And it is here: heart of summer, hearth of soul. I am ovulating, or pre-ovulation, which as a woman I know means I am at the height of my vitality. I am sparkling, vivacious, full of energy and ideas and intuitive, big-eyed ideas that seem to naturally connect like a live line of fire sizzling…
Author: miresistencia
salted sun forest dew deep roots. De la luna~
Thank you for this, Nina Bargiel
…and HobbyLobby, for ensuring the Dems in 2016… Follow Ask #DrHobbyLobby on twitter. WEARE in far greater numbers than you currently understand.
Oh Hobbit House.
Oh blessings on this gift, which is my hand-made life, woven together of benediction and surrender, embracement and loss…Oh I look around this morning and give such thanks.
New Moon: She takes up pen, again.
It’s been a million days of this I think, and as I write such words I see the gray slant of my ceiling in the morning, the days leading up to, but especially following, Aunt Mary’s death. Grief, which sits like a bone in the air. Its smooth, cold, calcium-yearning. Always there, blocking the place…
D WATKINS: Stoop Stories. Black Baltimore.
This. These words here, THIS VOICE. I remember trying to explain, during the elections in 2004, why I didn’t consider myself represented on either side. I couldn’t articulate what seemed so blatantly clear to me that I actually grew numb, would find myself jaw-gaping–couldn’t clearly get the words to say: HOW DO YOU CALL YOURSELF…
Friday, but not my town poem
Friday but not my town, a hawk flies & wings in the air make trilling sound imagined, as the screech above and outside my door puts the hair to raise up on my arms. I am thinking of you again, not for nothing but need for magic. And men. My mother, I finally told her…
My Brother’s Keeper by amina wadud
Originally posted on Feminism and Religion:
When my son was a teenager, living with his father in another state, he came to visit me in the suburbs of Virginia. He is nearly 6 feet tall, chestnut brown skinned. Like many suburbs there is no concept of the corner store. But about a half mile from…
The Women’s Work
Two Thursday’s ago, in the low, monastic candle-lit room here in the hobbit house in the canyon wall, I prepared wordlessly for an important initiation. Not that of an ancient rite or mysterious sect. To all appearances, in fact, it was little more than a scholastic necessity. I prepared to drive to Santa Barbara, to…
Call for Submissions: Riot Wise
Call for Submissions! Introducing Riot Wise…a Zine-to-be with the kind of gems from riotgrrrl’s all grown up…Who have well-fought Wild (not socially programmed) Wisdom! Riot Wise wants work from Ladies & Gents—I’m looking for YOUR personal stories!!! of YOU! About the complexities of finding, or honoring your self, taking you seriously, that struggle, confusion, frustration,…
Confession by Darlena Cunha
Originally posted on Feminism and Religion:
Good afternoon, Fr. John. I’m here for confession. No, I’d like the curtain back, please. I want you to see my face. I really need to talk to you, get my bearings. But this confession will not be solely about my sins, for, unfortunately, I am not sure I…
Wild Women Wisdom 