When you close your eyes, what do you see?

In the shuttered dark, is it simply the absence of me?

Or do you apply negative judgement to the dark?

The staining black denotes evil leaving it’s mark

If your world is filtered through that dark

There is then no light upon which hope can park

It becomes a place weighted in horror and fear

Never able to pierce the layers of black despair

Open your eyes, shake off the dark, see clearly

Fight for a free world where all are judged fairly

Don’t hide behind eyes shut tight in fear, that  hide from reality

Instead join in, have a voice, live in a society of creativity


Ageless Meandering

Young At Heart:  What are your thoughts on aging? How will you stay young at heart as you get older?

I sometimes feel I stopped aging at 16 or thereabouts.  The sheer violence of what happened seared into my cells and aging was blunted.   In reality, I think my mind just stopped recognising the changes in my body as it shut down all the vital responses in order to simply survive.  I haven’t given aging a lot of conscious thought but it seems behind the scenes was a great army of “suppressive” forces.

I do like the concept of only being as old as you feel.  It is kind of ironic since more often than not I don’t feel, so does that mean I have no age?  I guess age is important for the surveys, 45 – 50, female, obese, arthritis, fibromyalgia and PTSD etc etc.  Then they can compare those statistics with people of similar ages.  But I wonder if they ever explore behind the statistics to the life story that created the diagnosis.   I would bet that story would, in many ways be unique to someone with similar statistics.

Maybe the stories provide the answers more than the statistics.  For example, obesity is simply eating too much but if it is created by depression or stress, how is it then coded.  Obesity is a consequence of food, but that food is the consequence of other disease processes.   Maybe if those were addressed then they, and obesity might be removed from the statistics.  I think it is sad when statistics are expected or believed to tell the whole story.  We miss so much.

We make being young or feeling young some magical age that we need to retain against all comers.  Including the passage of time.  But why?  Some of the most beautiful faces are those that wear their life experiences etched into their faces.   I think it is wrong to revere any age over others, what is the point beyond another reason for depression to come calling. And if you were like me, when I was young I wanted to be older to make my own decisions about food, fashion and my bed time.  Maybe, as humans we are just never satisfied.

I prefer the elderly to the young and that they can share what their life experiences.  One of my greatest memories is the sharing of a 102 year old woman I was caring for and my 103 year old Aunt the tales of their youth. It is just so contrasted from how I grew up and fascinating.  Not just the turning of pages of history but listening to them from the women that were there.  Magical.

So age is a number,

seems the best statement for me.  You feel it or you don’t dependent on life experiences along the way.  You can blame it or draw pride in it.  It marks each year that you are upon the planet and I guess the rest is on us.



Morning meanderings

Can you see your way clear
To sit with me my dear?
While I ponder the question of the ages
That has confounded many sages

Who are we and why are we here?
Instead of you and over there
Are we aliens just arrived?
Or races that have long survived?

How will we even know
Why and how we grow?
If we do not prod and poke
The history that was once spoke

Are we truly aware and awake
Or is our belief one historic fake?
How are we to truly know
If we just accept it as so?

Never questioning if its true
Sticking to the past as the glue  
That holds as together now
But never exploring why or how

Question everything I say
To help you learn your way
Be clear in who you are
And you, my dear, will go far

The plea

Unwrap me before you decide
Your words cut through my pride
Don’t judge me on my size
I am no booby prize
Or the noises I make on moving
My voice is very soothing
I don’t think I smell but maybe
Look beyond what you see
Please listen to what I say
Do not interpret another way
Be there for me as I am for you
Always say words that are true
Please never mock me
This is who I be
Get to know me first
I will never be your worst

“White woman, ex – nurse, rape survivor”

I noticed in passing today, on my Facebook feed, that a gay man was a hero. I was in a hurry and didn’t read it, but the thought of it stayed with me all day.  Why did he have to be a gay man?  Why was he not a heroic human being?  I found this article online by Mary Elizabeth Williams, (Salon Staff Writer) who, in her article, listed why ethnicity and sexual orientation matter:

It matters because guys like Arizona Sen. John McCain, who described the repeal of “don’t ask, don’t tell” as “a very sad day,” still think that orientation has an effect on whether or not a person can ably serve in the military. It matters because the notion that two people of the same sex can love each other and build a life together is still considered in many parts of the country, including Arizona, a threat to what is laughably referred to as “traditional marriage” — as if heterosexuals have really mopped up the floor with this whole commitment thing. It matters because last week, when Arizona banned a Tucson district’s Mexican-American studies program,  state’s Attorney General Tom Horne referred to it as “propagandizing and brainwashing.” It matters because just last year Arizona enacted a law that would not merely allow but require immigration officials to determine the immigration status of anyone “where reasonable suspicion exists” that the person might be in the country illegally. And “reasonable suspicion,” as many civil libertarians pointed out, might just boil down to having a darker shade of skin or speaking Spanish.


Mary’s article gave me insight into aspects of American society that I was unfamiliar with. It is a well written article, well worth a visit. I feel unable to comment on that, especially as I am not American and don’t want to be a “back seat driver”, so to speak.  I do not want to offend.

However, I do have some thoughts that I want to share.  When I caught that headline on my Facebook feed I instantly thought is not labelling him by an ethnicity or a sexual orientation serving to separate him from simply being a member of the human race?  Putting aside the politics of his now being claimed as the “poster child” for whoever thinks featuring him will enhance their message and cause.

Furthermore, did the station of the person he saved (a U.S. Rep), more important than if he had saved Joe Smith, with no discernible public image or status.  A human being saved another human being and that can be lost site of, in the parts of the story pulled out for whatever reason.  If an agenda could not be applied to his heroics would it have been a footnote, rather than a media storm.  Many people are heroic but there is no message attachable to what they did or who they are, so their story is not told.

As in many instances, he and what he chose to do, has become secondary or a support to the uses of his ethnicity and sexual orientation.  I am guessing if I did something heroic I would be “white woman and maybe rape survivor or ex – nurse” would be my news identity.  It wouldn’t matter that I am other things, I would become what is useful, and not useful to me, to something or someone else.  I would want to chose my labels. I might want anonymity and not become a “poster girl”. The last thing I wanted in my moments of heroism was a media storm, searching my life and then assigning me my place in society or the latest political debate.  Thanks goodness it was in a small town and the news of it died down fast.

I am deliberately turning this post to information about me because I think Daniel has been discussed enough and had limited voice that was truly what he wanted said or to say.  So lets examine what my self – chosen label is useful for:


“White woman, ex – nurse, rape survivor”

  1. I am white as opposed to Maori – so maybe my life opportunities led be to be able to be heroic,
  2. I am a woman and maybe men are more heroic, might help the feminists cause,
  3. I was a nurse – ahh that’s where my need to be involved and help came in, or I am educated, so again I had opportunities others might not,
  4. I am a rape survivor – so pretty tough old bird right here.  A “poster child” for other women in that same position or needing a hero to keep going

(These labels are being used for my purpose.  I mean no disrespect to anyone).

The bottom line for me, is that I chose to do something, that society said was heroic.  But that I felt I had no choice, in being me, to do so.  Don’t pick over the threads of my life and simply pull out those that help you to create your garment.  They are all my threads, all of them contributed to my actions.  Don’t steal from my garment to make yours.