When I sleep on the couch at Derynne’s my body refills itself the same way that happens when I am in the back room at Grandma’s. I don’t know how it happens or why it does this. The couch is sort of lumpy and often the cats scrounge around on my chest and make the…
Author: miresistencia
salted sun forest dew deep roots. De la luna~
A Namaste from Seattle Street Artist Kristina Cyr: What’s My Healing?
Visit Kristina, and her Iconic Women Portraiture Series, here. Thanks Kristina for the guest-post! Iconic Voices: What’s my healing? Wow, this is such a great question and comes at perfect timing when I am pregnant for the very first time! I am in need of healing. Before I was pregnant, I already arrived at the…
Waking UP: Women’s Cycles & Earth Cycles as One.
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…
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…
Wild Women Wisdom 