Where I'm From

(inspired by George Ella Lyon)


I am from warm ocean and sand between my toes,
from a hammock hung between two oak trees.
I am from the vegetable garden,
where my Jidou spoke to each plant
like it was an old friend.
I am from that palace made of stucco,
with its steep gravel driveway that skinned my knee
and, once upon a time, terrified me.

I am from that neighborhood
where everyone knows each other.
From fudge, and chocolate milk,
and clandestine root beer floats.
I’m from turkish coffee served with milk,
and snowcones that were more syrup than ice.

I’m from English breakfast served during Texas summer,
morning hafles, and days spent laughing
with uncles, aunts, cousins,
and—best of all—my sibling.
I’m from a marriage that was over before it started,
and now my own marriage,
full of trust and promise.

In my basement is a storage tub
full of all of my pictures,
a mess of captured memories
to haunt and comfort me.

I am from each of these moments—
so much foliage from the family tree.

Tears

Fear of you wakes me up more often than I like to admit.

Smugly, it whispers—
safe in the home you provided—

reminding me, always,
of my wrongness.

Guilt—
forged by Blood,
baptized in Tradition,
bestowed with Desperation—
that insidious chain shackling my dreams with pointless dread...

This is the second time in a week that it’s pulled me out of my bed.

To say nothing of the lifetime spent
bound to inanity and discontent.

But through the oceans of tears that I’ve shed,
I finally see the truth standing in your stead:

You cannot take away my Voice—
singing of Love,
speaking to Choice—

I am Myself
in all my glory,

and you are part of my story.

Seeking Solace

Stop.

But the word sticks on my tongue.

If it didn’t,
if I said it,
neither of you would listen.

I’ve spent my whole life
trying to appease you both—
a wasted effort.
I’ve learned that much at least,
at great cost.

You can’t stop.

And I’m finally learning that I can’t wait,
not anymore.

You see this knowledge in me,
and I see that both of you fear it.

If you would listen,
I would tell you
It’s not about you, not really.

But you won’t, so I won’t.

Instead, silently,
I’ll keep seeking my solace…

And I’ll stop it for you both.

Exhaustion

Sometimes, you get tired of fighting.

You get tired of seeing your efforts play out into ineffectuality.

The tide of the world—
your politics, your community, your family—
wash over you and drown you:
A tidal wave of responsibility,
of giving a shit,
of fake smiles for everyone who asks.

You get tired of yourself, even.

You see your reflection
and you just can’t—
don’t want to—

Even so,
all you see are the flaws people point out.

Your wild hair.
Your soft curves that have only grown softer in direct proportion to your fatigue.
Your stubborn refusal to paint yourself a new face like “proper women.”
Your banality.

What do you do then?

What do you do when you're so tired
you feel 50 years older than you are?

Who do you talk to
when everyone around you feels just as tired as you are
and is just as helpless?

Doctors offer to medicate the problems away.
But it’s a goddamn farce,
a pair of blinders
so you can walk around ignorant
and blissful.

It would be enviable if it wasn’t so empty.

Another hollow gesture
in a hollow world.

Sometimes, though, you feel less hollow:

When you see your lover’s smile,
when you stand in a window,
when you lose yourself in fiction,
or in your imagination—

All those fleeting bubbles that protect you,
that let you catch your breath,

before the world cuts off your air once more.

You just want to let go,
to surrender to the void that yawns below you,
that terrible, tantalizing maw...

But something in you balks at that,
makes you cling all the harder to what few strings keep you tethered.

Sometimes you’re tired,

and sometimes you remember how to float.

Erinyes

I.

Hardly knowing the world
her toes sink into the sand
and waves lap playfully at her ankles

She breathes deep

The ocean sings to her
And reminds her to laugh

The wind brushes against her
And loosens her chains

The horizon stretches before her
And invites her to give chase

She is a kingfisher
Halcyon and triumphant

I will partake,
She tells herself
Like a prayer
Even as she feels her sense of duty protest

She wonders if her chains will drown her
She wonders if she will ever be free

But her will is resolute in the liberation in craves



II.

Fearless in the deluge
she plants her feet on the slick stone
and the river surges around her rocky perch

She puts her hands on her hips

The sunlight comforts her
And offers her respite

The boulder steadies her
And tells her she will be safe

The cold water pulls at her
And dissolves her worries

She is an island of herself
Unmovable and unapologetic

I will persist,
She tells herself
A fervent promise
Even as she feels herself tremble

She wonders if they are worth the effort
She wonders if she will ever find peace

But her soul is adamant in the resolution it seeks



III.

Higher and higher she climbs
each step an artform of reflection
and the wind blusters against her careful progress

She squares her shoulders

The stars wink at her
And remind her to take heart

The mountain steadies her
And promises her support

The universe opens before her
And dares her to discover

She is a sage at her zenith
Unfettered and unafraid

I will prevail,
She tells herself
An irrefutable truth
Even as she sees her vision cloud over once more

She wonders if the fog will ever leave her
She wonders if she will remember her truth

But her heart is emphatic in the future it pursues

The Gateway

In the blackest depths of unseeing, where I am suspended in a universe of comforting emptiness, a gong summons me from beyond infinity. Each resounding peal crashes through the void like a wave, and for a brief second, the world around me is bathed in gold. But as the sound dies away, so does the light. So, too, do the trappings of the corporeal world I’ve left behind.

After a lifetime which lasts as long as a heartbeat, the void becomes awash in color. Currents of purple and indigo explode like a blossoming lotus right in front of me. Before I have time to marvel at the spontaneous occurrence, the colors swirl around me and pull me further into the abyss. But there is no room for fear in this place. There is only flowing. There is only color. There is only a sense of excited urgency.

I feel it well up within me, so thickly that I feel like I’m choking—but all I can do is laugh. With my laughter comes release, and the current picks up speed and races forever onward. But as soon as it starts, the Gateway swallows me.

I am left floating where the azure sky touches the vastness of space. The sun blazes in front of me, the eye of God, and I am bathed in its welcoming, familiar warmth.

My laughter bubbles forth again, this time with my tears. I am helpless in the face of my sudden resounding ecstasy: the knowledge that my consciousness is as big as the universe, yet as small as an atom, and that I—like everyone else—am a vital part of life’s saga. God’s eye gleams at me, laughing at my comprehension the same as I am, and crying my tears. And slowly, like waking from a dream, I become aware of other life forces.

In wonder, I look down at the world so far below me. I see the frail delusion of my kind. I see the suffering, the unknowing, the heartache, and the loneliness. I see the pointlessness of our vital charade, and it suffocates me. Even up here, it suffocates me. God’s eye before me mirrors my pain. With an inaudible—yet tangible—explosion, the Gateway reappears and draws me back into the void whence I came.

The colors hurtle past me, faster than I can perceive; the gong sounds its illuminating farewell; and I blink back into the world of transience.

The walls of my living room are there to greet me, solid and suffocating.

Though instantly recognizable, this room feels foreign; and I, like a stranger in a body that is not my own. After a few heartbeats, my brain catches up to me. I become aware of the sacred gift that I’ve just experienced, and I sag into the couch I’m sitting on in reverent awe.

The echo of my bliss still whispers at me with the vague knowledge I’ve attained; and I smile to myself with God’s smile.

Inspiration

insight flashes, bidding you take leave

Follow.

there is divinity there

floating hot 

yet temperate

reach out and t o  u   c h

consciousness sharpens

pulsating warm against the skin—

so many ripples!

sing your dances

dance your songs

that is where We belong.

See the journey through.