Refugees
dear xx,
i'm so glad to hear of the work you and your church are doing for the refugees.
on the night of the last Presidential election, when it really appeared that there was no chance President Bush would be unseated, I left my friend's house where we'd been watching the returns on this teeny, tiny television.
i was in a kind of stupor, stunned, i suppose. i went out into the crisp november night and i was only aware of three things--how impossibly fresh the night air felt, how velvety the night sky seemed, and the sound of a voice in my head that said, with quiet certainty, "this is a time of darkness."
i drove like that toward home, breathing the air and watching the night, and listening to that voice. i was on the brink, i think, of despair.
but my inside self was working on something. and just as I turned the corner onto my street, i heard the voice complete the sentence:
"this is a time of darkness," it said.
"and what do we do in times of darkness?"
"We shine our lights more brightly."
i immediately set to work doing as much good, giving us much compassion and grace on a daily basis as i could. i started sister spit in an attempt to create a place where people could feel safe and supported, where art could flourish, where diversity would abound. it bankrupted me, but i don't regret doing it.
i have this vision of all the people in the world who have good hearts, shining their lights into the darkness, in little ways, everyday, until collectively, the darkness has no power anymore. or at the very least, so that we don't all go down beneath it. this work you are doing, with your church, and i think in general in the world, it is a point of light to me, and i am so glad you shared it.
on a more mundane note, my weekend was good, but a mixed bag. the weather was erratic--when we began the pride march it was raining. by the time we reached the end, it was blazing sun. i got a sunburn when i thought i'd get soaked. i had a good time with my dear friend anna, but when she left on sunday morning, i was lonelier than ever. i'm just very sad and unable to shake it. things with xxx are hard. and things with xxxxx were/are disappointing. and i just feel hopelessly lost and very tired.
when i lived as a lesbian, i had a community where I belonged. for years and years, i felt safe and welcomed, i had an identity that was more important to me and to my sense of self than almost any other part of me. it was personal, it was political, it was beautiful.
when i fell in love (and lust) with a man six years ago, that all came crashing in. it was ever so much worse--exponentially worse--than coming out as gay. now, i just don't feel like i belong anywhere. people think that if you can date both men and women, the world is your oyster. but really, it feels so much more like something came and took my home away. without warning, i became a foreigner, and the world became a place where i simply don't belong.
i'm so glad to hear of the work you and your church are doing for the refugees.
on the night of the last Presidential election, when it really appeared that there was no chance President Bush would be unseated, I left my friend's house where we'd been watching the returns on this teeny, tiny television.
i was in a kind of stupor, stunned, i suppose. i went out into the crisp november night and i was only aware of three things--how impossibly fresh the night air felt, how velvety the night sky seemed, and the sound of a voice in my head that said, with quiet certainty, "this is a time of darkness."
i drove like that toward home, breathing the air and watching the night, and listening to that voice. i was on the brink, i think, of despair.
but my inside self was working on something. and just as I turned the corner onto my street, i heard the voice complete the sentence:
"this is a time of darkness," it said.
"and what do we do in times of darkness?"
"We shine our lights more brightly."
i immediately set to work doing as much good, giving us much compassion and grace on a daily basis as i could. i started sister spit in an attempt to create a place where people could feel safe and supported, where art could flourish, where diversity would abound. it bankrupted me, but i don't regret doing it.
i have this vision of all the people in the world who have good hearts, shining their lights into the darkness, in little ways, everyday, until collectively, the darkness has no power anymore. or at the very least, so that we don't all go down beneath it. this work you are doing, with your church, and i think in general in the world, it is a point of light to me, and i am so glad you shared it.
on a more mundane note, my weekend was good, but a mixed bag. the weather was erratic--when we began the pride march it was raining. by the time we reached the end, it was blazing sun. i got a sunburn when i thought i'd get soaked. i had a good time with my dear friend anna, but when she left on sunday morning, i was lonelier than ever. i'm just very sad and unable to shake it. things with xxx are hard. and things with xxxxx were/are disappointing. and i just feel hopelessly lost and very tired.
when i lived as a lesbian, i had a community where I belonged. for years and years, i felt safe and welcomed, i had an identity that was more important to me and to my sense of self than almost any other part of me. it was personal, it was political, it was beautiful.
when i fell in love (and lust) with a man six years ago, that all came crashing in. it was ever so much worse--exponentially worse--than coming out as gay. now, i just don't feel like i belong anywhere. people think that if you can date both men and women, the world is your oyster. but really, it feels so much more like something came and took my home away. without warning, i became a foreigner, and the world became a place where i simply don't belong.
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