Moving…

Why uproot a life and sequester treasures in brown boxes to be hidden away in the bowels of an uncle’s back room? Why drive for hours to a place unknown, only to start again amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces? Why leave the immense love beating in the hearts of friends, family, and familiar spaces you have grown so fond of? Why move?

Over the past few months since I first felt the stirring of of a potential move North, I have rolled those questions around in my mind like a lemondrop candy, the answers never fully materializing with certainty, yet an invisible thread of “Go. Move forward” pulling me steadily along, often against my will. ”But why?” I pleaded. “Everything is so good here. I love everyone so much. Life flows with such ease and so much laughter. Why must I go?” In response, only the invisible thread, pulling me with the whisper, “Go. Move forward.” And so I did, and here I am.

I feel like Alice, gazing at her reflection in the looking glass and on the other side is Wonderland, full of magical, whimsical things and friends and laughter and abundant love and joy. I place my hands up to glass and look in, delighted by what I see. But I realize that I’m here and they are there and it will take time for me to step through that portal into a “Wonderland Life.” As people, we are delicate little systems of emotion, feeling and thoughts and the transplant of a life from one community to another can be jarring. I have not been jarred, but in some ways it feels as though I’m only dreaming. For some reason and with deep trust, I listened to that invisible thread and I’m proud of myself for having the courage to step forth. Time will bring great abundance to my life and in fact it is already here. With each day here I encounter moments that feel more “real” and like they are mine, not borrowed in a dream.

On the drive up Pacific Coast Highway I passed a field of giant boulders and admired their perfection until the boulders began to fight and bang on each other’s heads. I realized that the boulders were in fact giant elephant seals in rut. I passed a meadow where a spring-loaded coyote bounded over and over again into the air, charming a small rodent of some kind. He caught his prize, looked up at me and grinned as he gulped some fat little thing down. I drove through the Redwoods with my windows down in the rain and breathed in the intoxicating velvet of forest mist. I drove past a family of deer, grazing in a blanket of yellow clover. I watched acrobatic yogis play leapfrog games along the cliffs at sunset and then fire spinners tease my eyes with magic. I spent $4 at the Farmer’s Market on the most amazingly fresh, local produce I have ever eaten. I walked into town and watched colorful, brilliant, eccentric and sometimes certifiably insane characters meander the streets on their own little missions. I walked on the beach in the fog with the seagulls and did yoga beside a snowy egret. I got my new library card.

All of these moments add up to the creation of my new life in Santa Cruz. In some ways, this is a love letter to the people to the South whom I bid farewell. You’re amazing love is what made moving a challenge. On another note, it is a love letter to what lays before me and to the thread that led me here. ” . . .  the learner must be led always from familiar objects toward the unfamiliar . . . guided along, as it were, a chain of flowers into the mysteries of life.” (author unknown)

Poems

The Creek

A cascade of diamonds you surface and then twinkle down, to a pool of mirrors before disappearing again below the ground. Little spring of tiny sips, where velvet lips drink you in. You call Life by her name to sit beside you and drink from your bayou. Asking not a thing in return, you delight in her visits, as deer, coyote and bird.

Sounds of a forest

Sit. Listen. Quiet your mind and you will hear the gentle, almost inaudible chorus of the forest. It begins with the wind, played like a harp amidst the strings of leaves and twigs suspended above. The gentle percussion of water flowing ever so slightly over sycamore leaves and river bed cobbles. A dropping acorn. A squirrel missile, falling at my feet and pounding the leaf blanket of the forest floor like the tang of a cymbal, again and again. A raven, unseen, sounds the trumpet call. What exactly are you announcing friend? “I’m here! I’m here!” The forest ignores him as the sun pulls its curtains back to reveal the main stage… A white tailed deer drinks from a pool quite near. The chatter of some small bird. If only I spoke that language of cheer. In my imagination I hear it as, “Here, look! I’ve found a berry!” If you sit. Listen. Quiet your mind, then you will hear the gentle, almost inaudible chorus of the forest.

Roadrunner Lovin’ 101

Who knew? The answer to all of my questions regarding love, romance, sex and relationships came from a most peculiar, yet brilliant source. A small book, The Roadrunner, by James W. Cornett. My new hero is without question, the female roadrunner.

“Regardless of how attractive a female roadrunner may be to the male, it is she, not he, that does the choosing. After all, it is the female who must create eggs, be hampered by their weight as they develop within her, and eventually extrude them into the nest. This is no small feat, and requires an enormous cost of energy. If the female is going to run the risk of reproduction, she must find a mate who is fit, is an excellent provider, and is aggressive enough to ward off any other roadrunner that might threaten the couple’s territory. Perhaps most importantly, she needs his help in providing the tremendous amount of food required by developing young.

How does a female know which male will make a good mate and a reliable father? It appears that she relies on two behavior categories to provide the information she needs to make her decision. The first is the initial courtship. Amorous male roadrunners must proceed through a number of behavioral rituals that include lowering their head to the ground then raising it to the sky – a movement referred to as sky pointing. The tail is then moved back and forth – somewhat reminiscent of a dog wagging its tail. These behaviors are done intermittently during the initial courtship period. The make initiates courtship signals and the female mirrors the same movements. The ability of the male to properly perform these behaviors indicates that he is both physically and genetically fit.

The second male behaviour scrutinized by the female involves a gift of food. Shortly after sizing each other up, the male offers a twig or other piece of nest-building material. He may drop this at her feet and she may pick it up in her beak. This kind of offering is preliminary to further serious offerings. Serious offerings consist of food, but not just any food. Serious offerings must be vertebrate animals such as lizards, snakes, small birds, or small rodents. Only when a serious offering is presented will the female finally consent to mating.

I suspect that the offering of a vertebrate animal indicates to the female that her potential mate is fully capable of bringing in the kind of food that ensures the proper development of the young. Thus, when a female roadrunner selects a male with proper hunting abilities, she maximizes her chances of raising a healthy brood.

Copulation is repeated many times during courtship. Actual mating begins by the male approaching the female with prey in his beak. He then jumps precariously onto her back. The mating process is over in seconds and ends when the female turns her head upward and grabs the food from her mate’s beak. Interestingly, the male never allows the female to take the prey until after mating. When the roadrunner finally finds a mate, the mate is kept for life.”

I will meet them in the great cathedral of the trees…

I’ve never done a drop of acid in my life, yet somehow, my brain naturally produces certain chemicals that have me perceive the world through a psychedelic lens. Been that way since I was a kid, and it makes my experience of life often seem like I’m tripping. It’s fun, and beautiful and it gives me an amazing sense of awe and reverence for my planet. The green-blue marble I ride. My experience is of you and me and our lives together here. How did we get so lucky?

Over the past few years my little paper boat of body consciousness has drifted, from the superhighway network of biological connectedness going on all around us to a certain level of sedation. I have been slightly dazed and unplugged from my home. I still have moments of lucidity when a hawk glares down at me from a tree, looking me dead in the eye and screaming, “Wake up!” Or when I think to myself, “It would be really awesome to see a snake,” and in the next moment, before me on the trail stretches a giant king snake of perfect black and white. Or while on a hike I see a snowy egret sitting next to me in a tree, or I pick up a giant bumble bee drenched from the rain and breathe him back to warmth and life, watching him preen his antennae with his front legs like a cat licking her paws.

That closeness has dissipated dramatically and I aim to get it back. There was a time when I was invisible. I could walk through a forest and nothing cared. Deer ignored my existence and coyotes went about their business as if I was not standing beside them. There was a time when I felt within the matrix, like the blood of my veins was the sap of the trees towering above me and my eyes shared the multifaceted perspective of the dragonfly. I was unaware I had lost this connection until suddenly I did. Weeks ago, while walking on the beach I saw a pod of dolphins, 100 yards offshore. Five of them swimming south, parallel to me, bobbing their heads occasionally in my direction. I followed them, not removing my eyes from their family for 2 miles. I noticed that they had a little one with them. A tiny baby the size of a pillow peaking its head above water and looking at me, curious. I couldn’t move. I didn’t move. My frozen state was broken by one of the dolphins jumping in the air and splashing back into the sea, and I kid you not, I felt as though it bid me farewell with that gesture. That was the moment that awakened the connection again.

Since then it has been building, and my relationship to the natural world grows stronger. In a way, it’s like my heart grew weakened over time and is beating regularly again. When asked why I am moving north to Santa Cruz and the Bay Area, I reply with a vague, “for a change of scenery,” or “to be closer to my friends.” But really, I miss the trees. I miss the rivers and the hot springs and the lakes and the rugged coast of the Pacific. I miss rolling meadows dotted with oaks and poppy laden fields. I miss monstrous slabs of glacier-carved granite and waterfalls that make the whole world pure. I miss fresh, cold air. I miss clean mountain water. I miss deer and bear and beavers and coyotes and mushrooms and wildflowers. It is true that I am moving closer to my friends. These are the friends of my heart. And yes, I’m one of those crazy people. I hug trees and walk barefoot, talking to my surroundings and if I could be naked 100% of the time I would. I love the smell of wet soil and decaying old logs, oozing sap and sulfur springs. When I hike, I eat stuff along the trail and I often use what I find on the trail to cure what ails me.

On road trips, I far prefer enjoying a moment beside a tree than even a second in some disgusting public restroom.

In my urban life, people see me running around in high heels and makeup and they have no idea that I am in fact a nature loving freak. I can’t wait to walk among the redwoods and stand beside Angel Falls, soak in Travertine hot springs and smell the salt spray along the cliffs of Big Sur. I can’t wait to watch the sunset at King’s Canyon and explore along the Russian River. I can’t wait….

This year I have one travel goal: To see the Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights. The best place to view this otherworldly phenomenon is Alaska, so off I will go. I again walk the path of my gentle heroes. I will meet them in the great cathedral of the trees.

A few things I learned about the magical world of Men

Here’s a few things I learned about men, and I find it interesting that it’s all MEN asking me about this!
1. Men are single focused. Women are diffuse focused. Women are excellent at multi tasking, men are excellent at hunting and accomplishing specific goals. This is a fact of biology. It’s nothing personal.
2. Women communicate to connect and build relationships. Men communicate to get to the point. It’s nothing personal.
3. Men are not hairy versions of women. Men are men. The sooner we women can embrace you guys for exactly the amazing, generous, providers that you are, the happier our lives will be. We won’t get all caught up in the “why doesn’t he do this, why didn’t he remember that?” trap.
4. Men love women. They adore us and want to make us happy. A happy woman is a delight to a man. You know the saying, “Happy wife, happy life.”
5. Men love us exactly how we are and wish we would stop comparing ourselves to the “ideal woman” who doesn’t really even exist! That bitch! She ruins everything!

PAX

This weekend I attended a seminar called “Celebrating Men, Satisfying Women” through an educational program called PAX. I experienced multiple amazing realizations in this eye-opening conversation about the nature of men, one half of my shared human family. My brothers, my fathers, my grandfathers, my sons, my lovers. I approached this workshop with a willingness to delve ever deeper into the science of bridge building between my fellow human beings, and as the day flowed, so did my heart open. Throughout the history of humanity, women have been wounded. They have been scarred both physically and emotionally by men and this has left a wall of armor that is perpetuated by our present cultural atmosphere. Men are easily villainized. They cheat, they beat, they overpower and dominate. At the beginning of the workshop, the women were asked to complete the sentence: MEN ARE ________ ? In response to this question the room began to stir with a sorority response of words like “dangerous, stubborn, liars, emotionally retarded, weak, etc.” The agreement was as thick as fog, and we all seethed with our individual memories of past pains and wrongs done to us by the men in our lives.

But our workshop leader posed questions. She prompted inquiry into the nature of our views, our thoughts and our perspectives about men. Hours later, we began to soften and a certain cataract of resignation slowly slipped away as MEN began to emerge as themselves. It was one of those workshops full of information and insight so obvious, that if it were a snake it would have bit us in the face. Peace with and appreciation for men was right there, perched upon our shoulder like a dove this whole time. We had just forgotten. Collectively, we had forgotten.

I began to get present to the men in my life and it moved me to tears until my heart ached with love for them all. My father, my uncles, my brother, my friends, my teachers, past relationships, even previously proclaimed enemies came into focus as the great men that they are. Beautiful, loving, kind-hearted, generous men. Prior to this course, I lived behind my own gilded little cage. I protected myself from men constantly. They had the potential to harm me, both physically and emotionally, so a certain distance from them seemed wise. After this course, my perspective shifted from the belief that men WILL harm me, to some men COULD harm me, but the majority of them would fight and die to protect me. They would be there to support and comfort me in a heartbeat. Upon this realization, it was as though I were being embraced by this great paternal peace that wrapped me in its arms and promised me safety, forever.

I stopped my incessant demands of men to be more like my attachments of perfection, and exhaled, letting them simply be themselves. I smiled to myself, realizing the goodness that surrounds me in the men in my life. I am a lucky, lucky woman. I also stopped my never-ending demands on myself, to be the “perfect” woman for men. I exhaled again and settled into my chair, delighted to simply be myself and knowing that I am loved just as I am.

Towards the end of the evening, we engaged in a discussion of heroes. Out of this conversation, I am now certain that every single man on this planet is my hero. They are my champions, and I feel safe to know that they are here for me and that we are here for each other.    Man and woman. The beautiful harmonious dance of humanity that ebbs and flows with the masculine and feminine energy of the universe. We are the watery, fleshed consciousness of that duality in the most splendid package. We are human.

We finished the weekend the same way it began, with a question. Complete the sentence: MEN ARE ________ ? Words of beauty and reverence began to fall from the lips of every woman. Men are greatness. Men are loving. Men are fun, funny, charming, handsome, strong, generous, beautiful, sexy, playful, intelligent, providers, protectors, amazing and perfect.

I walked out of the course that evening with stars in my eyes. In the lobby of the hotel there were dozens of soldiers dressed in full regalia, their wives lightly perched upon their arms like delicate birds of fine holiday plumage. I smiled at each one of them, thanking them warmly with my eyes for their contribution to my life and to my country. Men are God’s gift to women. We, are God’s gift to each other.

Beached

You’ve heard of the phrase, “I feel like a beached whale.” I actually know this feeling firsthand, and it has nothing to do with the astronomical amount of peppermint bark I ate tonight or the christmas cookie gorge out I had this weekend. This past February I traveled to Hawaii on a solo journey. Partly for my good friend’s wedding and partly to heal a little hole that had been punched out in my heart from a breakup breakdown. I flew to the islands to let them nurture me in their maternal waters and bathe me in their sweet tropical breezes. They did just that, and it was a wholly and holy healing experience. I had never had the pristine honor of swimming with a sea turtle. When friends would mention the experience it would only make me burn with jealousy and annoyance that they had and I hadn’t. My one non-negotiable goal on this trip to Oahu was to swim with a sea turtle. End of story. So I paid my $15 to swim at Haunama Bay and was delighted that there was barely a soul around to interfere with my snorkeling adventures. The park ranger on the cliff top pointed out a tiny puff of water off the edge of the reef below us and said that there was an orphaned humpback whale swimming around by itself. A newborn calf that had most likely been separated from its mother in a recent storm. The maternal fire in me blazed and I had this overwhelming urge to get my ass down there and help that baby whale. I think he saw the look in my eye and warned, “Swimmers are not allowed beyond the edge of the reef. It’s too dangerous out there with tiger sharks.” Hmm. Tiger sharks. Not my favorite. So my visions of cradling a newborn humpback in my arms and whispering comforting words in it’s ear hole were temporarily abated. I switched my attention back to operation sea turtle. Down in the bay, in the actual water, my attitude changed. Suddenly I felt very much alone and longed for the company of some friendly Asian tourists. Heading out into the bay I was literally alone. Not a single other snorkeler to be seen, largely because it was 9am, windy and cold. I shivered from the chill and a spike of fear, but headed off for the edge of the reef, kicking my dorky little flippers and bobbing along over pretty fish and coral. It was beautiful, and perfect and like something out of National Geographic, but I wanted my sea turtle moment.

After about a half an hour, I saw something large and flat up ahead. I followed it and as I drew closer I almost fainted. There it was…..a giant Green Sea Turtle! It was like a floating dinosaur, and it had such personality in it’s eyes. I swam closer to it and it barely cared. I recall the distinct feeling that it reminded me of a little old British man. It gave me this ho-hum look, as if to say in a droll British accent, “Oh, it’s you. Hmm. I suppose you’re going to follow me around and bother me.” Sea turtles have very dry senses of humor. They are somewhat cranky. Like an irritating golden retriever puppy, I followed it through submarine avenues and ally ways. It munched algae as it went, and occasionally looked back in my direction, although generally ignoring my existence. The water grew more and more shallow, but I continued to follow my little British turtle farther and farther across the reef. There was just enough water to float me over the reef layer, but the turtle moved seemlessly across, flying like a glider. The turtle glanced back at me, and I’m pretty sure it winked. If I could have read it’s mind, it would have said, “So long sucka!” for the next moment, the tide slipped away and I found myself beached indeed, atop the coral reef of Haunama Bay. I glanced around me and on all sides the water level had dropped to the exact volume of the reef surface. I sat atop it like a giant whale, unable to move unless I stood up and walked to the edge. Coral is very delicate, and in the Bay it is illegal to harm it in any way. Walking on coral falls into this category. It is also insanely sharp and would have cut my feet to slivers. So I waited. I looked up at the cliffs and noticed the barricade overlooking the water was now teeming with Japanese tourists awaiting their shuttle down to the beach. They all had a front row seat to watch the American flounder in the middle of the reef like an idiot. Every now and again a tiny wave would roll in and I realized that if I timed it appropriately, I could catch it.  Like a walrus maneuvering on dry land, I inched my way across the reef towards the edge. After about an hour of this, I found a crack large enough to slip into. Not knowing where it lead, I decided to give it a shot and jumped in to follow it’s underwater highway. It was narrow and sharp and the surge of the tide knocked me around like a toy. I finally snaked my way through enough to reach open water, from which I could then swim back to shore.

By the time I made it back to the beach I was bloody and bruised to all hell and looked like I had just had the crap kicked out of me. I walked past the extremely attractive, bronze skinned lifeguard and asked him if he had caught any of the action. “Oh yeah I did. My buddies and I saw the whole thing. We were wondering how long it would take you to get off that reef.” Great. I’m happy you enjoyed the show. So I saw my sea turtle. Mission accomplished. And yet again, I learned the valuable lesson of respecting the ocean. Don’t mess with the ocean folks. She’ll kick your ass, and all of her creatures are on the same team in that endeavor. The sea turtle is like her secret agent. Dolphins are her spies, stingrays and jellyfish are her snipers and and sharks are her assassins. But man is she pretty, and every now and again, humans deserve a good ass kicking. We cause a lot of mischief on this planet. That sea turtle beached me as a way to fulfill on a family vendetta. “That’s for my cousin Joey who choked on a plastic bag, thinking it was a jelly fish.” We deserve what we get when we play in the ocean.

Learning Curve

This past week was equal parts awesome, in that I learned quite a lot about myself, other people and how to coexist in harmony on this planet, and equal parts hard as hell and totally humbling. I live in a beautiful home with two really amazing young women. The three of us get along well, laugh a lot and enjoy a nice space that is super artsy and always clean. For all intents and purposes, we make great roommates. This past week however, I came to realize that 3 people living under the same roof are 3 unique personalities thrown together to hash out their differing opinions, values, views, priorities, likes, dislikes and pet peeves. We are 3 different beings, each equipped with our own arsenal of quirks and behaviors. For the most part we coexist in harmony, all doing our own thing, and then little things crop up and have us realize where we differ and clash. These are micro learning opportunities, if embraced and used as such. If resisted, they become baby wars and can escalate into distance, dislike and distrust. I learned this week just how important it is to create a home environment that is built on a foundation of similar values and passions. For me, it’s the environment. Having been steeped in a conservation ethic since childhood, it is now in my blood. It would take a major act of will to NOT live a consciously Green lifestyle. In other words, I’m a complete Earth loving tree hugger and I ain’t turning back.

My roommates, although interested in living lightly on the Earth, do not share my depth of passion for this topic, and I realized clearly that they may never, and that’s okay. People are free to live the lifestyle of their choice and should not be imposed upon by others in a way that is forceful or dominating. This week I learned that to live in peace with other human beings, we have to understand and respect exactly where another person is coming from. We have to literally force ourselves to see and hear them through the static of our own automatic judgements. There is a moment in life with other people where we have the opportunity to make a very critical choice. If you are paying attention, you will see the window of opportunity very clearly and you can then choose to walk one path or the other. Path number one is the path of defending your position against that of another’s. It is a delicious feeling, yet fleeting, like a hit of heroine. The momentary adrenaline cocktail you enjoy is an unfulfilling high and accomplishes nothing. It entrenches you into your little valley and they in theirs. It is the path of war. Path number two is a voluntary surrender to the situation in the name of peace. It is supressing the acidic urge to defend, argue, belittle and fight. It is pausing long enough to seek what will heal this moment. What will bring peace to this life situation. It is the path of love. Sometimes it downright sucks to walk this path. It is like swallowing a bitter pill of humility, knowing that the alternative is instantly gratifying and sticky sweet, like melted candy. But every time I have the awareness to choose love over war, I am grateful, and my life expands a little more. My heart widens to accept more of my own humanity and those around me. This week was challenging. I learned many lessons. The learning curve is steep and sometimes I get tired of the relentless pace with which I am schooled on how to be a better person.

But when I go to bed tonight in my beautiful home, asleep next door to two amazingly unique women, I am happy to walk the path of love, no matter how steep and difficult it is. It’s worth the climb.

Damn!

Is what I yelled at the doctor today when he cut a gigantic frickin chunk of my cervix out during a “Colposcopy” proceedure, which is code for: the entire lower half of your body is about to hurt like hell! I didn’t know what I was getting myself into this afternoon. I knew I had some abnormal tissue down below and that something needed to be done about it, but I had no idea it was going to be an instant pain session. For all you guys out there (who most likely won’t be reading this), you should be stoked you don’t have to deal with this seriously unpleasant business! It just about ruined my day.

When you’re lying there, vulnerable as a newborn to the whims of a doctor who you can’t see, lots of thoughts race through your head. I had no idea what sort of pain to prepare myself for, because I had no idea I was even having the procedure until about 5 minutes beforehand. I tried to be brave, to breathe through it, to think about other stuff, to hold my breath. Anything really.

In that moment, a thought flashed through my head: I’d read in magazines and heard on NPR stories of women who have endured horrible suffering at the hands of men. Gang rape, violation with objects, the infections that ensue afterwards, the contraction of STD’s, how they are forever tainted after their assault as unclean women at no fault of their own. These poor women. Virtually unknown. The Congo, Rwanda, India, Thailand. The back streets of NYC on a dark night. I heard of one story where a Congolese soldier, after having raped a woman, shot a gun off up inside her. She managed to survive, although her life was virtually ruined and her health compromised forever. I tried to think of this woman in that moment. I tried to be brave for her, knowing all the pain that she had experienced and I couldn’t. My own pain was too great.

The difference is that my moment of pain was done in an effort to protect my life and to ensure good health. Hers was not.

Inglourious Basterds

The other day I found out that my astrological rising sign is in Libra, which makes total sense. The defining attribute of a Libra is the possession of an overwhelming sense of fairness. Nothing angers a Libra more than seeing  injustice go uncorrected. Easily upset by cruelty, violence, bloodshed and strife,  Libra is the champion of harmony and equality. I often find myself in visceral turmoil over the history of humanity. The Holocaust makes my stomach churn, as does the Civil War, the inequality of men and women throughout history, the civil rights movement, the Cultural Revolution of China, the murderous reign of Pol Pot in Cambodia, the military regime of Burma, genocide in Rwanda, rape in the Congo, the clear cutting of forests, the illegalization of marijuana, the forbiddance of gay couples the freedom to marry, the extinction of animal species, the mistreatment of animals, child abuse, the exile of the Dalai Lama….the list is long.

Tonight I watched the movie Inglourious Basterds. A good film. Welcome back Quentin Terrantino. This movie had me on the edge and I could have used a little stress ball to squeeze or some Tums, because my stomach was in celtic knots for 2 and a half hours. I had a mild case of anxiety from beginning to end, partly because of the suspense, partly because it ignited in me some deeply rooted desire to fight anyone who attempts to muzzle life and inflict harm. It’s not even conscious for me. Somehow it’s imbedded in my DNA and I like to imagine that the interstellar particles that collided to form my body and spirit 28 years ago were the floating debris that trickled down from whatever galaxy the Libra constellation resides within. To my core, I hate what the Nazis did. It hurts my heart. They are the byproduct of some dark and horrible tunnel humanity stumbled down and got lost in. Throughout the film I wished to have been alive then. To have been a part of the resistance to snuff out their evil. My lineage is German, and there is no way to know how I may have developed, given the circumstances of a life and the argument for nature versus nurture. However, for me, I feel so clearly that had I been alive in the 1940’s in Western Europe, I would have been perfecting the art of conspiring against the Nazi’s. I would have been part of the underground. I would have been an inglourious basterd.

I left the movie wanting to beat the living hell out of some perpetrator of injustice. My hands were shaking. Who knows. If you consider the concept of reincarnation, perhaps I was there. Perhaps I saw the injustice and died trying to right it. Perhaps I  hid a Jewish family under my floorboards or ushered a black family across the Confederate line. Perhaps I marched with Dr. King. Perhaps I stood my ground before a tank in Tiananmen Square. You know what? I fucking did. I was there for all of it and I still am. Whatever it is that courses through my veins, informing my heart of what is right and wrong, it’s been around and it’s gathered momentum.

My heart still beats with equality and harmony and justice and it always will, whether in this lifetime or the next.