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this has been one hell of a long night USA, one hell of a long night.

Yet I am not afraid of the night; I have never feared the dark to the point that I have to rush the sun to rise.

So I am choosing, mostly in silence, to sit in this long night to see what needs to be seen and name what needs to be named, so that when the sun does rise I will have a sense that there is justice for all, that bodies matter… that black bodies matter to be more specific, & that our tears have truly made the ground fertile for institutional & systematic change in this country… United States of America.

 

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I miss you when I am still and the earth is silent,

when my feet are covered by a blanket of wildflowers

and I delight in the view of the birds resting on city wires.

 

I miss you when the world is screaming and the clock  refuses not to keep time,

when I find myself grinding for the future in spaces where we use to dwell

and move here-to-there, arms empty.

 

I miss you when I sit at a table for four, with only two seats occupied,
and when the music plays and I want us to dance.

 

I miss you when I sit in my art studio creating,
giving life to breathless things.

 

I miss you when all my head can hear is your faint cry
as you passed into this world from my womb,
as if you knew.

 

I miss you when I remember I am a childless mother,

and that no brush stroke from my hand can give

my greatest masterpiece life.

December 4, 2013 I gave birth prematurely to Annee Juredline Rouse Tinsley with my partner for life, Cleve, holding my hand. She lived 2 hours and died resting upon my chest. 

A year ago today, love and grace kissed my brokenness through three of the most important people in my life… helping me to pull upon all the courage within me to fight through the shame and guilt to choose life. I will forever be grateful for their love and the opportunity to co-create a life that I will forever love. I am thankful. I am deeply sad. I am free.

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The Sun
By: Mary Oliver

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

Below is a poem written by my little friend, Lucy Bella, whose mother posted this on Facebook and they gave me permission to share.
It is delightful and good.
She is a poet.
I love it!

“What is Love?”

Love…
Looks like lips on my cheek.
Smells like perfume in my grandmother’s house.
Feels like tightness in your body.
Sounds like a balloon bursting everywhere.
Tastes like orange juice swishing in your mouth.

By: Lucy C. (a.k.a Lucy Bella)

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.
-Pablo Picasso

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"Christianity is a way, not a state, and a Christian is never something one is, only something one can pray to become." W.H. Auden

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Ponderings of Days Gone Bye