I once brought home a lover. He had never been to my apartment before. We grew up in hugely disparate cultures, he from a Southwestern Mexican state and me from the US Midwest. He asked, "Do you only have women decorating your apartment?" Sometimes I think of him when I blog my intensely personal women experiences.
I couldn't get a seat on the train to work this morning, but felt such bubbling inside me; I sent text messages to my email instead. Looking at my in-box just now I saw messages from RASTASHASTA@VTEXT.COM and thought some spammer had gotten in and was asking for 6.8million dollars to be wired to my bank account from Nigeria. I hesitantly clicked the message and then wondered when I set that up, because the name on the texts are mine. Here's what I wrote:
Ancient. Community where I roam. Ministering. Listening in wet green sapling grove. Burnt out car. Rocks buried in chocolate mud. Life laid like a path leading across low prairie hills toward a dark mass made of the unknown. Stars brighter than anything. Heartbreak. A part made of scrapes, cuts, scars so deep they define the landscape. A poignant beauty whispers my wishes to me still.