Eloquent as Fuck - Eloquent as Fuck

Faith = Love = Beauty

7/31/2017

Maple was studying a human anatomy book when I approached their picnic table. She told me that she was planning on going to Costa Rica to study massage. Hon Ray, or at least that's how he pronounced it, a young man studying a book on Alaskan boats, was planning on going to the Netherlands to study a special type of boat building. They were both recent high school graduates.

As I sat there listening to their stories, eating chocolate and drinking tea, I couldn't help but remember myself at that age; pained, drunk, stoned, and hopelessly in love with a man for who I changed my college plans to be near. It made me feel so hopeful, listening to them talk about their plans and their interests. There was no hesitation, no shyness. They were both excited for their futures and seemed quite well adjusted.

I kept reminding myself that these were teenagers. When they asked me about my story, I fumbled through a history based on working through trauma; neglect, body image issues, abandonment, and of course, self love. I told them that a certain point I recognized myself in one of the photos I took, and from there, followed my gut for two years to find myself at A Love Rebellion, my most recent social art project.

Chocolate laden and tea drunk, I walked away from the table with light, hope, and love. Full of power and magical loveliness, I had made a connection with two strangers planning their futures at the edge of a lake in the midwest.

As I walked across the grass, butterflies and birds fluttering beneath the branches of the low canopy, I knew that I had been wrong about love.

Love is not about proving, love is about believing. Love is about faith. The faith you have in those you love and those you don't. The faith you have in yourself. The faith you have that all is available if you are open.

How wonderful to come to this with these two young strangers. I had no idea when I offered them kindness what kind of great gift I would get in return.

Meeting strangers is my favorite. Hands down. How about you? What do you do to grow or stretch yourself? What do you do to question your world view? I would love to hear! Leave it in the comments below or message me...and please share this. Also.....head on over to A Love Rebellion if you haven't already and see what's what. It is pretty exciting over there!!!

Recognize and Reject

7/26/2017

Fuck is not eloquent, in fact, it is the opposite of eloquent.
This observation of my website and business name, passed on to me along with an accusation of being self-absorbed, came at the end of one of my most popular posts on Elephant Journal.

I was also recently told in a conversation thread blaming white women for the victimization of brown people everywhere, to "sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up."

There is so much pain in the world, it comes through in how we react to people, in how we feel about ourselves, and how we feel about each other. It is evident with each passing day that more and more people are at risk of violence, persecution, oppression, and worse. But it is no excuse to join in with the angry voices; the voices of rage, of exploitation, of fear.

This world roots for me to fail. I am given a loaded gun every single day and dared to put it to my head. But I will not, and I urge you not to. It is now that hearts are needed. I can see it in the eyes of the people I talk with. They need hope. They need something they can believe in. And every day I make that choice. I can be hope, or I can be heartache. I would rather be hope.

So yes, I believe that Fuck is an absolute in my life and in the name of my business and blog. This is because there is so much against it.

Standing up for yourself and what you believe in, in a meek way does not work. Ever. In fact, I have experienced on more than a few occassions that the only way to stand up for yourself is with confidence, with power, and with strength. Anger, no. Power, yes.

We have all been convinced that people are not valuable. We have been convinced that in order to prove that you are of any worth, that measurement must be taken in dollars and cents. If you are a woman, you are only valuable for as long as you are young and beautiful. This is not a feeling I have, this is a statistic.

This is why there is Fuck in my name. Because I mean it. I mean it for you, I mean it for me, and I mean it for every other person who has been oppressed or manipulated in this society, which includes just about everyone.

It is painful watching the oppressed go along to get along. It is torture to watch people with little education, less resources, and no money get on board a bandwagon they think will save them, even as it promises to do so at the expense of others. It is awful to watch people pick sides in an imaginary struggle that has been created only to divide.

This is why I will always reject this type of debate. I will always reject the blame game. I will reject any type of discussion that seeks to victimize an entire group of people, even if it is at the hands of another vicitimized group of people.

It is time to reject the message of self-hate and fear of others. It is time to lead with the heart, no matter what, and to trust that people are inherently worthy, and that each of us has value.

It is time to recognize that people are worth fighting for, not against, and that love is the only way through this.

Love is the only way through this.

Wanna help? Share this. Copy and paste it on every social media platform you can find. Like it. Tweet it. AND, if you have the time, head on over to A Love Rebellion. This is where you can follow my project this summer as I spread the message of love and hope all over the US. Watch the videos, look at the resources page. Get informed and do what you can. I really mean it when I say it is time to lead with our hearts.
Even if it is just being kinder to yourself, it matters.

No Shame

7/19/2017

It is safe to hate my body. That is why I do it. It has almost nothing to do with my hopes, dreams, fears and desires. It has nothing to do with that strange empty feeling inside, and nothing at all to do with why I feel disconnected.

That's where the real shit is happening. My emptiness, my fears, my desires, my regrets, my resentments, they are all in there waiting for me.

My poor body is an easy target because in the end, it is not really about me. I mean, it is, but it is a safe distance from the stuff that really matters. It is far away from what I really care about.

Then there is the Outside World. It is the place where I exist most often amongst people who tell me I am cute, or too manly, or not fat or thin enough. I get a lot of feedback on that. So how can I possibly address the horror I feel about myself? When I am redirected by the world around me to concern myself with something as unimportant as how I look, and told I can solve this issue by altering myself in some way? Unfortunately, I have to ignore a lot of what goes on. Not in a hateful way, but in a "those are the crazy people over there telling me that a pair of jeans will increase self-esteem," kind of way.

It's like understanding that the fight you have with your partner about the garbage is not really about the fucking garbage, it is about you feeling unsupported in the relationship, which is a much more volatile and scary topic to tackle. The garbage is easy. The garbage is nothing. Just like those thighs, hips, or ass. But, if I address feeling unsupported by my spouse, then the garbage is no longer an issue.

And that is where I start. I understand that my body shape will not bring me happiness. My nose, my acne, my greasy hair, if they change, I will not reach enlightenment. I will not feel more loved if my jeans fit me better. If I live in a certain place, drink a certain type of beverage, or use a certain lip liner, I will not feel better about who I am.

This is the other reason why it is so easy to hate my body. All of what goes into knowing, accepting and loving myself as I am is WORK. It takes guts and an ability to see things that are much more horrifying than an extra 20 pounds on the scale in the morning.

It is no wonder the beauty and fashion industries are booming. It is easier to focus on the exterior; what you own, how much you make, what you do to make it. It is more challenging to deal with my fear of abandonment, my fear that I am not worthy of love. My fear that I will never live up to my potential.

Dealing with real fears takes more work because in order to really deal with them, I have to embrace them. I have to sit with them. I have to really look at myself and decide if these fears are real, or if they are just echoes of events passed.

That's why I have no problem when people tell me about their diets, the work they do to look different, or the stuff they buy to dress differently. I totally get it. It is easier, and let's face it, more entertaining and pleasurable to focus on this stuff. The only problem is that it is not really enough to divert my attention. In fact, after I buy things, change things, or do things differently, I am still left with my resentment. I am still left with my regret. I am still left with all of my fears.

I remember at one point being the most fit version of myself, the point at which everything in my life should have been perfect, according to all the women's magazines...I think...I honestly don't really read them so I am making an assumption here. Anyway, THAT is when all of the demons decided to spring. It was really amazing, actually, I had an adventurous sex life, this bangin' body, and all of a sudden, all of my fears came screaming into my head and would not let me rest.

On the one hand, I had absolute proof that a better body was not the key to happiness, but on the other, all the hateful voices and fears inside my mind unleashed hell upon me. A hell that quite frankly, I am still working through.

But it is all a distraction, because in the end, I just want to be myself, no, not just an ordinary version of myself, but the best possible version, the version that creates a belly laugh, a leap of faith, an explosion of art and science and love and compassion and hope. That is who I want to be, and that is why I fight against the hate, though it is easier.

I fight against the hate, and work my way into myself because I want to taste the sky and swallow the stars. I want to be better than I could have ever imagined, and that person, the very best version of Sara, she doesn't waste her energy hating her body. She spends her energy working on what lies beneath, and in the end, loves it anyway.

HEY! Share this one. It will help. And speaking of helping, I am on a grand adventure called A Love Rebellion, where I am traveling the US and combatting fear with love and compassion everywhere I go.
Check it out. It also contains resources and other forms of inspiration if you are in the market for a little rebellion of your own.

The Land Before Time

7/16/2017

I am in bed...with a man who is not my fella. We will call him Blake. It is before 6 am. Blake thinks I'm sleeping. He reaches for his phone...slowly......quiety....and.............texts someone....then slowly....quietly...puts the phone down.

This is nothing new. I have had many conversations with my fella about when it is and is not appropriate to text other women. I feel like I want to be the focus when we are hanging out...even though he says he doesn't mind if I text other dudes while we are together.

But I mind. It is already hard enough to create an environment of intimacy without the interference of other people. It is a challenge to feel like I am important to someone if they are picking up their phone and messaging other people while we are together. Even more so when I have to wait for a response when I text that same person.

A couple weeks ago, I texted Blake about plans. Eight or nine days later, I got a response. So...does this mean something? Should it bother me? If I had been sleeping, I wouldn't know that he made it a priority to text someone else while he was lying next to me....it wouldn't matter at all. But I know.

I choose a life of the open relationship where I have sex with men on a casual level. Some of them tell me they love me, but honestly, it's hard to know what that even means when people are so easily discarded. When people are so easily ignored. The cell phone has made intimacy a highly processed and chemical-laden experience. Much like what McDonalds did to the chicken, technology has turned intimacy into something that is hardly recognizable, kinda like the McNugget.

To want love, to want to be loved, is utterly human. To work towards it, to sacrifice for it, and finally, to be vulnerable enough to allow it, is also human, and becomes more and more challenging as time goes on. Allowing love involves being seen. Not just the good parts. All the parts. Even the ugly ones. Even the ones you cannot bare to look at yourself.

What I cannot bare to look at is what I can hardly admit. I have broken into my fella's phone to see who he is messaging. It is something I am so ashamed of I can barely stand it, but I do it, then I talk to my fella (okay..not in a kind way) about what I have found, which is usually upsetting, then everything blows up. I have violated his trust. He wonders why I don't trust him. I wonder why I don't trust him. We push each other further and further away.

Then, a miracle of sorts occurs. I wake up next to another man texting while he is lying next to me, and I get it. I understand completely why I break into my fella's phone. I understand because I don't really care who Blake is texting. I don't really care who it is, what she means to him, or why I don't rank high enough on his list of priorities to just wait a couple hours till I am gone and he can text in peace.

With my fella, I care. I care that he is paying attention to someone else in my presence. I care that even though he tells me he cherishes me, he behaves differently sometimes. And I guess I do too.

In the land before time, before technology took over, relationships were still a challenge. But before cell phones, before computers, the world was more quiet. There was more down time, less distraction, and more awkward pauses. There was more opportunity for human interaction without distraction. The lack of other stuff provided space for people to talk with each other, spend time together, quiet, alone.

Now, reaching for phones, for our own little personal computers, seems to be a compulsion. While I am sure it has led to a much needed increase in people dining alone, it has also created a barrier, and when I feel it between myself and a loved one, I vascillate between outrage and indifference, between caring greatly and giving up completely.

I am glad I woke up next to that man while he was texting someone else. Now I see a lot of things differently, including myself. I could never have seen this looking in to my phone. I could never have seen it watching porn.

The in-person experience is the one I want. It is the one that means something; when I can feel a person next to me, smell them, look into them, then I am alive, I am sustained. The only reason I would ever look into a phone instead, I now understand, is because I am afraid of what I might see staring back at me. And I don't ever want to be afraid of myself in that way. I don't ever want to avoid a human moment or an opportunity to know myself better.

I have so very few of them left.

This was hard. Share it. It just might help people. Speaking of HELPING PEOPLE, now is the time. Go on over to aloverebellion.com and see what I am up to. There is also a list of things you can do to help (even if you just do a fraction of what is on that list it will help), and if you cant do that, just be nicer to yourself. It will make a world of difference!

What it Looks Like

7/7/2017

I have long since needed a carnival for entertainment. The lights, the flash, the danger all scratch and gnaw at what should heal. White noise and red flags. I avoid the shallow diversion, always in search of the necessary.

There are no carnivals in Maslow's pyramid.

When I was young I loved the carnival; flattened cats and big stuffed dogs, food on a stick, in a cone or bag, and rides dangerously unsafe, mirrors screaming horrific what you might become, or hinting maybe what you felt you were. Carnie folk smelling of the sum of your fears realized and no.

I once glanced love at a carnival. A boy who had been indifferent was suddenly not when in full view of the options in front of me. My game has always been shit or get off the pot. Generally speaking it is always shit in the end. I have my own games and rides, played in order to feel in or out of control, depending on the mood. And my young mood was always unpredictable. The ride fun, dizzy and sick.

The more time I accumulate under my belt, the less room in my waistline for carnival sideshows and rides. I save. My strength because I know it is not a game. My heart because it has been trampled, and confuses itself with the corn dog wrappers and spilled sticky liquid ice cream on the hot asphalt, I can accept less, but need more.

The carnival is now the work. Focus requiring a steady diet of abstinence, I keep a close eye on my ruminations so that they don't lead me back to the games I have always played, the ways I have always bet, the sustenance I have consumed that never could sustain.

Joni Mitchell told me over and over and over again, you will never know it, no matter how you look at it, but I have come to see that these are the words of a woman in love with an idea to the point of illusion, and she said as much.

And there is no time left for illusion. Time has run out on fantasy, on the man behind the curtain pulling the levers in order to scare you away from your dreams and desires. It is time for focus and effort, even though time has less meaning the more it goes on.

The challenge is to find fear, unearth terrify, and move my heart in. Poor confused heart, sticky with accident and carelessness but hoping for better and believing in more. Fluff has lost its place to sustenance and the endurance required is not trainable. The years I spent on my ass watching other people, other stories, other dreams unfold and just as quickly fold in on themselves are wasted time never coming back to me.

My story is not out of a playbook, and while I once believed this tale would require armour before the end, I am coming to see that this is also part of the illusion and that armour will only keep me from victory.

This shit requires the kind of courage they would never teach you because it is too dangerous. It is the courage of the self-possessed, the confident, the knowing. This is the destruction of the carnival as we know it, and that is why there is so much against it. Too many people love the carnival because for all its dangers, it is seen as safety. For all its hollowness, it is seen as filling.

I am awake to the danger of sleep, aware of the trap of distraction, and the only thing I can do is combat it with presence and a love that is not a game or a trick.

My love will never again be a manipulation.

It will always be a way through the fear and a hope in the dark. If you find yourself there, please do look me up.