She decided to take her place, because it was hers to take and everyplace else was just too expensive.

She had lived the life of essence. She had seen the potential in things that no one else saw. Everybody else, when Jason entered into their lives- either by phone, computer or coincidence, found a reason to turn the corner, get off the phone or hid behind the potential of e-mail being lost. Everybody knew he was a hot mess, but she knew that hot messes can sometimes be food. Everybody knew what he was, but she saw God and that was her strength and her weakness.

Can you institutionalize the heart? Does something get lost in translation? I want to know why your cage, bothers me so? I hear my voice singing, “Set God free, set God free” and when I clash against what is, because I know what can be, I hear a voice deep inside, say, “I am full, set yourself free.” Then I know inner peace is acceptance of the circumstance and my creativity.

The flower that grows from this wound, I bless, all the petals, somehow made beautiful as it opens to the sun.

When the voice of a loved one came and cut me down, I thought of the corn fields of my home. I could see them, waving in the wind and glistening in the sun. I could see the rows and rows of corn that blurred as we drove down country roads. I knew the difference between sweet and cow corn, but sometimes when there was no money, cow corn and a lot of butter would do. We picked the corn with respect, because this was the source of nourishment for some and income for others. As I attended to my wound, I thought of corn. The corn knew our gentle hands, but the corn also knew the sickle, the stomping foot of indiscriminating children, the teeth of a cow that escaped into their presence, but what about the random car swerving into the them as a result of drunken rage, insecurity or self-denial? The corn had known it all and so had I.

Does the movie screen have any value outside of being a source for projection? Was she born a movie screen that people could project all of what they hated about themselves onto her? She knew better than to try to figure it all out. She knew that the projection could be the source of healing, but- in that moment-it hurt her nonetheless. All she had wanted was to be held in her own tenderness, while she embraced theirs.

What do you do in the face of ignorance? I do not know. They circled around and around with signs and amplifying their hate and narrow definitions of love. Love had a form, a shape and a vow steeped in a puritan tradition. Someone walked by and said, “Stop the hate, man”, but he kept throwing his words. As if love taking some other shape or form lessened his notions of love. His love was caged and mine was free, but that was not what hurt me. What hurt me was the face of his ignorance looked like mine.

I reacted. I knew better. My words reached out like the wild arms of a child feeling powerless against a bully. Yet every fist word I threw, I felt until he stopped amplifying his hate and I stopped throwing my defenses and we stared at each other in silence. I wonder if I looked as hurt as he did?

Finally, he turned away from me and kept walking in his closed circle. I stared off in the distance until a realization came and kicked me in the stomach. The perfectly manicured finger nails, the perfectly curled hair and the clothing he wore. Why didn’t I see it? He felt powerless too. While I fought his homophobic words, he was fighting who he was. The words escaped from my mouth and I said, “Oh, he’s gay.” A black woman sitting next to me said, “What?” I said, “He is a closeted gay, projecting his own self-hatred onto others.” She nodded and said, “That makes sense.”   I was not sure if it did or not.

I notice her as I am crossing the park. It is a park that is filled with homeless people. A safe place for them to be, a place designed for them to be, a place that is for the people and is named in recognition of that truth. I scan the grass, watching the dogs and the people laying on the ground.

Sometimes, I hear singing and I know that the Christians have come with food and religion. I see the mixture of Doritos, coke, chocolate and Jesus and think about alchemy.

I am walking across and a man calls out to me, “Good morning!” I wave back to him and understood the need to be seen. I walk by a matted haired white woman, lost in folds of clothes covered in dirt. I breeze past her, taking in the landscape of homeless whose stories are too numerous to know in this moment. I wonder about all the choices, the histories, the herstories and the moments that lead to her sitting cross-legged on the ground.  She calls out to me, “You look beautiful!” I am caught off guard and fall into a laugh and thank her.

I am walking home at night after a very long day, feeling grateful in my heart. From the dark, under a tree, I hear someone yell to me, “Hellooooo beautiful!” Even in the moonlight, I can see her matted hair. I yell back, “Hello there sweetheart!” She yells to me, “I love you!”  The words are so authentic, they cut past space and time and land right in my heart. Then I hear two men echo her, “We love you!” I stumble in words and body and yell to her, “Thank you and I love you!” I hope she knows I mean it.

She is sandwiched between two men and one of them yells to me, “We mean it!” She turns to one of the two men sitting next to her and says, “I just think she is so beautiful.” Another man says, “Yeah, she is a Goddess.”  She laughs in agreement.

As I reach my home, my only prayer is to see her again, so that I can tell her that it takes one Goddess to know another.

I had gotten on the bus when I saw her with all of her Whole Foods bags. The bus driver was having technical trouble with the bus and he could not manage to close the door, so that we could move on. I was needing to get to work and as a joke told him, “Let’s pray for the bus.” She overheard me and said, “Do you need me to get out the way, so you can move energy?” I gave her a surprised look and She said, “I know there are some people with gifts. I don’t have them, but I respect them.” I smiled at her and said, “I doubt that.” 

She said, “I am a half-breed Cherokee and I respect those gifts.” I said to myself, “Did she really just say that about herself?” Her grey hair told me of a different generation and a different time. As I looked at her pale skin and blue eyes, a thousand questions flooded me, but somehow all I could do was smile at her.

She said, “As a healer, you must know that you must take care of yourself. You can burn yourself out. I was giving elderly care and there was a man that would do healing work and he was healing this woman with cancer. This woman had terminal cancer and he died before she did with a different kind of cancer. Energy can get in your space and you can take on other people’s sickness if you are not careful.” I said, “Yes, it is true. Thank you so much for your wisdom.” 

The bus driver was not able to get the door closed and so we all got off the bus. As she got off the bus ahead of me, she turned to the driver and said, “I am sorry to abandon you.” When I heard her, I knew in that moment, she was talking to herself, even as she was speaking to me.