Won't Listen

Goodbye hurts for me.

Clearly, the anticipation of goodbye

hurts for me.

My mind is aware that everything always works out just fine,

but there is a more powerful part of me that simply out and out refuses to

buy it.

My mind can look back at all the years I've traveled

and know

that goodbye doesn't truly hurt; for there have been many, many goodbyes on those roads.

Nothing bad happens.

Life moves on, and lots and lots of beauty happens.

Laughs, Joys, New People, New Places, New Thoughts that bring it all into crystal clear focus.

But that other part of me

wants life to stop

moving

stand still

cease its forward motion

and just

let me stay

motionless

in the picture that my heart thinks it might just want to stay in

forever.

But the picture never stays... does it.

It is an ever shifting

moving

changing

leaving

going

coming

swirling

mass of colors and people and places and events and experiences and and and and...

And my mind knows that it is good that life forever unfolds

that way.

But there is a place in my heart

that

just

won't

listen.

Just Fine.

My heart hurts.

I am on the precipice of a big change. Change of place. Change of people. Change of Circumstance.

It feels so permanent, so .... different. As if the sweet, soft cotton that surrounds my heart will be ripped away to expose raw, unprotected flesh.

My heart, the one that is a young and impressionable girl...

the one that weeps, feeling alone...

the one that desperately tries to cling to people and places in certainty that if she holds tight enough

they will never, ever leave..

She is hurting.

She doesn't want to lose what she has.

She feels that she will most certainly be hurdled into a dark abyss

alone.

I know, in my mind, that none of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

None of this is true.

It has never been true before, and I have felt this very way

many times.

Times when I have been left by someone I love. Times when the rug was pulled out from under my unsuspecting feet. Times when the page was turned without my consent. Times when a player in the script of my life was eliminated from the play in a breath of smoke--

and like a child who did a belly flop into still, glassy water -- the breath in my being

sucked out. Fast.

There have been times when I have felt that I was

Left sitting in the tire tracks of someone that I thought was the key to my very existence.

Holding my bloodied, wounded heart in my own hands

Completely unaware how to put it back together.

Darkness covering the sun, who's warmth I was denied, for what felt like

Forever.

Yet, in every case,

the sun came out again.

Yellow. Warm. Life-giving. All-encompassing. Joy singing.

Sun.

Silly girl...

The sun was never hidden for even one moment but for your own hands before your eyes.

Silly girl...

The love you have felt can never leave you, but for your own insistence of separation.

Silly girl...

The life you were promised always sits just before you, a road to the next beautiful, amazing thing just a footstep away from where you are.

Silly girl...

You are never, ever alone, not even for an instant.

And everything

everything

everything

everything

everything

Is going to be...

Just.

Fine.

I Wouldn't.

Sometimes feelings are so big.

Making us think that there is nothing else

and nowhere

and no one.....

else.

Just the one thing

from where the feeling comes.

So big that it fills out all of my edges

and nooks and crannies.

It's warmth oozing in every space...

that for now...

it's all I see.

All I want to see.

Feelings, tempting me to keep my eyes

focused only on

it.

Such a delicious

languid

yummy

thing.

Knowing that feelings and moments and certain kinds of joys

are not forever

but are just for special

secret

magical

moments

Brings me joy.

and

Brings me sorrow

all at the same time.

If you knew that your yummy, delicious, precious, languid, amazing moment

were just for a little while,

and that losing it would bring pain

would you forgo the joy it brings?

I wouldn't.

Under Your Hands

Under your hands

My mind frozen in helpless pause,

my body turned to golden clay

under your knowing touch.

Under your hands

My soul breaks opens to a million glittering sparkles

as I anticipate the magic

that might tread upon my skin.

Under your hands

My breath awaits your consult

and holds

and releases

according to the dance that you choreograph.

Out of nowhere. And everywhere.

Under your hands

Time simply

stands

still

and I feel nothing

but

bliss.

My Love.

There you are

again.

I love you like a leaf greets the morning's dew

with joy,

expectation, and

gratitude.

With breathtaking relief after the dryness of a day's sun and the darkness of night, you come with the breaking of the yellow sun.

Our love.

I could not have written it

or found it

or sought it

on my own.

Perhaps it comes from a far away, forever sort of place.

People look at it through opened windows,

and smile, thinking,

They have a good thing. Seems nice. Seems real.

Honestly, they have no idea, do they......

Our love does not include some of the same tethers

or requirements, shoulds or possessiveness that our world has written as rules .

We trust one another to be exactly who we need to be.

I watch you dive into your world from the sidelines, knowing you are loving what I cannot love. You let me run and laugh and be, knowing I am loving what you cannot love.

And at night, after our days

of often independent lives,

We lie together

and

love.

I am ever

so

grateful

for

you

.

Glitter

There's something about you.

You're a l i v e

Even though I can see so clearly that sometimes you yearn to feel that way yourself.

about yourself.

I see

What you project to the world...

Your accomplishments

Your bravado

Your talent

Your articulate expression

Your brilliance

And yet

You cannot hide

A yearning for unfathomable love

Pain of loss and disappointment

Wanting

love

Your unquenchable desire to be

c o m p l e t e l y

immersed

in

alive

.

in

love

.

And so, you live

Alive.

So beautifully.

You give and give and give and give and give

determined that others

will feel the love you know is possible.

exactly what you yearn

for

deep

within the most

secret place

in

you.

Where there are no

muscles

tattoos

performances

adoring fans

reaching hands

requests for your talents

parties

music

to

drown

out

the

awareness

that no matter how hard you try to get away from it

No one can really get in.

And yet,

within the angst and hurt and wanting

I wonder if you know just how amazingly beautiful you are.

Right there with

the

yearning

is the most spectacular

radiant

amazing

glittering

beauty.

And you know all that love that you want

so

badly?

It

lives

right

there

in

you.

Ache

How may ways do you hide the ache that you feel?

Could I even count the ways that I hide mine?

Could I describe the shame that I feel, despite knowing that you feel it to.

Sometimes.

The human condition.

The lies we create

The stories we write about what is.

Why do we do it when we know it is not true?

Is it part of this crazy game? Do we sign up for it so we can get beyond it?

So

unbelievably

exhausting.

Sometimes I am so thankful for the tools I have been given.

My smile.

My intellect.

The way I can make people feel safe and warm.

My articulate communication.

Ahh, thank God they can't see beyond it.

Unless they get really, really close.

They think I've got my shit together.

She's so thoughtful...

spiritual....

together....

insightful....

talented....

gifted...

friendly....

grounded....

centered.....

I wear this colorful dress, flash my smile, say something meaningful

and they can't see that I'm also

Frightened....

lonely....

questioning...

hurting...

hungry....

anxious...

ashamed...

embarrassed...

confused...

The human condition.

We all struggle with these feelings and

yet we are sure we're the only one.

Somehow we're different and not as good.

We believe the irrational story that there is something

inexorably wrong with who we are.

and

every

one

else

has

something

that

I

don't

have.

So, I know that this is bullshit.

And sometimes

the grey

seems

so

f'ing

real.

Might that I see with clarity that it is only a veil

that I have

more than enough

power

to

make

disappear.

Might I have the courage to know that you do too.

Breathe.

Try

What do you become attached to?

What do you experience and need to have, again and again and again?

And then

When it is

gone,

You feel that ache.

The one that starts in your insides

deep

inside

and spreads outward, covering and entering every part of you..

It feels like everything that has ever brought you joy

has left you...

you are alone...

and you are not the you that you used to know, and love

anymore.

Even though it's a complete and utter lie.

Your everything tells you it's true.

It's difficult to not believe.

It's

important

to

try.

Reminder to a Friend

Nothing
Can ever have
more
strength than
you
have.

Nothing can change
the beautiful essence
that makes
you,
you.

If the darkness falls
and threatens you...
lies to you...
entices you to
believe
that you are less
that the
bright
luminous
clear
amazing
truth

that you are....

remind yourself that
those are the voices
of
deceit

and that their whispers
are simply
a distortion
a misundertanding
a lack of vision.

Do not listen.

You are joy.
Your essence is well.

Nothing
can
ever
change
that.

School Daze

Inside

where

the air is musty

and

grey

Concrete walls shelter

me from

whatever lies

underneath

the

forever

sky.

For too long.

I am a robot.

Feeling like a follower

listening

writing

doing.

When all I want to do is

to be

free

Where walls cannot

imprison

me.

The sound of the end of the day

rings like a siren in my

ears

calling me to

my

day's true

desire.

My feet take flight

and I soar into

the

yellow

brightness

of the

afternoon

sun.

Freedom

at

last

.

Show Me

(My cousin, Juan Carlos asked me to write something to inspire him to put his sculpture portfolio on line.)

Show me
you.

Show me how the passion in your soul
your core
your self
dances with bronze and concrete and form and shape

Show me how your
very own
unique
brand of
brilliance

has created power and thought and joy and angst and wonder

through the mediums
given forth by the earth.

Show me the song that is sung
only by you;
music that runs from your soul through your mind through your hands

into form.

Show me
you.

Boxes.

I haven't written in awhile.

I'm not really sure why.

Probably the same reason why I haven't painted, haven't written letters by hand, haven't made sure I work out, and the reason my socks go missing after I know I put them both in the wash. Ok, maybe not that reason.

I miss writing.

Sometimes I put pressure on myself to write in the same form that I tend to. You know, that sort of poetry, sort of not, lists of words, artistic use of punctuation way.

And, If I don't, I won't publish it.

I don't want to dissapoint anyone.

I don't want to dissapoint myself.

Why should I feel this kind of pressure?

It makes me think about the boxes that we put ourselves in...

boxes that we put others in.

Boxes we put ourselves in because we think others want us in them.

I like to think that I don't do that. Put people in boxes.

Yet, I know I do.

Look, I'm putting myself in one. This box about writing, and knowing that people might read it, and thinking, "What if they don't like it or What if they wish it was like the others, or..."

I know that I do that with other areas of my life too.

Sometimes I have feelings or desires or philosophies that I don't make known.

Don't speak aloud.

Don't show.

Because I have projected onto those I care about a box I believe I am supposed to live in.

I am supposed to look "normal".

I am supposed to fit well into mainstream society but have just enough gumption to challenge people while not making them uncomfortable.

I am supposed to be pretty, but just overweight enough to make me accessible and easily understood by the average joe.

I am supposed to be talented, but not do so much with it that I come across as arrogant.

I am supposed to make it clear that I don't hold the right wing position on things, but I am to keep my real, passionate thoughts to myself so I don't hurt the tender sensitivities of people I care about.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

Supposed to.

No one ever told me that I was supposed to be these things. Why is it that I think that others feel this way?

Maybe they do. Maybe they don't.

Does it matter?

Is this affliction with worrying about whether people will continue to hold me in high esteem,

continue to love me, continue to respect me....

Just mine?

What am I sacrificing by editing the expression of myself?

What do I lose

When

I

consent

to

live

in

a

box

?

I much prefer

I much prefer sunshine

yellow and warm finding every crevice and crack in my being

melding into me

reminding me of who i am.

I much prefer bliss

Ecstatic overflowing joy

tickling my everything

no where for sorrow to take hold

I much prefer peace

the state of still waters

a knowing that no matter what has come or will

all is well

I much prefer love

the all encompassing dance made of blues and oranges

reds and purples

connecting me to you

me to all

I much prefer dancing

the whirl of skirts and smiles

colors and music entwined in

happy surrender

I much prefer the knowing that I am part of all that brings laughter and fulfillment and creation and hope and joy and peace and love.

Yet,

only in the occasional absence

of that which i prefer

can

i truly

know

it's truth.

Like Me

I am challenged by

myself

By choices and my reactions to them.

I am faced with acknowledging that despite

my ability to accept spiritual and intellectual truths...

like

meaning is not inherent, but determined

attachment is a choice that can lead to pain

my feelings are born out of my own personal choices

i can change the way i feel by questioning and changing the way

i think.

Despite my ability to spiritually and intellectually accept these truths,

I struggle to apply them to the situations that arise in my life.

I made a choice.

I acted on that choice because i wanted to experience that choice.

That choice was tethered to an attachment I have.

I don't regret the choice,

and

the choice has

consequences

just like all choices do.

And though all is well, I moved myself into a space where applying

the things that I "believe" is called for.

I find it interesting that as a child, or even as a young adult, one

assumes that at some point in adulthood, we'll "get it". We'll have

ARRIVED.

Get it,

meaning....

It will all be clear

there will be nothing left to learn

we'll make no more mistakes

we'll have "reached" our goals

We sort of live like those things are true, don't we? And, though we

as

individuals

may realize with clarity

that

nothing is clear

there is so much left to learn

we make mistakes

we haven't reached our goals

we act as though we're the "shizzle",

wrapping ourselves in invisible

protective super-hero capes that keep everyone else from knowing that

we are the

ONLY ONE

who...

struggles

wishes

yearns

aches

isolates

fails

.

So, here, I admit to you that I know that like me, you are human.

Like me, you wish you were better at it.

Like me, you know you could reach higher.

Like me, you get tired.

Like me, sometimes it seems like a little too much.

And like me,

you forget just how perfect it really is.

Thanks

for

the

reminder.

And So it IS

Life

is so literal.

So, i'm doing this work.
spiritual work -- i guess

and what i do is claim.

i claim that i am not
do not want to be
am working to avoid
being

attached to things
situations
specifics.

i can almost hear 
Life
asking me, "Really?"

"Well, yes. Of course",
I retort (with a dismissive snort).

"Ok then", Life responds.

And, then, I make plans.
I get excited about the architecture of them
and get all giddy with detail in my head

about what will be
and when
and how
and why
and exactly this and that.

Life raises an eyebrow at me.

And I plan and think about 
a time that not only may, but

will come.

And I get all gleeful about it.
And then.
I get sad

thinking about what if
something goes wrong
or keeps it from happening
or rocks my very 
elaborate 
plans 
from their ever so carefully orchestrated foundation....

GASP.

And the now, 
in which I live 
continues

it's ever moving
never moving
existence
as it always has
always will
always does.

Calendar pages flip
digital clocks skip through crimson lit numbers
tick tick tick
of the watch wound to keep track of moments leading up 

until
away from
toward
into
getting there
further from

something
someone
anticipated moments wrapped in 
illusory ribbons
holding what is assumed to be
perfection
forever
elation
the 
it
we 
are
all
looking
for.

As I walk toward my lovingly crafted plans
things
critical elements
begin to fall away
fall apart
out of the illusion that I created
and told myself
so convincingly

was real.



There is no real

except the very moment
the very experience
the very breath
that I am taking right 


NOW.



And I hear my love,
the Life that created me 
say, "Remember your claim? 
That you accept, You walk into,
You willingly dance with
only that which really is. That you 
allow the fluidity of this very
energy to create the painting
that you see, and that you will love it
with all that you are. 

Remember?"

Life Smiles

and I remember.



And so it is.

Gimme

I wonder if we all have "alters".

I just finished watching the entire season one of The United States of Tara on Showtime.

First of all, it was amazing, and Toni Collette is brilliant, yet

that isn't what keeps the story on my mind.

The character, Tara, allegedly had a traumatic experience when she was away at boarding school as a teenager, and coped with it by splitting her consciousness into several different personalities.

Though the majority of us don't manage our personal traumas, secrets, shames this dramatically, I wonder if we don't have personalities that help us to cope.

When I was watching the end of the show, I couldn't help but think about all of the judgement that we heap upon ourselves and others in this culture. 

We are expected to live within the lines drawn arbitrarily by religion, politics, and social mores passed down through generations.  We are expected to paint on this face of "ok-ness", and if we can't -- or don't-- we aren't acceptable.

The personalities that Tara developed into could be seen as somewhat cliche, yet, don't we all have them?  There is "T", the sexually aggressive, 16 year old pot smoker who doesn't give a rats ass what boundaries are expected of her; there is Alice, the 1950's kick back who is going to paint on her Better House and Garden's face and cover any adversity with blueberry muffins;and there is Buck, the Vietnam vet, drinking, smoking, tough talking, gun cleaning, punch throwing, fart lighting dude who will stand up to even the slightest disrespect. 

And then, there is the alter that really interests me.  The name given to it is "Gimme", and it is like a child that has been raised away from any culture, full of fear and anger and shame.

Gimme acts out in wild, completely unacceptable ways to protect Tara from herself.  To protect Tara from healing.

Gimme made me think of myself. Not that I am like Gimme. I like to think that my cultural assimilation is one of my more charming qualities.

Yet, there are secret, dark places in me. There are shames that I rarely speak. To my knowledge, they are not things that you would recoil in disgust or judgement over, but tell that to my Gimme.

One of the areas that I have dysfunctionally coped with internal discord is with the addiction to being overweight. I find it fascinating that though I am as well-versed in the methods of how to change this as any consultant on The Biggest Loser, I have not made this change. 

Now, I have lost, and gained the same 30 lbs many times. This tells us that I am, indeed, able to do this thing. And then, just when I feel like progress is within my reach --

Gimme.

Sabatage.

And whatever that deep, dark, angry part of me is trying to keep hidden, is protected.

I'll keep working.

Do we all have a Gimme?

As you go.

choices

want this.

not that.

all spilled together

colors and substance and light and 

and

and

and

like drops of water in the ocean

joy illuminates isolated moments

blocks of moments

lifetimes of moments

elation adds music to silence

moving

carrying

intoxicating sound

connection creates bridges over 

angry seas

depths unknown

years of learning, wanting, needing

a story with missing pages

a song with notes imagined

a lifetime with moments longed for

creates questions

breath taking certainty

and shadows

and light

and bliss

and angst

a scale holding two sides of the same thing

a child's teeter totter 

giving glee to shifting shapes

weights constantly changing

perception ever fluid

Life

Never a dot to dot

Never a paint by numbers exercise

But a joyful

jumble

fumble

rumble

A dance made up

as

you

go.

a thread through time

life never fails to enliven my days
with joys
in the form of people.

When I was 15, I went to a church youth conference.
I honestly don't remember a lot from the conference itself
except that it was flippin fun.
A group of high school aged kids from my church road tripped to Michigan
and spent a week
high on God
friends
laughter.

I met Michael that week. I believe he was 17. I was 15.
I wish I could tell you when, why, how we connected.
I don't remember. I remember laughing
A LOT.
Michael was a Jesus freak hippy.
Adorable. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, an unpretentious "i'm cool" way of dressing....
also
he played guitar. my complete weakness.
I would sing along with him floating in bliss.
He was also funny. hilarious.
singing and laughing.
singing and laughing.
singing
laughing
laughing
laughing


Our relationship played out as a friendship
chaste and God focused.
But oh, did I love him.

He trumped everyone, and everything.
In the following years, there were phone calls.... phone bills
travel to see him
the kind of youth drenched, innocent immersion in another
that great summer movies are made of.

As I moved into college, Michael faded into the background a bit.
more and more.
I never stopped caring, I never stopped loving him.
Just -- sort of like your childhood bedroom.
It's always there, you love it, you want it to be there
but you just don't think about it as much anymore.

I had relationships, graduated from college, started a career,
spent time at a church, had my heart broken, married.....

Mike and I have had a sort of "Christmas card" friendship for the past
several years. There have been a couple phone calls - but none that
dove past the "how've you been, whatcha up to, how is your family" line of conversation.

Sometime in the past months, we connected again through email and i
happened to ask if he had an instant messenging program. He did.
I added his name, and then forgot.

Last week, his name was lit up.
My heart skipped a beat.
See, as valuable and meaningful and impactful as Mike
has been to the formation of so many things about me, I had a fear of
talking to him in depth.

Part of the foundation of my friendship with Michael was our
shared devotion and unwavering love of Jesus.
Christianity - radical and unapologetic.
Jesus freaks laughing and loving singing and knowing.

In the past decade or so, my heart's awareness of it's maker
and the requirements that maker places on us as children
have changed dramatically.
If you know me, you know that I am pretty brave.
Outspoken, clear.
I will share the way my soul feels about such things with the best of them.
But with those who's very hearts break at the thought of me becoming a
"lost sheep"?
I tend to steer clear.

The thought of facing the "How is your walk with the Lord" talk
has often made me weak in the knees.
I never want to disappoint people that I love.
And I know the kind of disappointment that goes along with
finding out someone you once shared your most intimate life view
no longer shares it.

Michael and I began to chat.
Maybe it was the media -- the format,
but all formal illusion fell away, and as soon as I knew it, we were laughing
and talking and joking as if the past 25 years hadn't passed at all.
A connection that transcened every major and minor detail
that has colored the landscape of our lives since then.

In a moment of "what the hell",
a level of trust had been established... I broached the scary subject.
Couched in vague hues,
I told him.... that my relationship with Christianity had altered
dramatically. Before he could respond, I confessed that my
heart had feared
telling him.

pause.

"You'll be relieved to know that mine has too"

We talked about it.
Though our stories don't mirror one another's,
and we may not be exactly on the same page,
I felt like floodgates had opened.
I was accepted by this person
that I had loved so much.
respected beyond reason.

Would it have mattered if my fears had come to pass?
If he had offerred up judgement or disappointment or
attempts at convicing me otherwise?

I think so.


Would I have judged him in turn?
I hope not. I guess I can't say. I hope not.

All I know is that again,
a friendship, clothed in the back drop of time
has re-emerged for me
into a new and meaningful
now.

I am so grateful.

It makes me want to

laugh
and
sing
.

Pie in my face

just when i think,
mistakenly,
that
i'm blessed with some sort of spiritual standing
i manage to slam a metaphorical cream pie
in my own face.

as some of you know and some of you don't,
my biological father makes choices...
has made choices...
continues to make choices...

that I judge.

Why do I judge him? Why should I?

I was adopted by my mother's second husband. I have written about him before.
Advanced Education, highly successful, polished, well-respected, high expectations.
He worked hard to provide for my sister and me.
That is who I was raised by.

My father, who's DNA I share, did not attain these same accolades.

And so, I have spent my life
judging him
as
not
acceptable.

What would Jesus do?
What would Love do?
What would Life do?
What would I do?

What would I do......

The other day, I received an email from my dad's ex-girlfriend.
She told me that my dad,
who is living in Flagstaff in a hotel
still drinking
did not want to talk to me because I would tell him what to do.
"Chew his ass", as he says it.

I was wrankled.
Thinking....
all I do is care about him!
all I do is try!
all I do is reach in the face of silent apathy!
all I do
is try to make him who I want him to be.

Get Sober.
Get a job.
Read a book.
Try harder.
Get on the internet.
Call someone.
Do s o m e t h i n g.

Be someone other than who you are right now.
You are not ok with me.


I called him.

and
unleashed
my
14 year old
adolescent
pissed off
unrelenting
hurtful
holier-than-thou
opinions on him.

So, I guess he was right

after all.


This relationship with my father, though often in the background of
my "real" life, is one that continues to challenge me in many ways.
It has affected my experiences of

men
emotional security
addiction
family
acceptance
rejection
satisfaction
self-esteem

me.

I'm almost 42 years old, and I'm still figuring this out.


Later, I called my sister and she listened
while I cried
wondering why he just doesn't love me
enough to be everything he could be
for me.

And my fury, my lack of acceptance, my anger
started to make sense.

Pie in my face
I humbly acknowledge that I am yet a child
longing to be loved
by her
father.

I'm sorry I yelled at you dad.

Response to outrage at Obama's Inaugural choice.

Why did he choose Rev. Warren for the opening of the inauguration?
I have a few thoughts on it, the first of which has to do with one of the main reasons that I was attracted to Obama as my president in the first place.

In 2004, when a nationally unknown Obama spoke at the Democratic National Convention, he initiated a dialogue that he culminated in his recent presidential acceptance speech in Chicago.This is not a country divided by political party. It is not a nation colored by red or blue; not place separated by moral stance, socio-economic position,color, religion, or orientation. This is the United States of America, and each person, regardless of whether they hold views that oppose our own, are equal, valuable members of this nation.

I see Obama's choice as a reaching out, once again, to a person that he respects as a human being. An American. A symbolic gesture to speak clearly that Obama recognizes that though he holds positions passionately, he realizes that they are not the only positions held by Americans. He acknowledges that he does not agree with Reverend Warren on various issues, but that he does on others, and that they agree to respectfully honor one another's positions.

This radical idea, that we can all live together as a united and mutually respectful people of Americans with unique and differing perspectives is being highlighted symbolically in Obama's choice of Reverend Warren. What is not being talked about is his choice of the pastor that will close the inauguration. Obama chose Reverend Joseph Lowery, a veteran of the civil rights movement, a pastor who has worked tirelessly to unite people and lift up those who have experienced judgement and oppression.

Earlier today, I heard a perspective on these pastoral choices that I find poignant and relevant. Perhaps Obama chose Reverend Warren to open his inuaguration to reach out in acceptance to "where we currently are as a nation". Reverend Warren, though working to acknowledge our nations failure to deal with poverty, maintains a strict, right-wing moral stance on issues related to a woman's right to choose and on a person's right to choose whom to love. Some would consider these ideas divisive. That is where we are now.

Then, he chose Reverend Lowery to close the ceremony - a symbolic movement to show where Obama wants to take us in the next four years -- to acceptance. to peace. to gentleness. to non-judgement. To equality as an American people.

Is this his motive?
I don't know.
I do think it's meaningful
and inspiring.

So, do I think it's hypocritical that Obama chose, to swear him in as President of the United States of America, a person that differs widely from himself on matters significant to the people of this country?

No.

I think it's beautiful.
I think it's brilliant.
I think it's poignant.
I think it's unifying.

And I think it's long overdue.