expectations

Girls are 

the arc of the world.

Wide open

stretched arms and legs - 

soft, strong and ambitious.

Curious well of conscience and confidence -

sprouting fledglings and birthers 

community...

Expectations are daunting. 

The homeless American President?

Right. Election is over. Obama for four more years. I am okay with that, although I'm pretty darn happy that now I don't have to hear everyone talk about how everyone else is a liar for a while. That's nice. Went to the library and there is apparently a small population of homeless people in this here google-town, Mountain View. A guy pulled up on a bike, talked to another guy who was sitting at the bench next to me waiting for the library to open.

Guy on bike was wearing sandals, blue sweats and had a head piece attached to a tape recorder. First thing he says,

"So I'm sick of all these googlers who don't even know where Escuela Street is. I mean, they move here, drive to work everyday, back and forth, and never even know what street they are on. So much for google maps."

"Yeah, man, I know what you mean." Says guy on bench.

"I'm tired of it. I mean, they can't even figure out where their polling station is. How stupid can you be? Get out and look at where you live!" Recorder guy's peripatetic eyes scan the passerby's.

"Did ya vote?" guy on bench glances up from his copy of the November 6 Daily News. 

"Yeah, I did. No good choices though. I wish it were like the good ole days. You know who my favorite President was? The ONLY President who never had an address, who parked his horse right there outside the White House."

"Who was that?" Inquires guy on bench.

"Zachary Taylor. Now that's a man I would vote for. The guy actually knew what it was like to be a person in this country."

Guy with tape recorder says,

"You know, I voted yes on Prop 30 because I trust Brown [Governer Jerry Brown]. He's the only one in Sacramento who drives around in an old beat-up truck like a normal human being. I trust a man like that.'

Guy on bench jumps out of his seat, throws down his newspaper and says, "What! You like that idiot! None of these politicians can be trusted!"

"Yeah, man, I mean, he's not so bad." Guy with tape recorder leans forward to get it all on tape.

Guy on bench simmers a bit, and asks, "Where's the sign on the back of your bike? You get rid of it?"

"Oh, I stopped putting that up a while ago, helps me find places to sleep at night, because people don't follow me around now. I have a really slick system now. I stuff this sleeping bag I found into the back of my shirt, so I'm all stealth now. I can sleep anywhere."

Guy on bench, "Oh, that's nice. I miss your signs though."

Taperecorder guy, "Yeah, this town isn't the same that it used to be."

Guy on bench, "No, it's not. Rich googlers. That's what we have now."

Both walk into the library as the doors are just opening.

I like public places. Like libraries.

Diablo Trail Race-after thoughts

Jacob and I ran with his dad in the Diablo Trail Race 10k yesterday. His mom was volunteering so signed us all up. I haven't been running. Not really at all. The only run I did was last week when I went out the door and ran on a north/south paved trail near our place. After the 50k trail run last June, I half-heartedly would go out a few days a week in the desert this summer, and could manage like 30 min before the heat would eat me. 

So yesterday was the first trail run I've been on in a while. 

It was hot out, and over 1,000 people turned up, clad in spandex and the lavish lululemon clothing line. On the trail to keep my mind off my lungs I kept track of how many women around me were wearing that logo. I estimate around 75% were. Not sure if it was a large enough sample size, but still. That's a lot of high-priced yoga/running gear. I guess I just don't get lululemon, nor the cult following. I was also really surprised to see such a large search and rescue team out there.  They wore really spiffy costumes. Reminded me of the TSA thug who stole my peanut butter. Something about the way they were just all standing around, waiting for something to happen and something to do. I don't know, didn't make me feel any safer.

Anyway, the route was pretty awesome, winding up near Diablo from the North side. The first two miles were a steady wide trail, followed by a narrow foot path where a single file line bottleneck forced you into going whatever pace as the person in front of you. I had heard that the record at the beginning of the race was 50 min for women, so I decided at the start line I was going to shoot for that. Which meant 8 min splits. I managed that in the first 2 miles, but that dropped the 3rd and 4th mile when the bottleneck happened, the route followed a steep incline up the mountain, and my lungs started hurting. I hadn't trained, so was sort of tired.

After traveling up and then down, the last 2plus miles were pretty much downhill. My splits in between were something like 12 and a half min miles, so I pretty much gave up on the making it in 50min, because that meant I would have to run like 4 and a half minute miles. Nope. I'm not that fast, nor am I that great of a runner. So I just decided to run and play, and look around, and try not to fall.

I had been off and on around a young woman in swishy warm-up pants (one of the 25% not in lulu attire), and was sort of trailing her because she set a good pace. The rhythm of the swish was also meditative. At one point I said, "great job!" and she just kind of huffed at me. I don't think she really wanted to chat. But I know how nice it is to get encouragement, so thought I'd try it. I thanked her later on for setting a nice pace. She still wasn't that excited to chat. Ah well.

J's mom, Rosalie was there at the end of the race, and that was nice. J and Dan didn't share my desire to attempt 50min time for the race, and so came in a bit after me. I finished in 1:05, felt good about it. And I guess it's pretty cool that all those people wanted to spend their sunday on a trail. I think 15 min is a lot to shave off over 6.2 miles, so I'm not sure if my goal of 50min is really that realistic. Maybe if I train? Who knows. I guess it's not really the point, and I'm actually going to start running again because it felt good.

Happy to report I haven't had to invest in any "running gear", aside  from a pair of Vibram five-fingers I bought in Seattle late last September which have continued to work through, I don't know, a lot of miles. They are only starting to tear on the cloth between the toes, but other than that, have turned out to be really reliable and worth the investment.

I still like running on trails, not in races, when it's just me and maybe another person, and you don't really worry about time or distance, and you just sort of go. But it's nice to do races to provide an impetus to start.

True Story

...we all have a lifespan.

Sometimes I run

...without direction

To the Naysayer on my shoulder

To you, naysayer on my shoulder,

You don't have my shoulder to shout on, no, not anymore. You can't sit there, so pompous, self-righteous and destructive. I flick you off my shoulder. You can take that bullying and shove it up your celestial ass. I'm not going to listen to you.

Naysayer, you and all of your little friends, are the bitter toxic voice who shouts, “I suck. I'm a failure. I can't finish anything. I'm mediocre.”

I'm not.

I say fuck you.

I'm going to write, and I am a writer. It's what I do, and what I need to do. 
I write because I feel joyful when I do, because I like how it feels to see something new. 
I write because I'll always have a friend to talk to. 
I write because I like the belly of things, I like the gut. I like the muddled, messy, subterranean underworld of thoughts/ideas/feelings/truths. 
Where life and decay collide. 
I write because I feel alive when I do.

Naysayer, I'm not going to make any more promises to you, or anyone else. I make a promise to myself. I promise to make tiny changes. I promise to try, for the somethings that get carried on when we are all gone. I promise to listen and to speak, and to shout and to cry and to be and to write about it all.

The world doesn't owe me anything, and I don't owe anything to the world.

But this is the work that means something to me.

The work of my own subterranean underbelly.

You and your sidekicks, i.e., money, success, perfection, recognition, you can all go and have your own little naysayer party.

I'm working to try. I need some creation, and I need to believe in courage and love, and hope. So I'm going to write. And try to make small changes.

A Plea to Mr. President

Dear President Obama,

I'm writing a plea to you, because I am going to cast my vote for you in the upcoming election. Along with everyone else on this planet, I just got here. And I feel lucky to have been born in this country, even though I certainly had no choice in it. I realize how fortunate I am, being able to vote, and I hold that privilege very dear.

But I'm pleading with you, because while I think you do listen, and I think you are a thoughtful person, I've struggled, and still struggle, with supporting you as our leader. I'm saddened and angry about your decisions in office, specifically with regards to catering to Wall Street, your degradation of our civil liberties, your support of domestic oil and gas production, enacting indefinite detention without trial, decriminalizing torture, and drone strikes. I just think war is stupid and sad. And we all have too much blood on our hands.

I recognize you have a tough position, but I'm tired by the choice I face this November, choosing between not the lesser of two evils, because there are many evils, but feeling so utterly helpless in this position.

I'm more terrified of a Romney/Ryan administration. Terrified of what they will do to this sweet life-supporting planet we are all on, what they will do about health care and women's rights, what they will do about pushing back on the strides we've made on one of the biggest civil rights and legal issues of our time, what they will do about increasing our already over-zealous military/industrial complex. Unfortunately, my vote won't really decide whether or not Romney/Ryan will be free-wielding power for the next four or eight years, I'm not in a swing state.

But I'm saddened mostly by what I interpret as a hardening of the peaceful part of you.  In the debate last night, I watched as both you and Governor Romney battled it out, trying to convince We the People who is a stronger leader on National Security. I think you've been pulled so far into the fight of the baddest of the bad guys, and have forgotten what Just Peace means. I couldn't tell much of a difference between the two of you and what was being said.

Being just and peaceful doesn't mean being weak, it doesn't mean not standing up when it's a necessary fight, but it is rooted in what one of the most well-known socialists in human history preached, the Golden Rule. Because the personal is the political, and this becomes even that much more apparent in an election year, I hope you remember that Just Peace isn't just about battling and fighting, it is a way of conducting our lives which creates the conditions for human flourishing-joy and sustenance for peoples of all nations, as well as flourishing for the natural world.

 I guess I'm just concerned that a part of you may have died.

Governor Romney, Paul Ryan, and the Republicans have a severe lack of respect for the intelligence of the people with their continued political prevarications. Romney also demonstrates a severe deficiency in moral intelligence. I think you have it, but it's been lost or buried somewhere along the way.

I still believe in the power of Truth-Telling, even when we can't know it all. Even though it may be mightily tested in our times, I still believe our system is salvageable. I'm not blind to the inherent vulnerabilities, but I need to believe in the strengths.

And I plea to you to be a truth-teller, and to find the Just Peace part of you. I urge you to have the courage and love to speak to us, and also listen to us, regardless of the outcome of the election.

That's all, I just had to get that off my chest, Mr. President.

And good luck.

As Ever,

Kit