Shadowland

"Broken wing,
Forgotten dream,
Shattered thing that a man's hands can't ever mend
Shadowland and desert sand
A [woman] searches for a love that will never die..."
--Josh Garrels

Heartache penetrates to the depths of my soul. Within me churns a raging sea of confusion and loss. This hopelessness is not necessarily a result of any direct violation against me. It is a weariness with the world that has taken root in my soul and festered to full-grown despondency. Everyday, in the oddest ways, it hits me between the eyes: this world is broken beyond repair.

This morning I read the confession of a U.S. soldier who brandished sexuality against a young Iraqi girl as a weapon of unparralleled destruction. Rape, torture, trafficking, molestation... I believe in many ways these are the most heinous crimes of our day`(if not all of history). They rob individuals of their personhood while all of society suffers as a result of their commission.

It is crimes like these and other "lesser" offenses (i.e. sex in the media) that make me wonder if love and sexuality can belong in the same sentence anymore. I hope to God they do, but my limited experience and previously mentioned world-weariness cause me to doubt. I believe the original design of sex was to express love, commitment, and unique intimacy within the marriage bed; however, that design has long been hijacked and maligned into a tool of power, control, and violence in which one party dominates another from the inside.

Nothing seems quite so sinister as that which was intended for one's good being used to reap destruction. Tis the nature of modern sexuality. Where is redemption? Now that's a concept worth pondering.

"Our brave new world..."

I taught my Grandpa how to Google this morning. The world will never be the same.

Yay for civic duty

I’ve been of voting age for four years now. It’s an age I longed to attain for, well, eighteen years. I can’t say I’m very politically savvy, but I’ve always wanted to contribute to the democratic process. I remember campaigning for President H.W. Bush in his race against Bill Clinton when I was in second grade on my school bus. We even held a mock election on my bus and Bush won by a landslide. However, the way of Bus 44 was not the way of America. I remember waking up the morning after the election to my mother scrubbing toilets. I asked her who won and was so saddened by her response I remember that solemn moment to this day. Democracy is fickle, but at least it’s fair.

Back to civic responsibility. Although I’ve been “of age” for the past several years, I’ve never actually voted. I was never a conscientious objector to the Ballot Battle. In fact, I completed the absentee ballot in 2004, but it never quite felt legit. I’d never physically huddled in a portable voting booth to make my selections for who should serve in office. Never… until now!

This moment of triumph took me back to the place I first began politicking, Highland Elementary School. After failing twice to locate the correct table at which to sign into my precinct, I made my way to the back of the gym where I had once won a cake that tasted like Styrofoam at the Spring Fling. I signed in and took my place in line behind a rather tall gentleman. He turned around and told me, “Thanks for being here!” I thought it an odd statement, but soon understood his meaning when he followed up with, “I hope more young people come out to vote.”

Young people. Yes, I look like I’m in high school but thank God I’m not. I made my selections via touch screen and was on my way, proud of my contribution to the democracy. My vote may not count for much, but voting like a grown up sure beats grade school bus antics.