Revelation(s)

It was humbling to realize that I was no different than someone I've "hated" for quite sometime. I can admit that it makes me no more of a woman (of a person) to criticize another person for acting/behaving in a hurtful, selfish manner. I am no different. I am not perfect. Who the fuck am I to judge anyone? I chose to put myself in an environment that was not conducive to my well-being and then acted accordingly. I chose to put myself in a position where I was surrounded by individuals who are not the way I want to be and became one of them. So, I need to take responsibility for my own bad behavior. I have been disrespectful and selfish and immature. But, I know that's not me. I need to get back to who I am. First thing is admitting that we're all shitty in our own way and it doesn't make me any better to point out others' mistakes. Also, MY biggest mistake is choosing fear every single time. I make decisions out of fear NOT LOVE. Bad things happen when you say YES to everything, when you're passive about what you actually want out of fear of losing (nothing!). Love is the only way: self-love comes first. I am woman enough to admit that I am no better than anyone else.

Poison

I have an issue with alcohol. My drinking has helped me ruin several relationships. I do bad things when I drink and I feel like I am a bad person deep down. Every single time something is going fine for me, I fuck it up. I will abuse people. I will act a fool. I can't seem to walk away from situations that are obviously negative for me. Every part of my being is hoping for forgiveness from yet another person who I've hurt. Words cannot ameliorate the pain I've caused.

I know you won't read this, but I am sorry.

The Light

 You're a boy enslaved by your need to belong, be loved. You're a fool for shiny toys and skin and bones. You're cold to me in your own way, because the love I gave to you was taken but yet it wasn't enough.

For those things, the light that once peaked through that cage just beyond where your heart hangs withering and unquenched in the Californian sun has faded.

Last night, you played music. In that hot house, in that grey room, on that giant bed of yours. You played music and I folded your clothes. And I felt like I knew you. And I, for a short while, remembered that there once was a light.

Different modes for a feeling

Here's a hodgepodge of my favorites.
I can't write tonight, but I want to put something good "out there."...here.
Nina Simone, Audre Lorde, Toni Morrison, and Frida Kahlo have continually shaped me (my understanding of myself and others, my understanding of a world I can't wrap my head around). I, too, believe that freedom exists for each of us in our own way and that every individual is capable of feeling free. But the concept of freedom is so elusive to me...
I think there's a freedom we generate within ourselves and for others by doing that which breaks us away from the unrelenting tug of war between life and death (time): making, crafting, writing, singing, dancing, working, moving, listening, breathing--doing something for the sake of doing it.
I think there's a feeling of freedom that's realized momentarily when we "give in" to the present in a way that seems as if you know exactly where you are in this great universe and you say in your head "beyond this...well, that's nothing to me," but that just happens. It's like reading a line of poetry that just strikes you or when you happen to catch a child giggling and you can't help but smile. You don't do anything, you're just there.
Regardless of how it manifests, there is no comparable thing. Love leads us there. Friendship, too. Good conversation. Laughter. Poetry made me feel free for a long time. It all leads to a temporary succession from any form of mental, spiritual, emotional, physical binding.
Maybe you write or paint or sing or dance to set yourself free, maybe you do that so others may realize how it feels to be free and then feel the urge to share that feeling you gave them. There's a great amount of labor being done daily, on multiple levels of our society, by women who seek to set themselves, one another, or other people free.
Freedom is a feeling all humans fight for in small, beautiful ways. Here are some catalysts for me (bits of others who move me):




**Start at 1:15**

"And where the words of women are crying to be heard, we must each of us recognize our responsibility to seek those words out, to read them and share them and examine them in their pertinence to our lives. That we not hide behind the mockeries of separations that have been imposed upon us and which so often we accept as our own." ("The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action" -Audre Lorde).

“The function of freedom is to free someone else.” -Toni Morrison


"Roots" by Frida Kahlo (1943) http://www.fridakahlo.org/roots.jsp#prettyPhoto[image1]/0/

On standing up for what you believe in.

[Repost from my blog. Thought it was worth sharing]

One day my buddy Luis came over to invite me to a show at the Carpenter Center at CSULB.  to watch a really compelling show: N*gger W*tback Ch*nk. With a title like that, who could say no? I sat down, the lights dimmed, for the next two hours I watched three men speak on the uncomfortable truths that accompany our racial identities, They held an acute understanding of how the way we look at one other impacts the way we look at ourselves.

It honestly was one of the most memorable entertainment experiences I've had in some time. It was funny, well-thought-out, and infinitely relatable to anyone whose skin has provoked a joke. Though the applause was rousing, the dialogue sparked during the audience talkback was as critical as it was lauding. Not every joke was funny to every group of people, but the performers were gracious and receptive to everyone's pain. It felt good to be heard in open forum about things that are taboo to discuss in pubic. When I got to the lobby, the crowd of people around these three performers was so thick you would have sworn they were performing miracles. They were immensely popular and maintained a relationship with the university after this performance, teaching Masters' students and completing a residency. How brilliant!

That was about a year ago. A few mornings ago Michael shot me a text this morning with this linked:
CSULB's Carpenter Center Director Michele Roberge Resigns In Protest Over Show Cancellation

The school's president, Jane Conoley cancelled the shows upcoming performances without comment, but the official campus statement reads:

Members of the campus community voiced concerns to the President about the educational value of the performance and whether or not it was achieving the goal of creating constructive dialogue about race relations..subsequently, President Conoley asked the Carpenter Center team to withdraw the performance from the 2016-17 schedule. Despite the cancellation of the show, the artists will be fully compensated and we wish them success with their future performances.

This prompted the Carpenter Center director to resign. And I don't blame her in the slightest. Universities are epicenters of education, enlightenment, intelligent discourse. N*gger W*tback Ch*nk is nothing if not enlightening and intelligent.  If CSULB is to be a bastion of knowledge, it can't compromise that in the face of discomfort.

I'm inclined to believe the cancellation is due to the renewed sensitivity to the Race issue this year. Donald Trump's hateful rhetoric gets rigorous applause, Black Lives Matter has gained major traction as a national force to be acknowledged with the constant threat of police violence lingering over people's conscious. I think these things have contributed to the sudden flip-flop in opinion of the value in this show. When I saw it last year, we hadn't lived through Philadro Castile or Alton Sterling, and those Dallas cops were still alive.. The conversation on racial tension has definitely heightened, even if they haven't progressed.

However, I think more than ever the campus should want to engage discussion on these topics. Confronting these issues head on will arm the diverse Long Beach community with the knowledge to deal with these issues when they inevitably arise. If the most educated among us are afraid of engaging with this kind of discourse, what illumination can we expect from the world at large?

Just some thoughts. I've been on a no compromises, no excuses kick lately, and I have infinite respect for Michele Roberge who recognized injustice and decided to stand for what she believed in. I hope the university takes the hint and chooses education over fear.

looking for diamonds in a coal mine

The discourse I seek is a native language and it runs through me like the blood in my veins. I've been searching for understanding by listening to the words of a speaker with a poisonous tongue whose sounds and vibrations only suffocate and bombard me.

I woke up this morning with a sense of clarity. This morning, as I felt the cool hard wood floor against the warmth of my feet and brushed one foot at a time across the room, I caught my reflection in the mirror. A tiny, lumpy figure with messy curls dressed all in black. Tits to the floor. Shorts riding up. My dark circles confronting me. I opened the door and caught the aroma of the dark brew I love to drink so much. I saw my mother's freckled face and she smiled at me admiringly. I said, "hey, what's up?" as if to say, "what are you staring at?" and she just kept smiling and nodded her head with the smirk I, too, have inherited.

How much of ourselves do we see in each other? How much love can we procure by accepting who WE are? I can't put two and two together right now, but it's coming together with or without my intervention.

Last night, I had a feeling of hopelessness and disillusion because I engaged in conversation with a person who is inartistically cruel at times and who values basic people/things. He doesn't see people the way I do and yet I've put a lot of weight on his words. But the beauty and truth of discourse that's real to me is not within him. I need to stop looking for things in the wrong places and so, this morning, I BEGIN AGAIN and "seek out the words of women" whom I respect and who love truly. Here's a repost of mi cielo's "Move" (which is an older post on this blog). I read this last night before going to bed and felt overwhelmed with pride for her, her words, her impact on me. She gave me a little light to combat the darkness.

"Move"
by Abeni Moreno


I asked my grandmother how should women move in the world? 

And she said …. head, torso, hips

she explained, Its our intelligence that make us aware of who we are in life and how society views us. Its our hearts that guide through the darkness and its our hips that give life, hypnotize and infatuate those around us. "Thats how a woman should move in this world" she said. 

I asked my mother, how should I move in this world? She said, "con duda y poder". Don’t trust a place where a woman has no face, where she is just a body on display. Be weary of a world that doesn’t recognize you, that leaves you, cheats on you while you raise their children. Don’t trust a world that has you chained to the bed as you give birth… while you wait to see your baby’s face. Move carefully but with strength.

I asked my tia how do i should I move in this world? She said, "dance como si eres muerta, libra y sin vergüenza". Know that you come from a long line of beautiful women who have fallen and gotten up, who fought back after being dragged and who left their homes to create a new life when no one appreciated them. Dance as if you were dead, free and without shame. 

I asked my sister how should I move in this world? She said "move without apology". Walk with your head up high and love in your heart. Speak truthfully and with authority. Have nothing command you but yourself. Know the space around you is self-held and self-felt. Mover 

I asked my brother how should I move in this world? He said, "move with pride, mija". Show others who fail to understand who you are, that you live in this world brown and beautiful in time where it is dangerous to do so. They feel threatened by your existence. Interrupt their reality and perception by shaking their hand and showing them  that you are human- even though its not your job to do so. Move with pride, mija.

I asked myself, how should I move in this world? "Move… just move," I said.  Move even though you have been left and cheated on. Move even though you have been sneered at with disgust as they said “mira esta morenita” with their nose up. Move even though a customer is yelling at you, saying you are less of an American because your family are immigrants- even though he is a chicano veteran. Move even though you have woken up without your clothes and no one is man enough to tell you what happened to your body. Move even though you had to let your first love go. Move when someone calls you “a lesbian” as an insult because my sexuality is none of their damn business. Move even though you feel alone when you really have an army at your side. Move when you have tears in your eyes. Move when you are broken and torn down. 

I said to myself .. move with that smile on your face because you know better.  Move with those eyes that show nothing may phase you. Move around those who wont walk with you. Move your head, torso and hips and dance as if you were dead, in world that doesn’t recognize you but your steps are without apology and you are proud of your brown identity. Move mija, move. 

And To my sisters who are in between- my gender queer queens,  androgynous,  transgender two spirited loves. Let you be seen in a darkness that make you worriers.  Move

M. Andrew:

Today I realized that when you're happy, you're easy to talk to. I almost forgot all the fucked up shit we did to each other. Maybe things would have been less fucked up if I had said: thanks for making me dinner/food often enough. Thanks for letting me see you be real and fucking weird when no one else was around. Your room felt like home.

-V

Dia del sol

https://youtu.be/Tm0MoS85wfw


I have nothing but love for myself today. I feel beautiful.

2 a.m. pathetique

"What is it inside me that makes me so crazy at 2 a.m.? I can't blame it on alcohol in my blood when there isn't any. It's something worse. Something that poisons the blood and tips me when the night swells and I feel as if the whole sky were leaning against my brain." ("Never Marry a Mexican" Woman Hollering Creek and other stories, Sandra Cisneros)

I cried a little before going to sleep. I couldn't sleep (and that's nothing new), but my day was perfect: I read; I cooked; I played with and took care of a dog; I sat outside and read some more; I watched cartoons; I cleaned while dancing poorly to some extremely loud music. What more could I want?

Yet again, I could not stop thinking and I went to sleep feeling like a ghost. Anyone who has ever "loved" me has left, and no one has ever cracked this nopal open. I go to sleep unloved and unknown. I fell asleep feeling as if I am fated to never be understood and knowing that not one other person on this planet falls asleep to the thought of me.

There's pure lunacy inside me and it creeps out of my breath to cradle me. That's what finally puts me to sleep, feeling embraced by my own lunacy. Do I feel crazy because I realize this or because I say this to the "NO ONE WHO GIVES NOT ONE SHIT" not reading this right now?

Real women don't feel like this at 2 a.m.

These Words Hang Over My Head

I believe this about people: All at once, at the same time, we are who we are and yet we are still becoming someone else, whether that "becoming" is reaffirming whatever existed prior to the present moment or it's changing us as we enter the next. We are a paradox.

I have (in my mind) an idea of the "best version" of myself.
That version of me is not the one who caves into her impulses and who scampers foolishly from one negative thought to another. That version of me follows through with the plans to respect (and respectfully decline) the advice of my elders, to make wise decisions out of love for myself and unconditional acceptance, to work harder without seeking an instant sense of gratification, etc.
But I continually find one way to succeed and another way to fail and everyday I struggle with making myself proud. But, when I lose sight of that "Valerie," I crumble and I fret over collecting the bones.

I have been coping, "dealing" with anxiety for a LONG time. It is as much a part of me as anything else. More importantly, it brings me closer to and further away from becoming more of who I am, of being more present and connected.

So, I decided to write myself a note to hang over my bed to help me remember. The note is a physical, textual manifestation of what feels like proverbial truths I encounter through/with/because of other people...and so the universe finds ways of reminding me of what is most true (for me).

These words hang over my head (Mornings when I am actually present, I take the time to read them or acknowledge that they are there):

1) Remember who you are and who you want to be.

2) You will be okay, always. You are strong, good-hearted, and you know the weight of the world is love ---so carry it. Build up your strength. Listen to others who need to be heard. Affirm and make present the resilience and character of all the great women who've nourished you. Speak truthfully and with conviction. Do not be afraid to be vulnerable. Do not be afraid of pain. Give yourself to each task and give yourself up to the moment. Let things go.

That's all I got so far. It's not going to get any easier.

Anais Nin (in a letter to Henry Miller).

"...excessive living weighs down the imagination:  we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails." (A Literate Passion, Anais Nin). 


This reminds me of the episode in Louie when Louie gets dumped and he's miserable and bugs the doctor about it. The doctor tells him that being sick over love and hurting over love is love. That's the good part. 
When I read this, I felt suffocated for her. I thought, "how can someone be okay with "not living"? With being a part of life, but also consciously outside of the pulse. It seems dreadful to know there exists someone in the world that you love and are in love with, but can't have totally. You can't be with them. 
This felt like purgatory. But, then there's this "we." There this "we" that's fated to be outside looking in, living far too heavy in the imaginative realm of our shared experience. 
I guess we aren't ever really alone in that sense?

Her

Draft 1.

se ofrece ha cada momento,

and so everything she does is an expression of gratitude:

her words are a celebration,

her love is insuppressible acceptance,

her compassion stems from knowing life’s insuperable relentlessness:

she knows the sunlight exposes all for its crude sensibility—ripening and rotting the edges of growth, of youth and maturity;

she knows the shadow follows like a phantom limb--a gaping, shapeshifting well where the bucket swings angrily, catching thoughts of the past as they fall from our heads;

she knows that all we have is ourselves

and all we can't ever truly know is each other,

so we must barter ourselves

and never be afraid to give it all away.

she knows pain must accompany the taste of bliss 

because “pain does its work,” 

while love exists to elude us

she knows we musn't labor 

over 

trying

to transform grown-up children 

into myths, 

monsters, 

maravillas, 

Or labor over the useless endeavor to own feelings 

that never truly belong to us,

we must labor over learning,
and loving things as they unfold with us, 
around us, beyond us, for us, without us... 

she knows that roots spring from the soles of her feet 

and the crown of her head, 

and in every way, 

she is connected,

she belongs. 

F.G.-- (edited).

Heavy-hearted somber ghost of a boy who just wanted to be loved.

Resurrection ?

It has been a while since I've visited or worked on this site. My will to follow through with the intentions of the blog started off strong but they lacked focus. I hope to iron out the wrinkles and present this imagined audience with something tangible, useful. This is supposed to be a space for those of us who need a little assistance trying to grow into a whole person. This is supposed to be a place where YOU can lurk or contribute positive, creative seedlings of your own being so that those who are wandering (or just straight up lost) can indulge, reflect, and remember their purpose.
Let me catch you up right now:

I STILL feel like an empty shell. I STILL feel like I haven't found my niche and I haven't carved out a place for myself where I truly feel free. I STILL want to feel FREE and STRONG and I want that feeling to radiate through me. "We encounter each other in words..."
I want to say that, right now, I NEED to encounter someone or something beyond myself, beyond superficial niceties, beyond casual compliments, beyond the vagrantly transient topical conversations that always feel like the parlor room is just a waiting room. I know that is much to ask, but I am willing to give just as much, if you need it too.

"We [can] encounter each other" in so many other ways, besides words. Give me a gesture, an image, a song, give me many words, give me a middle finger...it's up to you.

This is my roundabout way of saying that I am going to start working on this site again and hopefully someone out there feels inclined to respond or follow or contribute.