i am an unrequited astronomer, pretend patient, gentle adventurer, pedal enthusiast, recovering calligrapher, occasional thespian and unfinished poet living in portland, oregon. contacting me via email is usually a good idea.
now, i've written about the vagina monologues before, and while i can't say that i would see it again, it's a worthwhile cause to support. eve speaks compellingly about how it became a movement and how its creation saves lives. two things, in particular, at the end, stood out for me:
1. when she was a child in an abusive household, she created an imaginary character named "mr. alligator" whom she would call for help. "mr. alligator? would you come pick me up, please?" and she would pack her bag and wait for him. mr. alligator never did come, but the hope that he -would- kept her alive. and i cried and cried and cried when i heard that, because i understand it. i didn't have a mr. alligator, but believing you will be able to leave someday -is- the only thing that keeps you sane when you aren't safe. all abused children who live to tell the tale keep hope inside them like a secret pearl. we are optomists, even if we are small and scared, even if we are angry and mean. we know eventually we can find the way out. we can find our own way home.
2. not long after that story she says, "when we give in the world what we want the most, we heal the broken part inside each of us." which feels very like what i'm trying to do with the studio events. and it rings true for me in the same way ghandi's "you must be the change you wish to see in the world" does. so yes, we each had variously traumatic childhoods, but what are you doing about it NOW? trying to do the right thing -matters-. other people -matter-. your voice -matters-. when you're free to make your own choices, you only get what you give.
Really nice. I like the two points you pulled out.