and the principal said there was nothing she could do. So I was made to leave school. To me? It was because I was too white to be black.
It's funny, when I was riding the school bus to get to the same school, one lonely white girl came up to me and said "my parents don't agree with what your parents did".
  What did they do that was so wrong? Well, make me of course! A creature that is neither black nor truly white. A person that refuses to choose sides, because after all, the choices were made for me. I belong on the outside. That is where I was placed.

  I turned to the things that brought me comfort, making efforts to befriend people but not being able to really and truly, because I was poor and could not dress to fit in, because I had no idea how to fix my hair, because I didn't give a bloody dam about my hair or clothes and I thought that friendship was supposed to have more to do about personality than what I wore. Frequently asked questions were 'are you mixed? what are you mixed with? I didn't know you were black!" Blah blah blah...

I went to an all white school, where to me whiteness turned into a materialistic set of views that required thin bodies and straight hair, none of which I possessed after my middle years. Whiteness then became a standard of beauty to which all others were measured by.

I did not measure up.

I flipped through pages of teen magazines, there were seldom any black girls, and of those black girls none looked like me. The white girls, while as pale as myself, did not match my curvature, or hair type.  In summation the standard of beauty was far from my reach, and like any teenager I despaired.

  Today to me whiteness does not simply mean the color of one's skin. It means a set popular beauty standard. Like in between isn't pretty enough, like brown and gold tones are not quite right. It means that my kindergarten teacher was right. How dare I be so light when I am not white? When a person says "I prefer white people". I say "whatever makes you happy". Yet, I am made to understand that there is a certain cultural bias still lodged well within society. America, in it's race obsessed environment, has created a series of mental issues that have a ripple effect across all cultures represented in this country. A round nose is not sexy, light eyes are more attractive, pale skin is better. Yet, why is it, as light as I am, I have had issues with feeling my own self worth?
Simply put, I still do not fit the standard.

  I hope there is a resurgence of self worth found in people of color. I hope that brown  and black can be considered beautiful in popular culture. Such mentalities do not help myself one lick, but I understand the need, the desire to be represented.

  I am hoping that one day hearing people say "I prefer white people" or "I prefer black people" does not cause that familiar inflection of pain somewhere in the center of my chest.
  Popular culture be damned.
This stew pot has created... something else. Folks, there is no longer just white and black and brown. There is 'other'.