tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76350692024-03-06T22:45:30.465-06:00A Thing with Feathers"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul . . ." ~Emily DickinsonCionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-17120200679007660902013-10-03T10:10:00.000-05:002014-11-25T19:16:31.180-06:00when i realized i was black.i've had a lot of conversation and contemplation about race these last few days.<br />
<br />
how it defines us while not really defining us at all. how it's both real and fallacy. how it contributes to our stories.<br />
<br />
how we say it comes up all the time these days in this our "post-racial America," but we actually don't really talk about it much. we talk around it. at it. conversations of race are often accusatory or defensive or, my least favorite, dismissive. we cling to words like "colorblind" and "tolerance" or say that people are too sensitive about race. we start sentences with "i'm not trying to be racist, but . . ." as if this qualifier is anything more than weak potpourri in a very very pungent bathroom. <br />
<br />
how when i visited South Africa, and my dear and sweet <a href="http://www.economist.com/node/21546062">coloured</a> friend kept referring to the black people as "darkies" in negative ways. how i shuddered. how i asked about it after several references since, obviously, i look more like the black South Africans than the coloured South Africans. how he replied, "but you're American." and i laughed at race because in America <i>he</i> would be considered black. racial identity demands context, construct.<br />
<br />
and in that moment i was reminded about race. how it defines us while not really defining us at all. how it's both real and fallacy. how it contributes to our stories.<br />
<br />
story. i'm reminded of how someone once invited a group of people to tell the story of the first time we realized what race we are--the first time i realized i was black.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgx4qOm7tGS_y6yWVZlm-aWW_6mpBBm6Q3r6LGF7A5eJpjZz71aIhLfhrc3nE_XeP_OlPQsn_cCxaS3KyZXkoSzAuuKEebCbTc4WqizHM4bT4FZ_yoQcwybekEDS3aohNoZUiCSw/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgx4qOm7tGS_y6yWVZlm-aWW_6mpBBm6Q3r6LGF7A5eJpjZz71aIhLfhrc3nE_XeP_OlPQsn_cCxaS3KyZXkoSzAuuKEebCbTc4WqizHM4bT4FZ_yoQcwybekEDS3aohNoZUiCSw/s400/photo.JPG" /></a></div><br />
i know there are marches and conversations and speeches tucked in corners of my childhood memory in smalltown Dillon, SC, as my parents were very involved in conversations and movements in regard to race, rights and reconciliation.<br />
<br />
but the story i call my own first was in first grade. in january, i believe. i was starting a new school mid-year. just a month or so before that day, my dad--a pastor--announced that we were moving to a church with a library, a nursery, a gym and 2500 members and that we'd be the only black people there and how did we feel about it. i remember my sister and i saying, "a real <i>gym</i> inside the church?!?! cool!" i was six. and i had nothing to assign to race at the time.<br />
<br />
on the playground that first day at the new school. i remember running to the magic metal half moon-shaped wonder in the middle of the playground and just before i attempted to climb, a girl said, "nuh-uh! you can't get on here!" i stared. or maybe i asked the stringy blonde haired jungle gym guard why. i don't really remember. but i do remember her saying, "the last black girl who got on here did yada, yada, yada, and so you're not allowed on here . . . yada, yada, yada."<br />
<br />
i ran to the teacher (who was actually a substitute that day). i remember knowing this wasn't right, and i remember the teacher confirming this for me. she happened to also be one of the 2500 members of our new church, so she marched over to the girl and said, "you can't keep anyone off of the jungle gym. that's not right. and you need to get to know Ciona," she said. "she's going to be in your sunday school class, too. you remember the new pastor we've all been talking about? this is his daughter."<br />
<br />
i remember how easy it was for the jungle gym guard to, well . . . let down her guard when she was told it wasn't right and was educated on what we had in common. how easy it was for me to shake hands and laugh and play with her, her white friends and my new black friends whom i invited to join us (how long had they been rejected by the guard? and why didn't they tell on her?). <br />
<br />
i remember how i went to her home for sleepovers and still have photographs with her at my 6th grade birthday party. how i would later find out her grandfather was one of the 2500 members who left the church because we were there. how easy it is for children to learn--both the wrong and the right.<br />
<br />
i have many race stories. most of them are more subtle than my parents' or my parents' parents' stories. some of them are a lot more messy than this one that ended so cleanly wrapped in a pretty <a href="https://art8amby.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/united-colors-of-benetton-fw-2011-by-josh-olins.jpg">United Colors of Bennetton</a> bow. some of them are beautiful and inspiring. but this is the one that launched me into identifying by race and assigning various meanings to being black. made me realize that others assign meanings to my being black. made me realize that justice depends upon the intelligence and compassion of those in power.<br />
<br />
that's the conversation around race i want to invite people into having--about their personal origins around race. when did you realize you were red, yellow, black, white or brown? when did you assign meaning to what your race is? <br />
<br />
thanks for hearing my story. i'd love for you to comment with your story--maybe you, too, were 6 or maybe you were 26. whatever, whenever. i want to hear it.<br />
<br />
if you have a beef to pick, a cause to defend, a slur to utter, though, i don't want to hear. i can guarantee i'll delete your post when i read it. not because i don't value and honor free speech or because i am imposing my personal beliefs on you. it's just that the best conversations usually start with stories--sometimes messy, complicated and hard to hear stories even. so i invite my fellow storypeople to please honor this and take a moment to share a few paragraphs or just a short sentence even about the day and age you realized your race. all others, just listen for now, please.<br />
<br />
may we always tell our stories. it's all we truly own. may our stories, however, not own our every day. and on this day, may you be filled with grace.<br />
<br />
peace.<br />
<br />
Ciona<br />
<br />
(image by my talented sister <a href="http://larouse.wordpress.com">Lanecia Rouse</a>)<br />
Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-80917174998669180532012-12-03T16:33:00.000-06:002012-12-03T16:36:54.135-06:00the strongest thing i've ever knownso soft<br />
i hold my finger against my<br />
upper lip and can barely feel it<br />
even then<br />
<p>even then<br />
it carries the weight<br />
of a whisper, and it is<br />
the strongest thing i've ever known<br />
gently reminding me that when<br />
<p>it leaves<br />
i am<br />
no more<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tiloarte/5280976573/" title="Breath by Linde M, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5162/5280976573_27a06b3de1.jpg" width="500" height="500" alt="Breath"></a><br />
<br />
image by Linde M on flickrCionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-50315503671610232202012-12-02T21:17:00.000-06:002012-12-03T09:40:53.917-06:00i've never met a violin . . .today i had the joy of combining two of my favorite things: yoga & poetry. the beautiful <a href="http://www.sanctuaryforyoga.com/teachers/raquel-bueno-ryt">Raquel Bueno</a>--yoga instructor and friend--invited me to share poetry during her Yoga Gives donation-based class. we decided to focus the practice around voice. she lead a practice primarily focused on the fifth chakra, communication and self-expression. then i closed the practice with this poem during savasana:<br />
<p><blockquote>i've never met a violin who refused to sing<br />
never seen a bow glide across a perfectly<br />
taut string and mute its deepest vibrations<br />
<p>now i have heard the screeching<br />
five-year-old violinist voice<br />
unafraid to shout out that<br />
slow stuttered Twinkle Twinkle Little Star<br />
<p>i've heard the ding of dimes<br />
and quarters falling into a hat<br />
of the subway musician letting<br />
his instrument speak<br />
<p>i've heard applause stampede through the hall<br />
after the second movement<br />
of Rachmaninov's 3rd symphony<br />
<p>i suppose it could choose<br />
to refuse the melodies and harmonies<br />
to play it small<br />
and deny its voice<br />
to hold its breath<br />
and cease to breathe<br />
<p>but i've never met a violin who decided<br />
not to sing<br />
and if i could gift all the passion<br />
inside of us with any one thing<br />
i'd resin up my bow<br />
and tune our heart strings to the<br />
freedom of voice, the ease of being<br />
the indelible choice<br />
to always keep singing</blockquote><br />
<p>it was a beautiful practice, and i'm grateful to be able to share in it on the mat and with my words. may we each find our voice and let it flow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkhF60_Wh-sTUHDdFICo0eYJYA7WxFr34jgErAL5rlLXrraldAO-t_cHgv81ecLOkiRZz5yw5_zIZyOnz5YFXxOQY5Rm4NuNJDJZNdvVlppi7rFvaoEo385xi2_s_cXuNCGYFdA/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkkhF60_Wh-sTUHDdFICo0eYJYA7WxFr34jgErAL5rlLXrraldAO-t_cHgv81ecLOkiRZz5yw5_zIZyOnz5YFXxOQY5Rm4NuNJDJZNdvVlppi7rFvaoEo385xi2_s_cXuNCGYFdA/s320/photo-1.JPG" /></a></div>image by <a href="http://www.larartphotography.com">lanecia a. rouse</a><br />
<br />
Read <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/11/25/an-escape-from-cambodian-sex-slavery.html">this powerful story</a> about voice.<br />
<br />
Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-20602204595780795862012-09-07T08:53:00.000-05:002012-09-07T10:13:29.251-05:00clearing: silencing the inner editorI've developed a beautiful rhythm to my weeks, devoting different days to clearing, dreaming and doing. It's a lovely rhythm that I shall write more about and introduce fully when I launch <a href="http://www.athingofwonder.com">athingofwonder.com</a> in the coming months!<br />
<br />
You've heard quite a bit about <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2012/08/cleaning-out-my-closets.html">my physical clearings </a>in my latest posts (and I'm finishing my 20 this week today, so look for that post later!). I've also set intentional time for emotional clearing as I've tackled removing these objects from my life.<br />
<br />
One emotional clearing I'd like to share is related to developing Do The Crazy Thing . . . I am launching Do The Crazy Thing into a lifestyle brand that creates opportunities for people to live inspired lives and impact the world by loving and living their dreams. I want the world to be wonder-filled, and I believe I can help play a role in helping people tap into their thing of wonder!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VrOFH9n9iLzzyloz-zTFbP_XmplRK2o1pt0f7TSRI5SUUwrbPbSm9Gr1yUsoweVACPswlRjyB17dlpCKtomPez3zBMMVYHBXW-O3D1NUsRxAOBT0sU-VXbmziuUOAXQ5FCLxjw/s1600/627242_352832858138187_869827497_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VrOFH9n9iLzzyloz-zTFbP_XmplRK2o1pt0f7TSRI5SUUwrbPbSm9Gr1yUsoweVACPswlRjyB17dlpCKtomPez3zBMMVYHBXW-O3D1NUsRxAOBT0sU-VXbmziuUOAXQ5FCLxjw/s320/627242_352832858138187_869827497_o.jpg" /></a></div>But just as much as I feel boldly like I'm ready to launch this and take this giant leap, I also wrestle with the inner editor who often talks a lot of us out of doing our crazy things! So as I build this and get it launched, I want to be real with you and with myself about this pesky little voice. We all have it. And it has the potential to keep all of us stagnant and lackluster even though <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2012/03/sunflowers.html">we were created to be much, much greater</a>! And there's something freeing about clearing this voice out loud. It loses its power when I share it with others.<br />
<br />
So I've written a letter and invite you to read it here: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/do-the-crazy-thing/letter-to-the-editor-/352830388138434">Letter to the Editor</a>. Join me on this clearing journey. What's your editor/gremlin/nagging inner voice/whatever you call it saying? Write it a letter. And feel free to post it on <a href="http://www.athingofwonder.com">the Facebook page</a>.<br />
<br />
May we all hear this voice clearly . . . and then tell it to just shut up.<br />
<br />
Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-90608742057395424662012-08-27T21:25:00.000-05:002012-08-27T21:45:39.533-05:00clearing . . . 36 things!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEImVUvJVDIVhj7OPhuB3H7uD4HvKtZsQt6C7O1BRLITD1I5Uewk3TUarAUWgkd-6baXTuc4U5Ok7KGWq7lSqkTgzhhQTCR8C6ikJRLjvMNbInlbFYYLDgR8knIPGF1hLIvR1cw/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEImVUvJVDIVhj7OPhuB3H7uD4HvKtZsQt6C7O1BRLITD1I5Uewk3TUarAUWgkd-6baXTuc4U5Ok7KGWq7lSqkTgzhhQTCR8C6ikJRLjvMNbInlbFYYLDgR8knIPGF1hLIvR1cw/s320/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" /></a></div><br />
It's my <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2012/08/cleaning-out-my-closets.html">clearing day</a>! <br />
<br />
It's been a great one! For starters, I trashed or donated 36 things! I also found $65 worth of <a href="http://bongojava.com/fido.php">fido</a> gift cards that I had somehow completely neglected for about 3-4 years . . . and they still work! This meant that after the clearing, I was able to treat myself to a deja vu salad, a cup o' chocolat chaud (with whipped topping and marshmallows) and quiet time to finally read my friend's short story. Clearing . . . it's like having another birthday!<br />
<br />
I've also challenged myself to consider clearing something emotional as I work on the physical/spacial clearing. It seems only natural. And this addition has been so beautiful. I will unpack and write about this more at another date. <br />
<br />
Anyway . . . in total, <b>94 items lighter, 946 to go</b>!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7GJqWeesr-skBzjuVJMFD5M3qIxvvTCq2HBjb_aG1ZQxQPSCwsIRjlAwduBXazja2VnmS9ryA3isWH29C9DD0h46acHJrpi-OTe8_zHfJ1Izw96vGXwXd1sBeEvZCR27r2yDyw/s1600/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7GJqWeesr-skBzjuVJMFD5M3qIxvvTCq2HBjb_aG1ZQxQPSCwsIRjlAwduBXazja2VnmS9ryA3isWH29C9DD0h46acHJrpi-OTe8_zHfJ1Izw96vGXwXd1sBeEvZCR27r2yDyw/s320/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" /></a></div><br />
may we all choose life-giving goodness.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-19539222007424777102012-08-20T21:44:00.000-05:002012-08-24T14:33:35.782-05:00clearing out the closets . . . 22 things<a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2012/08/cleaning-out-my-closets.html">i'm still clearing</a>.
<p>
yay.
<p>
and i can see clearly that i have enough things i don't need that i may may need to clear 20 items DAILY. i'm afraid i'll barely make a dent in my stuff at 20/week. but i'm also more aware of how sentimental i am. i haven't even opened or ever used a particular gift in the several years i've owned it. but i originally passed it because i really like the person who gave it to me. finally resolving that i'd still stay fond of the person after i let go of the item since, after all, i have been fond of this person all along, i placed it in the goodwill basket. to be delivered tomorrow morning.
<p>
a declaration i've committed to follow: all items shall be thrown away, sold or delivered to goodwill within 24 hours. woo hoo!!
<p>
thanks for your support! and for those keeping tally, <b>58 items released, 982 to go</b>!
<p>
may we all refrain from attaching ourselves to things. let go.
<p>
peace.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzIQBu76r1FgMUvn8z1dknMo5Ve9ExadxBTvEsuREQRL75Ppkq5RFA-4KGhUzaMfi0JOCaZDWTfF8ypRAzonKgjDspWSufUzy44vrAqbOlVhhC43yVngK5biRO7yaGg9LF6cYCg/s1600/082012164916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnzIQBu76r1FgMUvn8z1dknMo5Ve9ExadxBTvEsuREQRL75Ppkq5RFA-4KGhUzaMfi0JOCaZDWTfF8ypRAzonKgjDspWSufUzy44vrAqbOlVhhC43yVngK5biRO7yaGg9LF6cYCg/s320/082012164916.jpg" /></a></div>
Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-47148701302437353052012-08-11T10:00:00.000-05:002012-08-11T09:52:41.957-05:00crazy things are on the way!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZtj23Djvh19qFzM0dp06VhiZ7OM864hZjnpK3ynrWOtsJABbIVmAxNNw8gfLIM-62lsGqshdQlU6QU-7LODaARBi5FqehpGTVtLYKa946o__vY_DwsdKuH3xpZk8TUJbpizPNg/s1600/do-the-crazy-thing1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZtj23Djvh19qFzM0dp06VhiZ7OM864hZjnpK3ynrWOtsJABbIVmAxNNw8gfLIM-62lsGqshdQlU6QU-7LODaARBi5FqehpGTVtLYKa946o__vY_DwsdKuH3xpZk8TUJbpizPNg/s320/do-the-crazy-thing1.jpeg" /></a></div>
watch this space because crazy things are on the way . . . i'll keep you posted as they develop.
<p>
:)
<p>
it's been a lovely journey since <a href="http://www.lululemon.com/community/blog/do-the-crazy-thing/">lululemon athletica posted my poem "do the crazy thing" on their blog</a>.
<p>
curious about the story behind the words? check it out <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2011/07/crazy-things.html">here</a>.
<p>
may your day be filled with sunshine and daisies and just enough rain for a rainbow and oodles and oodles of gratitudles!
<p>
peace.
<p>
CionaCionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-332325649470238362012-08-11T09:48:00.000-05:002012-08-24T14:33:52.411-05:00cleaning out my closets . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkuQkHsqyjpyJwhQEKAHjKP_w8Gze64yTP6m5OZc0Mu71YeAPwwdp1l9lUg5GM-M9OyZ_SsC8Xa2rZtt2h8wIYW0vWEkNjc0CbOjHsy-UC1hzWOtU1uykSMEZZP_nLhQ16KJraw/s1600/558388_801176548952_904088917_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkuQkHsqyjpyJwhQEKAHjKP_w8Gze64yTP6m5OZc0Mu71YeAPwwdp1l9lUg5GM-M9OyZ_SsC8Xa2rZtt2h8wIYW0vWEkNjc0CbOjHsy-UC1hzWOtU1uykSMEZZP_nLhQ16KJraw/s320/558388_801176548952_904088917_n.jpg" /></a></div>
i have more stuff than i ever use. more than i ever will use.
<p>
in fact, i'm certain i have well over 1000 things in my house that i just don't need or use. at least.
<p>
some of these things are meaningful and have served a beautiful purpose in my life. so my tendency is to hold onto such things. and i'm amazing at the excuses. <i>i may need this later, after all. or maybe one day someone will find this artifact that witnesses to the beauty of the life i've lived. or my dear friend made it for me, and i just love it so, and i'll regret not having it when she/he dies</i>.
<p>
but the weight of holding on to things has proven burdensome.
<p>
and in a world where people have needs galore, i don't <i>need</i> to hold onto things i don't need.
<p>
so i set an intention today to release 20 things each week. in a year, i'll be just over a thousand things lighter. and i will post about it here because, honestly, i have habitually declared things and forgotten about them. and i would LOVE for someone to ask me why i didn't post about my 20 things one week if i somehow don't peel through this particular layer of habit.
<p>
<p>
<b>this week:</b>
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3Sfre8lkEXR4sR0w2PxgsB4aNJZo9_uT-zLTdDz-l5VPMASLi1wfN8Btz14Imfw7vD7veOjfSz2xuRTuc85vbPVNAe3nwmZHsvLn-m-RO4gqgabEwntPTFcRu-ZrE9aUL8eMHQ/s1600/081112090421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3Sfre8lkEXR4sR0w2PxgsB4aNJZo9_uT-zLTdDz-l5VPMASLi1wfN8Btz14Imfw7vD7veOjfSz2xuRTuc85vbPVNAe3nwmZHsvLn-m-RO4gqgabEwntPTFcRu-ZrE9aUL8eMHQ/s320/081112090421.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>
ok. books alone, i've cleared more than 20 this week, but i couldn't stop once I got started with the books. of course, the first day is probably easiest when it comes to letting go, although i made myself include one somewhat sentimental item. so, <b>36 items down, 1004 to go</b>.
<p>
welcome to my clearing journey. may we all learn to gracefully and intentionally let go.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-53713903655509796002012-05-23T09:57:00.003-05:002019-02-19T14:57:02.313-06:00famous.while i sit reading at <a href="http://bongojava.com/bongo_east.php">bongo java roasting co.</a> on the east side of nashville yesterday, a tall silver-haired man in black walks up to me. <p>"are you a famous musician?" he asks. <p>dead serious. <p>i laugh. "no, sir, i'm not." <p>"well, you look like a musician or songwriter or something," he says to me. "and <i>you</i>," he directs to the young lady at the table next to mine who's wearing huge headphones over her hipster haircut and a short red pencil skirt, "look like a writer working on a great novel or something." she stops typing on her laptop and frees her ears. <p>"well, i am a writer," she says. "but not working on my novel right now." <p>"i'm a writer, too!" i say. <p>"ah-ha! well, of course you're a writer!" says the man in black to me. "that's just wonderful! what do you write?" <p>"well, i write poetry and several other things, depending on the day and the assignment" <p>"oh wow! you're a poet!" he exclaims. and as the woman he walked into the coffee shop with moseys closer to our table he shouts to her, "carolanne, you've gotta come meet her! she's a famous poet!" <p>he was dead serious. again. <p>"oh my! what's your name?" she asks as her hand extends to shake mine. <p>i laugh again and squirm and stumble to introduce myself. "well, i'm not . . . uhhh . . . famous, errr, i'm . . . uhhh . . . ciona. my name is ciona." <p>so we all chat for a bit, and i finally ask the man in black his name and if he's a musician. <p>"oh, my name is scott, and, actually, i'm a famous photographer." <p>of course he is. <p>and as we continue to chat the kind of chat of four mostly strangers, scott whips out his famous camera and starts taking photographs of me. <p>and i decide right then that i love this moment. it's taken me so long to even say, "i'm a poet." and while the goal of being well known and admired isn't a driving force in the soft focus of my future desires, i decide that i love not only being a poet but being an amazing poet, a <i>famous</i> poet just in that moment. and i love that scott--who may have spent his life flying around the world and sharing work in galleries and books or simply walked through his days taking snapshots of strangers in coffee shops--claims his art in a grandiose way. and i love that none of us asked each other what we had published or where our photographs were seen; we were just sitting together all being famous. as simply marvelous as that. <p>may you love your art, your work, your life in a grand way today! go ahead, be famous.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-80424695351552496392012-03-21T13:20:00.001-05:002012-03-21T17:25:35.142-05:00war & peace creation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgdwJ8V03euD8UOUEud8RAETbK3-FSITRvhVF8T6L1WV0Qnt1LtzmisCXC13TyU4novGz67fZFY199NfCHaSO85OqmieuOUXzDxoNKCqxn0Bn0pY5vKU38TG2zU3seVf7QnBEMA/s1600/create+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="122" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgdwJ8V03euD8UOUEud8RAETbK3-FSITRvhVF8T6L1WV0Qnt1LtzmisCXC13TyU4novGz67fZFY199NfCHaSO85OqmieuOUXzDxoNKCqxn0Bn0pY5vKU38TG2zU3seVf7QnBEMA/s320/create+cropped.jpg" /></a></div>
<p>
Hitler was an artist. Now I have spent much more energy reading the stories of Holocaust victims than studying the life of the fuhrer, so this was news to me when I read it in my latest read <i><a href="http://www.betterworldbooks.com/the-war-of-art-id-0446691437.aspx">The War of Art</a></i> by Steven Pressfield. Hitler painted and moved to Vienna to pursue his artistic endeavor but was rejected by both the Academy of Fine Arts and the School of Architecture.
<p>
Pressfield suggests, "Resistance beat him. Call it overstatement but I'll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square of canvas."
<p>
I don't pretend to be so wise to dare say that had he been accepted into the academy or admired as an artist, Hitler would never have authored a movement that murdered millions of people. I can't help but wonder, however, that when we give up on our dreams, when we don't overcome road blocks and live into the thing we love the most despite rejection, we have left this gaping hole of energy in our hearts that destroys us and often destroys others around us.
<p>
One of my favorite lines in one of my favorite songs of one of my favorite musicals <a href="http://www.siteforrent.com/index_back">RENT</a> says, "the opposite of war isn't peace; it's creation" ("<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYc7sH6vZhU">La Vie Boheme</a>"). <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jonathan_Larson">Jonathan Larson</a> certainly had a good thought going there. And I'd like to also suggest that the opposite of creation is war.
<p>
Quite literally,the opposite of destroying life, buildings, countries, is giving birth, building, forming. Also literally, we land in physical battles when we lack the creativity to push toward creating more peaceful resolves. But metaphorically, we go into battle with the deepest parts of our souls when we fail to give life to the creations within us. We destroy ourselves, and that can play out in negative self-talk, being stuck in our careers, substance abuse, physical and emotional harm to others, self-hatred that becomes external, illness, the list goes on and on. We are created to create, and we perish when we do not.
<p>
Creating looks different for everyone: creating a new you, creating cures to diseases, creating microfinancing opportunities for those with low income and resources, creating a new health regimen, creating new ways to uniquely reach every child in your classroom, <a href="http://bcove.me/bshm5m6b">creating a science project</a>, creating music, dance, paintings, poems, creating your ideal career, creating a healthy home for your children. Whatever creating is for us, whatever is our deepest heartsongs, we were made not to think of it or dream of it or ponder how much we like it; we were made to create it. And to create it every day. And to push ourselves beyond our imaginations and stare the challenges of creating it in the face. To refuse the easy route of not creating. Because that route will destroy.
<p>
May we turn our swords into plowshares, and create.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-50243511030281523122012-03-05T15:27:00.001-06:002012-03-06T11:34:04.593-06:00rooted & reaching.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbXTTvCx5GtQdut8OegoOXRQ_SVoZfdXw8h4uA0GRWKKLKMGXp3tBcptF9poH4n-eZYlRvIzrwCrGLuBbTqEEP6kW1G8gLmBlDOaHL8MADLr9le5wNJG33xH0V_hQj7eDyebnYA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbXTTvCx5GtQdut8OegoOXRQ_SVoZfdXw8h4uA0GRWKKLKMGXp3tBcptF9poH4n-eZYlRvIzrwCrGLuBbTqEEP6kW1G8gLmBlDOaHL8MADLr9le5wNJG33xH0V_hQj7eDyebnYA/s320/photo.JPG" /></a></div>
<p>
i am a sunflower: rooted & reaching.
<p>
have you ever watched a sunflower reach its full potential? watched its seed break through the ground with its green fist opening only for the sun? observe as it studies its namesake, following it from east to west each day as it grows? and then finally felt its yellow lean over you, standing tall and firm in its full glory?
<p>
a sunflower can be massive and bright, reaching toward the sun and bringing joy and delight that feels bigger than life. and all the while it's grounded. rooted. deeply clinging to the earth, to its foundation.
<p>
i wonder how its stem feels in the tension of the in-between. how much work does it have to do to reach passionately both ways? or does it just come naturally? is this kind of stretching the only way it knows how to truly survive?
<p>
we are created too magnificently to only play it small. life naturally calls us to posture ourselves towards beauty and growth and light and love. and not in small ways alone; we are called to reach and stretch and live fully into our amazing potential.
<p>
and every step of this journey towards fully being our magnificent selves requires us to cling to our foundation. to remember that we are not great on our own. to know we are created too modestly to only play it big. a tiny seed, a tiny embryo. just as we are called to be great, we are also called to posture ourselves toward great humility, gratitude, groundedness. to point to our Creator in all things.
<p>
we are rooted. we are reaching. we are resting in the tension between being lifted and grounded, making neither greatness nor lowliness our goal. we are simply sunflowers, practicing life the only way we can truly survive.
<p>
may we all be beautiful sunflowers. rooted & reaching.
<p>
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cris-e/3635005207/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2452/3635005207_54cc67ff9e_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cris-e/3635005207/">Sunflowers</a> <br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cris-e/">cris.e</a></span><br clear="all" /></center><p></p>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-90813300326731081822012-01-29T20:21:00.002-06:002012-01-30T18:36:54.828-06:00Forgive!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-PSdlKdkaJ6yQsns9QfxexWaWY5V7vBBEhfgsJs2-OZmNFzZMMKTgOJOcL5EW3XYbdIn269DRAqbK3B6bG-hBCAmLz8A7RXYIUA9CEJT2JpgD6wBeHaz0T8g-aVXQ8RMKKw4Pg/s1600/forgive+tag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-PSdlKdkaJ6yQsns9QfxexWaWY5V7vBBEhfgsJs2-OZmNFzZMMKTgOJOcL5EW3XYbdIn269DRAqbK3B6bG-hBCAmLz8A7RXYIUA9CEJT2JpgD6wBeHaz0T8g-aVXQ8RMKKw4Pg/s320/forgive+tag.jpg" /></a></div>
<font size="2">My friend invited me to teach Vacation Bible School (VBS) at her church 10 years ago when I lived just outside of Baltimore. I had worked in youth ministry during college, so I naturally volunteered to help with the youth. She laughed and said, "No way. I'm putting you with the 4-year-olds."
<p>
The 4-year-olds?!?!
<p>
"There's no way <i>you</i>'ll be able to handle the youth. They're from the streets," she said.
<p>
Now, I wasn't completely naive to the realities of urban living. I knew the youth and I would have very little in common. I definitely grew up in South Carolina's suburbia with kids calling me <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/15/racism-in-high-school-im-_n_1208065.html">OREO</a> because of my voice, my interests and my neighborhood. And <a href="http://www.hbo.com/the-wire/index.html"><i>The Wire</i></a> wasn't even on television back then, so she was right that I had no real frame of reference for life on the streets. <i>But these are church youth</i>, I thought. <i>How bad can it be?</i>
<p>
But she refused to budge, so I reached into my Old MacDonald bag-o-tricks and tried to remember every delightful e-i-e-i-oh from my childhood. I put on my happy face and read through the lesson plans to prepare for the cute little tots. We were going to be talking about forgiveness, using the story of the prodigal son returning home.
<p>
The kids were sweet. We had games and music and plenty of Hi-C and animal crackers, so they were happy. I started a little rhythmic call-and-response with them after learning the lesson:
<p>
"When your brother or sister hits you, what do you do?"
<p>
"Forgive!" we all shouted together.
<p>
"When another kid calls you a name, what do you do?"
<p>
"Forgive!!"
<p>
"When someone takes something from you, what do you do?"
<p>
"Forgive!"
<p>
That's when a sweet little girl jumped up-and-down raising her hand.
<p>
"And what about when someone drives by your house shooting at your window?" she asked.
<p>
Silence.
<p>
I sat there staring at this sweet child in pink with barrettes dangling from her braided head. This sweet child whose only knowledge of anything driving by should be the delightful melody of "Pop Goes the Weasel" announcing that a van filled with ice cream is just around the corner. This sweet child who was waiting for my cue so that we could all shout out "forgive" together.
<p>
And I was silent. All of a sudden the easy answer wrapped up so politely in this VBS lesson plan seemed so hard to say.
<p>
Forgive.
<p>
As a group, we all talked a bit more about the drive-by shootings. The kids shared how they would drop to the floor, wait for their parents to crawl towards them and all huddle together. They had their drive-by plan down to a stop, drop and roll kind of science. In just four years.
<p>
+++
<p>
Bishop Desmond Tutu says there is “no future without forgiveness.” It is truth. But just like so many other truths, it's easier to say than it is to embody. It's easier to shout in a sing-song way with 4-year-olds than it is to toss back at gang-bangers as bullets fly through your window.
<p>
It must be practiced. Daily. Practiced until it is our way of living. Practiced until it's natural. Practiced in the face of great difficulty until it's easier.
<p>
I write about a trip to Uganda in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Like-Breath-Water-Praying-Africa/dp/0835810127">my book</a> and share the stories of some of <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2009/01/pray-with-gulu.html">the most beautiful young women</a> I've ever met.
<p>
I asked one girl for her prayer request, and she asked me to pray that she might forgive the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrva2aKW1lU">LRA soldier</a> who raped her.
<p>
Forgive.
<p>
I go on to write in the book:</font>
<p>
<blockquote><font size="1.5">I don’t want to paint a pretty picture of forgiveness—especially in a war-torn place. I think even the simple declarations of forgiveness and prayers for forgiveness that we heard in Gulu were steps on a very long road. This road will probably be filled with a lot of painful debris—memories that will embitter and frustrate once again. There are likely many hardships and unexpected bumps that may make the course of forgiveness seem frightening at times. This process may take longer than any of the forgivers imagined when they first chose forgiveness.
<p>
In the end, though, it’s the most beautiful road if you choose to take it. And the first sign of beauty begins in the choosing.</font></blockquote>
<p>
<font size="2">May we choose to practice forgiveness. Not the easy, polite church school answer kind of forgiveness, either. May we choose the messy hard road of forgiveness and release.
<p>
peace.</font>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-59806950047328669502011-11-03T11:29:00.003-05:002012-01-29T20:23:24.762-06:00Memory Bank<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-09JwDs1PT5c1ZCNvCo10beA6WblV9uZH5Fkz1odV8NMzWG0gmzINHTw5uC1kEbTPeG07rKjrTNw8VrE5wFkw3i0r6j-BwUeWjBjPZymJwJHP2ui7geLlyUFPCeQ5yTtyQYO9PA/s1600/memoryjar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-09JwDs1PT5c1ZCNvCo10beA6WblV9uZH5Fkz1odV8NMzWG0gmzINHTw5uC1kEbTPeG07rKjrTNw8VrE5wFkw3i0r6j-BwUeWjBjPZymJwJHP2ui7geLlyUFPCeQ5yTtyQYO9PA/s320/memoryjar.jpg" /></a></div>
<font size="2">Patrick and I have a memory jar. We started recently recalling memories from our days, writing them on slips of paper and tossing them in our little jar. I love this ritual of ours. Some days they are memories of fun things like winning the Wicked national tour cast basket at their special cabaret for <a href="http://www.nashvillecares.org">CARES</a>, and some days we store memories of everyday things like the way Fival the cat curls into a little ball and stretches his paw to cover his eyelids.
<p>
Last night as we recalled memories from the day, I remembered meeting an amazing woman named Clare in Sacramento this past July. She is delightful! Clare runs the <a href="http://www.sacramentoartcomplex.com/">Sacramento Art Complex</a>, which is a cool gallery collective of local artists. Clare told me that she realizes everyone has a memory bank, and often these banks are filled with negative, difficult and sometimes traumatic memories. She says that each day she asks God to help her deposit a good memory in someone's bank.</font>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi9gR3IxoXk-JtdvSE-4MRtfj6JVp2j1KYjc0CfSr__rAKW6q-l_f1kxSnm48hyphenhyphenU-bmm3bf314wv4uDuq1l5kDNK8Nps7DiZC46XLQya7svmlKXvbzWfrAC3v9Jk9z4JJF7rQCw/s1600/memorybank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi9gR3IxoXk-JtdvSE-4MRtfj6JVp2j1KYjc0CfSr__rAKW6q-l_f1kxSnm48hyphenhyphenU-bmm3bf314wv4uDuq1l5kDNK8Nps7DiZC46XLQya7svmlKXvbzWfrAC3v9Jk9z4JJF7rQCw/s320/memorybank.jpg" /></a></div>
<font size="1">This is Clare helping a little girl add to a mural on the wall outside of the Art Complex--certainly depositing into that girl's memory bank. On that very day, Clare also deposited into my memory bank by letting me paint a poem on the same wall!</font>
<p>
<font size="2">I love it! What if lovers loved with that goal in mind? What if parents parented with that goal in mind? What if kids at school treated each other with that goal in mind <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2009/11/smile.html">instead of bullying</a>? What if <a href="http://larouse.wordpress.com/2011/11/02/alright-november-what-you-got/">strangers met each other with that goal in mind</a>? What if instead of only trying to create a beautiful life for ourselves, we were to think of how to help create beauty in someone else's life each and every day? What a wonderful world it might be . . . And I bet that Clare has an overflowing bank of memories from how she has inspired and delighted others! What a wonderful life she must live!
<p>
May you have a beautiful day and take some time to intentionally deposit delight into someone's memory bank. Today and every day.</font>
<p>
peace.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-28243452264936672352011-09-19T16:58:00.000-05:002011-09-19T17:03:08.892-05:00a little about meOccasionally I blog for the <a href="http://www.devozine.com">Devo'Zine</a> youth worker blog "<a href="http://www.devoted2youth.org/blog-category/in-the-habit">In the Habi</a>t," and they invited me to write a bio for an upcoming blog post I wrote for youth workers to explore photography and other creative faith expressions with their youngin's. So I decided to use photography in my bio and thought it might be fun to share here and reintroduce myself to all of you. <p>
So let the fun begin, eh?!?!
<p>
My name is <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPaCmquAplZ22USFhCWlJcrBUkvllYcVteJdrwyiz00ZI6vwaXoTFNeOO6u9DAMo6eiwRQJj_D10XSHar0f9vsZGDfBPWnXtMtubqlP-6adnakGI7b3CKeev7xbSrIKvmA7FWrQ/s1600/name.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPaCmquAplZ22USFhCWlJcrBUkvllYcVteJdrwyiz00ZI6vwaXoTFNeOO6u9DAMo6eiwRQJj_D10XSHar0f9vsZGDfBPWnXtMtubqlP-6adnakGI7b3CKeev7xbSrIKvmA7FWrQ/s320/name.jpg" /></a></div>
Made in the image of our Creator, all of us were born to <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7DmITE4rBSOs7Dp-hzQiG3a0EBvrps2Fgcmw-8LdBuBeTQAcFHaCw2TVoSVTxHN83n-GeFagBWcxGUHQ_Y3DpxBpTHYATtBRxVD1yWC1ckFbN6iFQEtV7DumY2OKFICthLS1kQ/s1600/create.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7DmITE4rBSOs7Dp-hzQiG3a0EBvrps2Fgcmw-8LdBuBeTQAcFHaCw2TVoSVTxHN83n-GeFagBWcxGUHQ_Y3DpxBpTHYATtBRxVD1yWC1ckFbN6iFQEtV7DumY2OKFICthLS1kQ/s320/create.jpg" /></a></div>
So that’s what I live to do each day of my life. I <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_Z3UDXCg1R9zQFTMUkTgNTsPBnzq4r8LKDh6Ocvsg3tDbg4HW3alohAT13pEoGkwsZ0xK6YTXuKj13U7WPtgaQae9d0Hs-hQIAPxYHrJC1Pqh08sVTZzf6CKSLt56kVcrn_lZw/s1600/write.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs_Z3UDXCg1R9zQFTMUkTgNTsPBnzq4r8LKDh6Ocvsg3tDbg4HW3alohAT13pEoGkwsZ0xK6YTXuKj13U7WPtgaQae9d0Hs-hQIAPxYHrJC1Pqh08sVTZzf6CKSLt56kVcrn_lZw/s320/write.jpg" /></a></div> for a living, and writing is my heartsong.
And I work at <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJfZJBuKe5fu_lsnoh_aL33sLARk9_VGoCDhdchNIsa8W3hsfaKvNuMM5QkpndjA1LXqmN-BCpDFFADbFqbc2_MvbMkjhjERJee1OSM38yv1BB2dLvv-d6JtFMtvZridLAzVgYA/s1600/lululemon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJfZJBuKe5fu_lsnoh_aL33sLARk9_VGoCDhdchNIsa8W3hsfaKvNuMM5QkpndjA1LXqmN-BCpDFFADbFqbc2_MvbMkjhjERJee1OSM38yv1BB2dLvv-d6JtFMtvZridLAzVgYA/s320/lululemon.jpg" /></a></div>
(pronounced lulu + lemon like the fruit, by the way).
<p>Both of my jobs push me and inspire me in more ways than I could have ever imagined.
<p>
I love dancing, reading, cupcaking and practicing <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQTa8WGBUqFUbjKI53yLZOtZO-QSvT4o8aFk_Drj9bkgd6N396UZ0gTeFbB3PCc9Zcutg9T7oi8inRnJCb06Y16vWP3r0E008T3RU43sr-I2WKoWO4lRpmQWkdf4RAFxMwyxuWQ/s1600/yoga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtQTa8WGBUqFUbjKI53yLZOtZO-QSvT4o8aFk_Drj9bkgd6N396UZ0gTeFbB3PCc9Zcutg9T7oi8inRnJCb06Y16vWP3r0E008T3RU43sr-I2WKoWO4lRpmQWkdf4RAFxMwyxuWQ/s320/yoga.jpg" /></a></div>
I’m a firm believer that we should <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawsyOPntuRkZq81Cjs9JWc3NQZSRm_D1mOBa4UUeQpFOcFRqif6emnjuWjZvbqbycbTdYrthgkfdFBqNBXry0tuT99DRxyLfxN3fyK2BhHR8YL-ojmBekWy3a_kDbSrToMCF21A/s1600/playeveryday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawsyOPntuRkZq81Cjs9JWc3NQZSRm_D1mOBa4UUeQpFOcFRqif6emnjuWjZvbqbycbTdYrthgkfdFBqNBXry0tuT99DRxyLfxN3fyK2BhHR8YL-ojmBekWy3a_kDbSrToMCF21A/s320/playeveryday.jpg" /></a></div>
& so I do. Occasionally I bring out my camera and take photographs or find myself with a canvas and a paintbrush just to try something new. <p>May you all tap into the <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM7EPHGi_sO4xYlxvRKEmh1LO6pdNvOr48ZyL2h0pDg2RW2KRBrn8pu8WM16MKpcXPrQfY5UvyrkZrZ3t1gbLlEoV0OlPiDe1pHHPPSlwBf4hozbcz2Y8NTNq6464LokEbHKNvw/s1600/light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyM7EPHGi_sO4xYlxvRKEmh1LO6pdNvOr48ZyL2h0pDg2RW2KRBrn8pu8WM16MKpcXPrQfY5UvyrkZrZ3t1gbLlEoV0OlPiDe1pHHPPSlwBf4hozbcz2Y8NTNq6464LokEbHKNvw/s320/light.jpg" /></a></div>
and the <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPDjv-nqnkpEerkP7VfnDvepy2KJoewaBOj8kmbk9CDXbkDDuwSo2m2STbKgMWfSigwc9vZC6ZTNY-MMUVhI8_vLBcIuh7XkgwzEWlLNLlEpX3ZhXvSdUzjbHe6RejR5hZ2t7Wg/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPDjv-nqnkpEerkP7VfnDvepy2KJoewaBOj8kmbk9CDXbkDDuwSo2m2STbKgMWfSigwc9vZC6ZTNY-MMUVhI8_vLBcIuh7XkgwzEWlLNLlEpX3ZhXvSdUzjbHe6RejR5hZ2t7Wg/s320/love.jpg" /></a></div>
that God has planted deep within each of our hearts, and shine! That is the joy of life, and life is meant to be lived joyfully.
<p>
namaste.
Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-79358322308648942212011-07-28T14:35:00.007-05:002012-04-03T13:17:33.808-05:00Crazy Things . . .Several people have commented to me (in person) about my poem <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2011/05/do-crazy-thing.html">Do the Crazy Thing</a> that I posted here a couple of months ago. It has a special story to it, so I thought I'd share it here.<br /><br />In May I took a visual poetry class at <a href="http://www.eartandsoul.com/">Art & Soul</a> taught by the wonderful Kelly Falzone. It's a class where poetry interacts with visual art; we made art to fit our words, we crafted words to complement our art, we shaped our poetry, we were inspired by images and paintings and one another. It was a lovely course.<br /><br />In one particular class, Kelly pulled out an old box filled with black & white postcards. She turned them over so that we could not see the images and fanned them in her hands, asking us to select two postcards like she was a magician starting a card trick. We were told not to look at the cards but to simply think of someone who was no longer in our lives--either because his or her breath had expired or because life situations had taken us away from each other (break-ups, moves, graduations, etc.). Kelly told us that this person we were thinking of had a message for us and they wanted to send on a postcard. Once we turned the cards over, she said, we would know which card this person would send and what the message was. Our exercise was to write down the message.<br /><br />So I selected two cards, as instructed. I immediately thought of my dear <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2010/07/yellow.html">Teri</a> who died unexpectedly in 2003. The heft of her death sits near me still. I flipped the cards over and saw two images: one was a man standing on a bridge in Chicago with a tall well-windowed building behind him, the other was of a man with one knee on the ground who was balancing a sword on his nose. Just as Kelly promised, I knew Teri would send the sword-balancing card, and so I started writing. <br /><br />"Do the Crazy Thing" is Teri's beautiful message to me, and it came at just the most amazing time. Just days before I had mentioned to my besties Beth (my Bethstie!) and my sister that I was going to just go ahead and leave my job, start writing again and trust that all would work out as it was to be. I had done that before in 2005, and I was ready to do it again, I told them. They both thought that maybe I wasn't making the most rational of decisions.<br /><br />But this exercise reminded me that sometimes the most rational of decisions keeps us from doing things of wonder. And this exercise reminded me that Teri inspired me so much in her living because she did wonder-filled things! And this exercise gave me a gift I've missed for almost 8 long years: sitting down and telling Teri my secrets and hearing her crazy-wonderful advice!<br /><br />I highly recommend an exercise like this if you have someone who's missing from your life. It's magical.
<p>
UPDATE--and just so you know, I did leave my job just two or three weeks after writing this poem and, in fact, started writing for a living again! I also work at the lululemon store in Nashville and love my work every day. So when the fabulous Alessia at the lululemon headquarters put some graphics to this poem in October, I was terribly honored . . . so <a href="http://www.lululemon.com/community/blog/do-the-crazy-thing/">voila</a>!Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-56671501893802626072011-05-30T17:42:00.002-05:002011-05-30T18:00:25.828-05:00New web site"A poet's autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote." - Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDMeofbq0H3SGhCzPQu69X3I8KemmIaMgkdb1SY-Eb4MoTbUwtjDSNBpHseI1dC7loRKsSVrVhFRLcUYqlCQdccZHPyJOnqxqGtpBMg6hZeRatvt6fUI-SeGE__RRXY5OGHidug/s1600/footnote3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDMeofbq0H3SGhCzPQu69X3I8KemmIaMgkdb1SY-Eb4MoTbUwtjDSNBpHseI1dC7loRKsSVrVhFRLcUYqlCQdccZHPyJOnqxqGtpBMg6hZeRatvt6fUI-SeGE__RRXY5OGHidug/s320/footnote3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612643920918890482" /></a><br /><br />I have a new web site coming, and I'm excited about it!<br /><br />I’m launching a new site all about poets in June: <a href="http://JustAFootnote.com">JustAFootnote.com</a>. It’s a place where I will talk about writerly things—the writing process, exercises that interest and challenge me as a poet and, most importantly, the stories of other poets whose narrations of life inspire me. Inspired by Yevtushenko’s quotation, I fully realize that snippets of a poet’s life are simply footnotes of a greater story that his or her poetry tells. Still, I hope we will all connect more deeply with poetry because of the inspiring lives of poets I know and share with readers of Just a Footnote.<br /><br />Each week I’ll spend time with a different poet, and on Mondays I will feature a new poet on the site. Readers will get snippets of our conversations, photographs of the poet in his or her element, and a brief introduction to their work. I’ve got some amazing Nashville poets lined up and some fun contests, so make sure you check it out and come back often!<br /><br />I’ll keep you posted when we launch.<br /><br />In the meantime, love well . . .<br /><br />Like my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Just-a-Footnote-/211624645530342">facebook page</a> or follow me on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/justafootnote">Twitter</a> for further updates!Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-2929005993466984142011-05-06T07:40:00.006-05:002012-04-03T13:12:27.929-05:00do the crazy thing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLOv294nGHbYN3s_4w3gRqi7xSfJKlWZQISIINvL-DbeDcjOL8pAOz3iPiEC7Df606K7TeNKYzsH5-LR636R0JUqD5aD6kBnuWeyNng3fNyBitM8nJs0oylNXzVZiC5YV0fSVTg/s1600/sword.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZLOv294nGHbYN3s_4w3gRqi7xSfJKlWZQISIINvL-DbeDcjOL8pAOz3iPiEC7Df606K7TeNKYzsH5-LR636R0JUqD5aD6kBnuWeyNng3fNyBitM8nJs0oylNXzVZiC5YV0fSVTg/s320/sword.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603584049659004306" /></a><br /><font size="1">Image of the amazing Melina of Daughters of Rhea, used with her permission. Check her out: <a href="http://www.daughtersofrhea.com">www.daughtersofrhea.com</a>. Photo by Dav Rue for Goddess Motion</font><br /><br /><br /><br /><font size="2">do the crazy thing<br />the hard-to-imagine-but-somehow-you-did thing<br />the brings-you-to-your-knees thing<br />the no-one-would-ever-do-it-that-way-thing<br />the safety-net-would-not-even-matter thing<br />the it-could-kill-you-but-not-trying-is-another-kind-of-death thing<br />the thing on your heart<br />do it<br />and let them gasp<br />right before they call it a thing of wonder</font><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">05.2011<br /></span><br /><br /><br />love your dreams well, friends!<br /><br />namaste.
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<font size="3">Searching for the poster-style variation of my poem? Find it <a href="http://www.lululemon.com/community/blog/do-the-crazy-thing/">here at lululemon.com</a>.</font></p>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-34496898118336676192011-03-22T23:58:00.015-05:002011-03-25T10:27:09.654-05:00If you’re gonna have sex, make sure he’s a Jew . . . (and other tales of HIV testing)<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38791980@N04/5045961999/" title="nashville AIDS walk 2010 by lanecia, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4146/5045961999_cb4d9ee046.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="nashville AIDS walk 2010" /></a><br />image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38791980@N04/page102/">Lanecia Rouse</a><br /><br />As an HIV testing specialist, I often hear some of the darnedest things whenever I ask people if they’ve had their recommended annual HIV screening yet. I hinted at them in a <a href="http://rouserantings.blogspot.com/2010/07/letter-to-stigma.html">letter I wrote to “Stigma”</a> a few months back, but my coworkers and I really get a kick out of some of the things we hear, so I thought I’d share them here.<br /><br />And, believe it or not, I’m not joking or exaggerating about these:<br /><br />HER: Weeeeelllll . . . I’ll take one . . . Oh, but wait! Where are you from?<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: Ummm . . . I grew up in South Carolina.</span><br />HER: Are you sure?<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: Ummm . . . yes.</span><br />HER: I just want to make sure you’re not from Africa or something putting voodoo on that stick.<span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />ME: Hmmm . . . no ma’am. I don’t know voodoo.<br /></span><br />Cue the convulsions and chanting as I did her mouth swab (Ok . . I did exaggerate that part, but I definitely wish I had done that).<br /> <br /> +++<br /><br />HIM: Oh, no no no no. I don’t need a test. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: But have you had one before?</span><br />HIM: Oh, no no no. I’ve never had an HIV test because I’ve never had HIV.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Crickets</span>. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: Well, sir, it’s always good to get a test and know your status for certain, and it’s just a free mouth swab.</span><br />HIM: Oh no no no! I know how some people get the flu for a little while when they take the flu shot . . . I don’t want to do anything like that.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: Sir, are. you. kidding. me. Are you <span style="font-style:italic;">seriously</span> kidding me? We’re not going to <span style="font-style:italic;">give</span> you HIV for a little while with this voodoo stick.</span> <br />(ok ok . . . I didn't really say that; I only <span style="font-style:italic;">wish</span> that I had).<br /><br /> +++<br /><br />HER: Oooohhhh . . . I’ve seen that on CSI before. You’re trying to steal my DNA.<br /><br /> +++<br /><br />HER: I don’t need a test. I’m not promiscuous.<br />Meanwhile the young lady sitting next to her has decided there’s no way she can take the test. If she says yes, then everyone will think she <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> promiscuous.<br /><br /> +++<br /><br />HER: No, thanks. I’m a Christian. I don't do those kinds of things.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">ME: Oh, we test Christians all the time. No worries. And some of them are (gasp!) HIV+ even! </span><br />Well, I didn’t gasp, but . . . you know the deal . . . I certainly wish I had.<br /><br /> +++<br /><br />HER: I’m a mother! And I’ve been married for 13 years! And I believe in God! How dare you come in here and give me an HIV test!” <br />(slightly paraphrased from my coworker who was yelled at by this married God-fearing woman today)<br /><br /> +++<br /><br />HIM: Oh, we don’t need tests; Jews and Catholics don’t get HIV.<br /><br />Awesome.<br /><br /><br />The moral of this story is, if you’re gonna sleep with someone, clearly Yahweh and Mother Mary are keeping their people in check, so these are your safest bachelors and bachelorettes! <br /><br />Or maybe the real moral of the story is that everyone has a different sexual story—maybe you are celibate or delaying sex or married to your one sexual partner or have a different sexual partner with each change of underwear. Whatever your story, the story of public health is this: <span style="font-weight:bold;">all</span> of us should be tested <span style="font-weight:bold;">at least once</span> in our lives, <span style="font-weight:bold;">most</span> of us should be tested <span style="font-weight:bold;">once each year</span> (yes, even if we’re married, observe the Sabbath or say our Hail Marys regularly) and <span style="font-weight:bold;">some</span> of us should be tested <span style="font-weight:bold;">every 3-6 months</span> if we participate in high-risk behaviors. <br /><br />And definitely, if you’re in a setting where someone is promoting HIV testing publicly, <span style="font-weight:bold;">never</span> allow any of the above absurd comments to fall from your lips. It does nothing to help get more at-risk populations comfortable with testing, and there’s never a reason to be offended by an HIV test or ignorant about HIV. Simply say, “yes!” It really doesn’t hurt to even get tested again for the sake of public health—especially when there are no needles involved. Or decline if you wish, but do so with respect and say, “but I’m really glad that you offer this free test. It’s important for everyone to know his or her status.”<br /><br />And HIV knows no race, gender, age, socio-econimic level <span style="font-weight:bold;">or</span> religious affiliation, despite popular (or should I say questionable?) belief.<br /><br />If there are any other HIV testers out there reading this, I’d love to hear some of the interesting things you’ve heard before . . .Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-78264500304335092242011-03-14T15:40:00.001-05:002011-03-14T15:42:33.263-05:00Amira in America at the Spoken Word Census 2010Here is a video of my poem from last year's Spoken Word Census in Nashville. My name is not spelled correctly, but that's all good . . . <br /><br />:)<br /><br />peace.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Qdf1Np6uENM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-63012267011349694022011-02-22T17:25:00.008-06:002011-04-24T22:12:09.260-05:00now i ain't sayin' she's a goalsetter . . .I'm a dreamer.<br /><br />Which means, for most of us dreamers, that I think the word <span style="font-style:italic;">goalsetting</span> is a synonym for words like <span style="font-style:italic;">plague</span>, <span style="font-style:italic;">allergic reaction</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">death</span>. Ok . . . possibly I have a flair for the dramatic, as well, but I can wholeheartedly confirm that I certainly avoid sitting down with pen and paper to make a list of goals. It just doesn't seem right. Why not dream and follow the dreams as they come? Be present to the now, you know!<br /><br />But part of loving well is to see the dreams that have been given to me (for myself and for the world) actually come to fruition. Or at least to focus enough on a few of them at a time, so that all my dreams don't become too whelming at once.<br /><br />Enter a book for right-brainiacs. After a conversation with my friend where I expressed some of my frustrations with my scattered dreams, I found the book <a href="http://www.betterworldbooks.com/organizing-for-the-creative-person-id-0517881640.aspx">Organizing for the Creative Person</a> and hoped I could check it out from the library. Much to my chagrin, the library didn't have it, but out of nowhere it appeared one day thanks to my dear friend . . .<br /><br />And here are the fruits of chapter one:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcBIFQAaS5X7huDa7FHrSIV6LH7UD5fkmn9qHeFVyg6gW3BHR48TiiIW7o1wJ_PHnnreSnV3neoIVTVE9o5NJy61HALQFmiksnpm76m4Ugegk1sXH95-4zP6gLXU1DqDEyvIMtQ/s1600/022211174955.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcBIFQAaS5X7huDa7FHrSIV6LH7UD5fkmn9qHeFVyg6gW3BHR48TiiIW7o1wJ_PHnnreSnV3neoIVTVE9o5NJy61HALQFmiksnpm76m4Ugegk1sXH95-4zP6gLXU1DqDEyvIMtQ/s320/022211174955.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576666603760344386" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWcchwxl9xTiPds3FjBfcEedjpy-tROeuilYx-uiJ65B5I94C6cWueXQh43TS9eJ3j3HvfzoFgFDhgD5lwjraw0bEF-_OTcKyrBqAexJ2t4ZFbW5h_agT6RZttqXda0LsjewHVA/s1600/022211164712.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWcchwxl9xTiPds3FjBfcEedjpy-tROeuilYx-uiJ65B5I94C6cWueXQh43TS9eJ3j3HvfzoFgFDhgD5lwjraw0bEF-_OTcKyrBqAexJ2t4ZFbW5h_agT6RZttqXda0LsjewHVA/s320/022211164712.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576665713708517890" /></a><br /><br />There is no list involved in this goal-setting venture. There are no checked boxes or firm dates. It's just these colorful strips of paper holding my wild dreams, dropped into bright bags I will sit on my shelf as a daily reminder of dreams I love. I can move the papers from bag-to-bag if, for example, life alters the timeline of one of my "maybe" dreams to become a "now" dream or if I uncover more dreams behind a moonbeam that I decide to drop into "someday."<br /><br />I love it! And it felt good to write all of my dreams down, see them and know they now have a home. And the best part is that the book didn't tell me exactly HOW I had to do my goalsetting. I just came up with the strips of paper and bag idea on my own. Indeed, the authors shape a helpful task that a creative person can be . . . well, creative in accomplishing. <br /><br />So happy to be loving my dreams well . . . And I believe my future will be even brighter than these super cute dream bags.<br /><br />love well.<br /><br />CCionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-74745596782832255572011-01-14T17:19:00.007-06:002011-01-15T22:09:05.079-06:00love well . . .I have one intention for my life right now: that I might love well.<br /><br />And this intention is larger than I could imagine, but I'm excited about what it will mean. I will love the people I love well. I will love people who make my head pound and force my eyes to roll well. I will love my writing well. I will love the earth well. I will love my body well. I will love God and God's people well. And I will be open to whatever ways God may call me to love well . . . <br /><br />As you can see, this is quite a life intention. I will need enormous amounts of accountability. I am grateful to be surrounded by beautiful, honest people who love me even when I don't love well (and I have been a poor lover more often than not). Thank you, my loves! Please keep inspiring me and holding me accountable.<br /><br />My lastest joys for practicing some good loving:<br /><br /><strong>Water</strong>. Water is life. And I'm drinking a lot more of life these days, and life is yummy. I'm not a fan of NYResolutions, but I guess this is the closest to one that I've made. So I upped the water ante a couple of weeks ago, and I can tell a difference already.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/"><strong>Yoga Journal</strong></a>. Such a good magazine with health tips, life tips and a greater understanding of the practice. I'm trying the <a href="http://http://21daychallenge.yogajournal.com/">21-day challenge</a> to commit to a home practice. Delightful.<br /><br /><strong><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Namaste">Namaste</a></strong>. It's a Sanskrit word that basically means that the divine that dwells within me recognizes and honors the divine that dwells within you. We say this at the end of yoga practices, but I have better days when I think of namaste throughout my day. And I consider it a most loving of greetings. Would that we all might see and greet our Creator in our neighbors before anything else.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38791980@N04/5210720058/in/photostream/"><strong>Miss Ruby</strong></a>. Our friend Miss Ruby is the most loving person I know. Her latest favorite song is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehu3wy4WkHs">"Say Hey" by Michael Franti & Spearhead</a>. I'm pretty sure this is because every 30 seconds or so you get to repeat, "I love you," several times (and it's a good rhythm, and Miss Ruby loves good rhythms so that we can dance). She consoles people who seem sad. She laughs loudly. She watches the news and calls on "Jesus" when she hears of shootings and hardships. She says "I love you" as often as she can to as many people as she can, and I love that about her. She loves well.<br /><br /><a href="http://crazysexylife.com/"><strong>CrazySexyLife</strong></a>. I stumbled across this site from a Facebook ad (I know . . . FB is so good at what it does). And this Kris Carr seems infectious. Great blog name, for starters. And let's not ignore her website's tagline: "a super disco of health, spiritual wealth and happiness!" Yes. And with increasing weight and blood pressure, I just got orders from the doctor to change some parts of my lifestyle. While I avoid diets (because the word "die" is in it for a reason), I think I like Carr's approach to lifestyle change. I just might be buying the book and love my body well.<br /><br /><em><strong><a href="http://www.heartsandmindsbooks.com/booknotes/common_prayer_a_liturgy_for_or/">Common Prayer</a></strong></em>. Liturgy at its finest. Written by three people I call friends. I'm struggling with church and all of its complexities these days. But I'm always a lover of liturgy. And this book helps me to love Christ well. Thanks, my sister, for gifting it to me. [There's a good web site, too, for daily practice: <a href="http://commonprayer.net/">Common Prayer</a>]<br /><br /><strong>Writing</strong>. My first true love. And instead of critiquing it, I'm practicing silencing the editor and loving it back. And this is actually harder than I could imagine. But it hurts so good. <br /><br />In his <a href="http://www.odemagazine.com/doc/of">Ode Magazine </a>article "Standing Barefoot Before God," Rabbi Rami writes, "write what you know and keep at it until you at last realize you don't know much and what you do know is terrifyingly trite and stupefyingly boring." And he basically encourages writers to let writing strip us bare. Yes. Stripped and naked and vulnerable--these are the places where God's light shines, where honesty can't help but dance, where words we are too afraid to say reveal themselves in crazy/beautiful madness. <br /><br />That's all for today.<br /><br />love well.<br /><br />CCionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-85343806034116576782010-12-16T22:31:00.006-06:002010-12-16T23:35:54.025-06:00You Ain't Taking That from Me . . .<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UdkF7dML9yb4CFhGC0ywpGFsPoE_mQFNBsCmSj2BzGRHvhTB29zRx4amIXpkbPK93nxeQj_UrfesR3Gmeyjc8nF0qYqGw1of0-AJEgsgnuVXP6UoW-IwdqXL8n3IfrwBUWY1_g/s1600/IMG_3829.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UdkF7dML9yb4CFhGC0ywpGFsPoE_mQFNBsCmSj2BzGRHvhTB29zRx4amIXpkbPK93nxeQj_UrfesR3Gmeyjc8nF0qYqGw1of0-AJEgsgnuVXP6UoW-IwdqXL8n3IfrwBUWY1_g/s320/IMG_3829.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551514430682837922" /></a><br />A friend told me that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=vnhDIGTldho">Natasha Bedingfield's new song "Strip Me"</a> reminded her of me, so I decided to buy it on my cell phone immediately. I usually like Bedingfield's songs and the 30-second Amazon.com demo sounded great.<br /><br />As soon as I listened to the full song, I knew I'd uncovered a new theme song for the rest of 2010: <span style="font-style:italic;">Take what you want, steal my pride. Build me up or cut me down to size. Shut me out, but I'll just scream. I'm only one voice in a million, but you ain't taking that from me.</span><br /><br />The next time I listened to it at nearly full volume in my car, bobbing my head and throwing my free hand in the air, I was trying to simply jam out. But before I knew what was happening, I burst into tears. As I listened to the words and sang out, I thought of the 14-year-old girls I met in Moshi, Tanzania, through the <a href="http://www.compassion.com/">Compassion International</a> sponsorship program ministry. I thought of Judith, Siwabena, Gladness, Beatrice, the two Jasmines, Margaret and Witness--the girls who after just one afternoon of visiting with them seem to find their way into my thoughts often.<br /><br />These young ladies live in a place and financial situation that we in the U.S.A. might pity. Because of their state in life, we sometimes talk about children like them and say that we need to be "their voice"--the "voice for the voiceless," we say, to inspire others to care about them and help make a difference (Read my sister <a href="http://larouse.wordpress.com/2010/12/15/voice/">Lanecia's blog</a> that talks about this, as well).<br /><br />But when I met these girls, I was so moved by how smart, strong, confident and compassionate they were. Judith dreams of traveling and visiting Italy one day. Beautiful Gladness sings with great joy and reads incessantly. She is smart and witty and waxes poetic on politics and Black Americans (and she called me a "spinster," but that's a story for another day, I suppose). Beatrice cares for her mother who is HIV+. Witness is HIV+, does well in all of her classes and loves writing her Compassion sponsor. And Margaret wants to be an evangelist. Actually, she is one already, and she preached for us the day we visited their ministry. When I asked about how people felt about women in pastoral leadership, Margaret and Gladness quickly informed me that girls can do anything they want to do if they are "confident in the Lord."<br /><br />These girls face enormous challenges daily. Some of them have buried too many parents, siblings and friends. If it was not for sponsorship, they might have to go without meals or education or hope for the future. There are a lot of things they do not have. A voice, however, is not on that list. They have powerful voices, and I cannot wait to hear how their voices ring out when given the platform and opportunity to bring their thoughts and hopes and dreams to the world. I think of these girls whenever I hear this song now. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Take what you want, steal my pride. Build me up or cut me down to size . . .<br /><br />I'm only one voice in a million, but you ain't taking that from me.</span>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-31717828800603524202010-12-14T00:15:00.002-06:002010-12-14T00:17:53.556-06:00Ring the Alarm<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38791980@N04/5248153530/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5086/5248153530_38513f73c4_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38791980@N04/5248153530/">Pull the Alarm</a> <br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/38791980@N04/">lanecia</a></span><br clear="all" /><p>"Too often the price exacted by a society for security and respectability is that the Christian movement in its formal expression must be on the side of the strong against the weak. This is a matter of tremendous significance, for it reveals to what extent a religion that was born of a people acquainted with persecution and suffering has become the cornerstone of a civilization and of nations whose very position in modern life has too often been secured by a ruthless use of power applied to weak and defenseless people." -Howard Thurman<br /><br />In the book <a href="http://www.cokesbury.com/forms/ProductDetail.aspx?pid=791536">40-Day Journey with Howard Thurman</a> (which I'm reading during this "Little Lent"), they suggest a prayer following this Thurman quote: "Pray for the church, that it may constantly and humbly wonder if it is faithfully following the way of Jesus, which is the way of love and justice."<br /><br />What a beautiful church, the one that would daily put this prayer before the heartbeat of the congregation, that would question all of its ministries that do not align with this prayer, that would ring the alarm when they discover the path they are on makes a mockery of the very nature of Christ and then believe in the depths of their being that another way is, indeed, very possible.<br /><br />I am receiving quotes and questions from Thurman that mimic my daily critique and frustration with the church today. What have we become? What are we becoming? <br /><br />May we always question and desire . . .</p>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-72439244854635423812010-11-21T00:36:00.003-06:002010-11-21T01:17:39.553-06:00Hip Hop started out in the heart . . .Lanecia and I watched the screening of this documentary <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.bouncingcats.com/">Bouncing Cats</a></span>, which features the story of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/abramzt">Abraham "Abramz" Tekya</a> and the Breakdance Project Uganda. Lanecia met Abramz a couple of years ago when she was in Kampala and took a hip hop class at the BPU (hehehe).<br /><br />Find this film screening somewhere near you. Seriously. It's a must-see. Good stuff. And it features K'naan. :)<br /><br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/11938213" width="400" height="265" frameborder="0"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/11938213">BOUNCING CATS film trailer</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/nabilelderkin">nabil elderkin</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635069.post-79615411280071590752010-10-28T06:02:00.007-05:002010-10-29T03:38:46.671-05:00WalkingWalking: that's what I've been doing the past two days.<br /><br />I walked uphill and downhill. I walked barefoot on smoothly paved roads past manicured lawns, flamboyant trees, a tiny white kid running and chatting with his tiny black friend in Chichewa all alone with no parents in sight, and a number of tall brick walls topped with electrical wiring that protects the foreigners who have chosen these elaborate and expensive homes in this still developing country.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJkCC2XQ6oeMdIKh8HwnmP4m0DZrIaZicid4gYNkZovw99QE5vpxe5qOc5OowYYfRkMMCrl2V1LLODM9aOko4JoxUkDE0shVwAKyNCBoqNDuP8k4EUpKcQSAYTqNGYLlCkDMpYg/s1600/IMG_4589.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJkCC2XQ6oeMdIKh8HwnmP4m0DZrIaZicid4gYNkZovw99QE5vpxe5qOc5OowYYfRkMMCrl2V1LLODM9aOko4JoxUkDE0shVwAKyNCBoqNDuP8k4EUpKcQSAYTqNGYLlCkDMpYg/s200/IMG_4589.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533380410785374866" /></a><br /><br />I traipsed around on red dirt paths in my dusty sandals, across wooden bridges with some unhinged slats, stepping over discarded banana peels, skeleton corn cobs and flattened plastic bottles, past homemade signs for fruit stands, tuck shops, more flamboyant trees (my favorite), small homes made of mud or brick or metal scraps, straw walls that would take very little huffing and puffing to blow down, and two tiny Chichewa girls laughing and clapping and singing a little rhyme in English. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImboAykUVkqhues-w9XnK5mWg4OOl-jcwaQArjaWgtdOuDXngTEJ6n0bRcaRlIrvBUAkX8NwXWFqQJvbiELNfzZwvVOfqIc-90cgybwA2DT35fUaambsiUqq5-lV4imyxZZIcsg/s1600/IMG_4626.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImboAykUVkqhues-w9XnK5mWg4OOl-jcwaQArjaWgtdOuDXngTEJ6n0bRcaRlIrvBUAkX8NwXWFqQJvbiELNfzZwvVOfqIc-90cgybwA2DT35fUaambsiUqq5-lV4imyxZZIcsg/s320/IMG_4626.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533381256363621154" /></a><br />This is Malawi--her beauty, her contradictions, her complexities, her roads . . .<br /><br />Today's walk was with my dear friends of Tiwasunge (Tee-wah-soon-gay). These friends are all HIV+, and they have come together in this community-based organization to care for one another and support each other. These friends are beautiful.<br /><br />We walked all around Kampala village (the Olivers' neighborhood--they do not live with the other foreigners or "azungus;" they live among Malawians) for home visits, praying with bedridden members of the community and meeting orphaned children whose school fees are paid for by Tiwasunge.<br /><br />I met Cedric, whose parents both died of HIV. He was fortunate for Tiwasunge to pay his fees through form 4 (secondary school). He applied to university but did not get in. But Lucy says it matters not if he got in or not. "If they don't get into university, we have a problem. If they do get into university, we have a problem," she says. In Malawi, I've met too many young people with dreams and hopes and acceptance letters for their preferred university whose education comes to a screeching halt after form 4 exams. Who will pay for their university fees when they are accepted? For the young people supported by Tiwasunge, Lucy has no answer. The organization just cannot afford the expense. Education is power in Malawi--power over poverty, over disease, power to assist their neighbors, to educate other Africans, to increase the hope on their beautiful continent--and these young people quickly become dis-empowered after secondary school.<br /><br />I also met a woman who has been bedridden for four months now. We could not mention HIV to her or around her, though that is her diagnosis. She believes she has been bewitched and that she has ways to get rid of it. Which means she's probably not so consistent with her ARV's if she takes them at all when the Tiwasunge friends are not around. <br /><br />She was lying on a piece of foam placed haphazardly on top of bed springs in a dark, dank room that smelled of mud and smoke and manure. We visited her, prayed with her, gave her fresh bananas. Tiwasunge usually wash their patients, feed them more, take their clothes and wash them, provide medicine. They have used their limited funds wisely on supporting education and food for the orphans, but this means they have not been able to afford all of the materials for home-based care in the last couple of months. The bag I remember them carrying 2 years ago on home visits is now very light. But their spirits and belief in prayer is as strong as ever. And I know they will persevere, that God will provide.<br /><br />I am tired from all of the walking (literally . . . about to take a nap). But I am also tired from all of the disparity. I am tired of seeing 9-month-old babies who are emaciated and don't look like they've been here a day more than 3 weeks. I am tired of knowing HIV destroys lives daily across the world, especially knowing that it's a disease that people can live with if poverty didn't rear its ugly head.<br /><br />I am also energized to reorganize Pray With Africa and partner with Tiwasunge. I am energized to see what God will do with Tiwasunge and how I can be a part of their story. I am energized to think more about the way I live and how, without even thinking about it, I contribute to a poverty that kills worldwide.<br /><br />I am hopeful. God is good. And God is desperately in love with us, God's children. The end of our stories is abundant life, and knowing this gives me hope.Cionahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13035368818717712542noreply@blogger.com1