Rising

02/19/2013

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Valentine's Day came and went again this year, along with its usual...challenges. You know I'm all about the self-love when it comes to these kinds of holidays, because if nothing else, it can be a good time to remind ourselves that we're worth loving even if we don't have the types of relationships or lives deemed perfect by the mainstream media's standards.

But one of the great things that came out of this year's Valentine's Day was more about coming together than being alone. It was One Billion Rising, a global campaign to end violence against women. People all around the world united in the most wonderful way – by dancing. Anti-violence action and dance? You know I love it! Taking a stand to say we all deserve to live without violence – in the end, that comes down to self-love, too, doesn't it?

For me, one of the most inspiring results of the One Billion Rising campaign comes out of the San Francisco jails, with those who participated there. Maybe I love it so much because I'm connected to these folks through my life and work, but I think this action also spreads a moving message that's important for all of us to hear. Watch "Inmates Rising" below, to see why the inmates danced, and why it was such a special experience for them.

This video reminds me of the work of the formerly incarcerated poet Reginald Dwayne Betts. If you're not familiar with his work, I'd recommend getting to know him. Here's a taste, one love-centric poem of his:

"For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers"
by Reginald Dwayne Betts

For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers,
green roses, chrysanthemums, lilies: retrophilia,
philocaly, philomath, sarcophilous—all this love,
of the past, of beauty, of knowledge, of flesh; this is
catalogue & counter: philalethist, negrophile, neophile.
A negro man walks down the street, taps Newport
out against a brick wall & stares at you. Love
that: lygophilia, lithophilous. Be amongst stones,
amongst darkness. We are glass house. Philopornist,
philotechnical. Why not worship the demimonde?
Love that—a corner room, whatever is not there,
all the clutter you keep secret. Palaeophile,
ornithophilous: you, antiquarian, pollinated by birds.
All this a way to dream green rose petals on the bed you love;
petrophilous, stigmatophilia: live near rocks, tattoo hurt;
for you topophilia: what place do you love? All these words
for love (for you), all these ways to say believe
in symphily, to say let us live near each other.
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Release

12/11/2011

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I'm having an emotional week. It feels like I've been crying for days. I don't like crying in front of people, let alone admitting to doing so on a public blog, but I've been trying to push myself to sit with my vulnerability, so there's a start.

I'm not saying this is a bad thing. I certainly needed a release. And this is certainly the time for it -- add miscommunications, car troubles and other frustrations to three days of intensive training about the issues surrounding child sexual abuse, and I really have no choice but to let the tears fall. I think I can allow myself this one -- there's no harm in needing a good cry, and getting a great one instead.

Part of forgiving myself for being so full of emotions involves understanding why I'm crying and what it's doing for me. This kind of reflection can build up more emotion, but it's building in the best way. I'm checking in with my body about where the tension is, where it's coming from, and how my crying is helping me let it go.

I've been doing the same thing with running, another way to release. Not always -- sometimes I run just to run, and I feel release then, too, but I also feel a sort of emptiness in wondering what it was, exactly, that I lost. On the other hand, there are times when I run with an awareness of my body, of the way each muscle flexes and stretches, of what feels good and what feels hard and what feels nothing at all, as my skin pours sweat, as if my body's weeping.

For me, like crying and running, writing can be a release. This is nothing new, of course. Writing has been used to express our feelings ever since the world's first angsty teenagers created paper upon which to spill their tears. But I'm wondering what it would look like to be more intentional about it, in the same way that I get in touch with my body when I'm running.

I center my body and mind, remembering that I am in my body, feeling the connection from the roots at my feet to the threads of my fingers. I think of what's brought me here. Thinking back to the tension of the day, and then back further, to the tension building in my life, and then back further still, to the tension in my communities and my environment, and further still, to those who have come before me, to the history stirring in the ground below me... and then?

Release.
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