"I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. " ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes
dream teases at the edges
caught deep in a forest of doubt
i push back at the ink-black clouds,
threatening to close in
stuttering flame of candle
bravely tries to light the way
back into the dream
to bring it from the shadows
For the last couple of days, I've been trying to process the events in California. My heart has wept, while my skin has crawled and my blood has boiled. The rape culture in our world has reached epic proportions. The fact that there are active groups for men who view women as little more than a target to conquer and pillage-- that they can not only exist, but make money from it-- is beyond disgusting. It is reprehensible. It is unconscionable. These groups are prime breeding grounds for those almost-rapists to feel completely comfortable crossing the line. Six people lie dead from one of their members, who also lies dead. How many more to come?
This needs to end; it cannot be tolerated. Women are human beings. We are not property to be rated and sold at face-value. We are not things to be conquered. We are people... living, breathing beings who are free to give what we want to give, when we want to give it.
A quiet May morning... dappled sunlight filters through green river birch leaves, while a cardinal sings to me. Fragrant steam rises from my coffee mug to delight and entice. Contentment moves through me, and the whisper of creation calls.