Jobs vs. Careers, is there a difference?

The notion of a job seems so limiting to me but I must take full responsibility for my lack of career planning. As a result of my short-sightedness, I find myself jumping from job to job looking for something, what that something is I'm not quite sure but what that something isn't, this I'm certain of and is the primary reason why I will leave a job in search of the unknown. An unknown something that I can never seem to isolate specifically in my mind and can never discover in a job, so maybe I'm fooling myself or maybe, I am what I have always thought I was, a fool! The truth is I don't mind being a fool, it's a good excuse and it allows me to not take myself so seriously. But there is an angst in the pit of my stomach, a constant gnawing at my spirit with regards to working at what I would consider jobs versus employment that would be in synch with a so-called career.
I'm a habitual job hopper but for the most part it was out of need, a need to feed three children and hopefully sustain some semblance of a life for them. Job hopping came as a result of always working positions that never captured my imagination or engaged my intellect or kindled my passion. So now I'm at this crossroad, not really but we'll call it a crossroad because it sounds much better than anything else that I can come up with. This juncture has me contemplating a new way my forward movement, my renewed or sincere interest in unleashing my career plan but it feels daunting at 42 years of age. The world was my oyster when I was in my twenties and career planning felt like a noose around my neck. My thirties were good for exploration but with kids getting older and my mind aging, I allowed myself to stand on the outside of the process of visioning my life and I let the wind blow me hither, wherever and which ever direction seemed like the path of least resistance. I try hard not to feel the weight of regret because it will not serve any purpose but to make me feel negative things which will confine me to a life lived in a straight-jacket and although it may be fashionable to wear these controlling garment, I still have this inclining of hope, this fraction of an ounce of hope and a smidget of desire to dream big and go where my true heart wants to go.
I think of my mother who worked in the post office, I think about so many people in my family and extended family who worked in plants or who worked in service positions at the University of Michigan hospital. I think back and I recall the joy they felt in obtaining the financial resources garnered from their jobs but I remember more the shear frustration they felt at working at jobs that under appreciated them and work that felt kin to being a slave. I always said I would never work in a factory and I would never work at the post office. The post office specifically was a place that tortured my poor mother and to add insult to injury is was an unsafe environment and I found no comfort in hearing about stories of people going into the post office killing fellow colleagues. There used to be this saying, going postal which was in reference to random killing. I hated that saying because it evoked a image too horrific for me to consider. I was not interested or willing to deal with learning that my poor mother was killed at work because some fool felt mistreated. My mother treated everyone with respect and kindness, people always communicated this to me and a childhood friend once said, it's the good one's that end up suffering. My mother was a good one and I did not want her suffer at the hands of some maniac. Luckily, she retired about eight years ago and I felt an instant sense of relief .
I look at my mother and see the wear and tear of her job on her face, in her hands and most ostensibly in her spirit. She has labored long and hard, I've not labored in this way. I have endured jobs where I have sat on my butt all day, which might be why my butt is big but that's another topic for my blog and for another day. What I do know is this, I'm tired of jobs, I'm tired of sitting on my butt all day (as strange as that may sound). I want movement, I want to intellectually engaged, I want to learn, I want to grow, I want to consider a pathway toward a career, I want to be around people who care about life and for the first time in my life, I recognize whose responsibility it is for my direction. I keep looking to jobs, careers, people, places and things to make my life have meaning. I've discovered that only I can make meaning in my life. Only, I can embrace with a sense of resolve a job or a career. Only I can make the work I do matter beyond the daily mundane. Only I can give value to the work that I do. Only I can decide to love what I give to each employer. Only I can plan my career. Only I can complete the task required to actualize that career plan. Only I can take an employment opportunity and turn it into a miracle. Only I can bring the joy to my place of work. Only I can be the light of love. Only I make the difference and it's not words like job or career.
I keep letting work define who I am. Maybe, just maybe if I defined my work which could translate into using certain employment to catapult my personal career goals, then the control would revert back to where it should of been all along which is with me. To discover the real meaning of means to an end. To stop billowing in self doubt or shame of my past or fear of the future. Perhaps today I awaken my consciousness and use it in service to creating the life that I want as oppose to the life I thought I was destined to or a life I felt would fall upon me because I was black, a woman and whatever other stuff I had in my head. Today, I actualize my living in the way the divine spirit has always provided. I use this mind, heart and soul to express the parts of me that I love best. What many people don't know is that I love, I mean I adore science and mathematics. Not only that, it comes way too easy for me but what most gives me complete and utter joy is when I am able to translate scientific or mathematical concepts to people who thought they would never understand it, that feels almost like an orgasm ( I repeat ALMOST but not quite and not enough for me to forgo the actual act of getting to an orgasm). Secretly, I've always wanted to be a science teacher and was willing to teach math course as well. I secretly still want to do that. My ultimate dream, since I'm in a confessional mood today, is that I really would love to instruct medical students in Gross Anatomy. University of Michigan has lecture notes and little videos for this course online, I peruse this site regularly, okay almost daily but it comes in phases. I have this vision of teaching people about the complexity of the human body and not just for the sake of memorizing anatomical structure but for them to discover the majestic nature of the human body. How intricate, delicate yet persistent the body really is and to unleash a profound respect for what our bodies do for us on a day to day basis. We take for granted this vessel, structure that we are contained and I say we need to know it better, take care of it but not in a superficial, cosmetic surgery, fad diet, kind of way. To compound this utter high respect for the human body is the understanding that comes in a course like biochemistry. I found real joy is biochemistry, I confirmed the existence of a higher power in physics but I was able to transcend the brilliance of the creator in biochemistry.
Can a person teach both gross anatomy and biochemistry to first year medical students? Because if they can, I would do it and I would elevate medical school education by bringing a instructional phenomena that will ground these future doctors in a deep-seated admiration and respect for the living organism. We need more doctors to work from that place of understanding because when they do, they develop into partners, partnering with their patience to bring back respect and love to our bodies. This notion will heal people naturally, it will serve as the mechanism by which we stop being dependent on health care (sick care) and engage in self empowerment over our bodies, bodies that desperately need some tender loving care.
I say all this to say this, it's all in how you look at things whether or not something is a job or a career. It is ultimately up to me to utilize a job or a career to create something good for my life, that's a choice that only I can make, a definition I can construct for myself. The difference is not the words, although the words are different, the difference is what I do and my attitude.. The difference is me and today I commit to making a difference in my life and the world we all live in.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Furniture Commercials Make Me Reflect on Important Things

Alright, I confess that at first I was going to say that furniture stores make me nauseous, which is probably a strong word but what I feel is combination of things and I get so frustrated that I want to throw the television against the wall. So what is wrong with furniture commercials? Furniture commercials for me were the first sign that this country was going to suffer a deep and overwhelming recession because anytime you can buy something and not have to pay for it, felt problematic. As someone who does accounting, paying for something in the future is the worst form of overhead, it's highly predictable and although a receivable and has the ability to increase net worth, I can't figure out why something as disposable as furniture would be put on an extended layaway plan.
Some of this goes back to my childhood, my mother was a major consumer of material things which might explain why her house is full of stuff but I digress. One of luxuries of life was new furniture which she bought on average every three to four years because we kids did our best to wear it out despite repeated attempts on her part to keep us off or she tried to teach us to be gentle but when your kid, gentle is some type of fantasy world thing. I watch these commercials and wonder if my mother has ever fallen victim to the buy now and pay later scheme and if she did, I'm sure became delinquent with payments because by the time she started paying for the furniture, it was old and worn out. What my mother really wanted to do in those moments was purchase new furniture and not pay for the furniture that sat before her eyes in our living room. Furniture that had plenty of defects, was worn beyond measure and was all but ready to be thrown out. But there in lies the trap of having to keep furniture that no longer appeals to you because you have to start paying for it.
I read one of those furniture contracts and what I discovered is that not only would it take my mother several years to pay off the furniture, the worn out, need to be thrown in the trash furniture but with the interest she would pay for the furniture not twice over but nearly three times the original price and this felt like high way robbery. I wonder why the furniture companies didn't create a commercial that showed the customer buying furniture with a happy face and then a section showing the customer years later with the new monthly payment plan. In big letters as oppose to small unreadable text, they could flash across the screen information about the furniture being worn out by the time you start your first payment and how in the end you will pay three tie the original cost. Now that would be complete disclosure in advertisement and allow people to make sensible decisions.
I've always been cash and carry every since my first credit card where I spent it on a pair of shoes for my boyfriend, shoes that I never ended up paying for and the credit card that made my credit awful for way too many years. I realized how much of a tight hold credit was and how deceitful the whole concept is. Credit means that you are owed something, but really credit in layman reality means that you owe and on top of what you owe is interest and on top of that more interest and by the time you get something paid off, you've bought the item at a price at least twice the amount indicated at the original purchase but why do people all over the globe buy into this concept?
It goes back to the need for immediate gratification which is something I've been guilty of but no longer find it rewarding. What I believe in more is short term sacrifice for long term gain, I'd rather wait than spend money I don't have and with that has come the fine art of living within my means. This lifestyle of living within my means is foreign to most people and at times I made to look like a freak because I refuse to play the credit game which only translates into being in debt forever game but you only live once, at least that what people say including my mother.
It's been nearly fifteen years of living this way and what I've discovered is that all the things that people say are required for living really aren't. I get by with so little yet I feel completely fulfilled and I have everything I need. And need is the operative word, I have every single thing I need, however I don't have many things that I think I want which in time I discover wasn't something I really wanted in the first place. My life is significantly empty of financial stress and I found it completely amazing when the so-called recession occurred (because I'm certain that in history, we are going to give this time period a different name than recession), I wasn not stressed out about anything really because I lived below my means and while I could suffer a job loss, there are two things that keep me sane and out of a worried space. Number one, I could work a minimum wage job and take care of my bills, barely but with appropriate planning it could work and I would work a minimum wage job to to do that. Secondly, since my expenses are so low, I could and would be open to sharing space to help reduce expenses. These two factors create in my mind solutions and therefore lessening the panic of job loss or reduce in income. This feeling of being able to handle what might come is different for me because there used to be a time when money dictated my mood. When I had money I was happy, when I was low on money I was miserable. It's a socially learned characteristic but when I took my personal power back and began to control my money versus my money controlling me, things changed significantly. No longer was I tossed about in the storm of unpredictable finances.
I see how the furniture commercials seduce us into thinking we can have something now and pay for it later but there is a price for immediate gratification followed by long term payback. The price is crippling, the price includes a noose around one's neck and the constant barrage of bill collectors calling and sending mail and emailing and text messaging and for those really good bill collectors, some come snoop around your home, some repossess what we can't pay for. They meaning the companies that handed out credit to any and everyone, they are clever yet they are the one's that put us in those situations in the first place. I find it so interesting when people suggest I just go get a credit card or get something on credit and no one ever ask me if I'm happy living without material things, no one ask me if I can afford to buy something I can't pay for and no one, I have yet to meet one person who encourages me to live within my means. So, luckily for me I am someone who struts to the beat of my own drum. I live with mis-match furniture, recycled bed and furniture. I don't have any new clothes and haven't for years. I found the best pair of boots, my size, leather and they looked practically new for five bucks at the thrift shop. I thanked the divine spirit for this gift, I wear them nearly daily and they are solid boots, made well and must of cost a fortune when they were bought originally, I just hope the owner isn't still paying for them on her credit card.
I want a new computer because my computer is so slow, I type faster than the letters appear which is an indication of not only the age but speed of my out dated computer. I don't when I will get another one but it doesn't matter, this one works and until extra disposable income becomes available, I will have to live with my computer because I refuse to buy a new one and pay for it twice or three times over.
Living within my means has been wonderful though, I find I am extremely lucky or blessed when I shop, I find the things I need as well as several of the things that I might want and all within the amount of cash I have on hand. I surrender this to the universe and allow the presentation of items to come in their own time. I'm never in a hurry for anything with the exception of food which is a requirement for living. I await the moment I happen to stumble into a store and find a item that needs replacing and the price tag is less than I thought I would have to pay, this delights me and what it does is gives me the opportunity to take the left over money and do something extra special for myself, something that not in the budget. For example, every so often I get to go to the nail place and get my toe nails done, it's not much but it's a special treat for me and I feel so blessed when I walk in able to pay without worry, stress or as a reaction to financial woes. I smile at the attendant who lovingly massages and cares for my feet, much in the way that I do and I select the color of the nail polish with a simple joy full of abundant peace.
My message is this the price of short term sacrifice for long term gain far outweighs and outlives any immediate gratification couched in long term and over priced payback. The price is peace of mind and that's priceless. And I'd rather have peace than a whole bunch of material things that are only destined to clutter up a landfill, I'd rather have meaningful connections to other human beings and I'd rather define my own self value beyond material things because I'm worth more and things are only temporary but I am full of the spirit that lives forever and that's enough for me.
I am whole and I am perfect and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Confessions of a dead beat mother Take 2

The shear emotional pain of abandoning children even for one day is unbearable when you recognize the betrayal in your child's eyes or the tenor in their voice that suggest they don't really trust you. Had I known what I know now I would of tried harder, I would of pushed aside the call of the wild, I would of put my fears in a mental compartment while shutting the door.
For so many days this is what I did with thoughts of my children, put it in a compartment and gently shut the door yet hesitating as I did because I really didn't want to forget about them, I just wanted the emotional relief, I just wanted time off from the thoughts of guilt that crowded my mind. It wasn't easy yet over time it became easier and then there times when days would go by and I wouldn't even think of them, in some respects I felt a sense of victory followed by a sense of debilitating remorse, a kind of mental sickness that warrants immediate servitude in the boughs of hell. I never really felt any sense of relief, just a sense of surprise that I could actually have moments were I would forget about my children, I shutter to think about these times when life seemed clouded in grey while I took on the form of human numbed in a type of zombie existence.
I never forget those words of people who would discover I had children yet during our interaction I never mentioned them, they seemed shocked and disappointed in me. They had the look of betrayal upon their face and it made me go inside, push back and I would stop being around them because that's the only thing I knew how to do, it's the thing that I did back then. I wasn't ashamed of my children, I simply needed space from questions or stories about them, things that I did not have because of my lack of involvement in their lives. I was so busy trying to escape that I never gave myself a chance to wonder what was going on in their young lives. I couldn't trust myself to be consistent, so I did nothing which seems to be my default mode. In this space of doing nothing, I find that I'm more miserable than if I had tried and yet I saunter into this habit like a rote machine. A machine with internal torture devices, beatings of a mental kind, acutely spinning me into self aggrandizement because coping was a basic instinct and I would survive all this.
I wasn't fully negligent and it's interesting when my son who lives with me now tells me this fact but not in the way I want him to. He reminds me of my abandonment as from age five to 14 and it makes me want to cry, I do cry but not in front of him. No, I defend myself saying, I'm here now and considering that 5 to 14 was most of his life, being here now feels useless but again because kids have hearts made of gold, he confesses that he is glad I am here now and doesn't want me to go anywhere. This fear of my leaving is a force I deal with hiim from time to time and one time it had really awful consequences because I went out with some friends and ended up staying out all night. This same evening he would lose his keys and friends of the family would come to rescue him but he refused in a raging manner that scared people. I would arrive home to find him laying next to the door, cold and asleep. His body teethered to the door as if his life depended on it, as if he was waiting for the predictable as if he might not ever see me again. And I hate these moments of doubt that linger on my children's faces, the look of not knowing what is next with me and I know I deserve it but it feels no less hurtful.
The reason why I say I wasn't fully negligent is because when the mood hit me which is not the real truth just the cynical, judging attitude I inflict on myself with the help of others, I would spend time with my children. It was a time over compensation for the time I hadn't been there, I spent all disposable income on them, always sent it to them and afforded them nice things, trips and fairyland times together. The older they got the harder the visits because I could see in there bodily shape and form how much they had changed. I could hear in their voices stories of things that happened without me and I could see in their eyes that I was like a stranger with a kind but guilty heart. But children have hearts made of gold and the spirit of resillence, sometimes I wished they would curse me, tell me how selfish and awful of a mother that I have been but that wasn't there job and none of this is their responsibility.
Why confess now? Why smear unto the page this stuff that ressurects the current of suicidal anger and pain as thick as bolders? Why send my heart into places I've shielded from myself for way too many years? What change will I make now, if any?
I confess because I have to believe that somewhere in the releasing of this internal satiric drama, there is an alternate ending. Not the ending I imagined for the bulk of my years. An ending at the expense of my own hands wanting life to fade away, to be gone. I confess because I want to get better and not for others but for me and my children who are now all officially grown. And I want to afford myself the excuse that it is too late but I will not give in, I will rise above my deepest and most shameful fears and began again, as I do every day to do better. To use the God stuff inside of me to live more lovingly. I can't promise perfection or even progression. I can engage in earnest effort with the desire to better etched in every micro ounce of my actions. I can cry these tears of guilt, I can look at pictures of them growing up and see what I missed, I can call them with just a hello, I can want the past knowing it will never come to be, I can be gentle with the part of myself that feels I deserve a life sentence in jail, I can take each breathe and surrender it all to the divine spirit, wherein lies the truth, the power, the peace, the joy and the love that heals and makes the world a better place.
I'm working with balance these days, I haven't perfected it yet I continue to wish for more balance. I remind myself that I came back to Ann Arbor to heal old wounds and just when I think that I've done my work, something else comes to the fore and I want to ask, when will it be over? But I dare not go there, the way I will do this is to know that with my higher power I will get through and getting through is good enough for me. I refuse to ignore and neglect or abandon or push to the side the awful memories, I will allow myself to feel the pain but in a place of knowing that I will get to the other side where I am healthy and whole. I gave up on suicide many, many years ago. It's the easy way out and if nothing else, I've never been one to take the easy way out, I'm too smart for that plus for some reason, in the vestiges of my human purpose I am not allowed to die before my natural time because the work I have been destined to do is work I gladly assume. I finally once and for all take on those responsibilities. I've discovered that the pain is wretched, contorts every fiber of your being, piercing as a gun shot wound but each time I sank into it's bottoming force, I unfold a piece of myself where I am alive, more alive than I have ever been. Honestly, I wish I had dealt with this stuff before but I am grateful for the process now. I am grateful to be alive, alive enough to feel the complexity of living and alive enough to do the work. I get frustrated with myself sometimes, I get in those spaces where I think I'm not going to make it but then something small happens, like the sound of birds in the morning, or a funny conversation with one of my children or the way I caress this body of mine admiring it's softness and it's color and it's voluptuous beauty (but not in a conceded way), I open up to something so magnificent that I can't help but want to keep keeping on.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Moving from Religion to Spirituality

It's a fine Sunday morning and the birds are asserting their voices with banter about the spring I suspect, I can't be for sure because I'm not into interpreting bird language but I can tell by the tone and inflections that their convo is weather related. I'm mentally preparing myself for the transition into summer and the temporary exodus of old man winter. Entering my car yesterday for a drive, it was steaming hot and that hadn't been the case since last summer, so the warmth of the leather seats felt amazing, my son complained and felt it was slightly unbearable but he was tolerant because he wanted a ride to his destination. I could appreciate the process of entering the car without the added tasks of cleaning off snow or warming the car.
This morning I awoke with the ease of another day to be lazy or at best do what I want. It is Sunday, I know that tons of people are preparing for their church ritual and I am planning a long walk with a moment to peak at the community garden plot that I am planning to utilize. What will I plant and how will I make time for a garden?
Although I am not focused on writing about birds and gardens this morning, nature has so much to do with the way in which I have transcended from religiosity to a more spiritual way of living. Gardening for instance has opened me up to the idea of seasons as more than just climatic changes but many of the changes that happen in a persons life. I feel the evolution from religion to spirituality is a seasonal change in that when I was young I needed religion as a basis for creating a healthy life but I discovered it was only the planting of seeds that would help to inform and shape. Growing up pentecostal seemed more like fall, a time when you pick up all the stuff that has grown over the summer and you get as much as you can because you may need to store it for winter.
The nature of pentecostal religion is rooted in a deep fear of God, a God that wants complete attention, much like that of a small child. A God with lots of rules that one must obey, a god that is critical of misbehavior and a spirit who has mercy and grace but reserved this gift to humans only in their death. What I learned most from my religious upbringing is that my goal in life is to simply settle for whatever may come, even if it is not to my liking but I must settle in a loving way, accepting my plight with good religious behavior and to withdraw from being a part of this world or being worldly. Yet I was feisty, head strong and adventurous and the church teachings didn't really fit me, I wasn't willing to settle for anything and everything that reeked of unfairness or critique or judgment sent me spinning, sent me questioning and sent me into a space where I became suspect of the hypocrisy within the church. I was such a rebel I stood up to the men, wondered why women had to take a back seat and when a minister told me that women were the backbone of the church I nearly choked him. I could see that women were smarter, women did all the work and women had to be one step behind the man, this didn't work for me considering I was being raised in a single parent home with a mother who not only worked but had a better job than most men and provided for us in ways that generally happened in two parent homes. My mother had more stamina than most men and I thought it was truly unfair for her to regarded with second class citizenship. What hurt me the most in church was the abusive preaching about homosexuals and yes I would consider it verbal abuse because the language was harsh and damaging. More than anything, to hurt people from the pulpit felt very unChristian and felt like ministers were taking advantage of their power. It used to annoy me when a minister would stray from his written sermon and start to preach, from what I refer to as the side of their neck, this meant that they were about to say the unthinkable and spew hurtful words in the name of God. It was a savvy trick, a way to vent, project and attempt to put certain people in their places, I never bought it, if anything I knew they were wrong and I gave them evil looks to make them think and wonder what they did wrong. The looks never changed their behavior but people did tippy toe around me because they never knew what question I might ask.
I found religion stifling, I found the holy ghost dance to be suspect especially when people joked about it. I don't really recall the spirit moving within me in some uncontrollable way but I do recall having a deep sense of presence come over me but it was couched in a religion that didn't allow me to really embrace the magnificence of the holy spirit within me, that's the sad part, if only if I was conditioned to hold onto that feeling of God on the inside, my life would of transpired differently.
Of course, growing up pentecostal wasn't all bad, there was the church family but I didn't really get to enjoy my church family because I lived in another city plus we were considered borderline rich which made no sense to me but I relished this having this imaginary elite status and used it to my advantage. I enjoyed the people and appreciated it when I was doted on and told that I was smart and had an amazing voice. I loved it when my mother purchased clothing or shoes that were stylish and when I would attend church, I was the first one to have something. I had a phase with clothing but I just as well wear some sweats and t-shirt now. Even at church I felt different and disconnected from the others. I tried to befriend them as best I could but their families were more steeply entrenched in the religion than my mother who was loose about it. She was loose in her personal behavior but she wasn't closed minded about every single thing and living in Ann Arbor where I was around lots of white people helped. She desired for us to fit in and engage in regular activities, much like our peers and sometimes that meant suspending certain religious rules to allow us to have a normal life, thank goodness.
I would summarize my religious teaching in this way, God created man and woman to make babies and live out the creed of marriage. There is no such thing as homosexuality because in the story about Sodom and Gomorrah, God burned the city down to make the point that certain behavior (homosexuality, Woodstock, drugs, alcohol, dancing, movies, arcades, parties, television or any other worldly things) was completely wrong and we as Christian are to not engage in these activities if we are to live a saved life and go to heaven. I learned there was the almighty God and the fallen angel the Devil complemented with the idea of heaven and hell. I would spend most of my childhood in terror around the notion of the devil and this place called hell. It didn't stop my inner spirit from seeking my own truth but I had many sleepless nights afraid of the devil appearing before me and many sleepless nights afraid I would die and go to the burning pits of hell because when you're a kid, you're not perfect, your exploring the world around you and this inevitable means you are going to do some things wrong. And people who do wrong, well they go to hell when they die and I was destined for hell.
To be continued
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

These are a Few of my Favorite Things

Honestly, I'm not in a dead beat mom confessional kind of mood, so I've decided instead of continuing yesterdays thread which I will continue, I'm going to have fun because it's Friday and I deserve to be light and fanciful.
Favorite things is the idea I came up with less than a minute ago and although it comes in response to a cultural phenomena, you what I'm talking about, the whole Oprah thingymabocker. Nonetheless, this is my list of things that I really like and recommend to others.
Reusable Bags: I love these bags and every time I use them, I feel as if I'm sparing the life of a tree and I do feel that trees have lives, albeit different than humans, they're a living organism and therefore deserve to live their best life as well. Let us not forget that trees provide us with oxygen to breath and considering how much smoking goes on, I need all the fresh oxygen I can get. I mention this thing about smoking because in my apartment building, I am gifted second hand smoke on a regular basis and when I walk to work, there is those I pass by who are engaged in their morning nicotine ritual and if I'm not paying attention, I can end up getting a wiff or two or three before I start my work day, ugh! And using these bags has significantly decreased the presence of plastic or paper bags which seemed to accumulate in my space like ants, so kudos to me for using reusable bags which have lasted for several years I might add. I've never thrown away a reusable bag yet.

Tom's of Maine Toothpaste and Radius Toothbrush: I lump these two together because they don't work without each other. I Love my wide radius toothbrush because not only are the bristles simply wonderful and feel like a gentle gum massage, I get this feeling that more surface is being covered with each brush stroke. It's not the cheapest toothbrush on the planet, a whooping eleven bucks and it doesn't last any longer than a normal toothbrush but it works great. I'm not into the whole bi-level, multi type of toothbrushes currently on the market, I'm old fashion and enjoy a good old fashion brushing with a sensible yet comfortable toothbrush. The handle is larger than most and the head has double the bristles of regular toothbrushes, which makes for easier handling when brushing my teeth and I'm confident about what I enjoy most and that is the feeling of a brush stroke simultaneously on the gums and teeth, this is exhilarating. And then this effect wouldn't have as much meaning if it weren't for the toothpaste, I prefer the anti-plaque propollis with fennel, these ingredients makes for a naturally smooth tasting paste with a hint of mint, not too much and not too little. I became hip to Tom's toothpaste about six years ago and I've been hooked every since, they have a variety but this one works well for me and my teeth. Again, it's not the cheapest paste on the planet but between Trader Joe's and any pharmacy store (CVS, Rite Aid, Walgreens), they sometimes have sales and I'll pick it up but mostly I tread over to Whole Foods where I know it's always in stock and when it comes to toothpaste, I'm not interested in store shopping, I just want to pick it up and get back home.

Ped Egg: This is the infomercial product that helps eliminate the dead skin on your feet. And I might add it helps with those pesky corns on the baby toe which seems to be a wonderful genetic gift that has cursed every woman in my family from my great-grandmother to my poor daughter whose corns seem to be the worst I've ever seen. But this little invention is truly ingenious and it actually works and I use it, well I was going to say that I use it on a regular basis but I don't want you to think that my feet are calloused all the time, although this might be true, no one needs me to write about it. The blades are replaceable yet they seem to last a fairly long time, at least with to ten uses which is saying alot considering I have size eleven feet which no one needed to know about either. It has this curve handle, making it rally easy and simple to use and you don't feel tired from use. It's now offered at Bed, Bath and Beyond or stores like this and if you're like me you'll find it on sale and use your 20% off coupon which makes it nearly free. For the rough spots on your feet and I'm pretty anal about my feet although if you looked at my hands, which look like man hands, you can see where I might want to shift some of the attention but that's not going to happen anytime soon.

The Body Shop's refreshing foot spray in peppermint: Since I was already discussing my feet, I thought it might be important to share this little item. This spray is not only a foot spray but it is a foot deodorizer for those whose feet sweat like mine do but mostly in the summer when I have them wrapped in enclosed shoes like sneakers or God forbid some other kind of shoe that I'm required to wear due to work. Not only is the scent simply refreshing and has a spunk which in the aroma book says peppermint is good for concentration and has a mild stimulant, kind of wakes you up but it also has a tingling effect on your feet when sprayed. This added benefit of the spray is the reason why I buy it religiously without fail. There will never be another foot spray for me and luckily I'm not the only one because I've been using this for at least ten years and I keep praying they don't discontinue the item and my prayers have been answered thus far. It's a bit pricey, the 3 ounce bottle that last about two months or less if used daily which I'm not religious about it and if I'm wearing sandals I tend to not use it but it cost about fifteen bucks or more, I think it might have increased in price but I don't care it could cost significantly more and I would buy it and I'm not materialistic nor an overly consumptive consumer, I just like the few things I like and tend to stick with those items.

Moleskin Notepads: I love to write but of course you couldn't tell that by my daily blog notes. And moleskin is like a girl's best friend, in that they have created all these different kinds of notepads and you can't help but love one of the pads. I use the daily journal like pad for taking notes, jotting down ideas and recording events from my life that seem meaningful and I want to ensure some recollection about said life changing event. But then I recently purchased a more journalist pad with the flip top and it's what I would call kind of sexy in a writerly kind of way and hat's most enjoy able about these pads is the elastic strip to keep the book closed. This feature is unique and perfect even though I hadn't really thought about a mechanism to keep the book from sprawling open and conveying all of my deepest and darkest or lightest moments for all the world to see. I do have an affinity for the dramatic at times but on in writing and not in real life. The pages are made of this paper, soft and dense enough for ink to not spill through and resembles that kind of paper that the Bible was written on, papyrus or something another. The pads now come in multiple colors, sizes and different page numbering which is cool and there are a few of these that are large enough to sketch pictures and what not into or perhaps for scrap booking. I love my moleskin notepads because of course, I think they contain all the great writing things that I have managed to come up with.

Regular White Candles: This item is nothing really special or unique or whatever, it just happens to be the one thing that I buy over and over again, although I am learning to make candle wax and then refill my bottles which goes back to reusable bags. I was told buy someone that white candle burn as means to bring about clarity, to put pure light into the air or the room or wherever you are. These white candles inspire self reflection and promote a connection to our higher power. I love the presence of a candle burning, I appreciate the energy of white light in my life and for my mind. Candles keep me company as I await my life partner. These candles are the cheapest thing on the planet you can buy them from the dollar store or K-mart or really just about any store including grocery store, drug stores and department stores. I've always had a discomfort with total darkness with a more city setting but in the country or in the woods or in a less populated area, I'm fine in the dark but something about heavily populate areas, I tend to get nervous, I've probably watched way too many movies where people were killed. The candle is that protective light, that source of illumination and it affords me nightly moments of peace without fear.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Confessions of a dead beat mother

I lay in the bed thinking, reflecting back on my life and the millions of choices that I made. I consider what topic I will tackle and a resounding voice of confession comes over me. I'm surprised that my spirit wants to travel this terrain, the unspoken territory of my negligent parenting because I don't want to be judged but the truth is, I judge myself far harsher than anyone else ever could or will. I live with this angst of shame, it's dull pain from years of trying to put stuff out of my mind and I can't help but want to release the whole assorted tail of being a dead beat mother.
I've lived the bulk of my life in my head and with little regard to other people unless they were in my world on a continuous basis. This is why when people remember me and I don't remember them, it's because they weren't a steady presence in my life and oft times I feel bad that I don't recall who they are. It's that look of surprise shock, embarrassment coupled with anger that's get me every time, I want to make them feel better but it's hard for me to figure out how to make that happen once, the shrowd of disappointment covers their face. But in living in my head, I had no real outward needs form the world, I engage interactions as they developed and slid to the sidelines when things disipated. And I never had an inclining toward having children. I thought at one point that I would never have children, never felt confident in my ability to parent and I just didn't have that inner desire for children. What I did have inside of me was a desire to connect intimately with another human being, to be touched, to be listened to, to be loved, to be connected on a profound physical level. I wasn't sure what that would look like per say because my world was crowded with women who raised children alone or with women who got out of abusive relationships alive or women who hung onto men who were emotionally unavailable but physically present. None of these options seemed attractive to my young mind but I determined early on that I would have to settle for one of these options. Yet I had this feeling that perhaps I would get lucky and experience the type of love I'd seen on television or in a really good romantic movie, the kinds of movies that always make me cry at the end and I wonder if I am crying in honor of the cinematic vision of love or if I'm crying tears of defeat, knowing good and well, I'll never have that in this life.
The long and short of my adolescent love was that of a teacher, Mrs. Evans, she was gorgeous, smelled like a floral arrangement, gentle with her hands that provided daily hugs and a voice gentle as a breeze. I wouldn't discover the unnaturalness of loving a woman until I was in fourth grade and at girl scouts. That's when a friend fell in love with me, she educated me about the preverseness of girl on girl love. She tortured herself although I never understood why and she pushed through her inner voice to provoke a physical relationship with me. I wasn't really all that excited about what we did, it felt more obligatory and I surrendered because she touched me gently, she listened to me, she was consistent and she protected me. Looking back I can see how she honored something in me, in a way that I hadn't experienced from another human being. But as fate would have it, I would move away from that neighborhood and I would never see her again but I think of her often.
The move brought about lots of change and a new love interest. I feel in deep love (which was only deep like) with my fifth grade teacher, Mr. Monash. He had a flair that excited me, he had a pep in his step while teaching and he treated me as if I was just as important as everyone else in the classroom. He pushed me to be better, he made me feel special and the expressiveness fo his manhood presented to me first hand something different. For the first time I felt as if I was in the company of a man who was open to life, open to engaging people with a genuine desire to connect beyond the superficial, he was a man who patted my back (not in a sexual way), a man who spoke of having feelings and a man who was in tune to what was unique in every child. Why I remember this I'll never know btu there were some days when he had razor stuble, he would run it and I could the faint sound of facial hair springing back from the motion of his hands. I liked the way he walked, proud like, erect with a slight attitude and energize. I appreciated his man voice, lowered to express disappointment in such a way that I did not feel degraded but inspired to do better. And nothing brought me more joy that to be a leader in his class, to garner extra attention and to be in the category of higher expectation, this catapulted my self esteem and I grew to know myself in ways I never thought possible. I think back on the way I affectionately thought of Mr. Monash but it wasn't sexual it was purely adoration because I really didn't know too much or at least I had no first hand knowledge about girl-boy intimacy, I only had my girl on girl intimate experience.
To be continued
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Nadya Suleman and the octomom debacle

The word octomom irritates me just as much as when the media started calling people in New Orleans after the Katrina storm, all of whom were American citizens, refugees. This is not a rant about the media's need to brand everything although that's a good subject to tackle one day. No, I'm writing in defense of Nadya Suleman, the so-called octomom and the way the general population began their surprise attack on her because she made a choice to have eight babies.
Let's start from the beginning, America is obsessed with anti-aging and as such women are choosing to have children at a later age, the only problem is that it doesn't always work out that way. The older a woman gets, the less available are her eggs and aged eggs are not always viable eggs, at least not for bringing into being a healthy child. However, considerable amount of research and development has occurred so that these women can have children when they want because having babies is important. Important for middle class older women.
Then of course there are the Christians who are anti-abortionist and demand that lower to working class women have the babies when they accidentally become pregnant. I t doesn't matter that they can't afford to have the child, it doesn't matter how hard it might be to give up your child once you've birthed it and it doesn't matter that the father of the child might not ever do anything in support of the child, all of that stuff doesn't matter. What matters is that in the eyes of loving Christians is that abortion is a form of killing and it's wrong. But why isn't wrong when men force women to have sex with them, what's the real penalty for that and what's wrong with sexist notions that dictate that women are to be damn-near "sex slaves" within their marriages, what's wrong with using contraception (this is aimed at the Catholics mostly but there are some other religions that don't condone the use of birth control), what's wrong with women having say so over what happens with their bodies, what's wrong with a society's hypocrisy. Because both reproductive research and anti-abortion are highly visible influences in our culture, I was surprised to discover the way people were reacting to octomom whose name, by the way is Nadya Denise Suleman.
The very first thing I found offensive with regards of the critiques of Ms. Suleman were the voices of men because as far as I am concern, men have no voice on this issue, I'm sorry but that's where I draw the line. And it's not so much that I couldn't hear from men but it was the shear testosterone driven self absorbed kind of opinion that felt shallow and lacked any consideration for the plight of a woman. Opinions like she's crazy which is such an easy conclusion to draw if you're a man because men don't hardly understand what it is really like to not only carry around the unborn fetus for several months, most men don't really actively engage in the child rearing process, so a male who says she is crazy is mostly lazy and self absorbed. Next came all the people who felt she was putting a strain on the welfare system, let me report to the masses, people of color do not put a strain on the welfare system because over 70% of welfare recipients are white and one economist said that if people of color were the only ones on welfare, it would be a non-issue because the amount of burden would be significantly lessen. This welfare issue always ensues when non-white people have babies and it's a reflection of racist attitudes, even if it comes from a person of color because it's there perpetuation of racist notions in our society. Also, welfare is the lesser of two evils because the cost for the state to raise the child is significantly more expensive
If Ms. Suleman is capable of raising those children is not for me to decide or predict. Motherhood is not something you buy in a store, you're not born with this special talent although some women are naturals at mothering, I wasn't one of those kind of women, there are not classes (well they have what they call classes that don't cover everything or nearly everything) and from what I've learned as a mother it is all trial and error.
I defend this women because I think that her actions were heavily influenced by societal forces that say to women, first of all, get a man and have babies. This woman wasn't able to get a man but she followed through on the bare foot and pregnant programming and now everyone is blaming her. I felt a ting of anger when feminist didn't come out in support of Ms. Suleman but why would a group of largely over educated, middle to upper class women come out in defense of a poor Hispanic woman in Los Angeles.
I blame the irresponsible oversight of a medical practitioner who allowed his patient to become married to the use IVF, much in the same way people say that women use abortion as a form of birth control, this is just the opposite situation. I'm struggling with the need to blame anyone and what I'm really wanting is for us to find enough compassion to make the situation better or at least treat the woman with respect regardless of our personal beliefs and opinions. I'm turned off by the media to dub her octomom, it's an example of verbal abuse, public and socially acceptable. The truth is that I don't have a good defense for why Ms. Suleman made the choices she made but I am convinced beyond anything else that she has a gigantic heart and desire to be a mother. She must of got some of my mothering genetic material and from all accounts this is a woman who loves her children, what part of that deserves to be beat up upon. We're off put by the number of children but historically women had at least a dozen children and no one blinked. I'm not interested in making her situation understandable to the masses but I am wondering what is it about this culture, why are we so hyper critical? Why are we so quick to offer criticism and bash people with jargon and over inflated opinions? What kind of world do you want these kids to grow up in and why should they have to discover that other people didn't approve of their mothers decision? Why are we so numb to the abusive language of everyday media?
The whole Suleman situation is just an example of how our culture has gone awry. Kate Gossling said the most profound and wonderful thing, she said every child born is worthy. Let us as a community, the human family remember that every being deserves basic things and that every human being including Ms. Suleman deserve support and respect. Imagine a world where people don't criticize but support one another through our mistakes and our achievements. Imagine a media that informed us about the good instead of the bad, that would be a great day, a miracle but a wondrous moment. I'm exhausted with the lack of compassion of people, where is the love and in the words of Green, can't we all get along? Can we?
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Gay marriage is not enough Freedom for me

It's the fall of 1998 and I've been newly hired by the Human Rights Campaign, a LGBT civil rights organization. On this day the field department, of which I am a part of as a national field organizer is meeting with a group of allies in the movement. I can't remember his last name but his first name was Evan, he went on to share that he was going to single-handedly make gay marriage the primary gay civil rights issue. I chalked it off as wishful thinking because it made no sense to me and it's been over ten years and it still makes no sense to me. But what I did learn from this experience and it haunts me on a regular basis, especially when I hear another news report about gay marriage, what I learned is that one person can shape and influence a groups agenda. Evan made it his business to put gay marriage on the map as the primary item and years later, we have made little stride but the primary reason why I was in opposition to this agenda item is because when I think about complete and total liberation, when I consider total social justice for myself as a self identifying queer person, I understand that my freedom is not housed in marriage, marriage will not make me free and U'm not convinced it's enough to change the social paradigm and suddenly make straight people more accepting of human rights for LGBT people, I just don't.
This pronouncement of marriage as the main gay issue was a struggle for me but way more of a struggle when I became more involved in my activist work for HRC. I contend as I have always contended that marriage is an institution, founded on sexist principles and has come to be one of the most dysfunctional social human agreements that we know. My problem has been with the constraints of marital unions, the controlling aspects of this arrangement and although historically marriage was viewed with lots of respect, it no longer carries the nostalgia that it once did. Furthermore, the high rates of divorce is an indication that something is wrong with this concept of marriage, something isn't working out right for humans to continue this tradition and more importantly it's laced with the oppressive rhetoric of religiosity, this can't be good for gay people if it isn't good for so called straight people.
To add insult to injury, over time I came to recognize that the majority of LGBT people in this country are mostly self destructive, mentally challenged around their idea of sexual orientation and most LGBT events were hovered in alcohol and drug use at a an abusive level. Of course, now I am sharing dirty laundry which is a no no but I couldn't help but wonder how does a group largely depressed from psychic wounds around their sexual orientation, how do these people become married? More importantly, how do they create meaningful relationships when as a community we haven't sufficiently done the work of healing around historic issues of oppression. I struggled for years trying to imagine us queer people, damaged and barely in recovery, how in the world do we jump from therapy into marriage and equate that with complete and total liberation. Okay, I can marry my girlfriend now (for example, that is if I had a girlfriend), I can marry her but I feel shitty about myself as a queer person, I've done nothing but engaged in severely dysfunctional relationships and when I do come to ap point of marriage, no one in my family will attend but I'll be alright because now I can marry the person I love and this is all the civil rights that I need. Let me be clear this is not cynicism, this is a deep and profound need for my civil right to encompass more than marriage and I refuse to settle for less, forgive me for being greedy or having a more expansive idea of what social justice really is and I know because I'm African-American and no more could interracial marriage provide liberation for black folks, it most certainly doesn't seem like the likely civil rights act to bring equality to LGBT people, I just don't see and can't comprehend the correlation.
I must admit that it's admirable when straight people come out in support of marriage but they come out because it's the only thing that LGBT activist present to them. I'm not sure what it does for humanity or what changes in the mind set of people about gay people, if they are allowed to marry. I might embrace it's potential influence if marriage was a functional and time honored tradition but the notion of marriage in larger society has a bad rap and more and more people are stepping away from it. Nonetheless, I can totally appreciate when people make a commitment to love another person for the long term. I sometimes hope for a partner but I long more for self respect and self love and the ability to clearly identify what equal rights means for me. Slavery was unacceptable, lgbt oppression is unacceptable but I'm not willing to settle for small victories anymore, I want the whole shebang and shabutle. I want everything, I want workplace freedom, I want military freedom, I want reproductive freedom, I want more than anything to be accepted for who I am and that's a very complex thing. I want every part of my life filled with the power and the respect of every other human being in America. I want a progressive agenda that takes into consideration new ideas about gender, sexuality, sexual orientation, marital and non-marital union or polyamorous relationships, I want self-love and limitless and boundless definition of the self. Marriage feels like a box, another conceptual identity that I would need to fit into with my gay self but I'm over boxes, and finite identity tags and I'm tired of feeling like I need to do what others have done in the past, as if they were right. Marriage feels wrong and I'm going to do some research and argue this point but it's not to negate people choosing under healthy and meaningful considerations to unite with another for a long period of time but I support short term arrangements as well because we are human beings who have evolved and in that space and time with the evolutionary process, guess what, we changed. I am no more willing to settle for limited civil rights as a black person and I am certainly not interested or able to contend with some fractionalized, partly realized equal rights. I want it all and I will settle for nothing less. I am worthy and I compel all lgbt people to consider this, you are worthy of complete liberation in the land of the free called the United State of America. I beg of you to not settle for anything that is not complete freedom because what you deserve is greater than marriage, what you deserve is all of it, whatever that all is.
I feel on fire this morning, I feel like a revolution this morning, I feel like I want all of my freedom this morning but this ain't no difference than most mornings. What I aspire to most is healing of our abused lgbt souls, for activist to practice basic respect with one another, for the bickering and the back biting to cease, I need for there to be no tolerance of gay men treating each other like shit, I need for lesbians to stop thinking its acceptable to control their lovers and I need for transgendered people to stop putting yourselves in old gender boxes, you are the representation of the future, you are the new non-gender and you trans people hold the key to turning this world around, helping us to blur the lines of gender thus blurring our understanding of gender boxes which will inevitable tear down the notion of marriage as we know it.
I'm interested in moving forward not backwards and into archaic institutions that don't really serve the people they were created for. I want a new world where there is no such thing as identity just human beings expressing themselves uniquely and where laws are created to support ALL people. We are the sleeping giants, we queer people and I say it's time to rise from our nap. Let's not be stone age about our revolution, let's put some Jetson (this is a reference to an old cartoon that was on tv and indicative of my age) in our progressive plan for futuristic changes, I know we can do it and I know we will.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Thoughts On War

I can't help but think that if the world were run by women, we would be closer to world peace. I try to tell myself that using violence in a defense mode is appropriate but the truth is this, violence begets more violence no matter how, why or when.
So on yesterday I was watching some documentaries on military operations, more specifically there was an episode about special operations, secret under cover military forces with no real oversight yet they receive medals of honor. what hurt me the most with these special ops guys were their arrogance and the shear aggressive force they would use when they deemed it necessary. In one instance, the group took over a home, yeah the home belonged to the so called enemy but the home was also the only place for the enemies family. The special ops were telling the woman, the wife of the enemy that she will simply have to deal with the situation because her husband is a wanted man and they are going to use the house as their home. You could see the frustration in the woman's eyes and she was near tears and I thought to myself, how could they just go into another country and displace this woman and her family, even if her husband is the one they are chasing, what gives them the right to do that and why was this situation so acceptable to mainstream society. I was outraged when I learned of all this and I got the feeling that I was the only one. And what happened to innocent until proven guilty?
I can stand the thought of use of violence, I struggle to look at violence on television. I turn my face, cover my eyes and the anticipation of a violent act sends my blood pressure to the roof. Real or imagined I can't stand it, I can't stomach the idea and this is why I back off when people are mean or seem prone to aggressive behavior, I am not the least bit interested in finding out what they might do. And it was no picnic when I encountered physical abuse in a relationship, unlike most I left right after the first instance but I could see first hand that my well being was no longer of importance to this individual. And for the life of me I can't seem to understand why this person needed to hurt me this way. And to boot, the individual had the audacity to contact me recently. I thought to myself why in the world would I for one second call them or be in contact with them again. I know misery loves company but abusive people are disillusioned and deeply disturbed with their own thoughts. Luckily I'm not stupid or desperate.
I keep saying that men need to back off and figure out how to use their aggression in more meaningful ways. And the war they wage is really a reflection of the war they wage inside themselves and that's why spiritual enlightenment is the key to rescuing them from themselves.
We live in this free world where we enact laws to keep violence out of our daily lives yet it's perfectly reasonable to inflict violence on other countries in the name of democracy. I don't get it and the hypocrisy. How is it that the psycho-social contract suggests that we as human beings should talk, communicate through our struggles with one another but it's perfectly sane to drop bombs on other people, most of whom are innocent. I get the feeling that democracy is a lie, has not lived up to its creed and is the excuse military uses to inflict violence on others. I say that this use of violence for so called good or not is wrong and inappropriate in a day when technology allows us to communicate with other people and it's a medium by which we can reach some kind of consensus or at least attempt to understand one another. Democracy is like the Bible, it is the mechanism by which groups of people get to say they are right while categorically deciding that others are wrong.
I read the other day that President Obama wanted more money for the war and I was deeply hurt but not surprised. In his campaign he championed military use all along which is why is some ways he seemed like a good candidate but in this way I felt distanced from the man. I could see that he couldn't be all things and I could see that men, with their physiological disposition for aggression, namely in quantity of testosterone that pulsates through their body, inevitable makes them susceptible to violence. Aren't we tired of violence in this world? It's a mute question when I see the kinds of movies that people attend in epic volumes and that's the reason why people can't tell the difference between good treatment and violent treatment, there is a blur for people who think its okay or at least tolerable. I can't really talk intelligibly about violence and war because it disgust me and makes me sad for the victims of such nonsense. I see no reason to wage war, not even in defense because I believe in a greater power, this power is mightier than human might and I've got to know intuitively that something can be done but in a non-violent way. The world we live in is so violent from the way we talk to one another, to the way we push had shove on the streets, the way we drive, the way we respond to those around us when things don't go our way, to the television we watch, to the habit of war that plagues the world. I contend that what we need is some TLC, a return to gentleness and respect for person. I beg without any force or need for action, that we use our hearts combined with our minds to resolve the conflicts of humanity. I think its time we moved out of the Age of Reason and into the Age of Compassion or something like this because our minds have gone amok much like a computer virus, we have infected the way humans interact and it's only digging us deeper and deeper into a hole. A hole where the planet will turn on us because of our violence, neglect and greed. But I hold out with hope, I hold out for the moment when chaos reigns supreme and we are forced to find better solutions. Call me crazy, call me ridiculously optimistic, call me whatever but I can envision a better planet with people who cohabit with love. I refuse to give in because the majority believes otherwise, I refuse to give up hope because all signs indicate otherwise and I refuse to believe that violence can serve some purpose, it has only caused havoc and mayhem. I trust humanity to awake from this digitized hypnotic slumber and take control of what's left of their lives. War is not the answer and war is the solution, so I beg of humanity to embrace this simple concept and bring about a world of peace, love and joy.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

Simply Easter Sunday Reflections

I thought I would write about war, poverty, politics and other heavy subject matter but instead I'll just give reflections on Easter Sunday. For the first eighteen years of my life, Easter was a huge deal in my family, we took pictures, bought new clothes, shoes, received baskets full of goodies and of course we had to memorize our speeches for church. Even as a small child I was suspect of all the attention being given to this day but I let my mental wondering bask in the action of eating some of the best milk chocolate I would encounter all year. Along with the jelly beans which is still one of my favorite candies, I never really cared for getting dressed up and the speeches were over the top and repetitive in their message about Jesus dying on the cross. But when in Rome do as the Romans do and my mother seemed especially proud to be able to purchase our new clothes and provide us with extremely large Easter baskets. For a single parent , she provided for us like she had the income of a two parent home. Some of my friends who had two parents didn't receive as nice of clothing or nearly the size basket of candy. I recognize now my mothers need to compensate or somehow give us everything so that we didn't want for or sense any lack. And for the most part we were oblivious to want on this day and we expressed our happiness for everything to our Mother and this made her proud.
Easter will always be the second holiday that caused me to pause and question the materialism that comes about during this time. First is Christmas, I have always wondered about it which I suspect I will reflect on in December or earlier knowing me. But for so long, I couldn't quite grasp the spiritual meaning of Easter. It seemed for so long like a funeral, the day we dressed up to celebrate Jesus dying and although he rose from the dead, Jesus was still missing. Jesus was simply spotted by a few people who witnessed his ascension, kind of like when only certain people see Santa Claus and I mean no disrespect with the comparison but as a kid, these simple explanations seem somewhat inconsistent and confusing. And I could sense the tremendous amount of gratitude the people at church had for this gift Jesus bestowed on mankind but it lacked any concrete or tangible meaning. I just felt that since Jesus died on the cross for our sins, now we can do anything we want. Now we can act devilish during the week and repent on Sunday and still go to heaven. I felt as if the responsibility of my life was taken over by Jesus and that Jesus would continue to do whatever Jesus does to ensure that I went to heaven. For the message was Jesus paid the price for my soul and now I was free.
I love Gospel music, I love the texture, the actual musicianship of many songs with great melody, instrumental combination as well as the deeply profound voices that sing the words with meaning beyond anything you hear on a radio. Easter has so many gospel songs, the idea of Jesus dying on the cross comes up time and time again. It's a frequent expression in music and yet it reeks with mystery and misunderstanding, or at least it did for me for a long time. Between the birth of Jesus and his death, that was Christianity in a nutshell. And I got older the music that once filled me was now starting to gnaw at me because in my determination to have more understanding, some of the songs began to feel somewhat contradictory, somewhat vague in their message or at best just too simplified when what I needed from a song was clarity. And the thing about music, which I feel is true for most but most people won't admit it, I went to church to listen to the music and not the sermon. They now call it a music ministry but there was always a music ministry, for a long time even during slavery days, people used song to preach a message, to provide understanding about God's grace. Preachers used song to explain most things, so it stands to reason that music was a central part of church and the primary attractor to a particular church. It's funny to hear people ask, does the church have a good choir?
I have a confession to make, I could count on one hand and still have a majority of fingers left over, the number of times I have attended any church on Easter. I don't go on this day, for a long time I was frustrated with the shear number of newcomers who would show up on Easter with their designer clothes, only to never return. I thought that Easter was fake and included a whole bunch of fake people coming to church for the sake of showing off. It disgusted me but I was the only one and so as an adult I don't go although I am often invited way too many times. I realize now my frustration was premature and unnecessary, what I would discover is that most people encourage this behavior and people excuse those who show up on Easter, knowing full well they may never return. It's socially acceptable to creep into church with a new outfit on Easter Sunday and everyone is glad to see you, so my angst with the situation is for the most unfounded yet I still feel as if this arrangement is a disservice to spiritual growth and understanding.
I feel my reflections are so negative and that's not what I'm really trying to convey. What I really want to say is that this is one of my favorite times of year, when the sun glows regularly, the ground is being prepped for gardening and being out doors is the central part of my day. I guess the journey away from church is the real story I need to explore before reflecting on Easter because this day is a by product of my overall spiritual evolution. In essence, I don't attend church and have no real desire to be a part of a religious group. I used to attend meditation on a regular basis but found that too religious. Honestly, I wish I could attend something on a regular basis where people were open, honest, with their guards down, vulnerable and truly wanting a connection with spirit. I was at a small gathering the other day and things were going well when one person launched a negative remark and within seconds, the group engaged this behavior and started to throw mean spirited statements back and forth. I just watched as this unfolded and the nastiness that took over the way these people interacted. But there is this point when everyone discovers what is going on and instead of making amends, a nervous type of laughter ensues and a short span of quiet comes about, followed by surface small talk. I'm not a huge fan of small talk, I can do it but it wears on me and I just want to tap my mouth close because I know in time I will say something way too profound for most people to hear or even think is appropriate at the time. Why isn't self love appropriate conversation? So back to the party, I left with a weirdness not understanding why things went the way they did and why i couldn't intervene with something more positive but I've stopped feeling the need to change people. What I did walk away with is a sense that these people had lots of unspoken feelings about each other, feelings that rear their heads once they have a drink in their bodies and an excuse to say what they think is what they really want to say, only to discover that what they choose to say doesn't really make them feel better at all and makes the other person feel awful.
There has to be some joy in Easter but every time I write, it ends in something not so joyful. I think I feel sad on this day and not because of Jesus but because as humans, we don't get the bigger meaning of this day which for me is about how short life is. How important it is to enjoy each moment and how those moments don't need to be centered around dress up clothes, candy, big hats, elaborate dinners or speeches with no meaning. What I wished people did on Easter is spent time with each other, laughed, played, prayed, tell stories about their lives, go to the park, plant a tree, go to the botanical garden, ride their bikes, pull weeds, something that brings the spirits of human beings together and passed this surface way of living that we have become accustomed too. Jesus rose from the dead to teach us that there is something else after this physical life but at the same time, Jesus made himself visible to remind us that this life is equally just as important and to find the joy in living, find the joy in each other and to use the gifts from God to create a more peaceful, a more loving, a more vibrant reality.
What I witness more and more from people is this walking away from interactions that bring people joy. It's almost as if being in an interaction where things are miserable is the appropriate way to live. I've never been a fan of misery although I almost caught the bug in my late twenties and thirties but luckily I recovered. Why there is this social contract bent on misery I'll never know but I can't do it any more. I want to ascend much in the way Jesus did, I want to rise above the madness and experience the wonderment of love, peace and joy. I endeavor to be more Christ-like and for that I might have to pay a price of connectedness with others because when you're centered on living in truth, people think you're part of some crazy religion which seems odd because I don't subscribe to any religion just an internal urge to be in touch with my spiritual side. What I have learned from Jesus is to love unconditionally, to be who one is in the world, to not feel one way or the other about what people think or feel and to be the light of good in the world, that's my plan, that's my choice and there are moments I feel lonely but then I remember how magnificently wonderful my life feels and I wouldn't trade it in for the opposite.
I'll cook a simple meal today, play cards with my son, we'll go to the movies because the theaters will be mostly empty and I'll read several books and write. It's not a fancy life but it's mine, it's free of drama and full of living. I know all is well and will continue to be well and I know that everything is in divine order. Thank you Jesus for showing us how to live, for being in your moments and bearing a visual witness to the truth of our living. The truth is that no one can kill your soul, even in death we live on and it is not necessary for us to fear death or fear being killed, it's our only work to live as full a life as possible, a meaningful life, to allow our souls to sour to higher heights and experience for ourselves nirvana, the presence of pure love. I am pure love and love is all around me and love is all there is.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

When To Tell Kids About Sex

I'll never forget this day when I was eleven years old for as long as I live. The memory is locked in my head because it has lots of unique circumstances surrounding the time and it's the first time I came into contact with the notion of personal mortality. Our family had just moved from the Hemlock house, a house I loved more than anything in the whole wide world because it had a huge front yard and my best friend Tara lived right around the corner. The added pleasure of living in this house was that, the street was flat and long which meant our Mother could see us from one end of the street to the other end. There was nothing more frustrating for me as a kid than to live somewhere with low visibility but on Hemlock my brother and I could ride our bikes or simply walk up and down the street. But all that freedom came to a halt when we moved to Green Road.
Green Road was and still is public housing which meant two things. One it was a townhouse or what I referred to as an over-sized apartment because the walls seemed paper thin and I hated the sound of other people's lives echoing within our house. Luckily we were on the end, so only one neighbor to contend with and who ever designed the place made it nearly sound proof by aligning everything on the opposite side of the attached wall. Looking back I can appreciate the shear brilliance of the architect, whoever the person was. And Green Road had a playground right in front of our house but the place was slightly hilly. It was located on a main road and riding our bikes on that sidewalk made our mother nervous so there would be no bike riding unless we snuck out and did it when our Mother was at work which did happen time and time again.
The blessing and curse of being a latchkey kid is that you took care of yourself after school but when things went wrong you had to fend for yourself and let's be for real as a kid when disaster struck I was more scared than anything and thinking about solutions was the last thing on my mind even if it meant I was going to get in trouble when my mother returned home. But then there was this day when disaster struck, not the normal kid stuff but what I thought was the end of my life.
I went to go to the bathroom and there were spots of blood on the seat of my panties. It was the moment of truth for me because blood meant only one thing, at least according to television it meant death. Looking down at the stains which could of only come from my body, I thought I was dying. Surprisingly I took it fairly well and didn't panic. In fact, I went to great lengths to hide the panties and kept the information to myself. I guess I was okay with dying because I knew I hadn't been the most obedient child in the world and I didn't want my mom to know because I didn't want to disappoint her. Actually I didn't want her to think that my being bad was her fault, so I would throw away each pair of reddened underwear.
I kept waiting for death but the day was taking longer than I expected and then a small miracle happened. My aunt Janice was over to the house one day and I guess I had run out of the bathroom so fast I forgot to flush the toilet. This habit of forgetting to flush the toilet would rear its head every now and then in my adult life. I was probably in a hurry to play outside and considering the low number of days I had to live, well I had to play as much as possible before dying. I was having a good time outside when my aunt called me inside. She and my mother were sitting in the living room when she asked me if I was having my period. I didn't know what a period was and must of looked really confused because I witnessed a slight chuckle from my aunt. Her controlled laughter was a good sign because it meant that the situation wasn't as serious as it seemed. I mean never was I called into the house to talk to two adults in the same living room that was off limits to us kids.
I would learn that day what a period was and it would also explain why I wasn't allowed to be in the room when the teacher talked about human reproduction and sexual health. My mother had signed a note indicating she did not want me to be in the classroom but what was most important about that discussion where my aunt did all the talking and my mother just sat there in quiet terror, was that I learned I wasn't dying. The speckles of blood that covered my panties were part of life, a part of womanhood and can be dealt with accordingly. I would come to love my aunt Janice more than anything else because in essence she saved my life, she talked to me like a human being and she took away night full of terror that I would not awake but be dead in the morning.
So when should parents talk about reproductive health and sex? I would say it needs to be a constant conversation from the time they start to talk because an eleven year old child shouldn't look down at her underwear one day and discover blood but then have to translate the irregular event. My translation was death and as a kid I shouldn't have had to do that work of trying to figure it out myself. And nothing was more embarrassing than sitting outside of my classroom for several hours for several days in a row while all and I do mean all of the other kids were being educated about reproductive health. I find it interesting that my mother didn't want to talk to me about it but then wouldn't allow me to learn what I needed to know from other adults. Had my aunt not been persistent and had she not stumbled upon the residue of blood in the toilet, lord knows where I would be today.
I didn't learn everything about sex that day, sex was only hinted at but I was forcibly told that because of my period I could now have a baby which seemed odd since I still liked playing with my dolls. However, I was given options for how to handle my monthly visitor. I refer to the event as red rivers flowing, I guess it connects me to water in my Aquarian nature. The odd thing was that I had no cramps, had I had cramps, I might of had a different experience but who knows, this is only speculative in hind sight. The sad part is that I wouldn't really learn about sex from my mother until I was pregnant which is to say that she told when it was too late.
As a mother I guess I over compensated with the whole sex thing and was verbal about it from the time my children could talk, I didn't want them to experience a sense of dying and I didn't want my daughter pregnant at a young age like me. I had help with discussing baby making with my twins when they were four because that's when I became pregnant again. My mother was appalled when she learned I had told the kids about sex and where babies come from, she felt my children were too young. I didn't go into lots of detail but I conjured up some four-year-old language to explain as best I could without reeling the kids into adulthood too fast. I was creative and if I've learned anything in life, that is to be creative with my parenting. Kids live in a different world than the one I grew up in and I had to honor and respect that but it was nice to go to the bookstore and discover books that told kids about their genitalia. So, I bought books, coloring books and consulted with my friends and came up with the talk. I shared different things about the subject over time. My kids were inquisitive and once I broach a subject they would question me to death, they would force the subject beyond the basics and I felt if they were bright enough to ask, they deserved an answer.
My daughter would get her greatest lesson about baby making the day I went into labor. She was home with me along with her brother but he was frightened with all of my screaming in pain. My daughter wanted to comfort me, what is it in the genetic material of women, that warrants their need to comfort even at the age of four? I digress but she decided she would hold my hand and tell me to breathe. Her tender face, her small hands made me realize how precious life could be but when the pain struck, I did the only thing I knew to do. I squeezed her hand really tightly in an effort to transfer the pain, it was reactionary and not intentional but I remember the look of terror on her face when the pain subsided and I recall her looking at her hand. Her hand had gone limp from my applying way too much pressure but in the spirit of love, she shook her hand and put back within mine. I would learn later that I had scared her a bit. She would tell me that if what she felt in her hand was remotely similar to what I was experiencing just before having a baby, well she would probably not have a baby.
At four years old, my daughter learned that having babies was painful and I'm not so sure that's the image I wanted her to be left with because although at the time I wasn't thinking about grand children, I secretly hoped she would not be deterred from having children. She's twenty one know and she's career focused. I tell her what I told her then, it only hurts for a short while and then it's over. Baby making is phenomenal in that way, you're in some of the worst pain of your life but then when that baby arrives, the contractions are instantly a distant memory.
My children tell me way too much about their sex lives but I guess that has come as a result of my openness about the subject. I do appreciate their commitment to safety and I'm humbled to be the person they can share this information with because they know I will not judge them. I love that open communication and information has proven to be the thing that has made them responsible around their sexual health and wellness. I'm more than confident that they are who they are because I told them the truth, I gave them information and mostly importantly, I let them know that sex is a part of life like everything else. I wanted them to know the joy of sex, the importance it will play in their lives as it pertains to bringing forth offspring as well as providing them with occasional physical pleasure.
There is this fear that information means we are condoning or we are inspiring our kids to have sex. First and foremost, we don't have to say a thing and our children will one day have sex, there's no if and ands or buts about this fact. What I love about telling my kids about sex is that I could also tell them about the bad sex and the sex I had irresponsibly. In those moments my children understood my humanness as well as my ability to make mistakes but their father, their absent father was the greatest educator. I used his absence to hone in a point about sex and the importance of making sure, the importance of waiting before having sex with someone until they were pretty certain about the love because I told them that there is nothing worse in life than a broken heart. When you talk honestly about a broken heart, it transcends everything, it connects you to your children in ways incomprehensible. I told them the best gift from that love affair was their birth but I told them our lives would be different had I ensured over time their fathers ability to be committed. But I tell them always, there are no mistakes just miracles and they are my miracles.
In the words of Audre Lorde, "your silence won't protect you." Our kids deserve to be talked to openly and honestly. Our children deserve to get all the information so that they can make informed decisions but more than that our children need to hear from us our success as well as our short comings. People don't learn from perfection, they learn from mistakes, they learn that if they should fall because you may not fall but if you do, here is an example of how someone else got back up, how someone else gathered the strength to move on and do better. I love my children enough to know they will do their best and in the end that's good enough for me because it is their life and I want them to live in the fullness of their destiny, whatever divine plan God has in store for them.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!

April 10, 2009 @ 8:37am

It's frisky Friday but I won't be doing of the real frisy business, just wishing and hoping and praying. It's also 'Good Friday' and a national holiday. What's amazing is my disconnect from holidays and their influence on my life. It's like I'm sitting here and all of a sudden I realize it's a holiday, a similar sensation to a small animal that crawls on you while sleep but suddenly you feels its presence. It's bizzarre almost surreal because so much of the holiday culture has been an intregal part of my life and now I can go months unphazed and void of holiday mayheim.
Good Friday is an interesting holiday in that it is the day that Jesus dies, one could look at it as dark but it's the Sunday following that makes it all bright and socially acceptable. I hear myself take on some political social commentary. Which brings me to this idea of change. This is my hundredth morning page, for 100 days I have made a solid commitment to the page and it feels like a real triumphant moment. The process has been wonderful, I have grown and learned things about myself in these days. It has been nice giving back to myself, getting to know myself and allowing my true inner desires to come to the fore for consideration. I hadn't realized how disconnected I was from myself, how long I had let life manipulate me into so many things and how parts of me were completely neglected especially the parts of my soul that yearned for a deeper connection with others and the experience of true love. How I got here is beyond my comprehension but I see it all around me and in others. I want to save them but then I feel a bit of pang in my head, it's the sign to save myself first and foremost.
I'm still in the middle of this angst, it's not a high, it's not a low and it's not bad nor is it exactly good. The only way I can explain it is that I feel as if I am floating in the middle of existence and here there is no real expectations or special requirements. In this middle zone, my life simply is and I feel content but there is a part of me that is resisting this contentment, probably because I'm not used to it. I'm so used to the drama, so use to the pain and sorrow and so used to being out of my mind. I keep telling myself that there is nothing wrong with this middle zone but of course my ego wants to send me down some destructive path. I've grown enough to not go down a destructive path and I refuse to let drama control my existence. I think what will happen in time is that I will become more and more comfortable with this middle zone, this contentment and this living from within. And with each word I write I feel the sense of calm come over me, I feel the ease with which my life has become and I settle into the tender arms of spirit and surrender the need to control everything in my life. Okay, everything really is okay and I'm okay and all is okay in the world despite the illusions being presented on the news.
Change that's what this is about and I'm grateful to be in the full conscious of experiencing positive change, spiritual change and change inwardly. This is my last morning page as we know it and for the next one hundred days I will explore the world around me and express in words my reflections and my divine analysis. Also, I made a discovery last night that the following one hundred days will be full of poetry which really excites me and I'll end the last sixty-five days of the year with fictional creative expressions, thereby bringing me into the new year with lots to reflect back on and pulling me closer to my vision of being a creative writer.
I am perfect and I am whole and I am complete. I LOVE ME!