Teeny Tiny Resistance

Okay.

It’s happened.  It’s happening.

What do we do now?

We do what we can in the place that we are with the things we have.

Guard your heart and keep a safe space for what you know to be true and I promise you that your teeny tiny act of resistance will help.

I’ve been battling with this guilt that I haven’t attended a march or demonstration or burnt any pictures or gone on a rant on live television.  I WANT to do those things.  I just can’t.

Not every woman can attend a march.  Some of us have kids that need babysitters and that requires money that we can’t spend.  Some of us have jobs that won’t allow time off and we just can’t gamble it.  Some women don’t have reliable transportation to get a march.  Some may not be living in a situation in which they feel safe to express their dissent.

And all of that is ok.  It’s ok NOT to march.  It’s ok to be too scared to march.  I’m scared too.

Teeny tiny acts of resistance are fine, and for some of us it is all we can do.

If the ONLY thing you can do is smile and be kind to a woman wearing a hijab, that’s enough.  Believe me, she will notice.  If all you can do is talk to your children about the importance of love and equality, great.  And even if you don’t feel safe enough to do anything but resist in your heart, then do it.

Guard your heart and keep a safe space for what you know to be true and I promise you that your teeny tiny act of resistance will help.

Stay wild.

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Have I Been Missing Something?

I never envisioned my blog being even remotely political.  Then Tuesday November 8th happened, and now the months to come are all I can think about.

The president-elect won 47.2% of the popular votes.  47.2% of voters who chose to participate in the election chose to cast their presidential vote for Trump.

Have I been missing something?

47.2% of Americans feel that they have been so underserved, they feel so disenfranchised, they are so desperate for change, that they were willing to vote for a racist, sexist, small minded bigot.  There is no other way to spin it.  That is what happened.

The Moon Child in me says “How could I have missed this story line?  Who have I been overlooking?  How could I have been so blind as to not believe that MILLIONS of people would vote as they did?”  The Moon Child in me suggests “Let’s try to understand what type of pain would lead a person to vote for someone like Trump.  Surely there is some explanation as to why a person would choose this man to lead our country.”  My Moon Child wants to reach out and offer help to people who are so desperately seeking a different life that they would vote for a man like Donald Trump.

Unfortunately, my beloved Moon Child may be wrong. Maybe all those people who voted for Trump are racist.  Maybe they are small minded.  Maybe they are bigots.  Maybe now the Universe is forcing me to look my naivety in the face.  Now the Universe is forcing me to put my money where my mouth has been all of these years.

After the Pulse Night Club shooting in Orlando Bob the Drag Queen tweeted, “Not living in fear is a form of activism.”  Being the comfy unchallenged liberal that I am and living the comfy liberal Chicago city life that I do I posted Bob’s tweet to my Facebook page, never imagining that we would be here today.  Living in fear is a thing of the past.  Period.  I am not afraid to stand up to the people who chose to vote for our president-elect.  (Have you noticed my discomfort with typing his name?)

I have heard the argument “Well, not EVERYONE who voted for him is racist.  Not EVERYONE who voted for him is sexist.”  Okay, fine, maybe not.  But if you chose to overlook those qualities in a man and vote for him anyways you are supporting his racist behavior and therefore you are participating in it.

The Universe has put us in this place, right now, and is waiting for us to follow what we know to be true and stand firm on our knowledge that what has happened is wrong.  And I’m not going to lie, I’m scared shitless and confused and sad, but I also know that I am living at this exact time for a reason.

Don’t let the Universe down.

Stay wild.

Mourning My Words

“Words – so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of someone who knows how to combine them.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

It’s time to write.  I feel obligated to write about what EVERYONE is writing about.  The new president of the United States of America.

The puzzling part is that, for one of the first times in my life, I have no idea what words to say.  I am clueless as to how to express my feelings in a way that conveys their gravity.

Please understand that I have spent my entire life being told that I talk too much.  “Gayle, stop talking.  Gayle, take a breath.  Gayle, I stopped listening.”  To find myself in my current predicament, being unable to find a way to put words to my feelings, is unsettling and foreign.

The best thing I can come up with to say is that I am in mourning.  I am mourning a loss.

What am I mourning exactly?  I wish I had the answer to that question.  Yet, somehow, whatever it is that I have found myself in mourning for, I somehow knew that it was on the verge of its death.  Whatever it is.  As I was walking out of my polling place I could feel it starting, down in my gut, and I was aware that it was preparing to erupt.  And as I got closer and closer to my car in the parking lot the grief neared the surface.  I could feel it.  I didn’t try to fight it, I wanted to know what was coming.  When I sat down in the driver’s seat it became obvious to me that this unnamed grief was going to breach the surface.  And, finally, after I closed my car door, the tears came.

It was a soft sincere sadness and it was not loud and it was not violent.  I was succumbing to the reality of what was coming.  A loss was coming and I could feel it and the tears were my way of preparing for the period of mourning.  The real tears came the next morning.  Mourning.

What else is there to say?

I don’t know.

However, I do know that words are powerful and words carry energy and words are things.  I know that I need to weigh very carefully how I use my words now; to many people who are about lose a multitude of things, words are about all they will have left.  I am now focused on conserving words, to make sure I use them perfectly.  To make sure I use them properly. To make sure I find a way to use them to bring comfort, and make sense, and multiply good, and promote peace.

But I don’t know what to say.

Sexy Spirituality

“Ya know, that’s not very nice.”

I don’t think that’s what my date had expected me to say.  But when he began raking his ex over the coals for some of her personality traits I just had to say it.  I had to tell him, “Ya know, that’s not very nice.”  You see, it’s just not my style to speak ill of someone behind their back.  Do I ever talk about people?  Of course.  But I try really REALLY hard to make sure my opinions are fair and that I’m only saying what really needs to be said.  If it isn’t necessary for me to spend energy on, if no good will come from my negative comments, I weigh carefully if the words are worth speaking at all.  Not because I am too good to gossip, or because I am some snooty-better-than-thou moral purist, but because I know that it simply isn’t nice or necessary or healthy to speak negatively every time the opportunity arises.

 

It’s safe to say that dating had some awkward moments for me.  I was called “innocent”, and “childlike”, and “unique”, and got some odd looks from across the table at bars.  Some men were curious.  Some men questioned me.  Some men even challenged me (which I rather enjoyed).  Honestly, it struck me that I was seen as odd by these men because I openly talked about being committed to choosing happiness, and being the best human I can possibly be, and honoring my energy, and being honest.

I came out of the gate asking my dates how attached they are to their cell phones, how often they speak to their family, if they read.  Not so I could judge them, but so I could gauge if I was even remotely interested in spending more time with this person.  Compatibility is real.  The cell phone question was always a doozy.  I love my iPhone, I love it.  But let’s be honest, some people’s relationship to their phone is unhealthy.  It’s borderline obsession.  I personally am not interested in competing with an electronic device for my partner’s attention.  So I probed the subject on first dates.  Is that REALLY that odd?

As I reflect on my experiences dating while trying to be as spiritually healthy and as true to myself as possible I’m not exactly sure which part of the equation made so many men uncomfortable.  Was it odd that I was open about my journey and my love for growing in happiness?  Or was it odd that a woman was sure of herself and sure of what she wants from a partner?  Was it strange that on a first date I was willing to ask these questions, that I was seeking to protect my energy?  I leave that to you to decide, but I am almost positive that it was a combination of all three.

All of this led me to ask myself how we as people have ended up in a place where being emotionally open and honest and sensitive has become seen as strange.  Seen as different.  Odd.  Confusing.  Unique.  Don’t take me wrong.  None of these men were outright rude to me, but their expressions said enough for me to know very clearly that I was throwing them a curve ball.  I could feel “WHO THE HELL IS THIS CHICK?!” radiating off of them.  And I truly did not care.  Because I am protective of my space and my energy; and while I love every human as best I can, I want to save the role of my partner for someone who I trust and am truly compatible with.

My concern is not being sexy, it is being healthy.

I realized that while my questions regarding spirituality and life style weren’t sexy, they were necessary.  And my concern is not being sexy, it is being healthy.  So I continued asking my questions and sharing my views and letting my inner Moon Child shine because I refused to believe that my story was anywhere near over.  Love was out there and the Universe was working to place me in the right place.  I knew that I would get there, to the right place, as long as I remained true to the woman who the Universe has made me to be.  And then, months later, I met my Love.  And he didn’t think my questions were weird at all.

Stay wild.