I’m Back from Los Angeles and Roaring with MADison

…I’ve got a million things to write about right now…

my poem on Los Angeles
body and healing
the connection between geography and politics
spirituality of land as a hiker
my last days of 31-hood
Madison and the protests

too much!

Did I mention that it’s almost time for my annual state of the self speech?

My luggage is still in my trunk, so, my priorities are to unload my shtuff, upload my pics, get settled in work, kiss my hubby, snuggle with my baby, and then write. Cuz I also have three huge deadlines staring at me in the face.

But, let me just say this: California, in the middle of February, can be healing.

Happy Homecoming. So good to be back!

Becoming Love

My Valentine Poem to Nick

Love is, above all things, transformative.
And, therefore, cannot be manipulated,
bought,
controlled,
or manufactured.

It is metaphysical:
simultaneously cultural and counter-cultural.

The one true umbilical cord between our spiritual and physical selves.

Somehow, it withstands.
And oddly, it grows
despite our imperfect hands and clandestine beliefs.

It’s almost as if we
ourselves
are love.

We are not love personified.
We are love itself.

Period.

It is our identity. It is our nature –
It is not the air we breathe.
It is our nose.

It is not the lips we kiss.
It is our own very lips.

It is the opposite of external.
It is the deeper than intrinsic-
and more pure than our conception.

Despite all the things we do that project the opposite,
it survives us
and survives in us.

I am love.
And I grow redder
with you.

-LFB

Cairo’s Universal Body Language: Why the Egyptian Voice Speaks for So Many

Every nation has its own language. Culture, tradition, and social norms make up that dialect. Even countries that share the same spoken language have their own vernacular. But there’s something remarkably universal to the sound of the Egyptian people; a sound that resonates across the globe. Among the Egyptians, they demand of Mubarak,” La Vache Qui Rit” or STEP DOWN NOW. Their body language, however, speaks even louder to the global community, “We have had enough.”

While our president Barack Obama calls for non-violence and the US media pegs this “protest” turned “revolution” turned “revolt” turned “raging violence” turned “crisis,” (See how easy it is to change the tone of international news?) one can only wonder what you would do if you had the opportunity to voice your dissent after a lifetime of abject poverty, injustice, and human rights violations. At times, reports from Egypt are conflicting and confusing and it’s unclear as to who is doing what and who is ordering what to happen. News reports come in with varying tones and broad predictions about the future, but what strikes me is that the origin of this revolution took shape from Egyptians simply wanting their freedom and these demonstrations signify decades of pent up fury at failing legislation and corrupt social policies.

There’s something intangibly human about thousands of people walking the streets in defiance. I may not understand much more than that, but this much I know is true: the cry of the oppressed often reflects the size of the boot which rested on their throats before they could breathe.

Are the events in Cairo, though, all that different than what is happening in other parts of the world?

Photo Credit: MSNBC Photoblog

Take a look at San Juan City in the Philippines. In the wake of demolition teams and law enforcement using tear gas and snipers to vacate and destroy Corazon de Jesus village, where over a thousand people would be displaced in the name of building a new city hall, a conflict between residents and the demolition team and law enforcement turned violent.

To bring this violence to the public, the residents of Corazon de Jesus held a rally, they voiced their dissent by coming together to demand an investigation in to why they were attacked, why tear gas and guns were used against them when they have been the homeless and thousands have built their homes on this land because there was no where else to go. The government and media will report they were “illegal residents living on government property.” (See how trendy it is to use the word “illegal” to describe unwanted people?) Never mind that there are millions of Filipinos living in abject poverty with no place to go. Never mind that they are routinely pushed out and beaten out of their own land and called “illegal.” Never mind that there were children present in this “conflict turned violent.” All the media will say is that it turned violent and the people were illegal. That’s all you need to know.

But the pictures tell a different story, don’t they?

Photo credit: MSNBC Photoblog

Systematic injustice and poverty is not exclusive to the Egyptian people, nor is dictatorship that governs to protect the privileged.  Throwing stones, bottles, and rallying, therefore, is not exclusive to the Egyptian revolution either. It is the language of the poor whose freedoms and livelihoods have been stolen and have no other alternatives. It’s easy to get caught up in the labels and terms the media uses in their categorization of other nations. It’s easy to call on the poor to exercise calm and restraint against the military or government when they show signs of unrest because most of us blogging in the United States about other nations’ uprising have never lived in such abject poverty, been harassed and patrolled, or organized for our very survival.

It’s easy to wish for peace, it’s another thing to fight for it.

On Divorce and General Suckiness

From the following transcription, you would never guess that we’re both highly educated and articulate human beings who care deeply about the institution and sanctity of marriage as a social and spiritual force for good.
Nick: You know what would suck?

Me: What?

Nick: Being married to someone who sucks. That would suck.

Me: Mhm.

Nick: I mean, really. Things around here right now are so stressful with your back going out, Isaiah being sick, neither of us getting any sleep. Staying up till 2am getting everything done and we’re still behind. Can you imagine all of that and being married to someone who sucks? That would suck. I can see why people get divorced.

Me: Mhm, strong words. Well, to argue this point, I hope you realize that people who divorce often do so because of two people, not just because one person sucks. Although, I’m sure that if one person does suck, it does add to the liklihood of it not working out. Particularly if one partner in the marriage is awesome and the other sucks. Eventually, I think, the imbalance would catch up to them.

Nick: You’re right.

Me: And, just because TWO people suck doesn’t mean they’re going to get divorced. Maybe two people who suck just suck together and it works, you know?

Nick: Right. No, you’re right. Two suckies does not equal divorce. I’m just glad I’m not married to someone that sucks.

Me: We have moments when we both suck, but overall, I hope I don’t suck. ‘Cause that would seriously suck.

Reminders of Spring

Sometimes when I look at the photography of a few months ago, I remember that there IS and will be again color in the world. Warmth. Pretty days that beg to be stared at and walked through. I need that reminder while the ice pellets sound off on the windows tonight. While socks and sweats wrap my legs and feet and I wear a hat 90% of the time I am awake.

“If winter is here, can spring be far behind?”

Fabulous at 32

I read the magazine 17 when I was a tweener. Oh, how I loved all those grown up stories about beachy romances and cautionary tales about cliques and gossip girls. And I loved first person narratives.

In the mag 17, a name (always with an * to denote that real names have been changed) was followed by their age. Denise,* 19, had a perfect boyfriend until she discovered he was a runaway from Seattle and wanted by the FBI. Charlotte,* 21, never learned to read until she was in junior high. Sally,* 24, emancipated herself from her parents after her modeling career took off.

And one thing I remember thinking when I was around 13 or 14 was that when someone was 21 years or older, they were OLD. I mean, OLD. “They probably do the same thing everyday and, like, have no fun,” I hypothesized to my friends about what adulthood would be like. As if going to school everyday and being in highschool was the jazzed up schedule with unpredictable turns each week.

February is my birthday month. That’s right – MONTH. I take the liberty of celebrating the love month. Black History Month. President’s Day. Sometimes Leap Year month. It’s my birthday month. This is the month where I draft my 4th annual State of the Self speech and deliver it to a chosen audience, reflecting on my year of growth, struggle, and achievement. And I’m a dinosaur, according to my tweenie self.

Luckily, though, I feel all the possibility in the world looking at me right now and 32, although ancient sounding to my younger self, right now, never sounded so good.

I’m in my own skin. And feeling quite fabulous.

The House of Fiction

Me to Nick: I think we should practice giving Isaiah the epipen in case he eats a peanut or has a bad reaction to something and can’t breathe.  We should be ready.  No fumbles.

Nick: (slowly looking at the epipen package) Okaaay, it says right here..ah, yes..right here, it reads ‘PRACTICE PEN.’

Me: Good.  Let’s practice…(clears throat before screaming and picking up Isaiah off the floor) NICK!  ISAIAH’S NOT BREATHING!  GRAB THE EPIPEN!

Nick: (doesn’t move, still reading instructions)

ME: Let’s do that again.  The point of the drill is that you, you know, act it out.  Do it.  NICK!  ISAIAH’S NOT BREATHING!  GRAB THE EPIPEN!

Nick: Mhm, it says right here (slowly) ‘reeeemooovveee the bluuuuuuueeee caaaaaap’

Lisa: I’m not impressed by your speed whatsoever.

Nick: Stick it against the thigh and press.  wait until you hear the click. (practices on own thigh)

Lisa: Gimme that.  (practices on Nick’s thigh)

Nick: If we’re practicing, why are we practicing on my thigh?

Lisa: Oh, right.

(gently pulls Isaiah’s thunder thigh and moves pen to his thigh)

Isaiah: Meeerr.  BaDaDOOOEE.

Lisa: He doesn’t like it.

(Nick begins pulling Isaiah’s pants down to practice epipen on thunder thigh)

Lisa: You don’t need to remove clothing.  This should go through all layers.

Nick:  Are you kidding?  I’m removing his pants.  I want that stuff to go through as quick as possible if we need to use it.

Lisa:  It’s made to go through clothing.  I saw the video for this.  It goes through denim or whatever.

Nick:  What’s that thing that you stick in someone’s heart so that they breathe?  Why don’t we have that?

Lisa:  A needle with adrenaline?  Are you insane?  This is real life, this isn’t Pulp Fiction.

Nick: This could be Pulp Nonfiction.

Isaiah: Meeerrrrr.  BADOO.

Lisa: Look, see?  You upset him.  He thinks we’re going to put a syringe in his heart.  Nice parenting skills.