Compassion Bridge

What if, instead of building a Wall, we built a
Bridge? Not a literal bridge, but a Compassion Bridge. What if we reached our hands across a divide and asked each immigrant, “what is your need?”
“What is it you are searching for when you choose to make a thousand-mile trek on foot with your babies to make it to a world you barely know. I read a quote once, which said, “A person does not leave their home to enter the mouth of the whale unless the home they are leaving is more dangerous than the mouth of the whale.” What does it hurt to ask refugees what they are running from, and what they envision they are running to.

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The Body Remembers

And then something shifts.
All yesterday I kept saying to myself and, out loud or in text, to anyone who would listen: I just don't know what happened to me. These words were said about my appearance and my overall miserable feeling; my loneliness, my ache. I do and do not know how much I've contributed to this atmosphere of myself.

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Eden Elsewhere

I am running naked down the hall. I am so small, the door knob to the linen closet before me is above my head. I am headed to it, the towels are there, my child feet leave footprints on the wooden floor, droplets fall from my body and leave a trail of splatters, surrounding the mark of toes and heel of a child, naked, dripping, gleeful, emerging from the tub. Now to fetch the forgotten towel, forgotten yet again! Did I forget it in order to take once again this euphoric walk of no shame? My hairless, porcelain child body, my head of wet, wavy, dark brown hair, my eyes on the prize, the linen closet!

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Taking Back My Childhood

Finally being out on my own with no partner and getting my own house at the age of 45 was certainly overwhelming. When I moved into my house over two years ago I immediately decided I was not going to paint over the clouds in what had obviously been the kids room. I said I wanted to "take back my childhood" there. I didn't really know what that would entail at the time. I'm realizing now there have been a lot of things that I've done in that room that may have been spurred by my subconscious, and definitely have to do with nesting and nurturing myself.

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The Road to the Deepest Truths

Yesterday would have been my father’s seventy-first birthday.
If he were still alive, he might have had a bowl of vanilla ice cream to celebrate. Or maybe he would have gone for a drive to see the ocean, to breath in the salty air, to feel the wind on his face. I can’t say for sure because in the years following my mother’s death, he was sad and heart-sick and drinking too much. For ten long years, my father was suffering.

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