Tuesday, November 11, 2014

The truth about truth.

In your finest moment
and in your final hour
There is no one watching you.
there never was...
no parading,
no one grading,
rating your final performance
there is no extra credit
there is only here and now
no one is a star
despite how many there are
no one is an extra,
seven. billion. people.
so many more who came before
and those still yet to be.
seven. billion. humans.
enough to make my head, my heart
ache at the insignificance of my everything.
no one is a star,
even names you know by heart
someday forgotten
sooner or later
we are all lost
in space and time
we are each the star only of our own lives
and most of the time I barely even want to watch mine.
and yet...
and yet?
our lives are an illusion,
our journeys, the same.
woven together
tied to each other
from mothers breast
to our final rest
we are ONE soul
born and born again
incalculable times
in this infinite universe
walking in different shoes
no shoes...
assorted faces, races, and places
each you is me
and each me is you
though we tell ourselves otherwise
though we spend most days
identifying ourselves with our disguise
our age, name, size
most moments of each day
time passed away
trying to set ourselves apart
to stand out from the crowd
to cry out loud that WE are here
distinguish ourselves as special
uniquely divinely us.
The truth is that you ARE special
and so am I
and so is he
and so is she
because you
and I
and he
and she
are we
The truth is
everything and everyone
is ONE
holy in wholeness
the definition of divine
what I choose to do
to you
is done to me because
I am You
there is no divide
there is no outside

The truth is:
we are here
in this crowded aloneness
feigning uniqueness
wandering in beauties aimless
lost in an ocean of the nameless
drifting and drowning in loneliness
convinced of our only-ness
only to realize
plot twist.
the irony is
that in writing this very truth
I know, my onlyness
is seeking acknowledgement
of my uniqueness
from all of you nameless
to lessen my loneliness...

truth is always harder to digest
than it is to regurgitate.
ain't that the truth?

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Namas-fucking-te you walking contradictions.

Oh Ego, you are a tricky motherfucker.

Everywhere I look lately, I am seeing signs that tell me to shed my need to cultivate an image of perfection. I went to post something less than spiritual and blissful yesterday on my facebook status, and just before I posted it, I hit "cancel". Then I sat and thought for a minute about why I felt I couldn't share something that spoke to me in that moment... IMAGE. Plain and simple. Over the past few months in particular, things have been going really well in my life. Interesting people and situations are pouring into my world in abundance. I've been feeling really good most of the time energetically. I'm finding my roots and growing in ways that have been a long time coming... During this time I have written and published several poems and articles that have explored some deep recesses of my heart and soul. I have spent time in places that have broken the cracks in my being wide open. Have connected with many beautiful humans, and have experienced a few particularly intimate encounters that have been massive sources of growth and joy in my life. For all of this, and for my life in general, for my family, my health, my friends, and my connection to the divine, I have enormous gratitude. Most of my posts these days on social media consist of expressing this gratitude, exposing bits of vulnerability, allowing myself to unabashedly share my inner strength, spoken out loud to the world through my keyboard and onto your screen.

Its been an amazing ride. I have received so much support and acknowledgement from men and women from all over the earth, those I have know for years, and those I have never met, but that my words have connected with. For these connections and responses... for this incredible support, I have never felt more blessed in my life. But this grateful, wise, strong me is NOT the sum of who I am. My ego tries to tell me that this holier, shinier version of me is the only one I should embrace, should be only moving in ways that encourage her growth. That my less than holy thoughts should not be expressed. That I might alienate all these people who have recently been such a source of uplifting support. Perhaps a wise and strong woman should not talk about the days that nothing was accomplished because of my lack of motivation... my laziness. Or that a secure and self loving woman should not in moments of weakness and desperation share with the public eye that though I am self loving, and self respecting, sometimes I feel so lonely and in need of a lover, of a partner, that my sadness consumes me for a time. Does a strong woman wallow in self pity sometimes? Does a great mother have moments when she'd give damn near anything for an hour of child-free bliss... peace and quiet. Does a grateful and spiritually strong person have days when reading or hearing other people constantly, consistently, and ONLY expressing gratitude and spiritual notions is actually infuriating.

I find myself wondering if some people really are truly able to stay in that place of loving gratitude and white light ALL THE TIME, or if its an act to manipulate public opinion of them. To maintain a pedestal or cultivate a guru image... I am tempted, myself, to do the same, and I wonder if perhaps these beings who appear on social media and in social gatherings to fart white light and radiate loving kindness 24/7 actually do experience the same moments of self doubt, frustration, anger at injustices in life and the larger world... do they just not express them? Is expressing our less than desirable traits and weak moments in time somehow failing? Does it make us less worthy of the admiration or appreciation of others?

I'm not sure how the rest of the world sees it, but I am realizing that the people I feel the most genuine respect for are the ones who don't have a polished image. Those who occasionally slip up with an expression of ignorance, or an insanely awkward statement. People who's actions and interests are seemingly in conflict at times. The ones who have an occasional angry rant where they acknowledge that we live in a world that is not only beautiful and full of abundance, but is also simultaneously full of selfish assholes, greedy douchebags, hypocrites, starvation, mayhem, political corruption, murder, and so very many reasons to despair. To watch people who come across my newsfeed with only puppies and unicorns, Gandhi quotes, beautiful images of home-cooked gourmet meals, and "Namaste"s is almost as depressing and soul crushing as watching those who only ever have something angry, morbid, or bitter to say. Why can't we be both our light and our dark? Why can't I have days, moments, sometimes even weeks where I am on top of the world, where it seems that there is magic around every corner and that blessings are abundant and that I can't help but let that spill out into my virtual avatar and onto your wall. On the flip side why can't I have days where I've heard one too many lies out of the mouths of old white men with blood stained hands to keep my fucks and shits to myself. Why can't I write a rant about how annoying it is to be told over and over by so many well-meaning but IMHO sorely misguided folks that voting is THE solution to the fucked up world we live in...

Can I love being with people but also tell you that my social awkwardness feels crippling sometimes? Can I go to a heart opening Kirtan ceremony one night to be filled with loving gratitude, and don a Guy Fawks mask at a rally the following night, filled with righteous indignation and anger at the intrusions and violence of the police state?  Can I be a feminist and still express that I think that many of the ideals and statements of the women on my feminist Facebook groups are incredibly misplaced, even though the rest of the ladies all seem to be in agreement. Can I believe in equal rights for women and still want a man to be the head of my household? Can I be strong and independent and still melt when men tell me I'm beautiful and bring me flowers? Can I be a yoga practitioner who is not currently keeping a regular Asana practice. A holistic lifestyle embracing, natural food eater who took a Tylenol last week and eats wheat bread and bacon, and who even (gasp) ate a hot dog and macaroni and cheese for dinner last night. Can I believe in freely giving love, in not owning our romantic partners, and still not want to share my lover with any other? Can I offer blessings with one breath and spout a "fuck that" in the next? Can I be a non-armpit-shaving hippie girl who likes blue eyeliner? A barefoot gardener who smiles at seeing red toenails against my compost stained toes. A homesteader who sometimes lets the veggies I busted my ass to grow, rot away on the counter because I can't find the motivation to make myself fire up the pressure-canner? Can I be an environmentalist who sometimes grabs a Poland Springs bottle at the gas station. Can I be a peace activist, humanist, and prefer-to-be-pacifist who loudly defends my right to keep my guns and would put a hole through someone who was threatening the lives of my family? Why do we have to fit ourselves into these neat and tidy stereotypes? Can't I be a walking, breathing, living, loving, fighting, lonely, self loving, securely insecure, beautiful contradiction. Can you be too? Can't we drop our images... our need to be only seen at our best?

Maybe it's the power of the full moon in Taurus bringing this rebellious inner child out in me, or maybe astrology is superstitious bullshit (I don't know if I'll ever make up my mind one way or another and I'm okay with that), but I am dropping my image polishing act. I invite you to do the same. The fart jokes and the uplifting quotes. The amazing homemade kale salads and the leftover Dunkin Donut's bagels. The good, the bad, and the ugly, I love you all the more for your realness my friends. Let it all hang out! Namaste and have an abso-fucking-lutely amazing day...

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Vulnerability in the Face of Fear

 I couldn't sleep tonight... Faces of old flames and flings flashing through my mind... I thought about calling one I still talk with from time to time, asking him where ( I went ) we went wrong... maybe that would help me understand this question I've been asking myself lately.... Where do I keep stumbling in my (over before they've hardly even begun) relationships? What is my pattern?

I thought about my first boyfriend... the first time I ever "made out" at sixteen. How awkward and unsure I felt. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and I was afraid of it going further than I was ready for if I responded too much. Afterward he told some of our coworkers that he cheated on me because I just laid there. I thought about boys I had crushes on as a teenager.. especially about the boy who drunkenly took my innocence at nineteen.. The one I adored, even though he wouldn't be my boyfriend. I only wanted him to kiss me and hold me and tell me he loved me. I didn't want it from him that way. I told him NO. Many times in those moments before... When he forcefully entered anyway, I pretended to enjoy it... told myself that this was love-making like in those romantic movies. What else could I do? I had kissed him... curled up next to him on his bed... I practically gave him permission by being in his bed. Anyway, I was probably just a chicken, and it was good I got THAT
over with... now, I wouldn't have to worry about my "first time" anymore. That house was full of friends and colleagues. I supposed I could have stopped it, faced the embarrassment, anything would have woken the dozens of bodies sleeping under that roof, but I had no idea that making love wasn't supposed to hurt.

I thought about the guys I barely knew, but clung to in my desperation for validation that I was loveable. I though about the  couple close guy friends that I really had loved but was unable to keep... I thought a lot about the paranoid eyes of the man I had stayed with the longest, and about how my body felt slamming into that indented wall. I thought about the women whose gentle, safe arms I fell into for a moment or three to escape the threat of men... I thought about all the men whose hearts were an abyss of unavailability. Those who lived too far away or had no time and space for me... the ones who were somewhere else, or with someone else. The men too old or too young or simply walking very different paths then my own but that for some reason I STILL poured so much of my energy into... Tossing and turning in my bed, I thought and thought about why? What is the pattern...  What is the lesson? Where is the mistake I keep making time after time? Faces and kisses passing before my minds eye... faster and faster... Why? They had nothing in common except..... except ME.

Then like a ton of bricks in the dead of night, it hit me.... I am the same girl as I was when I laid there, paralyzed by fear, at sixteen... I am TERRIFIED at truly connecting with men. Terrified of intimacy, real multi-dimensional, lasting emotional intimacy. And I am terrified to even admit that out loud... to expose that vulnerability. The truth is, I have no idea how to relate in a healthy way to men...

I have struggled so much with trying to find what is a healthy expression of my femininity...  From the time I was very young, and realized that me being a girl meant mostly that I was supposed to be something other than what the boys I was friends with could be. My baseball cap and holy blue jeans didn't fool anyone.. As I grew our differences became more obvious. I wasn't welcome on the baseball team, I had to use the bigger more awkward ball, throw softer, and run less aggressive... Being a "girl" was apparently an insult that meant you were weak. I was supposed to put on a shirt now, though my brothers still didn't have to on those hot summer days. Girls weren't supposed to get dirty and scratched up and climb trees with the neighborhood boys..  I was supposed to want to be kissed by them... and in time, I did. One neighbor boy with particularly nice eyes and cute freckles definitely did not like or want to kiss me after being shoved backward down a grassy hill for picking on my little brother... Eventually I gave up on trying to prove I was not weaker, but just as good as the guys, and accepted my lower status. Sweet Valley Twins books and Saved by the Bell on TV said I was supposed to talk silly, use the word "like" a whole lot, and twist my hair with my fingers while I giggled... I was supposed to wear a bra so my breasts wouldn't bounce too much, and definitely not run when boys might be watching. My best friend and I decided we should swing our hips more. So I wiggled when I walked, but it only made me feel more awkward and stiff.  Maybe I was supposed to color my lips with that oily, bad tasting, salmon colored avon crap if I wanted someone to kiss me like Jack kissed Rose in Titanic.... And then there were the magazines I found under my older brother's bed, and in the tree house out in the woods that belonged to those neighborhood boys... Was I supposed to make faces like those?! Yikes! Was my body supposed to do THAT with a guy if they kissed me?! I knew I wanted someone to kiss me... and I knew that because I didn't have a penis I wasn't supposed to play hardball... And that being a girl was nowhere near as good as being a boy. Beyond that I wasn't sure how I was supposed to relate with boys once our differences became apparent and friendships became complicated. I tried giggling when a crude coworker at my first job at the McDonalds asked me to go out with him because I had big boobs. Soon after, I tried drinking more than I knew I should because it would make me feel less awkward around the guys, made it easier to accept their domination. In my naivety I tried being flirty back at their dirty, as if I had just tons of experience. I tried being cute and sweet... or smart and sassy... As time went on, I tried just submitting to the one I loved even though he hadn't respected my "NO". I tried being a best friend to one and still was left in the dust. I tried being EVERYTHING to someone and anything I thought they wanted me to
be. I even tried giving my soul up to one, out of my twisted idea of love, intimacy, and what it meant to be a supportive woman. Then after ending up completely broken and tangled in a heap of pain, I wrapped myself with layers of undesirability by eating my fear. Finally, I picked myself up by the boot straps, hit the road running, shaved off my long beautiful hair, and tried being so tough and so strong, so quick on the draw, so fiercely independent, determined to see even the slightest hint of deviousness in everything masculine, that NO ONE could penetrate that barbed wire and chastity belt. And then... I grew SO sick, and so very tired of trying to be anything. Except. ME.

A little at a time I have been learning who ME is... most of the time I think I have an pretty good idea of that now. She (me) and I have become rather good friends. I am growing more solid in myself and my wholeness every day.   I still struggle, though, with allowing the feminine in me to find her true expression. To let her be strong and secure, yet soft and receptive... firm but yielding... I fumble at times with being a healthy "her" as a lone woman standing on my own two feet... I have difficulties as a single mother trying to embrace my feminine while also strongly embodying the masculine in playing both roles trying to raise up my young son to be a good man...
So when life throw the threat of intimacy with a sturdy, red blooded, passionate, intelligent, emotionally and physically available man into the mix... Holy Shit. Life suddenly resembles a panic attack. My heart is pounding, thoughts racing. I can't breathe. I can't think clearly. My emotions shift into overdrive. My words are scattered. I am that same sixteen year old laying in that dirty bedroom that smelled like old stinky socks with my twenty one year old manager on top of me. I am that nineteen year old with a gigantic crush on her rapist. I am that twenty five year old being a martyr for her abuser.  Terrified that I have no idea what to do, how to do this "right". Terrified to take power... terrified to give it all away... Terrified to trust in someone that might use any vulnerability to crush me or control me.... To let someone in who might wreck everything I've worked so hard to build for myself. In my panic and terror, it seems the only thing to do is to flee as fast as my
legs can carry me, or to take up arms and fire a warning shot to send him packing.

I thought about all of this tonight, and though I am not sure what tomorrow will bring... somehow just realizing it... Admitting to myself that I am scared shit-less by intimacy with men, gives me hope that I can begin to find my way past it. Maybe understanding and speaking this out loud to the world might be the next step I needed to take toward healing this fearful heart of mine. A crucial breakthrough in finally finding true intimacy... with someone who is not insecure, violent and controlling or devious and manipulative predators as so many of my early tastes of men were, but is also not safely emasculated or unavailable as have been so many that I have spent my devotions on in recent years...

So, this goes out to the men out there who are maybe just as terrified of approaching me as I have been of opening to you... Or maybe it'll speak to just one of you, 'cause really all I need is just one right man today to sweep away all of yesterday's wrong ones. If you are striving to be whole.. if you are so close to wholeness that you can taste it, mostly steady in what it means to be a healthy man, but maybe still struggling with relating to women. Lets do this together. Lean into each other's edges and learn as we go. I won't bite if you don't... If you are a man who knows what it is to be comfortable and grounded in your masculinity, may I make a request from the bottom of my opening, loving, lady heart? I will try my best to resist the urge to shoot or run. Please be patient with me as I drop my guard a little at a time. Comfort my fears, embrace me in my tears, invite me to get close, gently disarm me in your presence, and encourage me to stand strong in my femininity. I
will let you share much of the lead and open doors for me, but will walk on my own and carry most of my own baggage. I will soften these arms that keep you at a distance and lean on you just a little, if you'll promise to treat me as your beloved, and not like your pet, your property, or your prey. I will receive you into my heart and passionately welcome you into my body if you can show me that you genuinely care more about lovingly penetrating into my soul than my vagina (thought I don't fault you for desiring both). If you give it to me, I will gently hold your heart as my most precious treasure. Show me you are secure, and I will melt for you. I am tired of being a wide eyed doe, with wolves around every tree.  I don't want to have to stand sentry to my home and heart 24 hours a day, and I don't want to be afraid of you anymore. Will you help me?

Thursday, October 2, 2014

The sexiest soul...

Thursday, October 2, 2014

The sexiest soul...
I know whom I seek
with the seeing-ness of my heart
I don't know the details of your ancestry...
I don't yet know your name
Or what your face will look like..
but a little at a time you are taking shape....
One piece at a time the important parts become clear...
For the first time, I know now what I need in he who is fit to walk beside me.
I have seen pieces of you in the face of other lovers
Felt you in the embraces of friends
I have seen traces of you in my gardens...
I've watched you in my son's laugh.
In the wisdom of my dad's words,
the character of my brothers.
The pure expressions of what it means to
embody the masculine
I have witnessed in so many...
and yet there is but one I call to.


You have the sexiest soul I have ever seen
my adoration of you cannot be adequately expressed
without at least one expletive for added emphasis
you exude light, lightness, enlightenedness...
even in your imperfections.
Perfection bores me as much as symmetry
Give me variegation, specks and splats
nonsensical defects to move me
My slightly cracked, eccentric self
appreciates your patches and blemishes,
I wouldn't have you without them.
There is such lovely, raw humanness in your breaks and scars,
your frailties are the Achilles heel where I can touch you.

I know true love in you...
your tenderness and strength in the way you hold my hand.
The way you love you, as much as I love me.
The way you gaze into my eyes unflinchingly.
Let me see right into you without shame
but with a blissful smile... the trust of a child
The way you nuzzle my breasts
with the softness of a nursling...
The world sees in you
the great mane of a Lion.
I know you to be a kitten,
playfully rolling over to show your soft belly
velveting your paws when we wrestle
When we walk side by side
our strides match effortlessly
when we make love
the act itself is orgasmic
raw, exquisite, ecstatic...
pulsing, singing out, sweating, breathing each other in.
I hunger to know what every
inch of your body tastes like
on my lips and tongue.
time and space dissolve in your eyes
I see God when I watch your face
fall over the edge...
the little death of orgasm.
I melt into your delicious kiss...
when you are inside me I do not lose myself in you
but find a stronger self hidden in the depths that you penetrate to
You ask so gently and so firm to be let in
and I soften to you in a way I never had before
invite all of you inside, in full consciousness
not responding from fear
blocking openings with old pain..
but surrendering... yielding,
entrusting myself into your arms

I desire to know all of you that you would share.
whisper to me your dreams
waking and sleeping both
I will speak out loud my greatest fears
and deepest sorrows,
the ones that could crush me... some so great
I may not have even admitted them to myself yet
I will trust, that you will never throw them back at me
in anger or in your own fear or despair..
will you trust me with your stories as well?
Where do you need to see on this earth
before you draw your last breath?
What moves you? Inspires you?
Fills you with this passion I see overflowing
oozing out of every pore.
Hey baby, want to mix and mingle our passions?

I wonder, where would we live?
I dream of spending half the year
here in the embrace of my tribe
half the year exploring all of the ins and outs of humanity
of generosity, geology, geography, of anthropology....
will that move you too?
Perhaps I have read too many books
but I picture a houseboat docked on the Mediterranean sea...
or in the long Island sound
or crossing the expanse of the Atlantic...
I don't know how to sail. Do you?
Will my vision combine with yours
into something even more magical?
have you read even more books than I?
Or will you help me ground these fantasies
into something more stable and sturdy?
I am strong but scattered at times
I have compassion, courage,
and faith enough to spare
but sometimes lack the drive
to follow through.
I fly like a honeybee from flower to flower
drinking in life's nectar.
Grand visions from spreading my
bluebird wings and soaring so high...
Bouncing from thought to thought
like a brightly colored rubber ball
from a vending machine.
Will you stand by and catch me from time to time?
Help my feet find the floor?

I'll find myself lost in thought gazing at you quietly sometimes
while you read a novel,
sit engrossed in your creative expressions...
or perhaps lost in your own thoughts...
I will be thinking that life is even more miraculous
than the plots of those predictable fairy tales...
I'll watch over you some nights when you sleep
face softened by dreams
almost angelic in this moment
your peaceful breath flowing in and out
filling me with gratitude that you are here in this world
and of all that world,
you have chosen to be here with me... Just as I have chosen you.
these quiet moments with you
contrasting with so many colorful ones.

Can we clown our way into the hearts of so many along our path?
Bring laughter and healing with us anywhere we go?
merrymaking in each others hearts every day?
Will you sing silly songs and dance with me always?
Stumbling over each other
spinning, whirling
rocking into your arms
gracefully chaotic
face to goofy face
can we embrace our inner fools
wear them on our polka dotted sleeves?
Let us make ape noises
and fart jokes
Play hide and go seek
like we are five
blow raspberries on each other's cheeks
play bongos on each other's bellies,
Make the sacred bond of the pinkie promise
and never ever break them!
Can we eat so many life-giving vegetables
and refreshing, invigorating fruits
and pure, health sustaining foods
And I know that pigs are magnificent, intelligent creatures
and I know that our vegan friends
might crucify us and definitely would not approve
but every now and then, please
can we make bacon at 3 AM?

Will you walk with me while I keep
fumbling lovingly through this journey
of parenthood I have already embarked on?
You may join me when that time is right...
Until then I will stand back sometimes
and watch the two of you,
my son and you, buddies...
goofing around, playing,
building things,
or learning about life.
Jumping on our trampoline,
hiking through the trees,
or riding bikes together.
I will watch you both
and I will smile that beautiful smile you love
knowing that your presence in our life
that your example of how to be an amazing man
that what you are teaching my son
simply by sharing yourself with us
is one of your greatest gifts to me.
If you are willing, my dear one, to be a daddy
I would want to make
so many more babies with you...
or maybe just one...
but if that is a mutual dream
you should find me quick,
my heart will wait for you indefinitely,
my womb will not.
Either way, I want to grow with you.
One radiant breath at a time
to grow old beside you.
I want your lips to be the last ones on earth that I need.
because finally...
I know that I am ready for you, my beloved...
Are you ready for me?

Friday, September 19, 2014

The ghost of heartache past

My wise and silly best friend
my passionate, gentle, lover
ran away
three lifetimes ago
In his pocket
a CD that sang my soul
and a piece of my raw heart

The piece that wanted to wear
a band around my finger that
said to all that I had found my HIM.
The piece that wanted so much to see
what miraculous lives we could grow
with his seed planted in my garden
wether she would have his beautiful light eyes
or my dark chocolate ones.
That wanted to see how sweet and gentle
he would be with them...
WE would be with them.
how firm and loving and wise
in guiding them through life.
The piece that wanted to
sit beside him on a swinging bench
on a creaky wooden porch
holding his well worn hands in my soft ones
telling bad jokes
and pressing our wrinkly lips together
like it was the first time
laughing and loving til the end

where that piece was
was a hole torn through
but still beating... still beating
so raw...
so painful
I couldn't breathe
gasping for breath
at your name
chasing sleep for months
sitting in solitude
waiting at first...
perhaps in time he would see
the beauty of what i had been offering...
the preciousness of the piece
the gift he carried in his pocket
and then he didn't come.
the phone didn't ring...
my mailbox stayed empty..
and a little at a time
though at first I don't remember how
I don't remember when
the time passed...

Weeks turned into months
years into whole other lifetimes
I have felt other men
enter into my heart and had them in my body
felt another man put his fist across my face
and his hands around my throat
I've been to the cliffs of death
stood on the edge and looked over
inched back just before i lost my balance
I have carried the seed of another
grew life within me
nurtured it outside of me
I have created out of my body
a small best friend
a miracle.
I have traveled along all the edges of this giant island
I have climbed mountains
crossed oceans
I have written songs to other hearts
though yours was one of the first
and might have been the last
if life was like the stories
I now read my son to sleep with...

Those lifetimes
slowly cauterized the edges
of the hole in my heart
the bleeding subsided...
the pain diminished
and over time, I grew accustomed to
the tension left in my chest
by all those gasping moments
in the aftermath of your beautiful hurricane
and to forget the pain
I forgot how high I held your name
I forgot how great of a piece I had gifted you
I forgot all of those intimate details
of how silly and corny you were
how easy I could tell you anything and everything...
of holding you in my arms
how deep I let you in and
what you felt like inside of me
how your lips tasted.
I even forgot I had a hole scarred
into my heart.

Then there was your voice...
and it all came rushing back like a great flood
all the love
all the desire
all the dreams I had dreamt of you.
all the sorrow....
all the pain...
all the struggles of lifetimes
of teaching myself my own immense worth
though you had not seen it,
and no other man had either.
I can't let you back in my home....
there are doors in my walls...
but how can I trust you with those keys?
I know what kind of devastation you can leave behind.
and I don't know what you might do...
I chose carefully the ground for my home
the foundation has been built as stable as I could
my home has been damaged
but rebuilt as solid as my two small hands could build
it houses all I love... and my most precious... my son.
I know this scar has your name on it.
But I don't know if the piece I gave you would even still fit.
And I don't know if you even kept it,
or if you misplaced it... threw it away...
perhaps you sold it to a collector of rare oddities...
or perhaps it was in your underwear drawer
getting moth eaten next to dirty magazines?
And I don't want it back now.
It was a gift.

I wish I knew what to do with
this ghost of heartaches past
the haunting voice of your love
entered in through my ear and now
Its shaking me.
stealing my breath
stirring my passion
feeling that hole in my heart reopening
old blood flowing
If i let it flow
will it bleed me dry?
will it open the wounds so they can finally truly be healed
would there be any healing in offering up my heart and body
and then watching you walk away again so soon?
would you just take another piece with you when you go?

Monday, September 8, 2014

Soft Animal (I love to love)

A wise sweet friend once told me...
all you have to do to find happiness
is to let the soft animal that is your body
Love what it LOVES...
and I ask myself today,
what does this soft body of mine love?

I love to love.
I love to sing...
to feel my heart pass up through my throat
out over my tounge and fill the space around me...
I love writing,
allowing the thoughts that come unbidden to me
to travel down through the point of my pencil
sharing my own unique view from the windows of these eyes...
I love growing
growing life within me
growing my soul
I love exploring this earth
climbing mountains real or imagined.
growing my experiences in this world
that help me to see even just a glimpse
of life in another soul's shoes.

I love growing seeds,
pushing them gently into the soil,
not too shallow
not too deep
nourishing them with just enough water and food
I love the heat of the sun
on my face
on my gently baking brown shoulders
I even love watching the dark clouds coming across the sky
knowing that mother nature
is about to relieve me of my afternoon garden chores.
I love watching the tiny sprouts
peeking through the dirt.
shy green fingers
feeling their way up through
the darkness of their earthen womb
and then stretching for the sky
wiggling so slowly,
reaching toward the light
I love stretching just like those sprouts
love dancing
moving my body
feeling all the curves of my flesh
and surfaces of skin
the pulse of my heart
pushing life through
and to every edge and corner
of those curves and surfaces...

I love to love
I love breathing.
Being alive...
I haven't always liked breathing...
I held my breath for years...
slowly suffocating,
drowning in my anxieties.
Today though,
I LOVE this breath...
life force
vital energy,
prana that flows into and through me
I love being a channel
a conduit
a bridge between earth and sky...
as we all are.

I LOVE to love.
I love laughing until I cry
and crying until I laugh
embracing and blurring the lines of my humanity
instead of shoving it into a box of goodness or badness.
I love living in the now.
Today is all I know for sure.
Sometimes the uncertainty
the sheer possibilities of future terrifies me.
sometimes I forget for a moment to just BE.
to just BE here NOW.
But not today...
I love here.
I love me.
I truly do...
not in ego.
not in believing that I am better than others
I simply love and recognize the value
of my own unique experience
The light within me.

I love to LOVE
I love me
and I love YOU.
I love all of the beautiful yous
that run by, walk by,
skip and silly walk by.
crossing my path
or walking by my side.
Those of you that I can see in your eyes,
the very same light...
a part of the same soul I see in the mirror
The yous that are living
breathing, GROWING...
exploring every inch of this human experience
living life in love and laughter.
Living each day with a sense of urgency
and yet with an equal dose of serenity
refusing to waste a moment
in the dull dreariness of insecurities
and a life spent half asleep.
today is the only day you have,
is the only day we have.

I will let the softness of my body,
the gentleness of my heart,
the eyes of my soul,
love what it loves
love who I love.

Saturday, September 6, 2014


I felt I needed to cry inside
fly away and hide
and so...
I wrote
my soul.
Where is the line
embracing the individual path
our extraordinary nature
and walking in ego
standing tall to make amends
to heal each fall
not to make others small.
Does one know?
Do you know?
We are each wonderful
as the wide night sky of winking stars
Strength beyond belief in our scars
some hidden and some worn on our sleeves
all of these details
falling away oh so slowly
drifting breeze
caressing leaves
the shape of our eyes
the shade of our skin
the sounds of our words
the masks and the wardrobe of hats
our years on earth
the places and stories blurred
the burdens and babies birthed
and all the suitcases we pack full
jammed to the bursting point
with things we will never need.
Humbled and awed
by the wild variations of human beauty
Wild Beauties.
MESSY, imperfectly perfect beauties
colorful masterpieces,
paintings in progress
some trapped inside dying
to come out and play
some playing so hard
talking so loud
that softness has to be relearned.
Releasing and relapsing
Ripples in the pond...
waves in the sea
in this bubble of peace.
Bouncing off ourselves and each other
like inflateable balls hiting walls...
touching ceilings and floors of heart and mind.
Uncomfortable as it may be
to face our faces
sometimes so clumsy
we feel the fool
making, taking, faking confidence.
struggling against the defenses
we've each spent our lives crafting
walls thickly built, but crumbling fast.
dancing along with present and past...
sometimes with so much grace,
we may very well put the fields of swaying flowers,
the floating butterflies...
to shame.
Insecurities gripping, ripping at our hearts.
Holding and hugging.
Gently.... GENTLY tugging.
playing away the days...
and loving the stuckness away.

Inspired by and given with love to the wild beauties of The Laughing Body, Gesundheit Institute, 2014

mille grazie alla mia bella famiglia 私の美しい家族に千のおかげ a thousand thanks my beautiful family

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Existential crisis.

Every moment
A crisis of conscience
In this modern marvel
Civilized world of ours...

Which energy efficient lightbulb?
The one requiring hazmat to clean up its deadly dust
Or the one made an ocean away by poorly paid labor.
I stand staring for an hour at the lightbulbs.
Walking to and fro
Sign to sign
Picking up each package in turn.
Weighing the evils of each and the potential for my own ignorance.
What unknown evils may lurk...
What might I unwittingly support with this
Ten dollars of my budget.
Which will use less energy and ultimately
bleed less
of the green
From this hemorrhage,
spilling, falling
Slipping, filling the pockets of utility monopolies,
Holding me hostage
With ever increasing fees
To make up for falling trees
On ancient lines
And collapsing mines
On black lunged men who
Work hard to eat.
Like the one I met at the gateway arch.
We rode the tiny barrel shaped elevator
To the top while he jawed on about his comfort
In small spaces,
And the importance of the fossil fuel industry.
A crude but nice man who coughed much.

I think about him every now and then...
Sometimes when I pump gas into my tiny Toyota.
After all, a fossil fuel
Is a fossil fuel
Is a fossil fuel.
I think about him at the gas pump,
And about the oil rigs I spotted
All across the Midwest
Dotting the landscape by the thousands...
And about my sweet cousin
Who is almost completely shattered
Mind destroyed by his lengthy stay in
The Middle East.
I think about Arab Springs,
And tear gas canisters,
And fire hoses trained on
Random women and men
Covering their faces to keep their skin...
And I wonder if I should buy a hybrid.

I drive by yet another hill,
Flattened sides, vent pipes, dull grassy slope.
My seven year old no longer asks if this one
Is a trash mountain.
He has passed enough now to know one.
I picture that hybrid battery sitting inside
This mountain of trashy majesty
When my son is bent and wrinkled with years.
I think of the coal miner's cough....
And of the contrast between
a life in the sardine-can city
Where my legs would move more
But my lungs would breathe in more shit.
Where my car could be sold,
But my garden could hardly grow.
Where communities that thrive or struggle together
Paycheck to paycheck,
Bread bag to bread bag,
Are one catastrophe away
From perishing together.
I think of suburban sprawl and shopping malls
And acres of green grass...
And miracle-gro poisoned streams
And American dreams
And soccer teams in South America
And wether my son's one and only swingset
should be cheap and crappy and used
Because even that is still better
Than the spaces my uncle's Filipino neighbors
Have to play in...
Or wether it should be pressure treated and new
Because of all the things in this life that I have been
Unable to provide my son,
Including a loving father and the little sister he has always wanted,
This swingset is one thing I CAN offer
As insignificant as it might be....

I think about the unknown pea green dangers of treated wood,
About Chinese labor, Chinese wood, chinese cargo barges
Pulling into port in the depressed city of Aberdeen, Washington.
I think about that beautiful, natural, nontoxic swingset
Made in the grand ole U S of A of Redwood...
And the logging trucks I watched
winding their way down Route 1
On the California coast.
The logs on the back a heartbreaking
Dozen or two feet in diameter.
I think about how much just one thousand USD could buy
In so many parts of the world
Where peoples children play on grounds covered in raw sewage.
Lacking in so much more than the few troubles
In the life my dear sweet son was blessed with.
Will the lack of a swingset
in this i-Infested nation
Encourage him to lead a sedentary life?
Will the movements of his thumbs
Gradually replace those of his tireless young legs?
Will he miss out on the fun of this innocent childhood pleasure?
Or will the frivolousness of such a purchase spoil him?
What example does it set
for me to know, doubtless,
The value of each of those dollars,
The magnitude of those beautiful trees,
The depths of despair of an impoverished existence,
And still hand that salesman that
Little plastic card?

GODdamn all these tiny disasters,
These daily battles,
These lightbulbs and batteries,
And toxic greens,
And men wearing union tees
And magnificent trees and collapsing bees
And electricity fees.
And damn these trash Everests never ending
And all this extra packaging
And damn this "Made in China" sticker
Stuck to this and that
And every item in this Home Depot store
Ever since those wars
I can't shop no more
(Can't sleep either)
Ever since
Every choice in the world.
Ever since
simple existence
Became a crisis of conscience.

Kalee 8/6/14

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Friday, July 11, 2014

In Living color

Life is not a black and white picture show.
A little at a time my corners soften...
Rounded as I take short walks around the block in another foot's well worn shoes.
My gavel bangs less harsh,
with every mistrial and misstep
Respect coming more readily,
Even for those who aren't simply looking out the window next door, but who own a perspective a half a world away from my view.

Self imposed tower of stone loneliness crumbles
I still have my convictions,
still hold them dear to my soul.
But no longer do they sit heavy noose around my neck
Shackles on my ankles.
Solitary confinement
is a hell of a place.
I refuse to imprison
my heart, my mind
in such passages,
Narrow confines
Inspire only panic and claustrophobia

My body has softened a bit perhaps with experience.
But so has my ego, and I don't mind if I do.
And so it rolls...
In full living color,
Breathing in the variety
Spicy fragrance of life
What does that even mean? A cage for you to sing?
A bird cannot fly, my dear, with only one wing...
Sometimes life is blue,
Sometimes life is yellow
And sometimes the world is green
Because the truth is somewhere
in between.

Kalee 7-10-14

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone


Sunday, July 6, 2014

On the world.

"A Society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in"
-Greek Proverb

The Fruits of Labour

I am impatient and impulsive
embracing idealism unpredictably
One foot on the threshold of the very dreams
I have manifested.
This magical space in a mundane world.
One foot on a banana peel
in the green grass of a dream even I cannot fully understand

Would it be running if I ditch the mountain I am halfway up?
Traded for the foot of a hill so high
peak lost in the clouds.
This crisis continues
 long unresolve.

So I keep planting.
Speaking in half certainties
and what-ifs
Lovingly covering over my bleeding heart.
Tucking in trees that I may one day soon abandon
to the whims, neglect, or destruction of another dweller.
Pouring my heart into stewarding the soil I may sell.

The birds and bees are happy for the season.
even if only this season.
Humming, chirping, buzzing
and sipping on the nectar of my love.


Authenticity in Unpredictability 
I started writing an ode to unrequited love.
but it became a ballad to my garden and the life it nourishes
I was pouring out my loneliness and distress at my seeming inadequacy in romance.
but it brought up my son... the joys and sorrows of raising him on my own.
Fears of failing him.
I tried to write about my spontaneous social anxiety.
My at times awkward nature.
But it was really about the wicked, wild, wounded,
wonderous world
we all inhabit.
What are the real issues?

What does it all mean.

An Other Mother's Man

 He is so sweet
with your babies.
Patiently tending
the growing life.
Quietly caring for your world.
working so hard
at building
sheltering his family from
the cold world
Complex human being
simplifying existence to carry the weight
Not wealthy,
but the shoulders of a noble man.
strength of heart.
depth of character.

A prayer for you: long may your love live.
and another for the rest:
may we all be so blessed in our mates.

Small again

Grass tickling the backs of my calves
A smiling small body bounces on and off my lap.
Chasing the dog.
Eating popcorn.
He is thirsty.
Twirling a silk cape.
Swinging glow sticks
making sweet baby cousin laugh
And now the colors and the echos
reach across the night sky.
Finally his always moving, playing, chasing,
bundle of energetic little bones
comes to rest
on my legs.
My arms are welcomed around him
My hair mussing
and face snuggled up to the
tiny nook between shoulder and ear
is not met by squirmy sillygoose-ness
we breathe
quietly for a moment.
And then
we giggle and "WOW!"
Gaze above.
And for this moment
we are the exact same age,
My son and I.


Thoughts on the view from across an ocean.

I live in luxury unearned in an unjust world.
born to a priviledge not grounded in any merit.
but the shade of my skin and the shape of my nose.
Born in a body no better or worse in reality
but born in an alternate universe of ages of oppression
anger and aggression.
where the paleness of my ancestors
entitles me to have more than I need
built on the blood and backs of black and brown.
where are those lines?
my skin is tanned intentionally.
my sister lays baking under lamps
while my brown auntie bleaches her beautiful bronze away.
both believing lies.
How did we come to this?
Sweet, shy, smart, beautifully browned children
living in love, struggling for the most basic of needs.
Spoiled children pale from the glow of technology
their confines of finery
buried in more toys, food, THINGS...
more house than they could ever need.
and yet in poverty of love.

Lap of Luxury, Lack of Love.
Lack of Luxury, Laps of Love.

Is it better to while a life away, a world away in light priviledge?
A culture full to the brim with apathy, empty as it may be
of empathy, raw emotion, well placed devotion
concentrated energy. tapas burning for anything that Matters?
or far better to be barefoot and brown as the skin of the earth herself?
smiling despite the desperation of simply existing day to day.
Despite the decay, raw sewage, strays,
rice and more rice every meal of the day.
I am overwhelmed with shame.
I have done nothing but walk along with the culture I was born to
same as you... so why my shame?
Do I help or hurt by riding in the side car of your bicycle
while you pedal away.
Serve away.
Slave away?
for the same pesos I spent on a sweet iced tea?
Do I help or hurt your people by buying
the clothes made by your hard working
mother's hands 
hour after long hour?
you claim to be glad for the work...
The strength of culture is astounding,
the strength of faith.
of triumph over heartache.
the will and determination of human spirit.
I cringe to think of the excess and waste I exist within
participate in, in my own way.

Do you look at my cute white euro nose?
my wavy Caucasian hair.
My light eyes with no hint of almond shaping?
my successful culture as something to emulate,
to aspire to, to envy?
I look back in immense admiration at your humility
humbled by a people so much stronger than they know.
deserving of all of the blessings of the universe
more integrity in your dark pinky than
in most of a nation of success.
spoiled spawn of lightness.
If hard work, strength of spirit, love for life
determined success and status in this world.
the Filipinos would inherit the earth.


Pointed Nose, Clumsy tounge

Am I the face of the oppressor?
an aggressor?
You look at me as an alien in your midst...
do you see me with fear?
Apathy, Curiousity? Or do you think
me a fool, for all of the facts of your world
that I cannot hide my ignorance of...
I cannot hide my face.
My features.
My facade.
 I do not belong, and that is clear,
despite my confusion.
My ears hear so much,
but the sounds make no sense.
I struggle to understand in this land
where all man is other than me.
My tounge clumsy as my feet.
Don't know where to place either.
Communication stutters...
sputters... Stalls.
Unfamiliar your family.
Feeling a head taller, and twice as wide
in this crowd of wide eyes and
staring faces.
Lost in another galaxy
away from all I know.
Ten Thousand Miles.
Is so much futher
than I ever thought.


Bits and Pieces yet unshared... vol 1

Decided to catch up on sharing some of my writing today.

I am Alive
Every dot and every stroke
I paint
build a bridge
span a gap
 heal a wound
open heart
open eyed
we are all one
or all none
I am
all one

Ships in the night

we were never more than happily awkward
I am flighty and naive
you are just a bit uptight
and sometimes its okay to suffer
through a too or two
and maybe time and space matter
more than I ever thought
or maybe they don't...

The butterfly crash landed after
a bumpy but beautiful ride
and in the end I realized
that our real eyes are a matter
of perspective.
There is no Answer.
There are many...
I get carried away...
thought you might want to come too.

I would have loved to hear that song
you almost sang
in the middle of that dark, alone night
and I've pulled it together...almost.
Nineteen states, six Canadian provinces
A stale and lonely house left half alive.
A couple tiny disasters
and a few massive escapes.

Is it okay to mourn something
that was but a fanciful dream of the heart?
A few sunrises... TOO few sunrises
a squeezed in moment or two as you hurried on by me.
I could induldge a hearty game of "What-Ifs" with myself
but would it hit undo or unsend?
I was never good at playing hard-to-get
with those I suspect I might like to be got by.
One more song for you...
this one sung without a tune.

Thanks for passing through.

October 2013

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

He said...

He said my beauty was all in my hair. Long flowing locks, he'd leave me if I lost.
I shaved it all off and found a girlfriend. Fuck you.
He said my bare head brought out my eyes, the sexy fullness of my lips.

He said girls don't play guitar.
I taught myself on the guitar he gave me, and though he didn't remember saying it, and though it was a joke... These are the things that cut a woman down...

He said I couldn't play because I was a girl. Couldn't be Han Solo or Luke. I could be an Ewok though... Ugly little thing. Cute little thing covered in fur that can't even talk.

He said " Girls don't play baseball." I caught the ball that got him out on first and then tagged his stealing teammate in a double play all by my little female self.

He said that he loved me and not the best friend that I adored... In that mistake I lost her. Watched her walk away with his devious hand in hers.

He said he wanted to date me because I had big boobs. He said he'd never date me because my butt was too big. He said I was so tight but I couldn't jack off a squirrel. He said I just laid there like I was dead.
I was 16.
I was scared.
He said he dreamt that I had died... He dreamt of me.
But I didn't have the self worth to take that for what it was...

He said his truck was more important that my heart or my orgasm. He said my brother's girlfriend was more worthy of his time. He said he'd call. He said the only reason any man would speak to me was because they wanted to fuck me. He said I was hot covered in blood. He said I was fucking every man I said hello to. Even the greasiest, slimiest, short, old, balding, beer bellied, salesmen. He said I was fat. He said I had a mustache. He said I was dirty. He said he "Had me" when I was still a virgin and didn't even know his name.

He called me a crack whore, though the title belonged to him, told me I was crazy. How crazy that I almost believed his lies when he called me a liar.

He said my no really meant yes.
He said I wanted him...

He said to cry was girlish. To show feelings is to be weak... To be a "pussy" is to be weak.
He said my brothers could do it better, by virtue of the penis between their legs.
He said..
He said...

I said, I hate that my vagina makes me worthless.

He said he loved my face...
My poise and goodwill, my blue hair.

He said I'd be the first lady President, play in the major leagues.

He called me sweetheart in his Lakota tongue. He said I was beautiful, special, I was quite the catch wasn't I? He said I am the smartest person he knows, gifted with words. He said I was the coolest human he'd met. He said I was brave, admirable.

He said my beauty was so much more that the pile of flesh before him when I sat sickest in my ugliness. He said my life was a miracle and he was amazed by my strength. Sang with the voice of an angel when I sang my song... an angel, with a demon standing beside me.
He said I'd make an amazing girlfriend... And though he barely knew me it made my heart sing.

He says he loves me. He looks at me with eyes full of wonder sometimes. He calls me the sweetest name I've ever heard: Mama.

He said my words, my thoughts, my opinions had value. He said he appreciated me. He called me a fierce mama bear. He said I am enough. I am loveable, calm, mysterious and enchanting.
He said my words reminded him to cry... And HIS words made me cry.

And though I am thankful for all the he's who have loved this she.

I say, one of these days my self worth will not be defined by what he said.

Kalee Featherwise Prue

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sunday, January 5, 2014


I live in an Alien Nation

surrounded everyday by miles of steel and windshield

mazes of glazed eyed faces

when I dare to venture from behind my castle walls

I live in an alien nation

where I have to sing loudly, have to speak loudly or be drowned

by the deafening silence, the roar of white noise

I live in a nation where my child can be taken at the drop of a dime

where doing right by my son is a crime

where teaching the truth about this paradigm

is a potential life sentence

where child abuse is a refusal to poison his blood...

where normalcy is corrupted genes, and flashing screens, and gory scenes

where we're trained to sleep but never to dream

taught to listen but not to hear

not to fight, but embrace our fear

told to look but not to see

the curtained men behind TV...

and the lies, all the lies of the blood, white and blue

are sang out as gospel, while condemned whisper truth.


where rights are recognized and you are a free being,

so long as I AGREE with your preference, your perspective

all subjectives must align with Government approved objectives

in order to be allowed to apply

to sit in an office

to get on a list

to wait for your turn

to exercise your freedoms.

in the home where the BRAVE RAVE about the land of the free.

I live in an alien world where the rain that falls upon my roof

must be paid for with tithings

of bloodied bills and silver chips

before I let it cross my lips...

and quench the thirst for God knows what

where raped and battered all are sluts

where LOVE is damned on hateful signs

is it any wonder? the crumbling of times...

In this alien nation, this glittering town

where buildings are blown up then blamed on the brown

while the flock doesn't notice that murderous clown...

AND now Jesus has COME!

but he's still dropping bombs...

but his crimes are forgiven because of his skin

because every thing's twisted and virtue is sin.

where aging is a terror

and death is a failure

despite the pain or the shape that we're in.

In this alien nation this world I live in

can't anyone tell me where to begin

how do we fix up this mess that we're in?

but NO... I live in an alien nation...

I live IN alienation

where awkwardness conceals kindness

where insecurities leftover from last years dinner

obscure a heart two sizes too large.

My alien nation is tribeless

though full of love and a family clan heaped with beauty and good intentions

but stuck in the ruts and ditches of a long hard road

generations of blue collars, red necks, and white privilege

in the land of blue blood, mountains of green, and foundations of war machines.

I live in an alienation where confidence is bought, inherited, or peer reviewed.

In my closet are dozens of variations...

outfits of confidence I try on for size.

take off, hang back up for another day

or leave crumpled, crying in a heap on the floor in my closet.

In my closet I rent to own.

Spoken word, fumbled songs,

borrowed confidence I hope to someday own

Of the radiant woman I aspire to be...

one day when the fit is right.

I live in an ALIEN NATION

where the story in my open book is not received

made into a movie for TV,

but instead deceived

the heart on my sleeve

made into a sly and slick game of charades

a subtle parade of mockery

where vulnerabilities are exploited and heckled

as gross imperfections displayed by artists

who seek to hurt but claim to heal


in an alien nation full of broken children

struggling to place those missing pieces,

stuck in boxes,

crawling under tables

digging in bins in the back of our closets....

looking... searching... hunting

for those missing parts, those broken toys

broken girls... broken boys...

I live in an alien nation where color

where vibrancy and smiles conceal pain and very real scars

no judgement on who bears the heaviest burden

and no pity requested or even tolerated

just the acknowledgement of the presence of those scars

in hopes that they will be seen as open to healing

not scabs for the picking because....

after all,

I LIVE IN a scarred nation

a scared nation, a falling nation, a sleeping nation, a weeping nation.

A nation where some sing sweetly and some sing to a different tone

not deaf, but strum a different song, hum a different tune

A nation where words can maim

can cause great pain

to those who have both ears and tears,

in this nation of sharp tongues and jealous eyes.

In this nation of forests and trees,

birds and bees,

of sticks and stones and broken bones,

of war and blood, and kings on thrones

this alien nation that WE don't own

that's littered with oil, with greens, but not ferns

that's pushing and pulling and bending and breaking

with some who are giving but more who are taking

and talking not doing, and talking and FAKING

and I just can't stand it!

I struggle to stand, and I struggle to walk

and I doubt what I see, what I think, what you talk...

and I read and I plan

and I scream DAMN THE MAN!

and I give, talk, and beg, and I offer my hand...

but I can't say for sure, just with whom should I stand?

In this revolution

This conscious evolution.

-Kalee Prue

Dedicated with so much love and admiration to my family at the Gesundheit Institute, West Virginia