so i wrote this back in july.
i think it was based on a lie i told myself to avoid facing a larger truth.
the performance/poetry part is true. that world seems perpetually stuck somewhere between high school and college; a nice piece of nostalgia, but i'm way past love jones now.
i still do not, personally, want to to broadcast my story, but indications point to it being imperative that i find a vehicle to say something, whether i "want" to or not.
in other words, the universe has other plans.
but why should i try to say anything?
i am young (relatively speaking), and have not done much traveling.
i do not have a rags to riches story.
i am not a high-powered career woman.
i am not a mother.
i do not want to be "famous" or put my biz (or my family's) out on front street.
i am not an activist.
still, i'm supposed to speak.
but don't all the "so you wanna be a writer..." books say you need to find your audience, then write to suit said audience? isn't that how i was trained?
i don't know who i'm talking to.
...no. that's a lie, too. truth, girl.
i suppose i'd be talking to the girls like me who grew up to be women like me: aliens born into a world--and families--that didn't understand how to hold us. women who, despite all sense and sanity, feel driven to challenge, heal, nurture, and defend this shadowy, not-home place because we know we are not new, but modern manifestations of an ancient principle.
but it has to be real.
no contrived, new agey stuff.
no jargon and double speak.
no veiled tkon-isms.
no judgement of when, how or why you've come to the circle.
i'm gonna end this before my little hater starts up.
but it's a start.