At the salsa club

I see
the way you stare at me from
behind your wife's shoulder.

Such a pretty shoulder, so smooth
under the pink shirt she must have
bought to please you,
straps falling down to her mid-arms
as she leans in to kiss you.

Still, you look at me, even though her
luscious lips caress your chin.

What is it about me that makes you
look so intently?
What could possibly entrance your coffee-brown
eyes so much that
you must watch me dance?

One, two, three, four,
twirling, grinding, stepping to the music,
my hips in the hands of men we both call
friends.
Hair pasted to my sweaty face, arms entwined with a partner's,
feet speaking a languange that matches the
pulsing of the music,
hips speaking words I cannot say
yet feel racing through my veins.

I dip, my back arches to the ceiling, my hair
reaches for the floor,
legs wrapped around his waist,
and I see your eyes...

only your coffee eyes.

I do not hear the applause, do not taste
the cranberry and vodka placed in my hands...
I see only your smile.

I see her smile.

While you watch me because you want me,
I watch you
because I miss what you have sitting beside you.

Love.

She loves you, she bears your children,
presses her hips against you while you drift to sleep.
She wears clothes to please you, smiles at the words you
whisper into her ear.
She lives for you, can't you see that? She lives for your
kindness.

I would never be so attentive, because all I would take from
you
would be the color of your eyes, the
brightness of your smile. I would
paste them on my ceiling to remind me when I awake
that there is still desire,
there is such a thing as chemistry,
and to prove that

I am worth something more.

I deserve honest eyes, looking down into my own...
never from behind another woman's shoulder.

Finals: Two Down, One to Go!

I love the hustle and bustle of finals week! The frantic typing of students in the library, attempting to finish up those last -minutes essays, the spanish club practicing in the cafeteria, the teachers walking around with arms full of binders and books; all this screams THE END OF TERM IS HERE! By Friday, we will be free!

I had two finals today- WR 121 and Women's Studies. I did very well on both, I must say, despite being nervous to give my Feminist Action presentation.

Now comes the dreaded math final. Wish me luck!

The Pursuit of Passion

As a child, one is told "you should follow your passions, follow your dreams".

That is all and well, if you know what makes you passionate, if you know what your dreams are! I can't claim to know that one certain thing that makes me tick, that I live to die for; there are too many things that I am passionate about.
Let me list them, since I love to make lists:

-Dancing. I hear music, and it makes me want to dance, to express the sensuality of who I am.

-Reading. I pick up a book, and I fall in love with every word, every paragraph, every page.

-Sitting still. Watching the world dance around me in slow motion.

-Being outdoors. Going into the forest and loosing the hum of humanity, the bustle of thoughts. In nature one can commune with God and discover the answers within.

-Writing from my heart.

-Singing.

-Adventuring.



Let me also compile a list for you of what I am not passionate about:

-School. I cannot force myself to think like I am expected to think. As such, I am not doing my best in school... or, rather, I am... they just don't grade you for your true best work.

-Conformity.

-Leading a boring life.

-White picket fences.

-Conventionalism.

-Religious morality. Like my personal guru Ralph Waldo Emerson, I create my own morals. (Read his essay "Self Reliance" if this train of thought interests you)


As you might have gathered, my passions and my dislikes colide. This is making it very difficult to choose a major in school. Now that I am recieving financial aid, I am forced to make a decision; not right away, of course, but I should figure it out before too much time and money goes by. Choices, choices, choices! What's a girl to do?

I long to be a true gypsy, to travel, to write, to learn, to explore; and I can even do this in my own backyard! Yet the pressure is fierce from society to "make something of myself".

(Argh, in the most deep of piratey voices!)

Why can't I just live one day at a time? Why can't I pursue that which I most love, without having to get a degree and pay off school till I'm in my thirties? Why can't I dance, or sing, or just play? Why can't I write poetry about my past and whom I love, about the way the wind sings in my bones?
The reality is that I can. From the safe confines of my secure home, purchased with money earned from a "good"job, which was procurred by a degree after slaving through college and adhering to patterns of though which I do not endorse( except with the money they take from my pocket for classes that are required for my degree. Chemistry to be a early childhood educator? Really?).

Oh yes, we must pursue our dreams; we must live our passions.

For what purpose?

Cheers! to a new adventure!

The past few months I have increasingly awakened to the lack of frugality in my life, which is not suprsing, seeing as how I come from a poor background. Raised on Salvation Army 5 dollar "stuff-a-bag" sales, periods of foodstamp use, and the phrase "we can afford it when the financial aid check comes", I think I represent what can happen when someone from a low-income family earns a steady paycheck. In my case, the dreaded monster Compulsive Shopper mated with that devil called Must Have Nice Things, and subsequently produced a bad habbit called Wastefulness. Its a rebound, a cringing away from previous poverty that society looks down upon. In this materialistic society, having alot of really nice things is one way to prove that you are better than society first suspected.

Of course, nothing is wrong with having nice things; however, I cannot help but to feel that having too many nice things is over-indulgent and wasteful, particularily when they cost an arm and a leg.

So in the spirit of creating change and knowledge, I have decided to live frugally for a year.

How do I propose to do this? By returning to the tricks every person raised in a low-income or impoverished family knows:

(The list is quite extensive, so I listed my personal favorites.)

*Bookswaps.

*By shopping at Goodwill or any thrift store, one can build a decent and stylish wardrobe for a steal. I can't remember how many times I found American Eagle hoodies, Banana Republic sweaters and Paris Blue jeans for less than 10 dollars at a secondhand store.

*Public transit saves alot on gas... but so does riding a bike. It also saves you money.

*Coupons, coupons, coupons!

*Cooking your own food curbs your spending and eating habbits.

*Rice. Its cheap, easy, and delicious.

and etc...

Over the next year, I plan on living as frugally as possible and proving to myself that living in a materialistic society does not mean I have to partake in those values. I also want to prove, at least to myself, that frugality could be a key to rebelling against our capitalist economy.

Any suggestions? Hints?

Saying an Overdue Goodbye

I don't recall the exact moment in time when I first
loved you
and where my body ended and yours began,
tangle of limbs,
tangle of hair.

My life revealed itself in your hands, the
thread trailing taunt from your fingers
and I couldn't help but to follow the bright colors
and the shape of your eyes in the afternoon sun.

The line has become slack,
and I can't seem to find my way without it;
everything I did was never for me,
only for you and us.
I don't know how to find my way without you singing
it in my ear,
singing lyrics from your favorite songs as if
they held clues about our existence.

Forgive me for clinging to your memory,
for thinking of you when I am alone,
for missing your touch.
You were the only one for me.

The little laws that bind us, can Set us Free.

Here is a secret;

our lives are ruled by signs
amd shaped by silent laws.

"Reserved Parking" when translated
becomes "You are not Important".

A stop sign, because it is red,
makes you waste gas at 2:00 a.m.
idling your engine while looking
for cars that aren't there.

Here's another secret;
when you know the rules
you can begin to break the rules.

A water bottle snuck into a theatre.
Walking down a train track at night.
Picking a flower from a neighbor's lawn.
Parking in a grocery store lot and

hoofing it to your job a mile away.

Suddenly fences will appear friendlier,
begging you to climb them.

A time of Change

A few nights ago I had a very intense and strange dream. I remembered it upon waking, which hasn't been the case in awhile, so I wrote it down. I gave it a couple days to sink in before looking up the meanings of different symbolic events in this dream. What I found was no suprise to me, but confirmation that my life is changing.Here is the dream and the interpretations I pieced together.

Dream : the births
In this dream, I discovered I was pregnant with a monster. This monster was eating me from the inside out and I was loosing massive amounts of blood. In the next scene I remember, I was giving birth in a field, and I was consumed with fear that I would be taken by this monster when it emerged. The wind was blowing through my hair and the long grass as I struggled to fight this creature. I was finally delivered of the monster and as soon as it reached the ground it turned into a beautiful, joyful girl child, and I was overcome with love.
In the same dream I gave birth yet again, this time more at peace with the monster in my belly. it was born surrounded by water, for I stood waist deep in beautiful clear ocean water and the sweet salty breeze vividly caressed my face and long blond hair.

The interpretation as I saw it/discovered, using the major key words:Giving birth to a monster implies that my inner creative energy has yet to differentiate itself and grow into expression. I may have hesitations (which I do) for releasing this "monster" for fear that others will judge or will not accept my ideals. It shows that I have growth ahead of me, ideas and feelings that have been repressed too long will emerge from me, changing my views and ultimately, me. In struggling to give birth to this monster, I am fighting to keep myself contained in the box I have made for myself. The blood symbolizes how I am draining myself by trying to contain my true self is this box. The field I stand in during the birth represents a time of growth and change. The joyful child represents the me set free and nurtured.and the second part of the dream;"To see water in your dream, symbolizes your unconscious and your emotional state of mind. Water is the living essence of the psyche and the flow of life energy. It is also symbolic of spirituality, knowledge, healing and refreshment. If the water is calm, clear, then it signifies that you are in tune with your spirituality. It denotes serenity, peace of mind, and rejuvenation." - dreammoods.com
By standing in the clear water to give birth, I am freely releasing the creativity within me, letting go of the damage that I have repressed. The wind symbolizes that I have made a change, that I am becoming re-vitalized and energized spiritually; that it touches my face shows that I have become ok with presenting my true self to the world. The blonde hair implies that I need am relaxing and enjoying life a little more.
I think that the first birth is representing the state I am in now, that the second, the state I could come to, if I continue the same direction and stay strong. This is a time of personal growth for me, and I have indeed felt that change coming. When it happens, it will be a true enlightenment! So I pray that I can stay strong in the months to come; I know instinctively that this is something that will not happen overnight. It is a process of learning.

Nostalgia #2

I am.

Lonely.
I miss the stars above our heads as we dance beside your car, the pale lights reflecting off the river.
Wine.

in your hands I was putty,
I was beautiful.

(wine in a bottle, in your hands, in my pocket,
on our lips)

Red. You loved when i wore red,
loved my red hair,
so I wore red every time we were together,
just to please you, to hear you admire me.
These days red makes me sad, and I only wear
red when I miss you most.

stars.
"you were born on that star", you said,
" and you are lonely, waiting for someone to find
your star".

He found it, dancing in a crowded room,
his hands on my waist,
our faces flushed,
circling around and around...

dizzy. With you.
your lips on mine made me dizzy, but then again,
so did every touch, every breeze that brought your scent;
Sandalwood. Tea. Coffee. Shampoo. hemp.

I miss that scent.

Sitting here with a bottle of wine in front of me,
I wonder where you are,
who you love.
Will I see you again? Will we dance together under the stars,
run to the river in our underwear,
eat avocado off my flat stomach,
swing in the hammock at your parent's house?

Nostalgia

Here are the little things that touch my soul;
a letter from a good friend,
a heart shaped stone polished to a glassy glow,
whispers in the wind.

Here is the street corner where we spoke
on a windy fall day,
when your eyes spoke to me of music,
of laughter and tears, of touches yet received.

Here is the sweater you wore, black now faded to grey.
Holding it in my hands, I can still see it draping your graceful
frame,
see the way it lies in my hands as if still waiting for you.

I am.

Here are the memories I hold dear;
the scent of my newborn brother,
fall leaves lazily drifting to the ground,
the first time lips touch lips tenderly, gently, lovingly.

My body aches to be held again, with hands that
love, hands that know the softness of skin,
hands that memorize each slope and curve and
trace them as if they were the only curves touched

in the history of hands touching.

A Curious Thing, this Thing called Heart.

Here within my heart a disturbance.

And in my head a voice that gently whispers

of things yet to be spoken, of feelings yet discovered.

My heart is a fragile thing,

tender and sheltered behind walls that have been

built brick by brick, with hands that were unkind.

You could break thru those walls, I think,

but how will we ever know?

The lines between you and I are drawn,

but the artist had shaky hands

and the lines twisted off into patterns

that fail to be understood.

There the last of my resolve stands;

with hopeful eyes and arms full with soft child.

A question lingers on the air...

what do you see when you look

at me?

Today is Sunday, and being a "day of rest", I have a few heartaches I'd like to lay to rest. The first of these is my complete and utter view of being a victim in my life; ie. blaming my parents for my shitty life, blaming my ex for being the reason we didn't work out, basically blaming everyone and everything for my sorry existence without acknowledging the real author of my problems. Myself.
I have shied away from the truth for too long; that because of my own choices in life, I am where I am today. It is my own fault that I'm not graduated from college, let alone high school. It is my fault that I am not making use of my obvious gifts and talents.
While circumstances have some small role to play, it is for the most part a life of my own choosing. And what, you might ask, is the choice I made that has created this? It is the choice of Not Trying Harder. The choice of Not Pushing Myself to succeed. The choice of Not Believing I Can.
The choice of not hearing God's promise to keep me in all things if I leave them in his hands.

The second thing I'd like to lay to rest is my fear. I have lived in fear my entire life; fear of others, fear of danger, fear of not being good enough. I cannot live like this anymore, and I won't let myself. Fear makes me weak, renders me unable to follow my calling. Fear keeps me from having fun.

Thirdly, I rest my insecurities. Too long have I grieved over my feelings of self-worthlessness, of seeing myself as not being worthy in a world that values the material and appearances over the matters of the human heart and soul.

Instead of telling myself "You CAN'T", my motto and daily words are becoming " Through God's grace, you CAN". Perseverance is the only way to really live. The only way to heal and give back to those that love me is to continue to push myself every day, towards whatever calling I may have, and to stop wallowing in my grief. What's done is done. I cannot undo my dubious past couple years, but I can move forward and live a better present, one day at a time.

My roommate and I went to service this morning, at a Presbyterian church within a twenty minute walk of where we live. I loved it! I was nervous going, because I have so many problems with religion, and with people that 'act' out those religions instead of just going to God. I have issues with people that look down on anyone that walks into their church not clothed 'properly'. I have issues with churches that preach sermons that made you feel as if they are trying to sell their church to you and empty your pocket to serve their purposes. This little quaint church was nothing of the sort; indeed, we felt very welcomed in a genuine way by the 15 or so elderly people that were there. The pastor was down to earth and had some very interesting things to say, which he said in a clear and concise way.
I love the old style church services, with the old hymns and the congregation responses. It reminds me of the the church I grew up in. While the new age churches are all and well for people that are not yet comfortable with the traditions older churches hold to, I am one of the rare people of my generation that actually craves it. No rock music in church for me, please! I love the simple, elegant hymns that speak volumes in minor keys. Poignant is my favorite word, and such services are that for me. They bring my to the reality of my humanity, to the sobering memory of my Lord's sacrifice for my sins. I love the old churches that have seen generations of joy and tears pass from childhood to adulthood to death. When you walk into these places, they truly feel holy, not just because the Lord is there with you, but because the spirit of love resides in that place.

Night in Portland

Broadway at night,
the bums rise from their dusty stoops,
rise from the humble collection of bags
and blankets ,
to ask for change.

If we had had a dollar,
my friend and I,we would give it to you.

Who has a dollar to spare for your
addictions and hunger,
when they can barely afford their own?
This city is rich in loneliness,
in drunken kisses.
We feed off the legs of strippers,
drink in the neon lights.
We empty our pockets for liquor
to help us forget
(maybe forever)
that we are mortal...

And only God keeps us from being the
dark shadows on the sidewalks.

Summertime in Portland is amazing. And its even more amazing when shared with good friends! My dear friend Evylyn, whom I've known since we were giddy drama queens in Summer Youth Theatre '04, came up from Eugene for the weekend with her new boyfriend Peter. He is a very nice guy, and they are utterly in love. (its cute, and I am so happy for her!) They met me after I got off work downtown, and we ventured over to Voo Doo for some doughnuts and managed to leave with entirely too many of them, joining the ranks of tourists and drunk bar-hoppers carrying large and awkward pink boxes stuffed to the brim with gooey goodness!
We took said box to my house, and sat around my room consuming them with glasses of wine and beer. And thanks to Peter's guitar- background music skills, we had some fun and almost hysterical conversations late in to the night, which my amazing roommate joined in on. Guitar music played softly in the background makes any conversation feel important and that much cooler!
Today, after a somewhat refreshing sleep, we woke bright and early to make breakfast before heading out and about. Once downtown, we met up with a friend of Peter's at Powell's City of Books (my favorite place in Portland!) and quite literally spent three hours purusing the shelves. We left Powell's with some great finds for cheap prices, and headed across the street to Rocco's, a cheap pizzeria. They have delicious pizza! For 4 dollars, you can get a huge slice of cheese pizza and a soda, and it fills you up!
After Rocco's we went to the waterfront park to read our new books and lounge in the sun for a hour or so, then it was off to Saturday Market to do some shopping! I purchased a very awesome pastel pink/blue beanie that will be perfect for fall. I did wear it all afternoon though, since it is just too cute to not wear. Saturday Market is a GREAT place to people watch as well, and we spent some time watching two guys playing funky beats on plastic buckets. They were very talented. We danced. It was awesome.









Continuing the fun, we made a stop at Keller Fountain, to play in the water. Peter's friend, Kurt, and I climbed a set of stairs set in the fountain, getting entirely soaked in the process. So for the remainder of the evening, which ended at Denny's for dinner, we had to walk around in wet jeans. NOT FUN when its getting cold outside.














Sadly, as most fun days/weekends must, we had to part ways after dinner, Evylyn and Peter going back to Eugene, Kirt to his house, and me to mine. It was so great to see them, short lived as it was! I never realize how boring my life is, how routine I am, till my friends come to rouse me out for adventures!
So thanks to them!
And thank you Portland, for being so weird and so ripe for adventure!

This Town

Even the grass has eyes
that follow your steps down the walk,
analyzing every rise and fall of

your breath,

in this town.
The sun rises with a sigh,
sets with a cry and tears.
The buildings cast gloomy shadows
and the streets grin with memories

you wanted to forget.

In this town
the breeze passes through in a hurry,
barely pausing in the heat
to touch heart sore souls, to
ease the melancholy of routine

faces and sounds.

In this town
I walk with my hands in my pocket,
face towards the ground.
I cling to everything I've learned,
waiting for the snow
or some familiar feeling of deja vu
to remind me that I am

not lost.
In this town,

I do not exist.
You do not exist-
there is only the grass and the occasional star.





**Inspired by La Grande, OR

Movie Marathon Gone Horribly Wrong! :p

Today was quite the eventful one! After taking an extra shift at the bakery on my day off, I wandered around North Portland, exploring the neighborhoods surrounding my home. I have known for several weeks that there is a park near our school campus, called Peninsula Park, and that it has a large fountain and rose garden. Never having visited this park, I found myself meandering in that general direction with the purpose of seeing said roses and cooling off in the fountain. I discovered from a sign posted in the park, that there are about 1000 rose bushes planted in this garden, and many different varieties. Let me tell you; the scent in that park was simply delicious! The garden is very beautiful, laid out in green grass paths around the rose beds, and the fountain in the center. I sat by the fountain, and even waded in it, for quite some time before heading home. It was very refreshing!

Then it was off to the casa!

I have two housemates, Tiffany and Kim. Tiffany is a year younger than I, but in many ways much wiser than her age would suggest. She is my partner in crime, my little sister, and one of the most loving people I've met. Kim is our landlady and owner of the dogs and cat that bring us much entertainment, and is very friendly and easy to get along with. Together the three of us have a happy little household that stays surprisingly clean and drama-free.

Tonight Tiff and I decided to have a 'Pirates of the Caribean' movie marathon. We purchased ice cream and candy yesterday, and had anticipated this 6 hour event all day! However, it turned out quite diferently than we had originally planned on! Prior to starting our movies, we decided to take the dogs out for a walk, as they seemed to need some time outside, suggested by pacing and staring at the door. Normally our walks with the dogs are quite calm and they behave very well, but for some reason we had trouble getting Berkeley, the female and younger dog, to walk along with us. She insisted on chomping down any grass within her reach, eating it in a frenzy, reminding me of a hungry sheep. We figured that she must be having digestion problems and left it at that. Once at home, we got ready with out bowls of ice cream, piles of blankets and pillows (OK, it was me with the piles of blankets!) and began our marathon. That is when the trouble started! Halfway into the first movie, the disk began to skip, and we discovered that it was covered in scratches! Same with the second movie! And during this frustrating time, Berkeley began having stomach problems and ended up vomiting all that grass up on the dining room rug. Needless to say, but I will regardless, it was quite frustrating!

And yet I was somehow entertained by it all and at the same time felt very concerned for poor Berkeley with her stomach problems.

Lessons learned today?
-There is beauty waiting around every corner, if you learn to see it.
-When you borrow movies from a library, check the disks before planning a movie marathon.
-Dogs have stomach aches too!

With that, I close this post!

peace and love!

The Mother.

It was simply the way she moved,
her hips sauntering forward
followed by legs so smooth and lean,
one arm gracefully floating by her side,
the other playing with the flower in her hair;

her movement suggested that there was no sin
in being a woman.

And then she looked up at me,
and in her eyes I could see a mother,
confirmed by the slope of the belly, the
way her body seemed to glow with golden light,
the worn out veins showing through her sandals.

How sacred, this mother,
how holy this woman with her hips and her eyes.

The church killed Mary with solemn paintings
of a woman shrouded and silent;
This woman walks like being a woman is the
greatest pleasure in life.
Her sensuality invites, teases and delights
the deep emptiness of my soul.

Then she clasps her hands around that slight belly
and says "child of mine, how I love you",
a tear drops from her eye, travels the length of rough cheek;
"child, ain't no greater pain than this love of mine".