I became a mother and needed to think differently, to survive, to participate in a world. In nature I go back to the ethers. I disappear. I am home and happy. I do not exist, and I do. It is god, it is all, it is everything.
If the world could only stop there on the golden light days,
In the river with my son and his father, naked
In a good way.
His father still lives at that river. I wonder if he knows that his soul is there. Maybe he will find it, that piece, one day, gather it up
Why am I still here?
Some of us don’t need bodies, don’t want bodies. Some of us are better as thought, as consciousness, as something unhindered by blood and bone, and pain
The personal kind of pain, the pain of the small, the pain of the misunderstanding, the pain of human folly, human fear, human limits.
What is big pain?
Well, is there any? All comes and goes, forms and dissipates, dissolves. Nothing created, nothing destroyed. The bodies of the dead returned to the substance of earth or air.
But we go into the play, everyday, we go into the show, the human show.
My current show is the dubious environment of workers underpaid and underappreciated. It is a fight with capitalism and industry. It is a fight of oppression or a perception of that. It is a fight of a culture that sees dyads as whole only
But I am one.
There are many big shows, bigger casts and broader audiences. There is race and gender, power, money, religion. There is war.
I mean! (hands in the air)
What if we decentered humans, in their bodies?
I would miss my dogs.
I use creative non-fiction, autobiographical fiction, and poetry to communicate, connect, and understand.