Singing Over Bones

I rewound, defeated by memories
we are stuck in your bedroom
on a cold winter day
watching light growing shadows on the walls
content with each other, doing nothing at all
The quiet cold is outside
Our heat is inside; hiding under covers

Fast forward and I'm that girl
speaking to strangers at bars
her little heart dancing around
in a pretty metal lockbox
there are no shadows on walls

Her fingers fumbling around drunk
trying to remember the passcode
one click past 41, between 25 and 30
She forgot the winter days
though the leaves keep changing
the cold winds are gusting

I locked myself in my apartment
sorting through all the albums you gave me
I sang along like I could sing you back from the dead
a curandera sitting over her spells
creating altars from your notes,
art we'd made on my bedroom floor

I'm not allowed to mourn you
if I killed us in cold blood
what kind of sorrow could I plead?
I stood over the body, licking my fangs
and singing over the bones of the remains
won't unlock metal boxes or rewind time

So my baby, you and I
a cold winter day
underneath your blankets
well that's where a part of me stayed.

Why won't this last forever, I hope this lasts forever...

It’s a shame that my ex-lovers have ruined so many great songs for me…this being one of them.

How to find a husband - tips from my mother

Mom:  "Jenny, will you please stop writing about feminism on your blog so much?  You will never find a husband that way.  Men don't like feminists.  I could put gas in my own car, but why should I when your father does it for me?  Sometimes it's nice to have men do things for you, they like it..."

Me:  "Okay, well I love it when men do things for me...I would never try to stop them, really.."

Mom: "Good, men don't like feminists.  Write about other things."

Me: (laughing hysterically at this point) "okay."

There you have it, friends.  This is my official last post on feminism because I've been known to be only the most obedient daughter.

I think I might write a book on feminism now..you know, to attract a husband.

The Goddesses and me - a journey through cycles

Viene todo a su tiempo…

Youth is fleeting.  I’ll be 27 in February and for whatever reason, 27 has a special significance for me.  To me it wasn’t 18 that represented true adulthood or even 25.  It was 27.

Slowly, I’m beginning to realize how precious time is.  I have no idea where this year went.  The fall always seems to fly by so quickly particularly because it’s my favorite season.  Then comes the winter; it springs to summer and then fall again.  I’m beginning to understand cycles in a way I’ve never known.  Even the cycles in my own body as a woman, my emotional ups and downs are becoming increasingly easier to predict, so now, in the dead of winter of my mind, staring out at the icy blue patches of ice across my driveway I remember the smell of green grass and the sight of trees budding.  What goes up will come down eventually and furthermore what comes down has nowhere else to go but up.

Following the change in the season I am reminded of the life/death/life cycle that women used to know so well.  Women used to be in charge of the dead in ancient societies.  They would not only birth new life, but they would know when to let go of life, having intimate knowledge of the life/death/life cycles.  Just as there is a time for birth, for living, there is also a time for death.  There would be no life without death, no light without dark, no forward without backward and no future without past.  There is an ebb and flow to life that cannot be realized without embracing Death. 

Coatlicue

I think of Coatlicue, the Aztec goddess of death and rebirth.  How ominous is she who destroys life?  How beautiful is she who creates it. Women in many ways live with this duality. 

In some Native American cultures women are not allowed to participate in ceremonies when they are menstruating because they are considered too powerful.  The menstruation is a symbol of a woman’s power to destroy life. 

Isis

I remember the story of Isis– the Egyptian Goddess – birthing life from death through her love with the ability to create something from nothing.

So as I wander through this earthly existence starting to feel older and more grown up I am reminded of Grace that exists in all stages and that viene todo a su tiempo (everything comes at its time).   I am thankful for all stages of womanhood, not just my youth, but great gifts are given at all ages.  I will not fear crow’s feet around my eyes; I will thank the Crows for their wisdom.  I will let the white take over the black of my hair as a symbol of my duality – reminding me that Death approaches with every breath and that fact gives me more reason to live a fuller life.  I will embrace the power of my cycles allowing my blood to remind me of my ability to create new life.  There is a reason we are affiliated with the moon - her cycles from full to new to full again every 28 days resonates through a woman's body.  I am but la hija de la luna, the moon's daughter learning from my my mother.


I leave you with this fantastic song I wrote this blog listening to:

The Earth is but one country; and mankind its citizens

Blogs this week are more picturesque while I contemplate the meaning of life.

I love traveling to different places and going to see the places of worship.  Locally, my favorite temple is the Baha'i Temple.  If I ever were to get married I would want to get married here (although I really don't think that they allow weddings here).  The detail is magnificent and unfortunately camera on my phone does not do this place justice so please go here for better pictures.

The symbol here means "O Glory of the All Glorious"

I love this place because it's welcoming of everyone, there is a strong interconnectedness between human beings no matter where we come from or our spiritual background here.  There's an openness and quiet peace you feel as you enter the temple.  

The Baha'i religion recognizes all major religions and combines the key teachings of each.

There is this quote inscribed in one of the columns that I love: The Earth is but one country; and mankind its citizens.

Because I have A.D.D. this week

This guy makes a great Obama.  Brings up a really great point....a friend of mine helped produce it and is in it.  I'll give you a hint: he's Mexican.  :)

I would be your Meg White

I would go live in a log cabin in the woods with this man.  I would spend my days knitting by the fireplace and listening to him sing.  I would comb the excess food crumbs off his beard.  I would excuse his slight serial killer appearance.  I would probably have his children....

Acid Can Do Some Messed Up Things! Friends Can Do Worse....

This video is HILARIOUS - seriously, it cracks me up.  







"Noway, noway, get real.  Who's chair is that?  Who brought that Goddamned chair in here, not my chair, not my problem, that's what I say....I'm in love with seahorses, they're so beautiful and cute...I love things with seahorses on them like blankets and towels and little bags...seahorses forever."

Travel Tales: Lessons from the Ocean

A few months back I was backpacking through Oaxaca after a long Chicago winter and some lovely adventures through the chilly mountains of San Jose del Pacifico.

 Finally, we arrived at the beach.  I was so excited to smell the salty breeze, watch the endless blue waves colliding and feel the soft sand beneath my feet.  After a five hour drive from the mountains I was ready for a swim.

Oaxaca is not known for its beaches to tourists largely because of its huge waves.  It is, however, known as a hot spot for surfers.

Excited and brash as I was, I ran into the ocean swimming past the surfers with such rigor you’d have thought I was in a race.  I wanted to get to that spot in the ocean where the waters are calm and everything in front of you is as never-ending as the blue sky on a clear day.   My best friend and adventure partner, Kristin, was back on the beach and dusk was quickly approaching; I started to swim back to shore.

Nearing the shoreline I didn’t feel content enough with swimming past the surfers.  My soul yearned for another adventure with the ocean and when I saw the wave coming I knew how to pursue it.  My feet were touching the oceans floor barely and then comfortably as the tide washed ashore.  The next thing I knew I jumped and the ten-foot wave pulled me under.

Immediately my body hurled and tossed about violently – I thrashed around trying to break the ocean’s surface.  I felt as thought I had been punched in the throat, esophagus and the very pit of my stomach all at once.  I was in survival mode and I don’t remember much other than somehow surfacing, heaving heavily and in a complete state of panic – fearful that breath would never return to my body fully.

A Spanish couple came to my aid asking if I was alright.  I of course, embarrassed and clinging despartely to my autonomy, lied and said I was fine.  The ocean had just caught my off guard (translation:  I almost fuckin’ died and am majorly freaking out right now).  They then told me about the blood on my chin.  I rinsed it with the salt water for them to see.  Their faces were all I needed to see to know I needed to go to a hospital.

Finally, on solid ground I searched for my friends.  Nothing is as awkward as running towards these two guys you had just met (and yet thought appropriate to travel with them in their car for the past four days) half naked and in panic holding your hand over your bloody face. 

We got back into the car as they tried to comfort me.  My best friend by my side helping me put a shirt on through my crying.  We arrived at the village doctor ten minutes later who cleaned my wound and told me I’d be needing stitches.  My gut reaction was to ask when I would be able to go back into the ocean.  He replied that I wouldn’t be able to for at least seven to ten days while the wound healed.  He also mentioned he had no thread and referred us half an hour away to the nearest hospital.

When we arrived at the hospital there was quite the line with injuries much more severe than mine.  An indigenous couple tipped us about a doctor in town who could take me right away.  Back into the car we went.  It was at this precise moment that I knew: these guys were not my new travel companions for just a couple of days, these guys were my friends. 

In town and at the doctor’s office he worked quickly and efficiently while Kristin supervised his stitch-work (I was close to having Kristin stitch me twenty minutes earlier).  I walked out bandaged up and happy to see our friends again.

A few days after getting stitched

Right before leaving Mexico City 10 days later.

This scar on my chin represents many things to me:

I am damn lucky.  At some point when you walk through a sleepy beach town with a bandage covering half your face, the locals start to recognize you.  I like talking to new people so I explained what had happened.  They then proceeded to tell me horror stories about stupid tourists, people who don’t know how to respect the ocean and how tons of visitor die each year from broken necks and drowning because of the current.    I felt much better about not being able to swim for ten days after that conversation.

Respect the Ocean!  She is far more powerful than any one person can even imagine and although she was easy on me this time I understand her power more than I did before – on a level that DEMANDS respect, fear and gratitude.

Friendship can be found in the places you least expect.  I remember before heading into the ocean being slightly nervous about leaving my wallet in the car.  How ironic that when push came to shove these boys took care of me as well or better than friends who have known me my whole life would have.

 

Fascinating - perhaps justifies the rise of Social Entrepreneurship

I feel as though we are evolving in a completely different direction than most people understand within the business environment.  An area of more vision, possibilities and collaborations for purposeful work.  It's a beautiful thing!  I LOVED this!

Engine Oil and Feminism

I had a dream that my car had run out of oil and I was left stranded on some highway with the engine fuming.  I remembered my dream when I started to smell a burning on Interstate 55.  I freaked out and jumped lanes getting off at the next exit and heading to the nearest gas station.

I walked into the gas station stylin’.  I had started to feel sick this morning and spent the majority of my day in bed reading and drinking tea.  I was wearing my 17 year old cousin’s red hoodie, black pajama pants and purple slippers.  I hadn’t even bothered to put on real shoes.  I picked out some motor oil and waited in line.  The gentleman in front of me started a conversation with me as he gave the numbers he wanted to play to the attendant.  I asked him what he was planning on doing if he won.  He replied he would come and find me and take me out some place nice.  I laughed gesturing at my slippers.  He then told me not to worry about what I was wearing, that he’d get me out of my clothes first.  It was then that I responded, still laughing at this dude’s nerve to say something like that to me, that this conversation was over.  I paid for my oil and went back to my car.

One of my close guy friends accused me of being too flirtatious and then getting angry when someone crossed the line even though I had provoked that sort of response (please read here for more background).  He said it as though I had somehow “asked” to be treated with less respect than I thought I deserved.   I disagreed with him and even felt angry that he would think that.

My experience earlier this evening isn’t so unique or even interesting other than I had an epiphany while pouring oil into my engine.  Human beings learn from each other.  We learn from interacting with different people from different walks of life and engaging them in conversations or discussions.  While this man started a conversation with me, I wanted to participate.  People play the lotto all the time – but why (aside from the obvious reasons)?  I wanted to engage this man, curious of what his dreams were.  I wanted to participate in dialogue with the community around me.

If a man had asked the same question to this guy maybe they would have realized that they both want to buy the Chicago White Sox team or that they both want to invest in lobster boats or maybe this guy would have told him that he has always wanted to live in the north of Spain or something.  Maybe there would have been dialogue, maybe there would have been a connection – not as a race, not as a sex, but just as humans.

Feminism isn’t about praising women as these creatures wiser and nobler than the other half of the world.  It is not about superiority or control.  It’s about being seen as a human being and not as a gender or sex.  It’s about equality and egalitarianism.  It’s about freedom: the freedom to engage new people in conversations, the freedom to learn about the world around you and the freedom to participate actively in it.

I'm not angry about what men say to me; I'm angry because I can't participate as fully as I'd like to  in society because of the limitations that my sex carries.

Infatuation or Aspiration?

I sat in my chair watching this man in action.  Confused and torn while observing his mannerisms, I was stricken by my ambivalence.  Did I want to be this man or did I simply just want him?

No, this is not the man..

Freud has often talked about the whole concept of penis envy but I had never really felt this way before.  I’ve always felt very comfortable, powerful and strong as a woman, but watching this man while he spoke to a small group made me wonder what it would be like to be him.

I fantasized about getting ready for work, buttoning my shirt, while staring at my reflection, deciding what color tie to wear: the red or the gold.  I thought about what it might be like to decide what my look was going to be: whether I’d sport a sexy stubble, clean cut shave or a manly beard.

When I was a little girl I would wake up every morning at 4:30 a.m. as my father’s alarm went off.  While he was getting ready I would crawl in bed with my mother and watch him as he put on a freshly pressed white shirt and sprayed on his cologne.  He would leave for work and I’d fall asleep in his place, the smell of cologne lingering in the room.

Fast forward twenty-one years later and I’m staring at this beautiful man wondering about his choice of cufflinks and what kind of underwear he prefers.  I thought about his morning routine, what his aftershave smells like, what washing his flat chest feels like, what thoughts swirl in his mind as he walks down the street…

It was more than a simple attraction.  I wanted to see everything through his eyes, I wanted to be in his body and feel what it’s like to sacrifice my breasts and womb space for an external life force I don’t possess.

Has anyone else ever felt this way about the opposite sex?