Let’s Make Trinkets Out of Horrors and Armor Out of Bliss

The sunrise is going to find me on my way to see… one more specialist—a scary one. When I next write you (or maybe a bit later *we know how these things go*), my life will be unchanged or complicated enough to force me to make all sorts of wild readjustments. Regardless of what happens in the next 13 hours, I will continue working on the creation of a place where we can be human together. This sounds a bit strange out of context, doesn’t it? Well… the following bit, which I shared on Facebook, might clarify things:

I’ve been talking to friends—from the blogosphere, from the hospital, some belong to both circles (because they’re dealing with chronic ailments or are suffering from being human… in a time when having a humane heart means hurting a lot).

Common themes seem to rule these conversations: “I feel lonely, Magaly” and “I feel guilty for whining about my pain, when children haven’t seen their parents in weeks” and “I feel wretched for worrying about my child getting into a better school when many children have no food or can even dream about a proper education” and “I must be a monster for caring about my weight when people risk imprisonment (and worse) to get their bodies into countries where they are not wanted”…

I believe anything that keeps us from feeling healthy of mind and body is a big problem that affects all. I believe that worrying about (what some might consider) the small things, while also keeping in mind the big things, is one of the characteristics that makes us human. I have never believed that wanting to be our best selves (in flesh and spirit) is something that we need to be forgiven for. These days, I find myself wanting to use words (my superpower) to spread that belief to anyone who wants it or needs it.

I’m not sure how to go about it, but I’m working on it…

…and when the time comes, when I find a way to create a space where we can explore (and battle) small and big horrors, I hope you join in. Because I believe that once we can look at our minds and bodies and delight in what we see, then there is nothing we can’t face… and, perhaps, even conquer.

While I’m gone, while I wait… I shall plan and plot and shape a space for us, a spot where we can share and celebrate everything we are—the good, the great, the terrible… a cyber-circle where we can take small giant steps towards a Self we can kiss on the mouth while thinking, You’re awesome.

If you wish, you can join the planning and plotting and shaping, too. Just share 1 or 3 or 13 things you’ve always wanted to work on, to discuss, to make better, to dream real… in the company of likeminded people.

I’m considering all sorts of topics: working towards better eating habits, exploring different ways to get ourselves out of bed on days when the task seems to exist between no way and impossible, finishing projects we’ve been working on for ages and ages and ages, finding our waists…

I can’t say that every suggestion will become part of the event exactly as presented, but I promise to do my best to incorporate all (and let’s face it, my best is freaking fantastic… only surpassed by my unbeatable modesty).

Go ahead, my Wicked Luvs. Tell me about those rough stones you want to polish (or wish to learn to love exactly as they are). Let’s find ways to make trinkets out of horrors and armor out of bliss. Together, we can… and will.


Carnival of Bones, by Shelle Kennedy
When life rips your heart out of your chest,
make something useful (even fun) out of it.

Be Human

Her sister entered the apartment with burglar’s stealth.

April got out of bed, walked to her bedroom door, and stopped when she heard a voice that wasn’t her sister’s. May Sullivan, there might be hope for you yet. It was almost midnight, and her sister had company.

Grinning, April pressed an ear to the door.

“…don’t know about that,” May whispered.

“She isn’t good for you,” responded an unfamiliar voice.

“Kiley, you’ve always been biased when it comes to my sister.”

“Not biased, sweetie. Everyone knows your sister. She won’t help you find the courage that will allow your husband back into your life. Sharing a space with her will hurt—”

April opened the bedroom door. “My sister and I shared a womb for nine months, Kiley sweetie, and we survived just fine.”

“I should leave.” Kiley stood up.

“You should.” April walked across the living room and opened the front door.

Kiley rushed out.

April slammed the door closed.

“That was uncalled for,” May said.

“Uncalled for?” April got in her sister’s face. “That woman wants you ‘to find the courage’ to forgive the bastard who put the horns on you for two fucking years. That’s uncalled for!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“Damnit,” April shouted. “When did your soul die? Why is your carcass feeding everyone’s expectations? Can you breathe through that much weakness? Are you human, May S—?”

“Fuck off, April.” May slapped her sister.

May hit her hard, but it was the words—not the smack—that still rang in April’s ears.

“I’m sorry,” May said. “You were hysterical.

April hugged May, saying over and over, “You hit me.”

“I did,” May said softly. “And earlier, I drove my soon to be ex-husband’s car out of the garage that used to be ours and into the pool that’s now his. Is that human enough?”

April hugged her sister tighter.

Inspired by “Be Human”, winner of From Blackout Poem Bit to Flash Fiction, 1

wee notes:
1. to put the horns on someone means to be unfaithful.
2. I put Helen Mirren’s super inspirational advice in May Sullivan’s gentle mouth: “At 70 years old, if I could give my younger self one piece of advice, it would be to use the words ‘fuck off’ much more frequently.”

Nude, by SunshineShelle
Detail from “Nude”, by SunshineShelle