I’ve had to unlearn so much garbage that I learned through the “privilege” of “class” and “education” and “race” and so on and so forth.
I recently saw a post by Subversive Thread that hit me at about 6 different angles. It was “A Guide to Coded Language in Education Vol 1.” More specifically, however, it was “Perfect Attendance” that caught my eye, as it was the one I knew and related to.
I felt like in my latest years learning about human emotions in social settings there’s been words and concepts that I have understood that I didn’t know why I had so easily accepted them into my system. And then under the brilliant work of so many educators, in this case, Subversive Thread, you learn to put it all together.
At the hands of white privilege I was taught ignorance to the reality of racial inequality. At the hands of CIS privilege I was taught ignorance to the reality of gender and identity. At the hands of class privilege I was taught ignorance to the shocking and violent disparity of wealth.
At the hands of able-bodied privilege I was taught ignorance to the body’s natural and true forms and
It was the injustices that I dealt with, my desire for community, and the hands that I was dealt that taught me to look beyond. My own moral code, my own desire made me want to make sure I could see everything. In the name of connection, and Love. That’s what started it all. The quest for Love. The discovery of how to access the Truth of it all. The quest for God, which became the same thing. The quest for Oneness, and the Truest of Truths. It all kept leading to how we treat ourselves. How we treat one another.
I think of privilege like an enormous sword, that if not wielded with intention and humility, cuts people and trees down instead of systems. Privilege has no place in communion, only in systems where there are under-privileged can there be privilege, and therefore there is no place for it in a surviving world.
That along with the never-ending lies of duality are little black holes in my logic and perspective some time. Life sometimes feels like a fool’s errand, but I do so love discovering us, and sharing that connection with other fools, impassioned by humans and our infinite brains.
Estaba chiquita. Toda chiquita y no entendia por que.
Me decian cosas que me dolian tanto, me lastimaban, sentia que se rompia algo muy pronfundo dentro de mi, una injusticia profunda. Mi alma lastimada. Te mire, y no me protegiste. Se supone que era lo que hacias. Dicen que es el rol de un padre. Quiero creer que es lo minimo que hace un padre. Ofrecerte proteccion. Y no lo hiciste por tus miedos.
Estaba chiquita. Y asi que me quede. Mirando el mundo a traves de mis ojos de chiquita, con el alma torzida y un cuerpo inseguro, no di pasos firmes donde debi, y en lugares donde debi haber pisado ligero, patiaba, y me caia. Me decias que no tuviera miedo, aunque dolia tanto caerme. Me acorde de la vez que quemaste mi mano y me echaste la culpa a mi. Una, dos, tres veces antes de admitir que fuiste tu. Antes de pedirme perdon. Pero seguia adelante, a pesar de los miedos. Escuchaba tus palabras mientras ignoraba tus acciones porque me decias, no tengas miedo.
Era extra terrestre. Pensaba que tu me entendias. Empezaste a darte cuenta de lo que no habias hecho, y decidiste empezar hacer. “La gente cambia” aprendi “para lo bueno”. Las relaciones se pueden desarollar, si la gente quiere. Eramos dos dentro de un chevere cinco, eramos varios dos, eramos tambien tres. Entre mas desarollados los que estuvieran en dos, mas desarrolados los cinco. Lo que hice fue enfrentar a mi miedo.
Era chiquita otra vez…Ya no hay cinco, ni dos. Ni uno, por que tampoco estas tu. Ni yo. Por que…Tuviste miedo. Por que tus miedos me enseñaron a mi, y yo aprendi pero tu no. Porque tus miedos me hablaron a mi y yo escuche pero tu no. Porque a travez del miedo te perdi a ti y quise ver mejor pero tu no. Porque tu miedo fue mas grande que tu amor. Tu ignorancia. Auto engaño. “La gente cambia” tambien aprendi “para lo malo”. Las relaciones pueden no desarollar, si la gente no quiere. Eramos cero.
Soy enorme. Y me doy cuenta lo enorme que fui todo este tiempo, pero lo chiquita que me habia sentido por el miedo. Tu y tus miedos duelen. Si el mundo fuera justo, y tu amor verdadero, fuerte, y capaz, la lengua caliente y odiosa de mi ira estaria aplacada
por la compasion de tu amor incondicional. No dabas pasos firmes donde debiste, y cuando se necesitaba paso suave, el tuyo era inexistente, lo que me enseñaste, fue miedo.
Tu falla estupenda, no sera la mia.
Yo se, yo se, yo se, yo se, que todo esto pasara.
Pero como duele, duele, duele, duele.
Como lloro, lloro, lloro, lloro.
Por que no pudiste conmigo?
Por que me dejaste?
Por que eres tan cobarde?
Mi proxima historia de amor, sera de amor propio, para sanar el miedo que dejaste atras.
Lovers this has been a long-time coming. Some time ago, during a Blood Moon in 2016, I was feeling a really strong pull towards the Moon, as a lot of us I think were around that time. A pull to our roots, to our nature, to our ancestors, to our magic. Then, during a particularly strong moon, I got my period. I felt connected, completely. Blood, water, earth and air, ancestry and fire. They were all there. I sat down in front of my laptop, and wrote a prayer. I put it away. On another Full Moon I was pulled toward my prayer and I started drawing. And so on and so forth, for the past couple of years, when I bleed to the Full Moon, when She has called for me, I have replied by working on this prayer. I believe it is a spell in the making, a work of art to connect us to our bodies, to connect us to nature. It is a Bleeder’s prayer, but it is not only for bleeders. It is for the Bodies that miss Themselves. That feel disconnected. It is a call back home from the soil. Today, March 1st 2018, there is another Full Moon and I now offer this prayer to you, finally, to speak to you. It is not only about blood but about belief, identity, and our own godliness. I hope you find yourself somewhere in there. If you feel inspired by it, read below for a call to bleeder stories and art.
I wish the energy of the Full Moon may remind you of your humanity in any way that allows you to be compassionate with yourself and those around you tonight. Let us offer all our pain, all our sorrows, to the Esoil, that in this day and age is so filled with blood. Let us remember the Cycle, surrender to it, and in Faith, offer our healing to it as well. Let us cry for those that have died deaths in blood, and breathe in our own lives, with the knowing that they are free from the Earth’s troubles now.
A Blood Prayer to the Full Moon, but also to You, brother, sister, sibling, who remains alive in a bloody life.
(((Full Prayer BELOW)))
I heard a song about a girl named Lucy
Maybe that’s who’s listening now
I can feel the moon pulling at me
It’s willowing in the loins of the Earth,
under my belly.
It used to whisper “womanhood” now I’m not sure what it says
but I know it’s magic
And it is a miracle that they tell me not to talk about.
“It is innapropriate” they say,
to speak about the blood
that connects me to the water
of creation itself
A Shunned Miracle,
A Stolen Secret,
A Raging Storm.
I only speak to the ones that understand.
I was praying to the moon
and your name came up
with the twinkling of the stars
told only by moonlight
Of a girl
In the sky with diamonds
she too bleeds
she bleeds stardust
the ashes that create us
My body prayed to the full moon and she prayed back
in aches and groans
I mirrored the moon
and she mirrored back
In spells and Blood
I am shedding a past that was also a future
it is all of time
and it is everywhere
Pouring out of me
And into the earth
Into its grave
into the soil
to feed and give life
And once a month my shadow whispers my name
as I get on my knees
And howl to the moons
And it chants secrets to me in my dreams
Of all those women
with the same stories
all of fire. earth. water. blood.
The stories we wrote about
the girls we fell in love with
and the boys who broke our hearts
the stories about the perfect creatures we wanted to be,
and the tragically imperfect beings we found we were.
Imperfect, but magical. Bleeding. Alive.
This is not for those that do not hear it
but for us who can’t ignore it.
This is not for those who face the ocean
thinking they would come out alive
but for those that surrendered to it,
drowning our fears and baptizing our selves with salt water
In the name of Life.
For those reborn once a month.
For those who believe in the magic. Our magic.
Were I to ever forget
the moon is there reminding,
the cycle demanding
a blood sacrifice monthly.
And i remain always
its loving servant
If you’re an artist and were inspired by this and wish to be a part of an exposition that features these type of vibes in 2019, write me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
Also, Looking for bleeder stories of ALL bodies, special invite to trans bodies and other-abled bodies.