Rain on Winter’s Final Snows

The rain falls in tears.
It’s not a sad thought.
Not when it washes a snow-scarred landscape, long cold from a winter that brought cruel joy so long in promise and too short in its completion.
Watching the ice give way like pain gives way to tears. Slow, but inevitable.
Would that I’d known the coldest cruelty of season would fall to patience so well and cleanly.
I should have known.
Would that I’d known Hope’s spring would surely come.
Would that I’d known the blanket of winter guards Earth’s passion like the covers on two naked lovers waiting for the dawn to replenish . . .. That waiting for tears in spring brings promise not for winter’s end, but for new beginnings.
I did know. I chose not to listen.
And now summer sends me on a lonely quest. To find myself. A lesson long in coming.
I have but one fleeting chance. Mostly in my mind. The universe has done more with less.
I can’t move on. But I need to get ready.

For the Unforgiven

Standing alone in the wilderness, a wild unfettered mesquite entangled, cactus-mazed, sand and caliche llano; barren and hot with cruelty and love, pleasure and pain, even in the frozen wild. It is not surprising that one looks very little to the problem of boundaries. A wilderness brooks no boundaries.
When we live outside of boundaries all our life . . . . the only borders you’ve ever had were those created with kindred souls–innocent that respect was supposed to mean to recognize each other’s limits when all they ever saw was each other’s infinite opening; the interplay between love and friendship, soul and heart, laughter and the summer’s day. The connections we made recognized no limits to each other . . . When we were young, unconstrained by adulting, we lived the precept of “unconditonal positive regard”.
We are not afraid of the wilderness if we lived in it and it was home. It served us well.
Until we encounter the damage brought on by life’s inevitable disappointments. Without preparation for the outcome, we live in damage and strive to repair with only our wits to survive.
If you lived a long time in the wilderness , the “wild heart of the young” just never ages. It can be our doom.
We are all either too strong or too vulnerable not to help each other to stay whole. And being strong requires you to be vulnerable. The wilderness also brooks no compassion, no fairness.
Forgiveness and belonging requires someone . . .else.
Not all boundaries are bad; nor is it true that respecting the ones we all impose upon ourselves is unimportant.We cannot meld into each other and maintain the strength to be who we are. Nature abhors vacuums as much as it may fear it’s inevitable descent into entropy. None of us is full or filled, so, we cannot be us, or we, without marking where we begin and where we. . . may cede to others’ necessary wholeness.
When we meet, and see each other, we must strive to build new boundaries, create rather than stop at each other’s walls or precipices. Love is an element that does not speak in boundaries; at least not well.
Boundaries always presume fear–some of us too strong, some too damaged, others not ready–under the misperception that walling in will prevent hatred, pain, and suffering. Such prevention can become a “kill box” if we’re not careful.
Respecting boundaries may preclude “true belonging” if made in fear of love. Love may become a casualty if boundaries are kept unchanged; to protect a heart overlong exposed to pain and trial; to filter caring and desire, the need to connect, as meaning to disrespect limits. Heart walls are long in constructing, unbreakable from without and sorely misguided to try and scale.
Love is about crossing barriers, boundaries, limits; not to immerse oneself into another, but to gain trust. And to gain trust we must let each other in. . .
When two hearts are starved–aboriginals living in the scarcity of an unforgiving history–it should not surprise us that perceptions and instincts to survive serve as our only guide. We find ourselves unprepared to meet an equally wild heart living in an equally barren desert with so little love. Not the love we naturally acquire in having and raising children, who love us unconditonally but can only do so because they are dependent on us for so long. Not the love of family, conditional upon our desire to be the same, within a boundary. No, it is the love that comes when two hearts see each other and that comes so sparsely. Sometimes then, the boundaries, the fears, the walls, make our sight unbearably opaque.
It may not be true for those who found protection from the wilderness. Or entered it with good fortune on their side; finding a kindred heart, having a loving childhood, or at least one protected from the scarcity of an unknowing, thereby unforgiving universe.
This song is for the unforgiven, the lonely hearts in the wilderness with only our desire to be seen.
For us we remain in hope. We cannot give up. To give up is to let go of love. To die would be a mercy.
It’s an unforgiving land. But you learn.
Maybe Braving the wilderness, means to walk alone. And watch. For a time.

Without Struggle, There Can Be No Progress

Frederick Douglass Used these words to remove the blinders of “liberals” and abolitionists alike from the notion that a government unrepresentative of the oppressed could possibly liberate by legislation or some other easy way out.

Just like Douglass, and so many  others throughout history, I intend to write in this space with a single end in mind: We are not alone and it is Us that need to formulate our destiny. We cannot gain human liberation through the voices not our own, through the interests not our own, through the actions not our own.

It may seem to you that my personal journeys seem unrelated to this theme. The purpose of a new liberatory future is the wholeness of our world and, therefore, the wholeness of each one of us. Seeking to find my way is not unrelated to us finding our way.

Make no mistake, the “our” referred here  are the voices, the interests, the actions of people seeking to benefit from the wealth that we all create but that is aggregated into the hands and coffers of the so very few who largely benefit from the  work of others and not their own; the voices, interests, and actions of women, whose oppression is the root of all oppression that has resulted from the development of class society; the voices, interests, and actions of the the vast majority of different colors, ethniciites, and oppressed nations whose social oppression is perpetrated in the interests of a capitalist class created over the course of history to serve as a repository for the theft of material wealth and the maintenance of beliefs that we live in this “best of possible worlds”.

My voice is one among many. My interests are many and reflect the interests and questions that I believe every human being (including the oppressors among us) should undertake to understand. The actions I take will always be to root us out from the notion that any of us–no matter how different or abled, no matter how ill-educated we are at any one point–deserves nothing less than all that is possible for every person, every element of sentience, every view of life.