Tag Archives: truth

Here’s Where I Stand

Let’s get to it, shall we? In that I live this life out loud, with all my blemishes and scars showing, I feel I should make myself and my position clear:

Black Lives Matter.

I stand firmly as an ally, without my own agenda, asking the oppressed and the hurting how I can best serve them as an ally. I’m calling for an end to systematic racism and an end to police brutality against Black people. I will not be quiet, and I will not sit idle. Silence is complicity. Not taking a stand is standing with the oppressors. There must be change, and my own push is starting here and now.

Any birth or rebirth comes with pain. This won’t be easy and it won’t always be pretty. Hearts fundamentally must learn a new way. 400+ years of injustice must come to an end. I must help hasten that end.

Love is for everyone. Love is not a quantity that can be used up. We can stand under the universe and all marvel at the stars without diminishing anyone else’s joy. So, too, is it with love. Lending a hand (and a heart and a soul) to one group of people does not diminish the love and value of any other group.

Black Lives Matter.

More than property, more than ideology, more than power. I am lending my voice, my platform, my very privilege to help this cause. The trivialization and oppression of Black lives must cease. Police brutality towards Black lives must come to an end – right now. Right. Now.

I take this stance out of love, kindness, and basic human decency. I take this stance without hesitation or apology. Make no mistake: I’m mad. I plan to use that mad energy to stand in the gap.

Racism and Police Brutality are a pandemic whose time has come.

I hope there is love where you are.

h

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crazy?

“We are embedded in a biological world and related to the organisms around us” ~ Walter Gilbert

“I am just a dreamer, and you are just a dream” ~ Neil Young

“I was always ashamed to take, so I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.” ~ Anais Nin

They said I was crazy

for throwing away a certain future

in order to chase a silly dream

But, said I

I would rather have a wallet stuffed

with post-notes of scribbled poetry

to place into the palms of strangers

Than stacks of stiff bills

staring up at me (old, dead, white men)

As I die a fresh death every morning

sinking deeper into the center of my cubicle

They still call me crazy

I’m still more successful than I ever imagined i could be

I still scribble poetry

I don’t even own a wallet

and i breathe in new life when I wake up … whenever I want.

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weapons

Mother …

Let nothing in my hand be a weapon.

Neither gun, wand, nor pen.

If my fingers should fist, please break them.

Should I be tempted to raise my hands in anger, quickly remind me that you did not give me hands for that purpose.

Violence is not the war i wage.

The  hand … the hand is one of the most incredible instruments in the  universe. Of all the bones in the body, one-fourth are in the hand. The  balletic interplay of sinew and bone that is the human hand cannot be  overstated, though it always seems to be thirsting to make a fist. Our  greatest moment of humanity is when we open (un-fist) our hand to extend  it in love … cradle a glass of wine … cup the chin or cheek of a  loved one.

Even more … let nothing in my mouth be a weapon.

Not teeth, spit, or word.

Let my words be sweet … or savory. Never bitter, for I may have to eat them.

Turn my heart from hatred, and let love be the seeds i sow.

Fear is not the war I wage.

If I am to be known for anything in this world, let it be

“He left love where he went.”

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Reads

Libraries, archives, and museums all find themselves at the intersection of materiality and the mystical. Perhaps this is why we’re so quiet when we enter them.” ~ Jenn Shapland,

Someday I dream we’ll visit these holy places together.

Or perhaps 

We’ll make a Holy Place of Our very own, someday.

A place without any fear.
A place where i will gather all the things I have written to You

Gather them close and read them aloud to You

So You can hear the love in my chest 

Among the hitches in my speech 

and the small gasps of affection

Perhaps.
Someday.

and I will dream of it until then.

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These Hands

I don’t remember this myself, but my mother used to tell me that when I was very young I would stand with my hands outstretched trying to touch the Moon. I was convinced that when I got just a little bit bigger I would be able to catch it in my tiny hands.
My favorite toys were marbles and crayons. Colors captivated me of course, it was what I could do with them in my hands that fascinated me. I would spend hours coloring, drawing in new lines. Taking my aggressions out on the page rather than acting them out more physically.

It’s been years … in fact I cannot remember the last time that I balled my hands into fists because of rage. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to do with them.

My hands have felt extreme cold and extreme heat, and have put those feelings onto paper with ink.

My hands have held my son, and my daughters. They birthed all four into this world: Two by catching and two by pulling and guiding. One of them actually wedged herself in by turning her head at the wrong time and jamming her ear. Just for a moment, and then  hands freed her and she came, gasping and angry.

My hands have purposefully ended two (non-human) lives. I took their lives out of Mercy, and I cried bitterly after each. My hands turned off the machine keeping my mother alive, and signed the papers that let her killer go free. My darkest self believes I have a murderer’s hands.

My hands have been broken, bloodied, chained, and cuffed.

They have worn wedding rings and scars. Nail polish tattoos of a broken and false loyalty.

My hands have been trained to fight. My hands have been trained to heal. My hands have done the devil’s work, and they have been thrown to the sky in praise of a God. I stretched them on the boards for self-righteous mock crucifixion. They have been clasped together until they went numb, begging for an end to the pain of heartbreak.

My hands remember the feeling of caressing the face of my lover. The gentle curve of her cheek, the gentle curve of her hip. They recall the silk-smooth skin of her back. They remind me of the pads of our fingers pressing gently together, and the careful moving of a wisp of her hair from her eyes.

My hands let me speak the words of my heart in magic. They wield the instruments of my craft and turn them into art.

My hands have earned everything that I own. They have saved my life, and they have saved the lives of others.
They have made life a little bit better for countless souls.

The gift I have been given is not my hands, rather the gift I have been given is in my hands. My life’s goal is to honor the giver of the gift by using it.
Until it’s gone.

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Trauma (My Mother was Murdered)

1992.

I might have saved her, had I listened to the warnings in my heart. (and yeah: I know that’s just not true.)

I’m going to succumb to a nap, and try and silence these voices. I’m sad, I’m frustrated, i’m angry.

Mostly, I’m sad. Mostly, I miss my Mom.
She never, ever got to see me perform magic.

She went to every performance she could when I was an actor, when I was a singer. She insisted on video tapes when she couldn’t.

She would have adored Grace and Braiden.
She would have lit up when i took her to the Castle …

Fuck … this hurts. Life isn’t fair, but my Mother always taught me to love it, anyway. And to channel that love outward.

Thank you for listening.

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Not Gonna Lie

It’s been a very rough few weeks. The universe seemed to want me to experience some loss and a touch of despair … and while I handled it in healthy ways, it left me shaken and weary. Nothing is easy, but I’m beginning to think that’s just the way things are and i might as well set my jaw and keep moving forward.’

I broke ties with someone I once considered my best friend. I’ve known I needed to, and the people I confide in (including my therapist) have agreed that breaking up the friendship was the healthiest thing for both of us. Things have become toxic They have made no attempt at reconciliation, so I think we’ll simply say our paths move on from here in different directions. I have no doubt they will thrive and find success.

The deaths … well, I’m dealing with them. The holes cannot be filled, but death is a part of life, and my loved ones and friends lived well and made many people happy.

There have been beautiful bits too, and they outshine the darkness. A single candle, if you will. I went to the AZ Ren Fest, and spent some quality time with loved ones and friends. Played in the sunshine with someone special, and laughed freely.

I’m in love.
Yeah. I can tell you that. It’s been a slow, friendship based, mutual admiration for some time. It had grown and blossomed and … I find I have newfound passion and heartfelt love.
It’s impossible to deny the energy. If you are at all aware, you can sense it.
The kicker? She loves me back. She has love in her heart for exactly me.
All my flaws, darkness, scars, and all … she loves me.

And that’s amazing. I didn’t think I’d ever find this again.
But it is very much like the things I lost forever have come back to me.

Not an Icarus.
… more of a Lazarus.

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Art in Magic (one)

A few years ago, I was fortunate to sit on a panel of magicians for a Q&A at a convention.

The topic was the state of the craft in the modern world and the changing role of the entertainer. One of my fellow panelists opined:

“We owe the audience a happy ending. A positive conclusion. That’s what art does.”

And all I could think … and what I said out loud was:

“Why? What ending has your heart experienced that was truly happy?”

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Sunday Blue

February 24, 2019

The performances at the Castle continue to be extraordinary. I made a new friend, got the opportunity to offer some comfort, and served as a resting pillow for a short period of time last night. I count these things as very positive perks. I do hope they continue. Thursday my best friend got to finally see me in my purest element. This was good, I think.

Facebook presented me with some pretty painful and pointed memories, today. While it brought me down for a short time, it’s solidified in me that I have made the right decisions.

I cannot imagine why I tolerated all the things that I did.

I stepped out of the fire escape and found that it was a beautiful, sunny California day. The sun is in the sky, it is a bright blue, and there are celebrities walking up and down my little street. I’m just about a block away from the theater where the Oscars will take place.

Tonight I get to make magic in my Castle home, again. My heart may be splintered, but it’s still mine.

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Self Worth

I feel myself worthy, I’m full of confidence I know exactly who I am. Onstage.

On stage I make people smile, I lift their spirits, I show them miracles. On stage we are one, and they believe in me.

Off-stage, not so much. I’m still the 10 year old who does not get picked. The last kid, awkwardly standing alone while cool kids choose someone else, because I just don’t measure up. I’m not quite good enough. Off stage.

It’s lonely off stage. At the end of the day I am by myself, and left to comfort myself. I am quite aware that this is the life I set up for myself.

And perhaps that’s how it’s to be. I’ll use this time to make my time on stage a little bit better. I would have liked to have been chosen, I no longer expect it.

I still have the stage, and I’m still kinda important there.

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