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The Accident

I don’t know why I stopped that late spring night. Since then, I’ve sometimes wished that I had accelerated a bit, like several others did. Maybe there’s something about having been given your life back by someone else that makes it a debt you have to re-pay. I don’t know. Late at night, I think about these things. Grandmother says it’s a teaching on my earth journey. One I could’ve done without, in my opinion.
It was the edge of dark and a light mist had started the hour before. It hadn’t rained for a while, so the roads were slick as slug slime. The accident occurred where Route 405 North splits. Two lanes go toward Monroe/Woodinville and two lanes go toward Seattle. A horrible screech shattered the night. Metal slammed into metal. Metal ground against immovable concrete barriers. I hit the brakes while I did a quick rearview mirror check to assure myself that I wasn’t about to become part of this deadly marriage of vehicles.
A nanosecond convinced me I was safe. I whipped my truck up tight against the barrier and slammed it into park. Brakes screamed. Horns blared. Headlights dodged across lanes in a macabre dance of near-death. I raced back the way I’d come.
Black, oily smoke roiled from under the semi. The growing stench of rubber and grease choked me. The semi-truck’s front end had torn through the back end of the passenger van. As I reached the crumpled mass, flames woofed out of under the twisted metal.
The semi-truck’s driver fell out of his cab then staggered to his feet. I grabbed his arm and shoved him toward my truck. With him stumbling out of danger, I yanked on the driver’s door of the van. Locked! The driver slumped over the wheel.
Adrenaline lent speed to my feet as I ran back to my truck and snagged a tire iron. Flames swayed like demon snakes above the van’s rear by the time I hammered a hole big enough to shove my hand through the jagged glass. Black smoke billowed in a column that backlit the flames. Air burning my throat, I wrestled the door open. A quick scan of what I could see of the van’s back end convinced me that the driver was the sole occupant. I pressed and pulled but the seatbelt had jammed. Cursing, I flicked open my pocket knife and hacked at the touch fiber. At last, it popped apart.
Grams tells me I’m built like a warrior. That’s a nice way of saying I have broad shoulders, heavy bones and, instead of curves, I have muscles. When I yanked this guy from under the steering wheel, he nearly took me to the ground. He topped out above my five-foot-eight by several inches and outweighed my hundred-fifty pounds by at least another forty. Desperation lent me strength. I wrapped my arms around his upper body and dragged as fast as I could stumble backwards.
I’d always thought it was Hollywood hype on the movies when folks threw themselves on top of other folks to protect them from explosions. Maybe it’s instinct. Flying glass and small shards of metal shredded the back of my heavy leather jacket. Finally, I stood up. The wail of sirens tore the drizzling curtain of rain.
After giving my statement to the police, I wiped my face on a towel from the toolbox in back and cautiously pulled away from the nightmare. When my hands stopped shaking, I phoned Grandmother. “Hey, Grams, I’m gonna be late for dinner. Tell you why when I get there.”
A couple of weeks later, I crossed the sidewalk in front of my apartment building and confronted the man I’d saved. He stood up from the apartment building’s doorstep.
People who know me don’t put me and roses in the same thought. I eyed the bouquet of reds ones in his hands like they were a bunch of snakes.
“I’m Reverend John Russell. I wanted to personally thank you for your bravery, Sister. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Involuntarily, I backed up a step. The last time anyone had put ‘Sister’ and ‘Lord’ in the same sentence I’d lost my home and my mother. Over the years, though, Grams worked hard to teach me to hold my temper and my tongue. I swallowed the flash of anger before I spoke. “Your thanks is acknowledged.”
“I brought these for you.” He stretched his hand with the roses towards me.
I pulled back and reined in the impulse to snap at this white man. “I’m an Indian. I find beauty in the flowers Creator put here in my land. I don’t have any use for dead, imported, hothouse plants.”
“Oh.” He shuffled his feet. The hand with the flowers wilted down to his side. “I came to invite you to All Souls Gather this Sunday. It’s my church. My sermon will be about bravery and what God tells us about it in the Bible.”
“No…” I hurriedly tacked on, “Thank you.”
“My congregation would welcome you. We’re an open door church; a place for people of all races to gather together to worship Him.”
I lifted my eyes from the floor and locked onto his. They were the deep blue of the sky after a cleansing rain. Eye contact is something I mostly avoided, much to my white mother’s dismay. I could still hear her scolding, “Look up here. I wanna to see your eyes when you’re talkin’ to me! You gotta look people in the eyes or they gonna think you lyin’ to them. You not lyin’ to me, are you?”
Grams explained it to me. Living close together in villages and longhouses, our people didn’t use their eyes to invade another’s privacy. Maybe it’s a trait handed on genetically, or maybe it’s one of the things Dad taught me before he split when I was five. “No. Thanks for coming, but I have things to do. Have a good day.” I started to close the door.
His foot shot out, blocking it. “Please. You saved my life. Let me say thank you with more than just words. Let me take you to dinner, anywhere you say; anytime you say?”
I glared at him. My mouth opened to put a bit of fire to his tail, but Grams voice filled my head. ‘The giving of a gift heals the giver as well as the one who receives it. Do not deny that healing to those who need it.’
Slowly, I let the door swing back open. “Okay. Charlie’s in Ballard. This Friday. I’ll meet you there at six.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you there, Reverend Russell.”
His smile could’ve been used for a tooth paste commercial. “Okay. Friday at six. And please, call me Jack.”
****
People tell me I’d make a wonderful counselor because I listen. Grandmother says it comes from being part of a people who carry their culture through the oral tradition. Maybe it comes from growing up as an outsider.
At any rate, Jack’s deep musical voice and strong laugh overcame my normal suspicious nature. His humor reminded me of our medicine man, Peacefinder. A gentle, quiet humor that brought chuckles and smiles and, occasionally, a belly laugh.
After dinner we strolled along the docks. Pride shone in Jack’s sky-blue eyes as he spoke of how his congregation welcomed those different from themselves. A small voice in the back of my mind whispered, “What would you think if you knew who I really am?” With a shake of my head, I dislodged my urge to rattle his cage.
Grams often reminded me that ‘warriors choose their fights. They don’t waste energy on hopeless causes and needless battles.’ One night encounters definitely fell into the ‘needless battles’ category. Duty done, relief filled me when we said good-night and got into our own vehicles. He’d been interesting to listen to; yet, somehow Jack made my soul weary from all of the words I would never speak to one such as him.
Two days after our dinner, Jack phoned. I’d done what was required of me, so I let the call go to voice mail. Surely that would discourage his attempts to interact with me. The next day, he phoned three times; each one going to voice mail. The day after that, calls from Jack jammed my voice mail box. Each call sounded more like a thwarted lover than someone I barely knew. Instead of letting my anger respond, I persisted in holding my silence. Grams said that among our people silence was the strongest sign of disapproval of another person’s actions or words.
I’m one of those weird caught-between-worlds people. Dad was a half-breed. I’m a quarter. My heart is Indian, but my outsides look as white as my next door neighbor’s. I’ve never fit into the white world, but the reservation doesn’t want me either. My white mother disowned me. Dad died of exposure, drunk in December, down on First Avenue a long time ago. Consequently, my family consists of Grams and her nephew Peacefinder- -our medicine man. As for friends, I have only two. Grams says I’m wealthy, for a person with one friend is rich.
The second week after dinner with Jack—or ADJ as I called it– as I crossed the sidewalk outside of my apartment building I spotted Jack seated on the top step. Sighing, I stopped one step below where he sat. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you understand that I haven’t called you because I don’t want to be part of your life?”
With a sickly smile, he stood up and held the bag up. “I brought Thai food. I know you work all day, so I thought it’d be nice to have a hot meal you don’t have to prepare.”
I huffed in exasperation, but before I could speak, he hurried on.
“Look, I’m really sorry if it felt like I was being pushy. I…I just want to get to know you better, Jess. What’s wrong with that?”
“Spending time together, getting to know another person, that’s called a relationship, Jack. I’m not interested in a relationship with you.”
“I…I’m not talking about a…a relationship, Jess. Just maybe getting to know you; maybe getting to be friends.”
A frown twisted my brows as I stared at him. “A friendship is one of the most valuable of all relationships. I think you need to go home.” I turned and rushed through the lobby. At the top of the first flight of stairs, I glanced down. Jack stood just inside the door of the lobby, staring up at me. I spun and hurried up the next three flights of stairs to my apartment. All night I kept expecting him to pound on my door. When I slept, I was chased by a white man waving a Bible at me. I ran and ran, but couldn’t lose him.
Two evenings later, Jack sat in front of my apartment door when I returned home from work. How he figured out my apartment is beyond me. No roster downstairs featured my name. Hands propped on my hips, I confronted him. “What are you doing here?”
He shoved up the wall until he towered over me. Eyes red-rimmed, he said, “I had to see you, Jess. God brought you into my life for a reason.”
“You need to move away from my door.”
Before I realized what he had in mind, he lunged toward me. Big hands tightly grasped my shoulders as his lips crashed against mine. He swung me around, pressing me hard against the hallway wall. Hands planted against his chest, I shoved. He barely moved. His tongue roughly shoving against my tightly closed mouth. I jerked my knee up.
His hands abruptly released me as he staggered back. Bent over, hands clutching himself, he stared up at me with a hurt look. “Why…?”
“Don’t ever lay your hands on me again; and, don’t ever come around me. Do you understand?” I didn’t wait for his acknowledgement before I slipped into my apartment and slammed the door.
When I got home the next evening, I found a love letter shoved under my door. It rambled on about how ‘God had called me to his side in his moment of deepest need.’ Apparently, Grams advice about silence had to be modified for stubborn white men. I mailed the shredded letter back to Jack.
The teddy bear arrived next. I guess, Jack figured I couldn’t tear up a two-foot tall, stuffed animal with a red velvet heart. The black felt letters across the heart said, “I Miss U”. The green dumpster against the building wall on the far side of the alley made a great target. I scored a basket with a flying bear.
The third week ADJ, Jack began guarding my front door. After creeping up my fire escape three nights in a row, I climbed through the window, stormed to the door and swung it open. “Come on in, Jack.” Without waiting to see what he did, I stomped into the kitchen and slammed on a pot of coffee.
As he stood awkwardly in the kitchen doorway, he said, “How’d you get up here?”
“There are ways. Have a seat.” Neither of us spoke again until I poured two cups of coffee and took the chair across the table from him.
“I care about you, Jessica.” Jack declared after the first sip of coffee. “Unless there’s someone else… Is there someone else?”
“No, there isn’t anyone else.” I stirred my coffee, though I drank it black. “You need to let go of this…whatever it is.” I waved a hand between him and me. “I am not who or what you think I am. You need to be thankful for your life and go live it. Just leave me alone, Jack.”
Jack leaned as far forward as the table edge allowed. His big-knuckled hands wrapped around the sturdy ceramic cup. “You say you aren’t who I believe you are. I don’t need you to tell me who you are, Jess. God has already told me. But, let’s say I really don’t know who you are; that I’m wrong. Tell me, Jess, who you are so I can let go.”
Rage flared across my vision, turning it red. I wanted to snap out, hurt this clueless white man as I had once been hurt. “You really want to know who I am? Where I’ve been; what I’ve done?”
Hope danced across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Yes. I do. I will never believe that you aren’t meant for me; that God has not ordained our relationship unless you convince me that I am wrong.”
In a low sharp voice, I began, “After Dad left, Mom got religion. She dragged me to church twice on Sunday and again every Wednesday for Bible study and every Friday for church socials. The kids in Sunday school laughed and whispered that I was a ‘dirty injun’ and my dad was a ‘stinkin’ drunk injun’.” The hard knot that Grams and Peacefinder had untied from around my guts began tightening its noose again. I drew a deep breath, and told myself that I recited history; nothing more than part of our people’s history. A teaching for the future.
I stopped fighting the ghosts of past pain and let the story carry me back. Back to where the maple struggled to pry apart the littered concrete sidewalk; back to where scabs of greasy exhaust painted the warped wood siding of the house we rented a sick grey. Back to where cardboard stood guard against the cold that seeped through the cracked glass window of my bedroom.
When I spoke again, it was as if I spoke of someone else. “By the time I turned fifteen some of the kids had a new name for me–queer. By then, I’d become a loner, so I didn’t care what they said. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was like so many kids that age–I couldn’t believe anything really bad would ever happen to me.”
My body sat in my canary yellow kitchen, while my spirit hovered above that shadowed alley and my voice reported the outrage. Hopelessness filled the young girl’s eyes as the three boys held her down. Sharp gravel cut into her thin shoulders. “I couldn’t tell my mother. Not until a month later when I realized I was pregnant. She slapped me. Called me a slut.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Your mother was wrong….” Jack rose partway to his feet.
I held up my hand and cut off his flow of words; waved him back to his seat. “Mom said I must’ve ‘asked for it’ and then she hauled me off to see Reverend Michael J. Richter. He drew an analogy between my standoffishness and the fruit of the forbidden tree. Said I’d seduced those boys by my actions as surely as Eve had seduced Adam by hers.”
I took a long drink of my cool coffee. Ran a hand over my face. “I stood up. In a low voice more terrible than shouting, I told them I couldn’t have asked for it; I didn’t like boys. I was queer.” With my consciousness in the past, I failed to notice Jack’s reaction.
“Mom’s face turned white then red. Her lips pressed together into a thin, bloodless slash. Richter’s face was every bit as red as Mom’s. The first words out of his mouth were ‘God can turn you from your sick perversions.’ I told him I didn’t want to be straight.
“Mom strode over and slapped my face so hard my ears rang. She said, ‘You’re disgusting. You’re no daughter of mine.’ Those were her exact words.” Finally, I turned my eyes back to the present. The color had drained from Jack’s face.
Watching his eyes now, I continued, “That evening when I tried to get in the house, I found the doors bolted. I could hear Mom moving around inside but she never answered, even when I yelled myself hoarse. Two days later I caught her gone long enough to bust a downstairs window. I took the money from her dresser; took some clothes, a sleeping bag, and some food. I never looked back.
“I lied about my age and no one at the Martha Hallinger Clinic pressed me for proof. The abortion wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. Maybe I had a really understanding doctor and nurse.
“Almost a year later, I woke up half drunk from a two-day alcohol and crack run and found Grams—my dad’s mom–stirring a pan of scrambled eggs over my campfire. After she introduced herself, she didn’t say another word until we’d eaten. She told me to pack up while she cleaned up and put out the fire.” I shook my head, smiled at the images that played across my mind. “Grams was seventy back then. A little bit of an Indian woman high steppin’ it along that dirt path up the hill next to the freeway where I’d been camped.
“Sure that she’d hate me when she found out I was queer, I wanted to get it over with right off. Once we topped the hill, I blurted it out. My grandmother’s wrinkled brown hand cupped my chin as she forced me to look up at her. ‘Granddaughter, two-spirit people have always been a part of Creation. They, and you, are blessed with special gifts for the world.’” I blinked when the sound of Jack’s chair scraped against the linoleum.
Eyes blazing, he stared down at me. “You’re telling me that you are a homosexual?”
I stood up to face him. “Yes. Now do you understand?”
Denial ran across his face as one hand reached toward me. “God can help you. What you proclaim yourself to be, it’s wrong. It’s a sin against the Almighty God. Look…”
He leaned toward me, as if closer proximity would get his message across. “It isn’t your fault. Raised without a father; the way those boys treated you, it is no wonder that this sickness has come upon you. The Bible tells us that love can conquer all adversity. I love you, Jessica. Let me help you heal.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I was born this way. My Creator sees nothing wrong with me.”
He stretched his hands toward me. “I told you that God brought you into my life for a reason. You saved my mortal life, Jess; now, please, let me help save your immortal soul.”
I set my coffee cup on the table and shoved a wayward strand of long dark hair behind one ear. “Reverend, you can’t change me. I don’t want your god. I have my own. I don’t want your way of life. I have my own.” Pity lay heavy on my heart. “I have wounds, but being a lesbian isn’t one of them. I’d like you to leave. Don’t write, don’t phone, and don’t come back.”
I didn’t expect to see Jack after that night. I should have known better. Grams told me that important events always occur in fours.
The night Jack returned weeks later eerily echoed the night I’d pulled him from the fiery wreck. Rain drizzled from a black sky. When I answered the knock on my door, I barely recognized the gaunt man before me. His hair, usually combed, stuck up in several directions. A straggly beard clung to his pasty skin. His eyes had sunk in dark hollows. “Jessica, I have come to let you know that I understand who you are.”
Instinctively, I grasped the door ready to close it. The muscles in my back tightened. My stomach knotted like it did the day those boys attacked me. Still, I stood mesmerized by this shadow of a man I had known. In spite of his ravaged body, his voice held me spellbound.
“I was wrong. God had called me home that fateful night. Satan sent you to pull me from that fiery wreck, so you could steal my eternal soul.”
Suddenly, the weariness left his voice. It rang out in the narrow hallway as if he preached from a great cathedral’s pulpit. “You cannot hold me here any longer! You are Jezebel of whom the Bible speaks.” One thin finger pointed, trembling, at me, “You were sent to twist man’s heart to do Satan’s bidding. I will not allow it! In God’s Book of Life I am dead! I will join my God! You cannot stop me!”
It happened so quickly, I was frozen in place. The report of the gun echoed in my dreams for months. The bright red of Jack’s blood flowed before my eyes at the oddest times. It happened once when I was driving on Interstate 5. I had to pull over until the red haze cleared from my vision. That’s when Grams took me to Peacefinder.
When it came right down to it, our people came through for me. Several of them I didn’t even know stayed for the entire week of healing that I required. Even so, there are still nights when I awaken with the thunder of a gunshot echoing in my mind. Sweaty, heart racing, always I jerk awake, forever reaching….reaching out…never able to stop that which could not be stopped.

Grateful, in spite of….

Grateful, In Spite Of…

stairway-to-the-heavens

In spite of everything that has occurred this past year, I believe that we can build that stairway….together.

It has been a year now since a man and the Republican political party in the United States committed treason and colluded with Russia dictator, Putin, and stole the right to live in the White House. Many of the things we feared have come to pass.

–The stamp of approval in the form of an executive order has been given to businesses and government offices to openly and legally discriminate against LGBTQ people. Anyone in this once-great nation can openly refuse service and sales to us. My wife of nearly 29 years and I can be refused services by anyone from a waiter at a restaurant to a doctor during an emergency simply by them saying it is against their beliefs that she and I should love each other or should even exist. We could die, literally, from lack of emergency service if someone invokes their “religious liberty” to refuse us aid in the time of need.

The right to have a wedding cake baked at the place of our choice was analogous to the right of a black man or woman to sit in the front of the bus or to eat in a diner of their choice. Right now this loss of freedom, of legal protection against discrimination is only aimed at the LGBTQ community, but like in Hitler Germany it can and will be applied to any and all “undesirables” at a future time.

rights-vs-fears

–Women’s rights have suffered greatly. We are now facing back alley abortions and lack of birth control for millions of working women and poor women. Such lack of services will result in unwanted and unplanned pregnancies—even pregnancies from forcible rape where the father of the child, the rapist, can demand access to his victim via their child. Women, unable to control their reproductive abilities, will find it difficult and sometimes impossible to gain better paying jobs, complete their education, or even to recover from forcible rape and incest.

Employers will be able to keep a pool of underpaid female workers in the lowest positions by simply refusing birth control coverage through their insurance because those who don’t have supportive families will be saddled with children they cannot afford in any sense of the word. College and the ability to find a better paying job will become an impossible dream for many women and girls.

–Violence against minorities based on religion, race, ethnicity, culture, gender, and sexual identity, is being openly supported by the highest office in the land. Statements such as “rape doesn’t exist because a woman’s body won’t allow it” to “all immigrants are terrorists” and “all Hispanics are rapists” have resurfaced and are being given credibility by those in power. When violence is acted upon against minorities, the highest office in America gives statements such as “there are two sides to (this violent incident)”.

–Something I never thought would occur did indeed occur last November. A child predator and a self-acknowledged predator of women of all ages sits in the highest office in the land. A man who proclaimed “grab ‘em by the pussy” has initiated a regime of terror and chaos that our nation has not seen since the days before and during the Civil War. He has divided this country sister against sister; brother against brother. I fear for our nation, more each day.

–Never in all of Nixon’s dark days, did he ever utter a plan to pardon his own crimes against America. Yet, this traitor in the White House has boldly spoken out that he will pardon himself from any crimes that are proven against him. And what is even more frightening is this: some people are saying there is nothing in the law that will prevent this from occurring. Just as there was nothing in the law that prevented him from keeping his taxes secret and therefore, the illegal source of his money, hidden from the scrutiny of the people, though for the past forty years every president has been, at least, this transparent for the good of the nation.

–No other occupant of the highest seat of our nation has acted against the best interests of this nation and hidden his collusion with enemy powers beneath such secrecy and lies. Even to the point of hiding the Visitor’s Log to the White House from the public. Again, no law existed that kept him from hiding his interactions and secret meetings with Putin and other enemies of the United States from public knowledge; even from the knowledge of all of the members of Congress who are sworn to represent and protect the best interests of the citizens of this once-great nation.

–It has been many years since any occupant of the highest seat of government has so blatantly supported tax laws that took money from school programs, from programs for the elderly, from programs for the disabled, from Medicare, from Social Security–which is not a gift but is paid for by employers and employees throughout an employee’s working life—in order to give that money to the very wealthy. A reverse of Robin Hood—steal from the working person and give to the rich.

–Never in the history of our government has anyone appointed so many people who have openly vowed to destroy the offices to which they had been appointed. Betsy DeVoss—a great example–openly stated that she wanted to dismantle the Department of Education by 2018. She has made a lot of progress in that direction. She has gutted programs against rape on campuses across the nation. Once again women and girls cannot concentrate on their studies, but must be afraid for their safety and even their lives.

–Never in the history of the occupants of the White House and the highest office of the nation has anyone ever so openly spent taxpayer’s money for their personal benefit and the benefit of their own businesses and their own family and friends as this administration has done. Literally millions of dollars that could have easily funded Medicare, programs for school children, programs for the disabled, programs for research into medical cures for cancer and Alzheimer’s Disease, have been drained from the taxpayer’s coffers to pay for vacations for family and friends of this wannabe-dictator! A man who berated others who held that office before him for taking vacations, has spent nearly every weekend on vacation and spending taxpayer’s money in his own resorts.

And never has any political party kept its silence  while America suffers; while their constituents lose their healthcare and many will lose their homes due to catastrophic illness.

Even during military crisis, we heard no condemnation from the Republican party when the man they put into the White House was too busy vacationing to attend to national business.He played golf while American soldiers died. And then, dared to disrespect the memories of those soldiers, saying “he knew what he signed up for.”

And with the blessing of the man in the White House, the Republican party has thrown away healthcare for millions of Americans so that they could fund tax breaks for themselves and their wealthy friends and families.

No person has blatantly used taxpayer money to build a helicopter pad on his privately-owned resort.

–Never has anyone in that office embarrassed the American people when meeting with foreign dignitaries as much as this person. America, once looked upon as a leader in the world, is now officially the laughingstock of the world.

America has weathered many power-mad and power-hungry meglomaniacs in its past.

Elder Many Horses on Power

A responsibility not to the wealthy, but to all Americans. Can we unite and stop this wannabe-dictator from destroying our nation?

aDarkTime

I don’t know. And that is the saddest statement I have ever made.

light in darkness

In all the turmoil and the violence; the death and the destruction of the civil rights era, I clung to hope. Our nation clung to hope like a life raft in an angry sea. We bled and we wept and we buried heroes and heroines. And we got back up and we fought, side-by-side, until we won freedoms we had never before known.

From that point on, though it was often two steps forward and three steps back, our nation progressed to a level of diversity and acceptance that won applaud the world over. We forged new pathways in human rights and in saving our planet. We put aside national treasures to be protected and enjoyed by all Americans; not just a privileged few. Our national parks drew millions upon millions of visitors per year; enriched our economy and shone as a beacon of beauty in a world that was sometimes very harsh and barren.

 

Now those parks are being given away to oil companies to destroy. Freedoms are being rolled back to the bad-old-days.

Once the contracts are signed with those oil companies they will scream “in good faith” to cling to the ability to destroy our national treasures even after we unseat this regime of destruction and chaos. And, like all “law abiding” people, we will hesitate to act against their “good faith” claims. And they know it. This is why so much is being given away and destroyed now. Because we, who believe in the rule of law, will be hamstrung to reverse the destruction and to re-institute protections for those national treasures, for the freedoms being destroyed even as we read and write these lines.

Have so many fought and bled and died for nothing? Can we not see that we must unseat those who would destroy our nation and that we must reverse all of their doings, cancel all of their contracts, and remove those they have been illegally placed in power positions–whether that position is the highest court in the land or the Department of Education–if we hope to save our nation?

aliciaDoSomethingGood

Can our nation grow beyond where this regime of hate and divisiveness and violence has brought us?

During this month of gratitude, this month of thanksgiving, I fear for our nation. I weep for what we have lost. I ache for the destruction of those things of beauty that we thought generations of Americans would be able to see and to marvel at.

image quote open your heart...

There are things, however, for which I am eternally grateful:

–I am grateful that I have stood up and continue to stand up for what is right; for what is beautiful in our nation. I continue to fight in the only way I know how—with these words.

–I am grateful for all of those from Whoopi Goldberg and J.K. Rowlings to the women and men I met at various Resist meetings who stand with me; who speak out loudly and plainly; people who continue to fight and to hope in the face of terror and chaos. Those who refuse to quit; who refuse to give up on our nation; who believe we can once again rise to the greatness we were building into our laws and our society. Those who believe in diversity and tolerance and helping those who are less fortunate. Who believe that an investment in our children is an investment in our future. Who believe that even though they may never see a polar bear, or stand in awe staring up at the redwood forests, that these things make our world a better and more beautiful place by simply existing and that they are worthy of protection. That the call of wild wolves is more important than a corporate-owned farm being allowed to graze public lands for mere pennies per acre.

And I am grateful for these beliefs that I hold in spite of all that I have seen and all that is occurring in our nation today:

gratitude

–I believe in the American people, in the goodness of our hearts and the strength of our purpose in protecting freedom for all of us.

–I believe that we can and we will unite to take over our nation once again and begin the healing of America.

–I believe that we can and we will open our arms to welcome those huddled masses who yearn for freedom, once again. I believe that not only will we return to our past greatness, but we will go beyond it. We will embrace diversity.

diversity (2)

–I believe that we can and we will prevail and return our nation to its once-great state of progress and humanity. We will, finally, extend equal justice to all citizens regardless of color, race, ethnicity, gender, sexual identity, culture, or any other artificial category  that divides us.

–I believe that we can make a better world, and that we will. Together. United. By concern, by tolerance, by understanding, by caring. By love for our country.

Hate destroys; but, love can heal.

ChooseToBe

 

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PaperCover

–Woman eats people!

–Terrorists take over White House!

–After 30 years woman discovers true identity!

–Runaway kid battles pedophile!

–2 women battle racists in small town!

–Women expose police corruption!

–Renegade cops bust serial killer!

–Psychic tracks kidnapped children!

–Raid saves 40 puppies!

–85-year old woman outwits killer!

–20-year old secret rips family apart!

–Women warriors save humanity!

–Girl saves horse from slaughter!

The first ten to send the correct answers–or the most correct answers–to ayawalksfar@gmail.com win a pdf of my latest book, Twisted Minds, Special Crimes Team. Winners will be announced on my blog on Labor Day Weekend! Winners will be determined by time and date stamps on emails. ALL decisions final.

HINT: You can find my books at https://www.amazon.com/Aya-Walksfar/e/B00CMVAKKK

 

Hate Destroys

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The Charlottesville, Virginia bloody attack by neo-Nazis, KKK, and white supremacists has stunned me. This was something I read about in other countries, like Russia. Especially where the so-called leader of the country did NOT, FAILED TO, condemn the attack on counter-protesters who had gathered peacefully. The counter-protesters weren’t carrying AR-15s but some of the neo-Nazis were; some of the KKK were; some of the white supremacists were.

The Civil War was fought, and won, by people who believed “we are all created equal”.  They believed that slavery was an abomination in the sight of their God. They believed that the color of a person’s skin should not dictate that person’s life.

The Civil Rights Wars were fought, and won, by people willing to die to see that the laws of the land upheld the right to freedom and to live without fear of white sheets and burning crosses; to be able to sit at any lunch counter and be served; to go to any restroom and use it without fear. We fought and bled and died and now white supremacists want to keep statutes that memorialize the people who tried to keep slavery alive. People who wanted to enslave another human being because the color of their skin made them “inferior” to God’s white race.

We fought and won. The people of Charlottesville fought that fight again. People once more died for freedom. Once more died as they made it clear that hate has no place in their town; that memorials celebrating the enslavement of another race and celebrating that hate of another because of skin color had no place in their town.

In Twisted Minds I wrote about how hate destroys and how white supremacist rhetoric can be used to inflame others into acts of violence. I wish that that scenario had only been a product of this writer’s imagination; it’s not. Such hate showed its bloody hands in Charlottesville.

We must unite against those who would celebrate the people who tried to keep an entire race subjugated because of the color of their skin. These people used the Bible; they used their God; they used their religion; and they used guns and fire hoses. They murdered and terrorized. We cannot allow them to continue such behavior; feed and stoke such hate any longer.

Tear down the symbols of racism; tear down the symbols that celebrate hate. Let us raise up the symbols of unity; of love; of tolerance; of REAL Christianity; of REAL spirituality. Let us raise up each other; help each other; empower each other as we once again face hate at its bloodiest.

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We are responsible for the country, the laws, and the environment we leave our children and grandchildren. Will you join with me to make sure we leave a legacy of freedom; a legacy of love; a legacy of tolerance; a legacy of diversity; a legacy of clean air and clean water; a legacy of memorials to true heroes; a legacy of national monuments that belong to all of us.

We aren’t just fighting for ourselves. We are fighting for the seven generations that will come after us. How will they remember us?

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Twisted Minds: A Book About Our Times

Twisted Minds, Special Crimes Team, is now live on Kindle and coming soon as paperback on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Minds-Special-Crimes-Team-ebook/dp/B074DT74HY

This was a particularly challenging novel to write as the concept first appeared in the winter of 2015. In the spring of 2016, I began the first draft. As the presidential elections heated up, I completed the first draft. With one candidate using hate and open verbal attacks on minorities as his platform, minority communities experienced an upsurge in violence against them.

As a member of a minority community, I found this of personal concern as well as concern for my country. Since that time, my concern has not abated; however, as Sergeant Slowater in Twisted Minds discovers, there is more behind the attacks on minorities than simple hate.

In both my novel and in reality, hate is used to stir up the emotions of a certain segment of the  population to create a groundswell of anger and violence against certain communities in order to distract from the real crimes being committed by the puppeteer orchestrating the rhetoric of hate. In others words, by using hate and religious rhetoric, a central figure creates emotions in certain followers that manifest in violent actions. In the public’s attempt to deal with the violence and other manifestations of hate, the real central issue is obscured.

In most criminal activity, there are certain motivations that appear to hold true over a large crime spectrum. Those motivations are: greed, hate, love, power. Love is normally found in crimes of passion and in revenge crimes, as is hate. Most crimes are based on a hunger for material gain and power over others. These two appear to be conjoined as money does translate to power in our society.

Sergeant Slowater must decide whether these crimes are truly crimes of hate or if there is a dark logic behind them. She must follow a trail of logic, created by twisted minds, to stop the attacks on minority women.

Hate destroys. We see it in novels; we see it in real life. It destroys families, communities, and even the fabric of our nation which has thrived on diversity. Hate destroys the credibility of any religion that wields it; yet, all too frequently, religion is the banner beneath which terrible crimes are committed. In Twisted Minds, Sergeant Slowater and the Special Crimes Team confront that destruction.

Though we may not be Sergeant Slowater, each of us can stand against hate in our society. We must remind each other that not only is diversity good for our country, but diversity is the signature of Creator.

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Twisted Minds: Preview

COMING AUGUST 1, 2017!

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Twisted Minds

Prologue

May 16

Monday 3 a.m.

The light of the half-moon couldn’t conquer the city lights and reach the darkened building. A light pole topped with a halogen lamp stood more than half a block away. The small puddle of dirty-white light barely scratched the surrounding area. At this hour in the morning, Seattle belonged to the homeless and the drunks and the gangs.

This area of Aurora Avenue, however, clung to a desperate civility and the gangs and the whores weren’t very interested in it.  Consequently, the night lay undisturbed, except for a homeless man sleeping in a doorway, cuddling his wine bottle. Two figures dressed in dark clothes and full-face ski masks climbed out of an old beater car that hung onto the dull shine of some dark color.

Gravel from the small parking lot crunched beneath their shoes as they made their way to the back door of A Woman’s Place. With a swift kick, the jamb gave way and the door swung inward. The two strode inside with only the blank faces of commercial buildings and sleeping apartment buildings encircling the women’s center to witness the invasion.

As the smaller figure headed through the double doors leading from the kitchen to the open area in front, the sound of breaking dishes filled the air.

After a while, the person walked from the kitchen into the open area and set down three gallon jugs of blood. Ski mask rolled up to the forehead, hands propped on hips, a scowl marred the ordinary face. “This is a piss poor job! What’s wrong with you? You love sand niggers?” Booted feet stomped a plastic truck and gloved hands tore the head from a baby doll then flung it down.

“No! You know I don’t, but the kids…” Panicked eyes flashed to the smashed toys.

The back of a hand lashed across the protester’s cheek. The skin on the cheekbone split and a trickle of blood ran from the wound. “They’re as much a sand nigger as their mommas and daddies. The only way to get rid of lice, my daddy said, was to kill the nits. Get this blood splashed around; and do a decent job this time.”

Once the jugs were empty, the two figures tossed them to the floor and headed toward the kitchen. The double doors from the kitchen swung open and an elderly woman walked in.

Dark eyes blazed from a walnut brown face. She studied the pale faces not yet hidden again behind the rolled up ski masks. “You’ve done evil this night. May Allah have….”

Before the old woman completed the sentence, a fist slammed into her face. Her cheekbone shattered from the impact as she fell toward the sharp corner of one of the children’s broken tables.

 

 

Chapter 1

May 16

Monday 6:30 a.m.

The sun crept up behind the buildings surrounding A Woman’s Place, rimming them with a slightly golden halo. With the temperature close to fifty-six degrees and a cloudless blue sky it promised to be a pleasant day. Ahead of Zahair Abidi, a crowded metro bus squealed to a halt at the bus stop a few feet away from the plate glass windows of the one-story, beige stucco building. More people squeezed onboard as Zahair eased around the bus.

She frowned as she drove past the front of A Woman’s Place. I’m certain I forgot to let down the blind on the far right when I closed up; worried about it until I finally went to bed last night, but now it’s down. Oh, well, all that worry for nothing. I must’ve gone back and closed it after talking to Randy when he delivered the milk.

With a flick of her turn signal, she entered the narrow alley between the center and an abandoned grocery store. The small gravel lot in back offered parking to the staff of A Woman’s Place. A four-foot tall cyclone fence enclosed the other two-thirds of the building’s extra-large lot space. It held a patch of grass, a swing set, a slide, and a sandbox for the children in the daycare that A Woman’s Place ran.

As she swung her compact car into its marked spot, Zahair’s eyes flashed to the dumpster next to the back door, but the old woman wasn’t sleeping next to the metal bin this morning. She probably found some place else to sleep last night. Hope she comes to breakfast a little bit later. I worry so about her.

Nonexistent spiders crawled across her neck and she peered around. Lately, at the oddest moments, she felt invisible eyes watching her. Pushing away the uncomfortable thought, she hopped out, grabbed her purse, and dug through it for the center’s keys as she walked to the kitchen door. Keys in hand, she lifted her eyes to the deadbolt and froze. The doorjamb around the lock had been split. The door hung open a fraction of an inch.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. From the front of the building, a bus pulled away from the curb. She stifled the sudden urge to race out to the sidewalk and flag it down. With one finger, she shoved against the door. It opened on well-oiled hinges. Straining, she listened for the slightest sound. Silence. She shook off the unnamed dread that chased goosebumps down her arms. Easing the door wide, she slipped inside.

The ordered kitchen lay in disarray. Stainless steel pots from the overhead rack scattered across the once-immaculate tile floor. The refrigerator hummed, its door gaping. Half-gallons of milk meant to feed the daycare children had been flung across the room. The waxed cartons had split. Puddles of dingy white gathered in the worn spots on the floor.

She stepped forward. Her foot slipped on a paper plate. A gasp burst from between dry lips as she caught her balance. Pieces of elbow macaroni crunched beneath her shoes. A dented can rolled from the touch of her toe. Shards–from their few plates, cups, and glasses–glittered in the light sneaking in through the back door. Cook’s most proud possession, a set of kitchen knives gifted by a store in Seattle, lay amid the detritus.

Biting her lower lip, she held the cry of despair inside her. Caution weighed every step as she shuffled through the spacious kitchen, nudging aside the dented pots and pans, the cooking utensils, and the remnants of the carefully hoarded food.

At the swinging double doors that led into the main room, she halted. The pulse in her throat ramped up. She sucked in a deep breath and mustered her courage. One hand grasping her keys like a weapon, she pushed open the left door.

A sob tore from her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth to hold in the wail of despair that threatened to crash through the spacious room. Slowly, her eyes registered the shattered tables, the smashed toys, the holes in the plasterboard walls so recently painted a vibrant blue, and the blood. So much blood. Dark red streaks smeared across the walls; reddish-brown puddles hardened on the scuffed wood floor. It appeared that what remained of the furnishings had been doused with blood. The smell gagged her. Her stomach flip-flopped.

Someone had dragged in black, plastic garbage bags from the dumpster by the rear door. Egg shells, discarded vegetables, Styrofoam meat trays, empty milk cartons, and crumpled paper towels, lay strewn across the room. The reek of rancid food vied with the rotting odor of blood.

She swallowed hard and prayed for strength, for courage. Still, she couldn’t force her feet to move. Her mind sluggishly tried to process the scene. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. Inhaling a jagged breath, her stomach nearly retched. She reprimanded herself. This was no time to give in to weakness.

All of the blinds were closed. Sunlight, she needed sunlight.  With the cloth of her hijab over her nose and mouth to filter out some of the stench, she shuffled forward. From the corner of her eye, in front of what was left of one of the children’s tables, she noted a pile of black rags. More garbage, she thought. Then the black rags moved and a low moan issued from them.

Life is Dynamic

The only things certain about life, my mother used to say, was death and taxes. Actually, on this I have to disagree. The only thing certain is death and that life will change.

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Since the latter part of 2016 and the first six months of 2017, my life has been in a state of flux. My wife was laid off, my favorite dog died, Trump is in the White House, I’ve joined political resistance groups when I thought my days of protesting were over, I’ve published Attack on Freedom, a political thriller, I’m completing the edits of two more books for release this year, and I’ve taken employment as a cashier at an Arco gas station and convenience store.

AND, the most important change–at least, to me–Beyond the Silence: A Woman’s Journey to Freedom is a FINALIST in the Golden Crown Literary Society awards! I am so pleased to be a finalist in the GCLS awards that until July 9th, Beyond the Silence #ebook will be #FREE at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/606365. Simply use the coupon code VM53C at checkout. Easy as that.

GCLS

Unfortunately, in order to deal with many of the changes in my life, I have had to cut back on the amount of time I spend on social media. Consequently, you won’t catch me as frequently on Facebook, Twitter, or Pinterest. My blog may only get two posts per month beginning in July. I apologize.

Meanwhile, to keep up with what I am doing, catch me on my profile page on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ayawalksfar   or  my author’s page at https://www.facebook.com/AyaWalksfarAuthor.

If you want to know about my involvement in politics, you can check out https://www.facebook.com/TogetherWomenCan  or  https://www.facebook.com/groups/440389712959710/

Remember, even though change happens, it is how we deal with it that counts. Life is an adventure; it is dynamic. But, isn’t that what keeps us growing?

 

 

 

GCLS Finalist! #She Persisted!

Beyond the Silence: A Woman’s Journey to Freedom, has been chosen as a finalist in the Golden Crown Literary Society Awards contest. The #GCLS’ mission is to educate, and to recognize and promote #lesbian literature. They receive thousands of entries to their awards contest every year. I am honored to have become a finalist in the dramatic fiction category. https://www.amazon.com/Beyond-Silence-Aya-Walksfar-ebook/dp/B01ADRQ0K8

Though I set this novel in the Deep South in 1988, it is timely when we view our current political climate. Many states have passed so-called “religious liberty” laws that discriminate against #LGBTQ people and other states prepare to pass such laws. Beyond the Silence was based on research that exposed the harsh reality of how such discrimination played out in real women’s and real children’s lives. The legalities that allowed the discrimination that ripped apart Barb Hensen’s life were real. Lesbian women could have their children removed from their custody on the claim that their “lifestyle” endangered the child.

In the years since 1988, many strides have been made to protect lesbians and other LGBTQ people from harmful, and often devastating, discrimination. Unfortunately, there is a very real danger that the progress we have made could be rolled back. We could once again face powerful forces that want to tear apart our families.

However, Beyond the Silence is a story of triumph; the triumph of a woman who loses everything, yet finally finds herself. A woman who persisted; who refused to quit when many times she would have welcomed death. A woman who built a life in spite of all the obstacles that stood in her path.

I wrote this book as a tribute to such women, whether they are lesbian or straight; bisexual or transgender. This book is not about a single life, no matter how heroic such a life might be. It is the story of every woman who has ever struggle and nearly given up, yet dragged herself to her feet to fight on.

I salute you.

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Changes

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Like my life, this website is undergoing some changes. Please be patient. Meanwhile, as an apology to my readers, I am offering a free ecopy of Attack on Freedom, a political thriller with a touch of romance. It’s simple to claim your free ebook: go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/707335  Follow instructions and be sure to enter the coupon code PN52B when you are prompted to enter the code.

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Meanwhile, amid my political work I #amwriting the last of the Vampire War trilogy–The Final Battle (or Girl Rescues Mom, Inherits Vampires). This has been a fun and challenging project for me both in terms of the graphic sexuality (I don’t usually write graphic sex) as well as the subject matter–vampires. Quite divergent from mysteries and literary fiction.

Talking about mysteries: Twisted Minds, A Special Crimes Team novel, will be out later this summer.

Twisted Minds Summer 2017

I believe it makes us better when we challenge ourselves to do something different.

A list of places where you can find me:

https://www.facebook.com/AyaWalksfarAuthor

https://www.facebook.com/ayawalksfar

https://www.facebook.com/groups/440389712959710/  (Together Women Can Group open to public) (information, petitions, articles dealing with women’s rights)

https://www.twitter.com/BooksRDoorways  (a place for all things bookish with links to great reads, etc.)

https://www.twitter.com/2getherwomencan  (companion to above group)

 

 

 

 

1st Amendment: Stand Up or Shut Up!

While most people’s attention is on national politics, the Republicans in our own state of Washington are attempting to slip a few unsavory laws through the legislature. The worst of these laws are what the Republicans are calling anti-riot laws, but are really anti-protest laws.

Six reasons no legislation should be written that dampens the citizen’s right to protest:

1.We already have vandalism/malicious mischief laws in place for any situation, including during protests, both organized and unorganized.

2.We already have trespass laws in place for any situation, including during protests, both organized and unorganized.

3.We already have assault laws in place for any situation, including during protests, both organized and unorganized.

4.A law that makes the organizer of a protest or anyone participating in the protest liable for the actions of another person essentially forces an untrained civilian into the role of law enforcement. It does not matter whether the person breaking the laws is with the protest or is a rogue attempting to disrupt a peaceful protest.

5.Placing a civilian in such a position is a no-win situation for everyone, including innocent bystanders and law enforcement. Civilians are seldom trained to deal with violent offenders, regardless whether the offending is trespassing or assaulting someone. When you force a civilian into this role, you are very possibly forcing that civilian to break the laws against assault which would lead to legal repercussions from jail time to fines to civil lawsuits.
In addition, anytime civilians act as law enforcement they place real law enforcement in danger. Law enforcement officers have a specific protocol in matters of riot containment or offenses by individuals during a peaceful protest both to ensure that the offenders are stopped and the law enforcement officers are kept as safe as possible. When you inject civilians into the situation, that protocol is disrupted.

6.The right to peacefully protest is part of the Bill of Rights, First Amendment. Without the right to protest, a tool for citizens to force government to change is taken away. Without the right to impact our government, our democracy is seriously endangered.

7.When any part of the Bill of Rights, or the First Amendment, is compromised it then weakens that amendment and the Bill of Rights and other parts can then be more easily destroyed. Without the First Amendment not only will you, as a citizen, have no right to protest government actions, you will eventually have no right to speak out against the government. This leads to dictatorships.
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Peaceful protests have always been the match that people lit to change government; sometimes, protests are the only way to change government.

If you believe that our “blue” state would never stand for such a law being passed, you are asleep while driving your citizenship. Such proposals have already been introduced into our state legislature. If such a bill can be proposed, it will be passed without sufficient protest from the people. Such protest might be physical actions like marching or the protests might take the form of calling, emailing, and writing to not only the representatives for your district, but also the representatives for other districts to let them know they answer to our state, to all of our citizens.

Many people thought Trump would never be elected. They were asleep while driving their citizenship. If you want your rights protected, you need to stand up. Democracy is a choice: stand up or shut up!

The state of Washington is not the only state where laws are currently being proposed that would dampen or violate First Amendment rights to peaceful protest. As of February 24, 2017, seventeen states have bills being proposed that would deny citizens the right to protest. To see if your state is one, go to the link below. It has a map of the states of concern. These laws would, according to the Washington Post do such things as: “…indemnify drivers who strike protesters with their cars and, in at least one case, seize the assets of people involved in protests that later turn violent.”

According to Cornell University Law School:
“…The Supreme Court has expressly recognized that a right to freedom of association and belief is implicit in the First, Fifth, and Fourteenth Amendments. This implicit right is limited to the right to associate for First Amendment purposes. It does not include a right of social association. The government may prohibit people from knowingly associating in groups that engage and promote illegal activities….”
Cornell University Law School:
“Amendment I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

Three important changes in the United States that were brought about by protesters:
1. The right to form unions
2. Voting rights for black Americans and women
3. December 16, 1773 The Boston Tea Party signaled the colonists’ determination to live in a country where their needs were clearly represented.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2017/02/24/republican-lawmakers-introduce-bills-to-curb-protesting-in-at-least-17-states/
https://www.law.cornell.edu/wex/first_amendment

To read about protests that changed history, go to https://www.facebook.com/TogetherWomenCan

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