Sometimes I feel like an inspiration catcher, put myself out into the world just to catch snippets of grace, things of beauty, breaths full of wisdom….and to pass them on.

This came my way today - and how could I not feel inspired after reading words like the ones on this print:

“i want to enter your sacred ground,
to hold you in the depth of your spirit,
to be surrounded by the mists of your soul
and to soak in the essence of you.
it’s a giving and a taking i honor quietly,
solemnly. if your door is open, i am there.”

I love that she named her business “Bone Sigh Arts”…those words are a sigh, a giant exhale, right from her core and right to mine.

I’ve only just had time to look through some of her prints - I can’t imagine what other treasures lie within.

we talked
just the other day
about our public writing spaces
and how they relate
to us, and reflect our
soul
our place in this universe
our way of being
and if it really even
matters
(does it?)

and you said
you felt like your
chosen name
was fitting
that your rough edges
were a part
of your definition

But let me tell you
that I don’t see you
like that
have never seen you that
way.

no, my sweet
to me you have always been smoothness
and rounded corners
like a smooth grey
wishing stone
heavy and warm
in my hand

and that no matter
what life has throws at you
(and it’s thrown you some crazy shit)
you absorb what you need to
and gently discard what does not serve
and that your compassion for others
is only matched by the
exquisite compassion you reserve
for yourself

no jagged edges in your aura
dear one
you are a rainbow
of sea glass
bits of azure, garnet,
cobalt, aquamarine
translucent glass and fine bone china

and the bits that were smoothed off
when you crashed through your ocean home
were only hiding
your true purpose
your complete grace
your beautiful soul

thank you for
being willing to break
in order to become.

On February 15th 2008, openly gay 15 year old Lawrence King was shot and killed by a fellow classmate. Following several years of taunting, teasing and bullying because of his orientation and appearance, he was killed because he asked another boy to be his valentine.

On December 7th José Sucuzhañay was walking arm in arm with another man in NYC. Several men in an SUV yelled “look at those faggots!”, and proceeded to beat him with a beer bottle and a baseball bat, kicking and punching him as he lay on the ground. José later died from his injuries. The man he was walking with? His brother.

Last December, a California woman was getting out of her car when she taunted by 4 men who said they knew she was gay. She was assaulted, kidnapped and brutally gang raped. How did the men identify her? She had a rainbow gay pride bumper sticker on her car.

I have a rainbow sticker on my car too.

A year and a half ago, as I was just beginning the tentative process of coming out, I wrote this:

“In this new space that I find myself, the tragedy of Sean Kennedy’s death hits me on so many different levels. As I sit here writing this blog post, I suddenly realize that at some point I will be the target of prejudice and hatred. Perhaps - if I’m lucky - not directly, but certainly indirectly. Maybe it won’t happen to me personally, but certainly it will happen to someone I know and care about. I might be blessed and never have anyone say anything to my face, I might not lose any friends, and I might not alienate my beloved family.

But I will know - because I cannot avoid this knowledge - that there are people who will hate me simply because I am being true to myself. People who will stare, whisper and turn me into a thing of curiosity if they get a chance. People who will work hard to exclude me, to limit me, to marginalize me; politically and socially and personally. People whose bigotry and ignorance are so strong that they are sometimes moved to commit unspeakable acts of cruelty and violence. People who cannot see through their own bias to catch a glimpse of the humanity that connects us all.

There are people all around me who already hate me (they just don’t know yet that it’s me that they hate) simply because I no longer align myself with the prevailing cultural notion of exclusive heterosexuality. Doesn’t matter that I don’t exactly know how I do define myself – all it matters is that I’m no longer a part of that club. Although there are no outward signs of this inward transformation - I am already ‘other’. I feel this in a profound way.

If I continue this journey of truth (and really, there is no choice but to continue) there is almost a guarantee that this will become a part of my experience. It might be up close and personal, or it might be at a distance, but it will be.

I live, for the most part, in this liberal utopia – where it is easy for me to forget that much of the world is filled with intolerance and narrow-mindedness. I have chosen to surround myself with people who understand that true equality can know no exception, and who believe, as Ghandi said, that “we must become the change we want to see in the world”. I have, over time, distanced myself from individuals who have rationalized their prejudice with convoluted “truths” taught to them through their religion and education and upbringing.

My little corner of the world is my safe haven. And that’s all well and good as long as I stay in this corner. It’s also nice and easy when I’m not doing a damn thing to rock the boat. But now I’m ready to break free, to own myself, and my truth. As I prepare to step out of my little corner I ask myself, what now? “

Ten and a half years ago, 21 year old Matthew Shepard was killed in a brutal hate crime. Today, one in six hate crimes is motivated by the sexual orientation of the victim. Tomorrow congress is expected to vote on the passage of the Matthew Shepard Act. I urge you to take a moment today to call your representative and ask that they vote to pass this bill.

“Frat boys drunken, screaming, leaning out the windows of their Daddy’s SUV ‘hey, are you a faggot or dyke?” and I wonder what would happen if I met up with them in the middle of the night”

Andrea Gibson, Swingset.

The bumper sticker stays on my car, because fear cannot win. Please make that call.