it has taken some time, but I am learning to be vulnerable in many settings. I used to tell myself that I needed to know everything before I could really share anything, which is impossible. I would long to “show” myself at the “right’ moment, and while that longing built up, I spent so much time avoiding risks and attempts to be seen and heard. Left with too much anxiety to intentionally and freely engage with the wisdom within and around me. I am trying to be more naked everyday. It feels good.
Recent moments of emotional exposure I am grateful (and would call courageous):
reading my poetry outloud
talking about internalized social traumas with near strangers in small groups at large conferences
guiding others in a sequence of breath and movement
(laughing when the words don’t come out right.)
A conference full of voices – talking in twos, in fours, and circles of 10, 20 or more. My voice often shaking, pausing and staggering out of my mouth, trying hard to get to something that sounds and feels substantive, rich, and relevant. Like a muscle that hasn’t been used in a while, my mind feels sore from the process of expression. Gathering bits of information from my experiences, past readings/discussions, and the dialogue in the room, then bringing something forward to share and shape the conversation. I never quite allow myself to just be “in it”, as recommended by one of the facilitators. I am critiquing or affirming the process much of the time, fighting to stay present. But for the spaces and times I managed to muster up some vulnerability and trust, I’m grateful.
To all the beautiful brown queer folk that inspired me to engage and continue to speak, educate myself/share and create – Thank you. Thank you for the many strokes of resonance. With every powerful insight, you made me breath a little deeper, listen more closely, and remember the passion in the process of mapping out complexities. I felt connections in my body and in my memory to analysis spoken on desire, ability, race, health, economic justice, and sexual freedom.
As the year begins – I feel challenged, nourished, exhausted, and eager. I believe that this year will bring much rigor and depth from me. It’s needed, welcomed. Towards embodying and being a part of collectivized transformation and resistance.
It is an offering of my wettest dreams
The ones that flow out in sunset colors
And ripple through every imagined texture
The first time I held myself against your walls
My visions were sick with water
The sky was pond shaped
And I found myself in a hot blue sea
All I could do was wade in it
Until the heat would drive waves
Thick and crashing against the heavy
Thud of my strained eyelids
I imagine all I wish to give
And wonder why I still offer it here
Open, receptive, gently spilling out
You take small sips, careful not to drown
Engaging muscles against the pull of gravity
A small explosion mounts in the core
And escapes through the pores
Soaked in heat,
I fall into any practice
Calm, softened, present
“Today, notice if you are shifting your attention away from reality and reworking the world in your fantasies. Is it really helpful to you to indulge your imagination so much?”
Depends on who’s looking. What if passionate narratives stream through my mind at least 10 minutes of every hour of every day? For as long as I can remember, my imagination has been an insatiable force. They left me alone with it for too long and now its this volatile thing I can’t help folding into. Somewhere within its fragments of creative energy, beneath its flavor of longing, and between its waves of anxiety, lives my voice.
I dreamt of fireballs raining from the sky almost two years ago in the desert outside of Los Angeles. I awoke to a small group of women with much to tell and do. I miss this place. It was a beginning. When the light started to form a focus around me, melting down defenses. All that struggle and hesitation of a drawn out age finally began to fade. Those days of warmth and honesty planted a hope in me that has since sprouted into something deeply significant. When I think back to this dream, a dream I was instructed to remember, the people were happy, like the joy of rain after a drought. The flaming rocks burst down into green rolling hills against a midnight blue sky. A celebratory spirit surrounding each fall, welcoming the beginning of a new cycle.
I want to be naked with you
In a clean house with big windows
Near trees and soft grass
We could walk to the ocean
Along a forested mountain side
Just to breath in all the smells
We’d be surrounded by color
Rich tongues and shades of faces
Not stuck in homogenous reclusion
On most days we could gather
With friends and lovers
To feed our collective energy
A compound of seekers
Forming a home that thrives
On consciousness and action
We move blocks for justice
Share a systemized self-care
To strengthen all transformation:
In our hearts and minds
In all of our connections
And in our hungry streets
The organizers of a Night of Cultural Resistance did an amazing job. People got hair cuts, made some stencil t-shirts and heard some bomb performers. Feelin a high from all that energy.
Tonight ended with my legs poppin to Los Rakas….
pregnant with potential
as a Page of every suit
planning for action
My time went to daydreams and dusty shelves.
Peanut butter cookies and spreadsheets.
Sleep and conversation.
A book and a burrito.