Sunday Bloody Sunday...

I luxuriate in slow Sunday mornings. When I did go to church I always hated the rush and hustle of getting up and out of the house as if it were just another week day. This morning's much more my speed. Yes, I'm up early-ish (8:30/9am) but life wakes up around me at a slow pace. Water goes on for coffee, while I stretch and shower. The animals clamor good morning and beg to be petted and played with and, more importantly, fed.

The sun is shinning, the wind is cool and comforting. I lean out my back door, coffee mug in hand and inhale the scent of our climbing rose tree, its blooms dying in these last days of summer. I can smell the morning damp still in the air, and a hint of salt from the bay.

Why rush the day and miss things like this?

I curl up on my new chaise with a mug and a computer and open the New York Times online. It is easy enough for me to lose an hour reading news and reviews. From there I find myself at the UK Guardian's door.

Did you know Kate Bush is releasing an album for the first time in 12 years? The Enigma ordered from the UK and even with international shipping it cost him HALF of what it costs him here from Amazon.com new. Another commonality we share (besides frugality) is a love for Bush's music. Besides, we both think she's pretty damn hot.

I also caught up on a North England artist, Ian Brown. He was the front man for a late 80s band The Stone Roses. They came out of the dole culture of Manchester, Sheffield,and York as did Joy Division and The Smiths. I came across them quite by accident, a CD borrowed from a friend in college radio.

I may be the only person in the US who still remembers them. I dug my copy of their eponymous album out and currently have "She Bangs the Drum" blaring through my little cottage by the bay.

I have a day of mundane chores waiting me which up-beat music will make easy. I've laundry to do, boxes to break down, rubbish to haul to the curb, dog 'treats' to pick up in the back yard (I'm on poop duty while Kay is in Louisiana rescuing animals), the cats to clean up after, vacuuming, dusting, all those things we do to keep our dwelling a home and a comforting, inviting space. I don't mind, it's still part of the process of my reclaiming this space as my own. My reward for the drudgery today will be hanging a few strings of paper lanterns in my living room so I can sit tonight in artificial twilight. I enjoy that a lot!

But right now, a little more coffee, some yogurt for breakfast, my feet up on the divan, music playing, and a large lab-mix has now joined my lazy napping crew of critters. She misses her mom, Isabel does.

Upon reflection, I realize that in my own Sunday ritual, I find a peace and stabilization of mood that never came to me in the halls and cathedrals of mass-believer-ship.

I may remain always a solo spiritualist and find my centering and my peace in private ways.

Picked up from satyrblade and passed on here

I am...

I am the guy who came out to the entire school in his senior speech and got a standing ovation for his courage.

I am the girl who kisses her girlfriend on the sidewalk and laughs at those who glare.

We are the couple who planned and studied and got a damn good lawyer and BEAT the state that wanted to take our child away.

We are the ones who took martial arts classes and carry pepper spray and are just too dangerous to gay bash.

I am the transgender person who uses the bathroom that suits me, and demands that any complaining staff explain their complaint to my face in front of the entire restaurant--and shares with my other trans friends which restaurants don't raise a stink.

I am the mother who told her lesbian daughter to invite her girlfriend over for dinner.

I am the father who punished his son for calling you a fag.

I am the preacher who told my congregation that love, not hate, is the definition of a true follower of God.

I am the girl who did not learn the meaning of "homosexual" until high school but never thought to question why two men might be kissing.

I am the woman who argues (quite loudly and vehemently) with the bigots who insist that you do not have the right to marry or raise children.

We are the high school class who agrees, unanimously, along with our teacher, that love should be all that matters.

If you agree, repost this. Do it. You don't have to be afraid. You can handle it. You're stronger than you think.

I am making a difference. Hate will not win.
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Sure I live in a liberal bastion on the West coast. San Francisco's Bay area, land of the free liberal and home of the brave Queer. So why do I feel the need to pass on the thoughts above?

Even here hate, fear, discrimination and ignorance abound. Just 20 miles down the road from me 2 men were convicted and another acquitted of the killing of a transgender (male to female) teen. The reason for the killing...they discovered She as a He and felt it a threat to their macho heterosexuality and so an 18 year old dies for someone else's ego and reputation.

Even here, where inroads are made in terms of acceptance, we have gay marriage being vetoed, we have same-sex couples being denied adopted children, we have domestic partners being denied benefits, we have a rise in discrimination and intolerance that may not match the level and intensity of other areas of the US but we are still a microcosm and we still have our own barometer of the good, the bad, and the ugly of our society.

And so, I feel it important to state these thoughts and to invite those with courage to do so as well.

I find this hard to believe...and then again

not.

http://www.thememoryhole.org/usccr/purged.htm

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness"

This week, the birth of Beat half a century ago will be marked by twin celebrations in California and Britain, where Ginsberg became an icon for rebellious youth in the late 1950s and '60s. Ten hours before San Francisco launches a "Howl at 50" event, centred on the site of the Six Gallery where the poem made its debut, a recital and concert in Leeds will hail the lasting power of Howl.

Starting with the line, "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness", the poem will be read to an accompaniment of specially commissioned musical pieces at Leeds University.

"That evening, on October 7 1955, had an extraordinary resonance," said Simon Warner, a former rock musician who lectures in popular music at Leeds. "It woke up a generation dulled by McCarthyism and the repressive conformity imposed by the cold war."

Full article is here.