My (Reformed) Testimony

I admit it:
I was born again in high school.

But later, I renounced it!
I crawled back into the Womb
of the Divine Feminine
and She has reclaimed me.

Not aborted, no.

Embraced and eternally connected
to the One who has created
and recreated me.

(A mother's work is never done.)

Revelation.

Q (the world): So, what happened after you turned away from God all those years ago?

A (me): He came back to me as a woman.

An old friend....

I imagine that some people feel like poetry is out of reach for them, that it is either historically or intellectually distant from their own lives. The greatest thing that a person can discover, or rediscover, is that poetry is the thing that is right there next to her. It's never far away.

That empty space on the pillow next to me when I awaken from a dream.... that's where the poetry is, waiting to be noticed.

Blah.

I'm having trouble keeping up with the world.

Here's a list of things that I would like to do on a regular (weekly) basis:

* yoga
* meditation
* read The New York Times
* read the Powells.com newsletter
* read the Bible
* write a poem
* update my blog
* cook a nutritious meal using local ingredients
* go to church
* call a friend
* take a walk
* research! (I'm working on two major projects this semester)
* sleep in
* watch SNL

Impossible, right? I should just give up on my great big American dream and be satisfied with, at best, 2 or 3 out of . . . 14?

But I can do better! I can do more! Well, not tonight because I'm feeling ill but . . . maybe next week??

Update.

It's been almost a year since my last post (before the one about being smarter than Sarah Palin).

I am returning to the blogosphere, so to speak. I'm in grad school for Women's and Gender Studies so I'll probably write a lot about that.

I've grown in so many ways... I listen to NPR on the way to work, I cook my own meals, I'm paying to use the internet right now. Yes, I have grown a lot.

La tee da.

I'm smarter than Sarah Palin....

.... mostly because I read newspapers and stuff.

We have to ask our school's permission to produce The Vagina Monologues and this is what I would like to say to our school:

Next year, I'm going to UofL for grad school, but before I go from this campus to that campus, I'm going to sign up for the best self-defense class I can find so that when I am attacked on UofL's campus, I will be able to defend myself.

This makes me ANGRY.

I don't even feel comfortable going to the grocery store by myself.

THIS makes me angry.

One in six women in this world will be raped or physically assaulted in her lifetime.

This makes me angry.

So, how do the women of my generation--who are trying desperately to nurture ourselves and grow in the midst of this mad, mad world--how do WE deal with all of the shit that surrounds us every day?

Bellarmine University, as an educational institution and as a Catholic institution, hasn't given us any answers for this. You have failed us.

I'm going to the University of Louisville next year to pursue a Master's Degree in Women and Gender Studies. That is how I choose to deal with it. But before I go, I would like to direct The Vagina Monologues on our campus.

Now, who's with me?

My last year as an undergrad:

This is it. My last year as an undergrad. Life is good and full. The leaves are falling and I watch them outside my window. Someday soon I will go outside to play in the leaves. Until then, I am content to sit inside and daydream about dressing up as Elizabeth I for Halloween and about how Jesus must feel when he sees puppies chasing each other through the yard.

I feel good. And tired. Good and tired. But this is good. It means that I am doing good things. Many goods things. Which makes me tired. And good.

Tomorrow, I will walk through the leaves to my class named after Shakespeare and discuss Richard II. Tomorrow will be good. I'm looking forward to it.

The Breakup, Dec. '06

It turns out there had been a crack all along,
and then the crack grew
and split (us apart)
and as we choked on our tears, our mouths filled up with salt
and the crack filled up with God
and now it's a lot stronger than it ever was before.

My response to a bogus defense for chauvinism.

I've heard one particularly feeble-minded response to feminist arguments. Some people say that because men (not women) are drafted, men (not women) deserve special rights and privileges in our society--such as better pay for the same job.

My response is to say, yes, U.S. citizens who are drafted into wars and come back alive deserve special rights and privileges, also known as Veterans Rights. Namely, they deserve an education, health coverage and social security. Under the "current administration," as it has been oh-so-tenderly referred to by critics, many veterans are denied these rights and that is why the veterans in this country should be just as angry as the feminists.

It's been too long....

Priorities. Such an ugly word, really.

I want to build a sand castle out of clay (so it will last). I want to write a poem every day. (Self-explanatory.) I want to talk on the phone and go to parties and cook Mediterranean meals for my lover while listening to Beethoven. I want to walk barefoot across acid-hot blacktop parking lots and eat ice cream out of my hands. I want to skip to the tune of punk-rock music. I want to part my hair down the middle and dye it magenta. I want to pierce my nose and wink at old ladies in grocery store aisles. I want to pray after midnight and hear God's response in my dreams.

I have a to-do list. It says:
- apply for grad school
- get a job
- move out

Yeah, yeah.... I'll get to that. Just as soon as I finish painting airplanes on my bedroom ceiling and dreaming that I wrote country music.

Ok, here's the plan:

I will be....

a freelance-magazine-writing-book-editing-and-or-reviewing-college-professor-movie-star-
artist-model-extraordinaire!

I like to see things from all perspectives. If given the choice, I'd rather not be limited to any one POV. I think this will work, but only if I can find a way to balance my ambitions.

P.S. If I were to describe how I feel today, I'd say my emotions are more orange than turquoise. Thank you.

In the Summertime....

I haven't decided yet if time moves slower or faster in the summer months, though it decidedly does move at a different pace.

Needless to say, I'm having trouble keeping up.

Going Wireless

My mom and I are going wireless--UNDERWIREless, that is. Yesterday, we cut the wires out of our bras. And guess what happened? Nothing happened, that's what. They didn't unravel or get literally bent out of shape. To the contrary, bras hold up quit nicely without metal wires sewn into them. Makes me wonder why the wire is there in the first place. What is its purpose? Wires have been linked with breast pain--if they can't be blamed for Cystic Fibrosis, then we can at least blame them for causing red marks and irritation.

I'm all for support of any kind (emotional, financial, physical....), but rigid support is not support at all. It's restrictive and harsh. It cuts deep. It doesn't feel good because it doesn't feel like support. It feels like pressure. I'm under enough pressure with school and clubs and life in general. I don't need anymore from my bra, thank you very much.

If you're a woman who's been dealing with a lot of pressure lately, you should consider going wireless. It could be the best thing you've done for yourself in a long time--emotionally, physically, or otherwise.

Acting 110

A pivotal moment of my life happened during that class. While practicing our final scene, my acting partner told me that she liked my voice. (Since then, I've received a few more compliments about it.)

I had always hated my voice. Sometimes I mumble, or I stumble over my words; and sometimes, I just can't think of what to say. I guess I've always been a kind of verbal clutz.

My First Vagina Monologue....

My vagina
is tight, yo.

My vagina
is secretive on the inside.

Did you know, that the clitoris is connected to the vagina?
Oh yes, OH yes!, the nerve endings
flow upward, like a prayer, and come together somewhere in the deep.

A touch on the arm can affect
what goes on down there. Apparently, all of the nerve endings--
from the brain to the toes-- form a giant matrix, sensations of vibrant reds and blues.

Alone, I can climax without being touched. (I can also climax while being touched.)

I consider myself to be a student of my vagina. My vagina is my teacher--the best I've ever had. One could argue that men are led by their dicks. How unfortunate for them. I much prefer to be led by my vagina; afterall, it always leads me to the same place--which is somewhere inside myself. Men probably get lost every day following their penises, but my vagina always leads me home.

2007 . . .

This is going to be a good year. I can tell.

Your AIM . . . because I said so, damn it!

"Live and let DIE!"
- Guns N' Roses

. . . to be continued, soon.

Christmastime is here.

My grandparents disowned me
for the holidays.
I wait, each day,
for something more.

Our Student Newspaper

Go to theconcordonline.com to see newspaper articles written by Bellarmine students, including yours truly.

My AIM

My AIM

depends on the time of day and
the direction I am facing.

. . . to pierce your heart
with a sense of sorrow thick enough
to choke on, like a cloud.

To move through you,
an autumn breeze;
a cold front moving in from the River.

To disregard you -(let's be honest here)-
and come back to myself.

To feel what it's like to
walk into a building
with a sense of purpose.

To know where I am going.

To expand around the edges
just a little further- (actually,
much, much further.)

To write a poem,
To sing a song,
To learn SOMETHING NEW every day.

My aim is to sit on park benches
like they do in better poems;
just myself, alone,
faced with the warm airiness of the unknown.

Cats snore.

It's true. (I would never lie to you . . .)

It is also true that the sun appears to be moving much faster through the sky these days--there's no time for lolling around anymore.

Also true: there are few things more disappointing than spending $20+ on a c.d. and then discovering that you can't relate to it at all. (What is this song? I've never heard it. Who is this artist? She sounds rediculous.) These things can't be forced.

Summer is closing in on me and I find hope in rediscovering old habits. (Have I given in?) I need something to hold onto only so that when the time comes, I will have something to push off of. Lap number 2 is mine, all mine.

I'm still here.

I've been daydreaming a lot lately. (Note that "daydreaming" and "doing" may look similar, but alas, they are not the same thing.) Today, I think I'll spend my time reading and writing. In the past, I've found that they work well together, or rather that I work well with both of them.

But first I need to
dry my hair
and make iced tea
and put away the dishes
and fold the laundry
and do so many other necessary things.

I don't think that I can go one more day without
reading
and writing
and working on something.
It's hard to work on an empty stomach though,
so I think I'll go make lunch, then write something.

My Word-Processed Poem:

I read:

????????????/////???/?/?/
!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!1!!!!11!!!!


What do you mean to say? Are you questioning the exclusion of some idea from another? Or is your exclamation a rejection of 1 idea for another?

If this is the language we are speaking now, allow me to add a postscript:

1! should be ? for being /. Wouldn't you agree?

School's Out for Summer . . . and I'm unemployed.

Today I vacuumed. I vacuumed my parents' house. I vacuumed a lot.

I am relentless in my efforts to rid this place of all imperfections, all inhibitions, all obstructions. Our plethora of animals (3 dogs, 4 cats) sabatoge my work quicker than I can reclaim its purity. Purity in apperance; purity that is inherent, yet often covered up by the thick veil of Daily Life.

As I push the vacuum cleaner, and pull the vacuum cleaner, backandforthandbackandforth, along every rug in the house, I feel a secret rage grow warm in my belly. I am angry, but determined. I drag the vacuum across the ground, trying to rake over my feelings, leaving a pattern of smooth lines where my tangled feelings of worthlessness had been lingering just a moment ago.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and do it all over again. God help the dog hair and cat puke that dare to cross me.

I-T

I've always been terrified of spiders. I hope to grow out of it soon. Ten seconds to rid the bathroom of one--that would be beautiful.

I've seen so many spiders in different bathrooms over the years--you'd think that I'd be used to them by now. Spot it, stomp it, drop it (in the trash). But no, it's an entirely different process for me.

I've never seen blood in the sink. At least, not that I can remember. I nick myself shaving all the time, but that's in the shower--not as scary there.

I hadn't seen IT for years--fifteen years, I think it's been. I had forgotten him. I had forgetten that he's only a spider down the drain (when you break it down).

There is no blood. There are no balloons. No clown. Just me, at two o'clock in the morning, reminiscing about a childhood mirage of a clown with a sinister smile.

I've seen so many spiders in so many bathrooms--but somehow, he's just not as scary there.

Check this out.

blah (for lack of a better term)

Numerous people have described me as quiet. (boring. uninteresting. unintelligent. dull. one-dimensional. unexciting. shallow. snobby. preoccupied. alone. distant. disconnected. out of touch. apathetic. lazy. inarticulate. unique. shy. uninterested. lacking.) blah.

Summer plans

to come on back to myself. to reveal secrets. (i'm completely obesessed with a clown that i haven't seen in fifteen years. he haunted me when i was a small child and now he has returned to haunt me into adulthood. i welcome him with open arms. companionship is sweet in any form.)

to write something about how i feel about being a woman. to theorize. i've studied a few theories in school and i think i have a few inside of me that need to come out, have a look around, and make a comment or two. to study. yes school's out for summer but this time i want to study yoga, meditation, and ancient religions with a lowercase r.

to go searching. alone. to grow up a little bit. to realize that the rest of the world would care if they knew what they were missing out on. (how will they know?)

Beautiful Poem

(I'll fill this part in when it comes to me.)

This can't be right:

God/poetry*
God/me
God/art
God/life

Am I missing something here? What's the link? ///

(*see previous post)

Heaven/Hell or English 101

Binary pairs:

black/white
up/down
left/right
east/west
us/them
self/other

Human beings observe the chaos that surrounds us and try to make sense of it by organzing things into binary pairs or opposites. We observe these things through our senses and then we make sense of the world in our minds by constructing reality. Human beings create our reality through our constructs, or ideas, about the observable world based on our own perceptions of it.

heaven/hell

I am bothered by that one. We can observe black/white or even us/them. We cannot observe heaven/hell. The "afterlife" is beyond our perceptions. So is God and all things "godly".

heaven/hell

is too simplistic for me. It sounds man-made, and yet it is beyond our observable reality. It seems to me that we, rather clumsily, assigned God and all things "godly" a label, just like we do to other things. But God is beyond our immediate perception. We can observe God's creation, but not God directly. We imagine so much on faith.

What is the reality of God?

Tell me all your thoughts on God . . .

I believe that you have experienced God.
That's a big experience, God.
God is bigger than us.
God is bigger than our experiences.
Experience is real. God is real.

All of us, all the time, should be giving God more credit.
All of us, all the time, should be giving each other more credit.

God is larger/greater than human experience.

Perhaps there is more than one way to experience God?

Untitled

My hair is wet from the tears of a young man who has felt God.

I used to feel.