She Isn't Really A Bitch

I'd heard that Karma's bitch
I found her harsh disposition not so cold
I understand that she only comes where the mat doesn't necessarily say "Welcome" but it does say, "Come In"
My interaction with her was civil
I was waiting for her
Greeted her, to her surprise, with a smile
Told her I'd been expecting her
Set her at ease immefiately
letting her know I didn't believe what had been rumored of her
I knew full well why she was darkening my door
Only to bring me what I deserved
Hand delivered the harvest for the seeds I'd sown
Thank you, Karma
You are not, at all, a bitch to me
'Cause I deserved your presence

World Citizen

I am hard pressed to not be moved by the catastrophe that occurred in Haiti on January 12th. My compassion is stirred. Images are permanently etched in my memory. Immortalized right next to those of my fellow human beings choosing to take leave of their standing surely spreading wings lifted on whatever faith they held dear, choosing their death from the Towers. I scarcely watch the news, local or otherwise. Accordingly, I have kept my viewing of Haitian coverage to a bearable minimum. Not from uncaring, rather because I know how easily I see myself in the skin of others. How easily my eyes well from the sight of a two month old baby with multiple wounds and broken bones that could easily be mine, from a mother pleading with rescue works who've been at work for seven hours to try one more time to pull her ten-year-old daughter from the rubble because she is sure that she is alive.

Through tears I am incensed that there remains a "bottom-line" for certain aid organizations in the midst of this tragedy. I have been reminded that some don't know the history between the U.S. and Haiti. I countered with the fact that some choose to forget entirely or employ selective memory. I am increasingly malcontent with the idea that I am constrained to the borders within which I was born. If, in fact, I am a human being I am of the opinion that membership to this species is not limited to hemispehere, continent, nation or even timezone. Am I not a citizen of the world? Thusly, am I not obliged my global compatriots respect, compassion, civil rights and just plain courtesy. Rather than preach to you I will pass along the information I have availed myself to.

Namaste.

http://www.theroot.com/views/haiti-historical-timeline

http://www.uptownnotes.com/haiti-in-context-voices/

http://www.uptownnotes.com/haiti-in-context-history/

Changing Stripes

Dear Dad,

It would seem that it is far easier to change your number than it is to change your stripes. Even easier to tell me that you are going to change your number and neglect to give it to me. Of greatest ease to resurface and then quickly disappear...as quickly as dawn chases away the night. Unfortunately, for me it will not be so easy to console the young version of me that is very much alive in the most vulnerable part of me that still believes in you. That still vehemently grasps tightly to the fairy tale of daddy...the fable right behind Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. As the eldest child I am used to picking up the pieces. I can not afford to remain open. I forgive it all. Even the sins you think I hold against you. Imperfectly perfect, daddy. My heart is closing only because it cannot sustain another injury on top of injury on top of injury, more and more injury. I love you endlessly...The End