My Updates

Our Proud Flesh

treeofresistance

To my fellow social justice warriors,

Yes, this tax scam sucks. Yes, this entire past year has felt terrible. And yes, I am tired. But let us not get lost in our anger, sorrow, and exhaustion. Instead, let us be proud of our work. Let us be impressed by how quickly We the Resistance came together. Let us be motivated by how much we have accomplished. And let us be ready for what’s next. This particular bill will go to the House and we will make more calls, send more emails, march down more streets. New bills, transgressions, and violations will arise, and we will come together and fight those, too. Times are dark and will likely grow darker, but we have our voices, our bodies, and our allies across the world. We, you and me, regular people who may have never even thought of ourselves as activists just one year ago, WE are ushering in a cultural and political change in which equality, respect, and love are at the forefront. This is bigger than us, it’s bigger than Trump, the Republicans, the Democrats, even bigger than the rampant corporate greed currently ruling our country.

Let them attack us. Through actions like passing this tax bill, they’re revealing their true motives and intentions which will only send more people to our cause. And together we will heal, we will organize, we will be stronger than before, and we will prevail.

I leave you with a poem that reminds me of two things we resisters must hold onto as we move forward: our toughness and our love. Be proud, comrades, and resist.

In solidarity,
Becky Fine-Firesheets

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For What Binds Us

By Jane Hirshfield

There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they’ve been set down—
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There’s a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh,
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest—

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.

Photo Credits (Creative Commons): 1. Resistance by Baysal and 2. Resistance by Ivan Tasic
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The Well Project

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Stop scrolling through Instagram or Twitter or whatever else it is you’re doing right now and look up The Well Project instead. This amazing organization works tirelessly on a very important mission: “to change the course of the HIV/AIDS pandemic through a unique and comprehensive focus on women and girls.” They’ve helped a tremendous amount of people to seek treatment, connect with a supportive community, and become activists to end the stigma and educate others about the realities and possibilities of living with HIV/AIDS. They do this in many ways, through conferences, grassroots activism, and even story-telling via their Girl Like Me blog (we can all get behind the power of story-telling, am I right?). In a time where women and health in general are under attack, The Well Project is spreading positivity and hope, something we all need a little more of, and they currently need our financial support so that they can continue changing lives. I can personally vet for this organization, and I urge you to please donate, even if it’s just $5 or $10; everything helps.

Thank you, and for more information, please see the below email from Executive Director Krista Martel.

~

Dear friends and family,

It is that time of year, and I’m writing to let you know that we have recently launched The Well Project’s annual fundraising drive, #Give4Hope! During these tumultuous times, we’ve continued to focus on the power of hope, and the change that it can often lead to. Data show that 76 percent of women living with HIV who participated in a recent survey felt more hopeful about their future after using The Well Project’s resources. That is a remarkable and important statistic, as hope can mean a healthier outlook on living with HIV and better engagement in care and self care. Because we’re witnessing such positive changes in many of the women who use our resources, we are even more determined than ever to reach more women who could use them. 

Just in the past six months alone, we’ve added several new bloggers including a skater/surfer mom of 3 in California who was diagnosed last year, a woman from Kenya who was diagnosed while pregnant, and a school teacher from North Carolina–none of whom ever thought HIV could affect them. I invite you to read some of their stories here: http://www.thewellproject.org/aglm-categories/introductions. The positive side is that by sharing their stories, they help others know that they are not alone, as well as ensure that people realize that HIV does not discriminate, and can happen to anyone.

If you are able, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today to ensure The Well Project can continue to provide hope to our wide-reaching community, as well as to extend our reach to even more people who may need it. Please click here: https://thewellproject.networkforgood.com/projects/38597-building-hope

Thank you in advance!

Much love,
Krista
www.thewellproject.org

Human Waves

BeckyMeditating
On this fourth anniversary of my mother’s death, I am struck by how often I find her in my day-to-day, by how alive she still is in so many ways. Yet I am also struck by how badly I wish she could have met my son. He has met her, through photographs, recipes, lullabies, records, but she never got to see his face, much less hold his precious little body, and this is the one big thing I still grieve.

But when we lose someone we love, there will always be that one big thing. As I meditate by this glorious ocean, two waves crash into one another directly in front of me, their waters flowing through each other until it’s impossible to tell where either one begins or ends. Seconds later they reverse direction and glide away, disappearing into the vastness of the great water behind them. I think of how my mom and my son are like two waves splashing together inside of me, their waters flowing through each other through me, how really all of us are like waves in the same great glorious human ocean, crashing and gliding and flowing through one another.

New Yorkers, Don’t Forget to Vote! Also, Yay for Pia Raymond!

piaraymondHappy election day, my New Yorker neighbors. Now get out there and vote in that primary! Local elections matter BIG TIME, and if we want to see any improvements in our society then we all need to get as involved as we possibly can.

If you’re in my district (Brooklyn’s 40th), then I strongly urge you to consider Pia Raymond for City Council, a smart, strong, and community-oriented woman who is truly on the side of the people in this neighborhood and is also an amazing mom, all things our government needs more of.

I am absolutely thrilled to cast my vote for Pia today, but no matter what you decide, you still better cast yours!

THIS Sat, Sept 9th, The BPRS & Sunshine Nights @ Sidewalk Cafe!

My band, The Brooklyn Players Reading Society, will unite once again with Americana folk rock group Sunshine Nights THIS Saturday, Sept 9th at SideWalk Cafe. Sunshine hits the stage at 9 pm, The BPRS at 10. No cover, $5 suggested donation, DJ after.

I am pissed about Trump’s DACA decision and all this blatant white supremacy and hurricanes and climate change, and when I get mad, I write and make music. I’m so looking forward to playing for y’all this weekend, to let out some of what’s churning inside of me and to also spread out some good, creative vibes. Also, this will be the last BPRS show for awhile, so we sincerely hope to see you there!

BPRS&SunshineNights 9:9:17 Poster

#DefendDACA #HereToStay #Resist

 

Remembering Rain

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I am six-years-old in the backseat of my family’s blue Oldsmobile. My father is driving through a patch of heavy rain and my mother is nervous, she bites her nails and spins the radio knob in search of a local weather report. My older brother, however, is fascinated, he presses his fingers to his window and traces streaks of water as they race down the glass.

The rain somehow beats harder against our car. My heart beats faster along with it. I am worried this much rain means a tornado is coming and I know a car is the worst place to be during a tornado. There is so much I don’t understand yet – the nature of storms, of my mother’s phobias, of my own mind – and I am too young to find the words to form the right questions, much less accept that they don’t have answers. I am confused and I want to cry but everyone tells me I cry too much and I don’t want to prove them right. My brother can sense my disquiet, he turns to me and reaches one hand across the middle seat, pats his lap with the other. I lie down on him and am instantly soothed. He drapes his arm over me and tells me that he likes the rain, I shouldn’t be scared, rain is fun. I love him and the soft way he speaks and also how safe it feels to lie in his arms. My body relaxes and I think that if my very smart big brother likes the rain, then perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing after all.

— ◊ —

The rain stops right as my husband pulls into a hotel parking lot. I release our boy from his seat and he is thrilled to be free after all those hours of driving, he skips across the sidewalk through the front doors and into the lobby, climbs onto the couch and bounces three times before jumping down and dashing off again. I check in with the receptionist and then corral him back out through the doors to our car. My husband, laden with bags, comments on how beautiful the lightening is. He hands me the stroller then slams our trunk right as a loud crack of thunder rattles the sky, cracks open the dark heavy cloud hanging above us, and releases an onslaught of rain. We squeal and run into the hotel, our hair and clothes drenched from mere seconds of downpour. The boy is beaming, he dances in circles around the lobby, delighted he is wet enough to leave puddles of water behind him. “Watch me!” he shouts at the receptionist who obediently walks around her desk and watches his clumsy rendition of a frog. She asks him if he likes the rain and he nods enthusiastically. She then asks if he is scared of thunder and he pauses, cocking his head in thought. After a moment, he leaps up to his feet, sticks his arms out behind his back and runs to the couch, shouting “Nooooooo!” as he throws his wet body against a cushion and bounces off of it, laughing hysterically.

Photo Credit: Downpour by Vaidehi Shah

Birthday Beach Bash

Dear readers, I am taking today off from writing a real blog post because my 33rd birthday is this Sunday and my family will be celebrating all weekend on a Delaware beach. I booked a hotel with an indoor pool, I packed more than enough books, I put my phone on silent, and the year in which I turn my favorite number will be kicked off with my two favorite dudes and some peace, love, and relaxation. Cheers!

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