I Can't Breathe

When I saw the video of George Floyd being murdered by a white cop, I felt physical pain, I couldn't breathe.

I can't do anything, but I have a voice. My daughter and I attended the protest that took place in Cleveland, Ohio, Saturday May 30th.

The protest began peaceful but turned violent and destructive, with tear gas bombs thrown at protestors.

Protests against police brutality are now taking place across America, for Floyd and other black victims. When the media and the fucking-good-for-nothing-politicians criticize the riots and the violence these protests are inducing, I want to ask them, what choice do the people have? We feel pain, we feel anger, we want police brutality against black people to stop. How can we as a hurting society channel our pain and anger? And what example have the authorities set for the people? When we've seen them continuously use violence and aggression against black bodies, then turn their eyes away from all the injustice.

A Fullness. A Calm. A Complete Happiness.

I went for a walk, enjoying the glorious sunshine, the warmth on my bare skin, the cool breeze in my hair, the tremendous sky, sparkling blue, clouds white and enormous. Iced coffee from a local café, I lay under gigantic tree and fell in love with every leaf, the vibrancy of a myriad shades of green blew my mind away. Thick, soft grass sprawled under my body, a luscious carpet, I watched shape-shifting clouds float by, I’m so comfortable I could sleep out here, on this plush grass, under this breath-taking sky. I felt my heart burst with joy! How can lying under a tree make me so happy? A perfect simple happiness, a fullness, an intense sense of well being, a calm, a satisfaction so complete. “I’m so grateful, so grateful” I repeated to myself, smiling, my eyes half-closed in dreaminess. I’m so grateful for all the beauty that surrounds me every single day.

The Self-centered Bastard

I let go of God,


That angry, precarious, revenge thirsty, self-centered, bastard who hates women, gays, and denounces all religions except Islam.


God is the stick my parents threatened me with,


God, God, God they sneered


“Be obedient or God will damn you”

“Do as I tell you or God burn you”

“Stay silent or God will blind you”


God, God, God!


All God wanted to do is shroud me, veil me; “Cover up, be modest and pious, or you’ll entice the men who have no self-control, because that’s how I made them.”


I let go of God, the stick.


And it felt like missing a tooth. I kept feeling the gap with my tongue, waiting for a new tooth, a wiser tree to set its roots and grow, but nothing came.


Cold air blew through my tooth gap, and made my gums dry, a void I thought I had to fill.


I filled it with philosophy, I filled is with spirituality, I filled it with poetry, I filled it with literature, I filled it with food, I filled it with rage, I filled it with tears, I filled it with sex, I filled it with science.


I tried, in vain, to understand time, I tempted fate, I stared my shadow in the eyes and it looked nothing like me, I chewed and chewed on my rubbery, tasteless emotions and swallowed them.


My eyes knew something my heart didn’t, my mind knew what neither knew, my body knew the most, and was calm and quiet like a Buddha; smiling more and more with age, and became happier and happier with less.


When I wake up every morning, I carefully pick the shards of the past from my skin, I catch myself before a prayer, what is there to pray for? 


Reality is lie,


Healing is a lie,


Birth and death are lies,


And there were never, others.

Dan

We walked in the woods, talked and laughed about nothing, about everything. We sipped on our cool caramel coffee drinks from Dunkin, topped with whipped cream, and swirls of chocolate and cinnamon. We stopped at different trees and tried to identify them by their leaves, we marveled at a giant Magnolia tree we’ve never seen before, I said the baby leaves of the Sycamore looked like small bats waiting to unfold their wings. We gaped at the deer in awe and wonderment, and they stared back at us with equal bewilderment.


Dan, with his easy smile, his sweet green hazel eyes, his quick laugh. Dan, with his witty humor, and his colorful creative mind. Dan, who listened, and was careful, and thoughtful, and kind. Dan, tall, slim, blond, and carelessly shaven. Dan with his oversized sweater, and his baggy jeans, and classy Ray-Bans.


He hugged me hello, and we joked about giving each other the virus. When he hugged me goodbye I wanted to linger, a minute, or twenty. I wanted to be held by Dan for a year. How wonderful it was to be hugged, missed, loved.   

Mother's Day

I walk to Walmart to buy a cake. There’s a display of bouquets at the entrance; large assortments of pink flowers, wrapped in pink, white, or pastel green paper, foliage to liven them up, and add bulk; the flowers aren’t enough, they need props. They put on their best final show these flowers, almost plastic in their exaggerated vibrancy and perkiness. They're taking their last breath, they’re already dying, they’ve been dying since they were brought to the store a week ago, exhibited, cartoon pink. Pink, always pink for mother’s day; all shades of pink; pink roses, pink tulips, pink lilies and pink peonies; the combination of red and white, blood and milk. “Mom”, the cards say, “I love you Mom”, “Thank you”; thank you for pushing my massive head out of your vagina. Thanks! Tomorrow all the left over bouquets will be put in one large carboard bin, and sold for a dollar or less.

At the bakery, I consider the cake options; cakes in all shapes, sizes, flavors and colors. For those who can’t decide, there is the “Variety Cake” one quarter chocolate, one German chocolate, one red velvet, and one carrot. What cake would Jori prefer? This is what it means to be a mother, to wonder what cake your child prefers on Mother’s day. I’d like the red velvet myself, but Jori only likes chocolate cake, so I get a chocolate cake. I don’t buy a big cake, because there will be left overs and I will eat from it all week long and feel guilty. I get a small one; something we can share and finish today; tomorrow I’m back on my low carb diet again. A small chocolate cake with colorful cream roses on top, and colorful sprinkles all around, a festive cake, a happy cake, a cake that will make Jori smile. I walk to the self-checkout, everyone at the store has a facemask on, I forgot mine, so I fish out a tissue from my pocket, and cover my nose and mouth, I want things to go back to normal, I think to myself. I bag my cake and leave.

It’s a beautiful crisp, fresh morning. The calm blue sky is admiring its reflection in last night’s rain puddles. The Hawthorns, Dogwoods, and Magnolia trees are bursting with flowers, pink, and white, and fragrant, and full of joy. The birds are singing, I take it all in a long deep breath; the trees, flowers, and birds haven’t changed, I think to myself, the beauty of Spring remains the same.