So much beauty in the world, candy for the eye and for the heart. Stories and personalities that make us believe in the good or make us want change the bad. Tight buds of hope that will open in their time as sure as leaves fall within us and on the earth. The messy one who aren’t afraid to love, to rage, to let their soul shine for a moment on the face of another, to feel. to cry, to laugh. Love acknowledged but unspoken, seeping in quietly between words and deeds. Friends who accept our dents and bruises and see us clearly, even though we are all more complicated than we seem.
GRATEFUL: For all the places I am not welcome, for the gates and bars and fences I have peered into, and all the longing being an outsider has given me. Out of that pain, I create beauty for my kin. For the rare people in my life who truly know the defects I’m least proud of, who have seen my squishy scarred bits and somehow love me more for the vulnerability. To see a tiny shoot of green, watered with shared blood, tied clumsily to a skinny stick, pruned with love, stretching into a majestic tree. As it should be. For the lesson that home is never be made of mere walls, but a certain cozy peace in the heart. For all the beautiful, messy, half-blind unbelievers who have let me down or broken my heart, teaching me what love is by teaching me what love is not.
“Whoever survives the initiation of the dead receives the most wonderful gift: resurrection. The resurrection is to be like a child – to be wild and free, but with a difference. The difference is that we have freedom with wisdom… instead of innocence.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements
Lately the tragic poet in me has been mourning the way recovered innocence bleeds out with more living. I know it seems backwards when you’re perfectly healthy to seek more cherished hours by staring death in the eye, but how else would we conjure a reawakening? Death is and always will be Life’s dance partner. And the alchemy of Love is as scary as the transformation of Death because we can’t know how it will change us.
Ironically, it was a beautiful, blind, stumbling fool who crushed every knuckle of the tiny fist I did not recognize in my own heart. Only then Love moved through me as a radiant golden beam, quietly splitting palms and chest so wide, I had no choice but to see my own wound at last.
Eventually grief moves beyond ego. Only then do tears become like magical lenses to aid the lonely work of scavenging nutrients for our collective human soul. With no place left to hide my own shadow, maybe now I can finally outgrow the most kickass opiate to soothe and mend hope — irrepressible pure INNOCENCE.
Been grieving hope and stubborn innocence while trying to shake thru a sieve all the impurities and human frailties that muck up Love. Grieving because those two seemingly beautiful qualities have always bubbled up to mend any wound I have ever suffered. Now I see in hope and in innocence there is also a blindspot of denial. Fear is Love’s only enemy.I asked the universe to break my heart so that I could know the pain of too much tenderness, and now I have no fear.
And I intend to move beyond survivor to warrior. I don’t want to Love. I want to be Love.
During art school when I was young, I fried chicken in a country store off an empty stretch of old farm road, serving travelers and the broke down white trash trailers sitting on shoal behind the store.
One day one of the greasy-haired regulars, shuffling slowly toward death in her lumpy Walmart mumu, stood waiting in my lunch line as she often did. For the first time I’d ever seen, she lifted her downcast eyes and looked into my face. She pulled from her bosom a cut scrap of canvas, a painting of nothing but a human nose. But this nose was bathed in the most gorgeous light, proud and humble at the same time, and the brushwork was as sacred as a prayer.
I think she just wanted to find one set of eyes who could see this was not a nose, but her very heart. She told me a thief she once loved stole her spirit, and before she escaped to land here in nowhere, she cut out this piece of her art. Of course I told her she should paint to find her spirit again, but she stuffed the canvas back into her bra and said she would never ever paint again.
In the three minutes we spoke, this woman gave me that. And I gave her chicken.
I walk this earth blissfully unaware in any crowd there could be a bigot who believes I should be beheaded or stoned in the street. Once in a restaurant, a really scary man jumped up, knocked his chair over and said he was too sick to eat. He stood glaring red at me from just a few feet away, huffing and clenching his fists. Simply from the sight of me buttering a piece of bread. Years before I was beaten bloody by the owner of a burger joint and thrown into the muddy street with my clothes torn, cuts on my face and black bruises deepening on my body. The cops got my three bucks back and told me he had the right to refuse service. The place was packed and the assault was witnessed by at least 30 people. I do have a mouth, but I swear that day my mouth was on a french fry and his fists came out of nowhere. That man must be ancient by now, but remembering that day, I still want to drive back down to San Antonio just to pound his fucking face in on behalf of every obvious homo who has been assaulted simply for existing.
Yesterday me and my girls enjoyed dinner at a friend’s apartment and took a dip in the pool. I was carrying babygirl in my arms and the very second I leaned in to kiss her lips, a young mother went ballistic. She screamed that she didn’t “believe” in homosexuality (am I Santa Claus?) and we had no right be around children who don’t need to be exposed to sin. Her fury was so righteous, she could hardly spit her words out, squared off and threatening me with the finger of shame.
My 13 year old kid who takes on such ignorance at her school started yelling that everyone has a right to be who they are. The temper I inherited from my mother ignited like fireworks on the Fourth. I told her she doesn’t know me, and I might be crazy as fuck and might just stomp her fucking ass for speaking to me or my family at all. I think I also told her she should go watch a documentary on the Logo channel. lol A young straight guy approached to calm this woman because she was absolute war mode, but she was still frothing stupid shit like “gay marriage is not legal … not in Texas!” He lost his cool over her utter ignorance and cussed her out too. She ordered all of her children out of the pool so they wouldn’t catch the gay gene. I told her chances are good one of her skinny boys will have a bent wrist. I don’t know how homophobes can exist in this day and not realize queers are designing the clothes they wear, making their tacos with their bare hands, and teaching their children to read.
To comfort ourselves, the group of us tried to joke about it afterwords. The pool rules said no open sores, no diapers, no nasal or ear drainage, but nothing about homos, that kind of thing. But being confronted with out of control violence was shocking and appalling, and truly shadowed a sunny day meant for celebrating our freedom. My babygirl was especially quiet on the ride home. She just came out a year ago and didn’t realize how her Daddy walks in the world.
Just down the road this past pride weekend, a gang of gay-bashing officers tackled patrons in a queer bar Stonewall style and cracked one poor faggot’s skull. They handcuffed 7 for drinking. In a bar. Imagine that.
I gotta get the fuck out of Texas, ya’ll. I’ve been out for more than 30 years, but this old battleship Butch is growing too old for combat.
once a stout and stubborn hero
clutches as if to drown me
I tape my mortal mouth
to silence useless truth
stuff what i knew of love
under calloused floorboards
rug rolled over the body
lay down your arms, warrior
yield your yearning to ghosts
let the hollow take yesterday’s eyes
let eulogy be your lullaby
soon will and flesh loosen
straining grit and marrow
soot of recollection
let bones be seeds of tomorrows
it’s my job to get used to
the grip of phantom heart
the tears in my food
for these too shall pass
so they tell me
rhon drinkwater © 2008, edited 2009
Rut roh. I knew there was gonna be backlash for Sinclair Sexsmith. S/he decided to remove all the transmen because of dissenting comments. What will Sinclair do if some of the Butches transition? Who is going to check i.d.s? Apparently none of these people were contacted about their inclusion. Aside form the usual uproar from those who want to make sure transfolk stay outside of dyke space, some transguys are understandably upset over the appropriation. What a mess.
Our liberties are bound, and tolerance is the key to all our freedoms. TOLERANCE has to start with all of us. Early on with Butch-Femme.com, a large number of the members organized a petition asking me to make the site exclusive only to Butches and Femmes and to kick all the transguys out. Some of those people who signed the petition way back when have since transitioned or gone on to partner with transguys. I’m reading some blogs where Butch Voices is also suffering from such a divide. With my next project, I hope to build a bridge for all my brothers and find out what our differences really are.
We are in a revolution together, people. Open your arms and your eyes.
And also… Joan Jett is an edgy Femme, not a Butch. She told me so herself.
(Then I woke up.)
Court with Christine on Tuesday. I don’t know what she expects to gain further but she’s all revved, sending threats that I won’t know what hit me. The truth is we made a sensible agreement long before we broke up. She reneged on our agreement and packaged a complex lie as a lawsuit. I am not hanging any hope on justice, however. I’m just going to suit up, show up, and tell the truth as I have all along.
SHIT! Just as I was writing that, her attorney called and said Chris wants to ask the judge for anotherrrrrr extension. Apparently she is too ill to fly. The last time she used that excuse, I checked her myspace page and read she was looking for dancing shoes for some hoedown western party. I just checked her page right now and apparently she is throwing a party for Pride this weekend. I hope she isn’t sick, but I really would like to get this shit over with already… Christ, she has been dragging her lawsuit out for almost two years now. She never even shows up for her own continuancy hearings and at this point I think I am better acquainted with her attorney than she is! I already grieved my losses and really want to move on without her hands on my throat. I don’t have anything else for her to take. Seriously.
The price dropped by 20% on that adorable little cottage I fell in love with. I wish like hell I had $37k. M wouldn’t even have to switch schools, and it’s in a really sweet little neighborhood. Lookie.
M is having a pretty good summer. She is in folklorico dance class and a drama troupe. learning guitar from a book I gave her, and studying tarot with me. She reads alot, which is a MIRACLE. The meds have evened out some and I’m really seeing some improvement with her helping me and babygirl out around the house. Since she was so often in charge before her momma died, sometimes she has a hard time understanding that she aint running things. The chubby little girl who came into my life at age 11 is now leaning on 14, so an overcompensated pull toward independence is to be expected. I guess. I just buckle down on RESPECT and don’t tolerate anything less. It’s exhausting sometimes, but my girls are the biggest blessings in my life.
babygirl went back to work today. Yay! Now let’s hope this poor lady she’s caring for lives for more than a month.
Me? I am working on a big site for a writing institute, a site for a chef that’s on hold for the moment, and finishing up a site for a chiropractor friend this weekend. There is a 900 pound box of files I picked up from my old attorney that I need to organize to defend against this lawsuit. Hate that. The judge already said he won’t grant her another extension so hopefully this will be DONE soon.
MIss all my faraway friends. I think I am gonna fly up to California inAugust while M is in camp. Got some flyer miles I need to use!
Sometimes those of us who don’t have a boy outtie get no recognition on this day. With no babygirl this time last year, my friend Anton texted me warm wishes and it meant the world to me. So happy father’s day to all the Dads and Daddies out there in El Jay land!!
Such an enjoyable party last night. There must have been 40-50 people in this big house where I have always felt so welcome, and I was blessed with squishy sincere hugs from almost all of them. I appreciate the sweet handful of internet friends who stayed in my life more than I can say, but I hardly knew a soul in Dallas when C left, so I feel so fortunate to be part of a real time local community now. I’m in the market for a few heart friends, and there are a few receptive special ones I’ve been scouting. I think I might be ready to trust again soon and learn how to be open and roll with the chances that go with that.
My prissy little babygirl was in pure joy mode, which is the most glorious thing when she is free to be her adorable childlike self. I held her in my arms, swirled her around the pool and laughed at all the cuteness that comes out of her pretty little petulant mouth when she feels cherished. Her friend told me, "Dang, babygirl got hotter since she got with you." heheh. It’s true — the little one is glowing. I discreetly dated some very fine Femmes after my divorce, but knew I wasnt ready. I didn’t know I was ready for babygirl either, and kept pushing her away. There was a moment I was telling her goodbye for good, giving her up like a habit for sweets, and I looked at her face and my biggo Daddy belly turned to ice. She felt it too, made a little noise and put her hand there on the cold spot. I was still such a mess, didn’t know if the ice was the warning sign I surely missed last time I opened my heart… or just arctic dread after such a painful unraveling. I’m so glad I didnt lose this girl. So glad.
I am done with trying to convince myself or anyone else that I am a good, caring person. I didn’t steal anything or do anything at all against my wife or my community. This is how irony works so poetically in my life. That my meticulous process of labeling and cataloging my emotions in all this divorce mess has brought me at last to this place where I am unwilling to defend my character any longer. Yet that is exactly the task that is on my calendar for next week: COURT. lol Whatever the outcome, it’s in the hands of a judge so all I gotta do is suit up and show up. I go see legal aid tomorrow morning.
My mom should be here soon. I love her so much, but she is completely disassociative about my traumatic childhood and thus is far too brittle to ever acknowledge any of what I deal with straight on with my eyes wide open. As a means for my own mental health, it’s like I have to take in a gasp of pure oxygen and hold it and just nod until she leaves. She’s the only mom I got, and I have learned the hard way there is no other means to have a small part of her in my life. So a few times a year, I gasp for my aging mother, even if she hardly knows me at all.
With the house all cool and clean again, sheets smelling delicious, I feel like a king in my castle again. I realize there could be more unraveling in store, but I feel so free and so hopeful that I will survive and thrive. I have found my center and am so ready to swing my axe again, to be the solid rock I always was. Not just throw love like confetti in a parade in the way that comes so easily for me, but to be brave enough to allow people to actually love me back in real ways. There is so much work I want to do!! I don’t even know where to start.
Gottta go~~~~~~~~~ peace!!!!
A/C: FIXED!!! Yay.
HOUSE: Disgusting!!! Hasn’t been cleaned all month due to the heat.
MOM: Coming to visit tomorrow. Oh, that is not good news
MEESHA: In her room howling because she aint done yet testing the posted rules.
COURT: in nine days
WORK; all behind cuz I been holed up in my room with the window unit and away from my desk and all the content I was waiting on from clients came all at once
BIG PARTY: Tonight at my bud’s house… so need some social time!
BABYGIRL: On some new job leads
ME: Frazzled and trying to hit the high notes in my inbox but making a huge realization this morning that puts so much in prospective
MY SWEET FRIENDS: the best
I thought it was cool the two pigeons living atop the old brick column on my balcony didn’t fly off when we moved in. They stare at us as much as we stare at them.
I thought it was fascinating drama when the male picked a new mate, and the old wife stood on the railing, pleading with her wings spread and her mouth open as the other bitch moved in with her man.
My kid Meesha thought we had National Geographic right on our own balcony when they laid eggs. And more eggs. And now we have too many pigeons. And there is shit everywhere.
But survival of the fittest has its purpose. Two or three scattered twigs on my porch rug do not a nest make. So babygirl’s little pink dog ate one egg. One dumb one hatched and went to live under the bench by the front door cuz he ain’t got no idea what an actual nest is, and another dizzy one looks quite silly clutching to swaying wind chimes and eyeballing me sideways.
Now there is another bald little hatchling on the rug under my chair. Lil booger is so pitiful with his little bump of wing and bulgy eyes. I just asked babygirl what this new one’s name is, but she says he aint told her yet.
He’ll be shitting all over my BBQ grill soon.