1. thevampirequeen:

    Civil Rights Movement vs Ferguson Protests

    Reblogged from: dynamicafrica
  2. Exactly How Often Do Police Shoot Unarmed Black Men? | Mother Jones

    These are the stats that keep us up at night, fearing for loved ones, friends, partners, sons. I am awake to the knowledge but lost, confused, fearful. It is about systems in need of deep change. It is most certainly about race in America. And most importantly, it is about a family who lost their son - no matter the circumstances - a son is dead from six bullets and that fact will remain and remain and remain.

    Let us keep staying informed, keep on in our important work. As I purchased my ticket to Kansas City for a healing conference I am presenting at in September, I became deeply aware that I will be three hours from Ferguson. My contribution is healing, it is always my orientation to look towards salve and story. Others contribute with protest, others knowledge, others are staying connected to supporting community in their local spaces - where hurt does not stop needing attention. We all are needed. Salve and strength to you as we navigate these rough waters. Your anger is justified. Your anger is a fire, a tool. Let us move forward safely, profoundly, openly. And yes, angrily.

  3. Save the date!

    Save the date!

  4. Summer’s glorious gifts & a ruby floored room to call one’s own for one slick night with the brightest stars.

  5. I am in the woods and all I want to do is escape into the Internet - that sickness and addiction pulling me back to the sea of human noise. There I can measure myself against the popular sentiment - am I living right? Are my feelings justified? Am I angry enough to warrant the titles I hold and cling to? What cry can I add my voice to and feel less alone in my private suffering?

    I sit with coffee on the back porch of a generous friend. The family has gone about their days and I am left with the crickets and a far away lawn mower. Here is the self I have been fighting away from, the one who’s left at the end of the day confronted by quiet. I can hear my heart loudly as it feels with it’s brain through the world’s horrors, as it singes with guilt for the treat of this escape. When I lay in the grass I become less human, which is not bad. Neither is it good. This human of progress at all costs, human of fast and furious, human of machine and sharp tongue and arrow pointed at its own reflection.

    I am obsessed lately with reconnecting to nature, but find I stand so separate, typing on a keyboard and replacing instinct with google. Under all the armor, the essence seeks connection with all life. Slowly I peel off the layers like a dress sticky from dancing. I let the ocean’s hands touch my naked skin. I learn the song of the birds and no matter what, I keep singing.



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