You asked me how I know God exists and my response was that I don't believe He does. We are all asked to trust a piece of work not dissimilar to what I am writing here. An artistic expression can cover vast depths and literature is only one. The Bible stands at the pivotal center, and yes I say pivotal because it's ability to change depending on one's religion or implicit use is striking. Nevertheless there it sits and we read it as a nonfiction piece of work. There is no true proof for or against it, so what makes it any different from what we write here?

"There existed a man who sought to create something great. He layed down his hands and on the first day created land and a place where life could roam freely. He saw that it was good. And in such goodness, he thought there too should exist a space blue and pure. He layed down his hands and beneath them came the sky. He saw that it was good and in that goodness existed a need for something else. He felt a need for division of creatures. In one place he would put animals that could only roam solid ground. In the other, he would put all things that could swim. He hoped to fill it with depths so deep and so shallow that it could shadow differently depending on the day. And so he layed down his hands and created water. He saw that it was good and in the wake of his goodness he created light. He donned the earth with a sun to shine during the day and a moon to grace the darkness. He saw that it was good and in his goodness felt that he should rest."

That right there took me all of 5 minutes to construct; 5 minutes to "create." The imagination is a surreal thing and the possibilities endless.


You asked me how God exists and my answer is we make him exist. We craft stories, dreams, beliefs, fears, envies - around something. We worship because it makes us feel safe - makes us feel loved when there is no one, nothing else out there to love us. We've made yet another division between the people of this world in hopes that it will bring salvation and enlightenment. Instead it's created hostility and wars. It's created a gap between humanity that will be and never can be filled. There is information, stories, and miracles...but nothing concrete enough to prove one way or another. So the fighting will continue, leaving hatred in the hearts of many.


But that does not mean I don't believe in something. In a spirit or guiding force in life. It's something that coexists with evolution and the art of a creator. Whatever "It" is, it makes the miracles of this world pure and incomprehensible. It is something beautiful that can be shared but completely individual to oneself. So "God" exists in whatever form you need him to. For me, he never walked the earth. For me he is not a father, son, and holy ghost. Rather he is a guiding light, a guiding force that makes the world go round. He is part of the world, but he is not it and he is not the sole creator. He is just as much a part of this world's evolution as anything else.

For Grandma Gummy

Behind each face of composure and solidarity, someone is asking for help. Beneath each breath of half hearted okays, there is a cry for attention. But what happens when that face of composure and solidarity is your mother. And those okay's are her apathetic attempt to make the fact that her own mother is dying seem less agonizing than it truly is. To watch one's mother suffer, makes you bleed. It's apparent that it's a cyclical affect. I bleed raw because my mom is in pain. Her heart is battered and therefore mine is too. And because my grandmother's dying, my mother is too. Perhaps it's because at one point we were one. I breathed, sensed, fumbled, touched everything she did when i was not yet born.

So as i sit her and she lays miles away at her mother's bedside, I clutch my heart. Yet I hope in some way I can breathe life into the lungs of her sadness. Fill her with the strength to make it through the the coming days as her mother slips through her fingers. And when she's ready I will hold her in my arms and let her weep. We will weep together. For she is my best friend. And when in my life when I will have to let her go - when I will no longer be able to hear or feel her laughter - my heart will no longer be full. I know in that moment I will understand what she must feel. In that moment. a daughter will have lost her mother - her companion.

******there are better words for this. there are better sentences that i can and will string together. but right now it's not all there yet. right now i'm still at a loss for words, for understanding

Eyes like chocolate and a smile rich with energy, sit heavy on my chest. A weight of joy followed by a shadow of doubt. For when I think about giving you me, I fall apart. Secrets will crawl from the cracks of doors and whispers will slip from window panes. They may come screaming from the bottom of my soul or come quietly to wrap slowly around your ankles. And before you, those were only mine to keep, to suffocate. So here I stand trying to hold myself together while you pick me apart within your embrace that provides shelter, from lips that give me breath and words that warm my soul. All while I try to run, picking up my baggage to leave, because it's all too scary to handle.

we walk with our ipods as appendages
to our ears; cell phones hanging
like jewelry upon our heads.
eyes cast down in hopes
of avoiding unfamiliar contact or
hanging to sputter an ungrateful hello.
Instead we study cracks, as if our lives
don't already have enough of them; some thick
like veins that pulse life
to each heart; others
thin and frayed- stripped
wire upon the grown. Nevertheless,
eventually they all find their way to a stop.
Crashing somewhere down the lin

When someone asks you to forget what it is to love, to bury it deep beneath your ribcage and your soul; they are asking you to teach yourself to forget the feeling to feel. To let heartache run through you like water and allow pain to piggyback on a young adults muscles. They ask you to shadow the natural urge to lay heavy next to a body warm from emotion. Tell you to erase the sentimental value of a tender touch or a strong embrace. Hide your heart underneath your mattress and only pull it out in the confidence of yourself.

Bleed pain. Bleed heartache. Alone.

Forget what it is to love they say.

i dance because it makes me feel alive. it creates a purpose in a world where we do mindless things on a minuteless basis to pass the time or pass our lives. it brings passion to a space of inadament objects by breathing life into air that gasps for movement and a floor that hopes to be caressed by a warm body. I create in a space that fosters growth from the deepest of my core to the vastness of our stars.

dance is not a profession or a chore. it is an art form. a way of life.

We run together similar to a stream

where we bathe

in our miniscule moments of anxiety.

Escape the same for us all.

A place where pain evaporates -

up from pooled insanity.

Our run off becomes a gift,

a passion. A place where we

hide so well amidst others

who share our fears,

the same world -

we become one drop; one body.

Some dash paint on a white world.

Others breathe life into a helix of glass.

Still, some soften pain

by conceiving of more first.

But you and I meet on exposed floors to dissolve,

simultaneously stripping ourselves bare

of self mutilation – self deprivation.

We allow ourselves to create, making music

with our bodies; art with our souls.

We depart from reality, in hopes

to restore ourselves; arms of grace

sweeping stories across our own

undressed bodies.

Merry Christmas to me.....

A piece from December of 2007....

As it's been
I give, bleed raw from my veins
but it seeps blue
to the eyes of incompetent individuals.
Breath warmed between my lungs
exhales cold, cutting to all.
What does it take?
Should I spit cliche words
but under it all regret
all I've just vomited out of hopes
for some shamed acceptance?
I thought it was supposed to end.
I'd rather silence cover this world,
cover the country-club goers that breed
this ludicrous environment
than surrender muted, subject to witless
comments and laughable fairytales
about who fucked who or which brainless
girl is snorting coke today.
It's a circular conversation
that i could dance around,
it's just not worth my time.

I want this kind of love......

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKscYJAksPs

So when the nights turn cold and I lay along in bed, I wonder if there's something more out there. A place, a time that will rest warm on my heart. For beneath these covers, I am sheltered from pain and disappointment. I am protected by the softness so hard that it sinks to mold my skin. But in that protection and in that comfort I question the emptiness, I wonder if I'll know when to let the right things in.

If I'm so busy guarding my space, shadowed by the blanket around me, I will end up alone protecting nothing, no one - but myself.