A Holiday Message

In a world where Life seems to rush by,
Where time slips
like new shoes on a freshly waxed and beautiful wood floor
and working through fear and regret
can be a full time job,
There is so very much for which to give thanks.

Thanks
For all the small, mundane opportunities to see the bright and laughable side of Life,
For the triumphs and seeming failures,
For the lens that looks back and forward with a panoramic view
- allowing learning rather than judgment,
For the changes that take place so slowly they are hardly recognizable
until a glance in the mirror reminds us that we have come from there to here;
through the sun showers and tsunamis, the droughts and sand storms.

Here, I stand, thankful
For the gentle spirits that lift me up
with their kind words through phone lines,
on these blog pages and hand-in-hand.
Thankful for the joy and Love that only mothers know,
For the balance that accepts that other Loves may not be mine to cherish.

I am bursting full
of thanks
for this breath
and this breath
and the next;

Thankful that you
and I
are Life,
full of possibility;
we are a miniscule bit of a magnificent whole.


Have a wonderful meal.

Stop the Violence

There was an email circulating, not too long ago, that asked those who wanted to stop violence against women of color to wear red, on Oct. 31. I forwarded that email to a number of friends of both genders and varying skin hues. A couple of days later I got a sound thrashing from a dear friend of mine. She rightly and not so gently reminded me that violence against women knows no preference for color.

As if it were a precursor, I find myself, after months of not coming here, writing to express my heart ache, rage, fear and my sense of powerlessness over such violence. I do not understand, in my head or my heart, how humans can be so utterly cruel to one another. This week, it is the battered face of a friend that turns my mind round and round. But, I have been here before.

My mother, fearful, intimidated and controlled. Friends, neighbors and co-workers have walked this path. How is it that this horror can go on and on and on? How is it that abusers can keep us so quiet? Not just the family involved, but all of us who know that she's had one too many accidents. Or, those of us who hear the screams and cries through the apartment walls. Even when we know it's happening, when we see the impact on the children and of course on the woman herself we still maintain our silence.

I have stood in this place so many times, too many times. My friend escaped with her Life and now has choices to make that may prove to be overwhelming. Choices that may keep her safe or choices that may literally put her in harms way. She must choose to Love herself after years of subjugating herself to her abuser. She must choose freedom after years of oppression. She must choose to let go of the dream that one day her husband will stop hurting her and start Loving her. And like an addict, she must make that choice over and over again; one day at a time, one moment after the next.

I am so afraid for her and for her children. Afraid for all of the women and children who run in the dark of night to new cities, with new names. I am angry that some men find their power through the abuse of the people who Love them. Who are we humans? Why do we exist? What is the point of all this pain and horror?

I went to South Carolina with my child a few weeks ago and I admitted to her that I don't really trust people. More to the point, though I didn't say this to her, is that I don't trust men to respect me or care for me or treat me fairly. I don't believe in the humanity of my fellow human beings. Frankly, people disappoint and frighten me.

And, when I hear the pain, indignity and rawness of abuse in the Life of someone whom I respect and I know there is not much that I can do to help her, I get this constricted feeling in my lungs. It feels like crying without the release of tears; it feels heavy and deep, like something is lost that cannot be found.

In this United Stated of America, a woman is beaten every 9 seconds by a man. An average of 3 women are murdered in this country every day (by a partner or an ex-) and 1/2 million women are being stalked by men they know as you read this. We are so self-righteous about the status and treatment of women in other countries, perhaps we need to be more honest about what happens between men and women in our own homes, towns and cities.

I'm not sure how I'm going to move through this. I'm starting with volunteering for a local support center that works to end domestic violence. It's what I can do.

And to you, my friends, I apologize for staying away for so long and returning with such a burden.