I Would TiVo That

I am sooo ready for this election to be over with!  Who else is tired of all the empty rhetoric and ugliness?  I watched both of the debates that have taken place and I was thinking that there has to be a better way.  One of the networks was advertising the last debate by announcing the style of the debate and the presence of "fact-checkers."  This was interesting to me.  I think I could make the debates much better.  I think the "fact-checkers" should be like the ones on Jeopardy.  You ever notice how on point those guys are?  As soon as a contestant answers, by the next couple questions they come back and say that answer is also acceptable or not quite right or whatever.  Let's have it like that at the debates.  Let's have the candidates stand up behind podiums that light up green or red. 
"So Mr. Romney, is it true that you actually support all of the proposed immigration laws in Arizona?"
"Well, not all of them, just the ones that are not too extreme for this bipartisan audience in front of me."
Long dramatic pause with music like on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.  Bum bum...bum bum...heartbeat undertones behind the music...pause...sexy woman's voice:  "That answer is...false."  The podium turns red.  Wouldn't that be more interesting and memorable?  Wouldn't more people watch?  Just the facts man, just the facts.  None of that rambling on and on and on...  Cut the mics if they venture beyond the yes or no response.  No skirting the questions.  Are they truthful or not?  That's all we need.  If that were the case all of the questions those "undecided voters" had would have been answered. 
It's a dream world I'm living in, I know.  I'm just saying.  Also, wouldn't it be cool if after, say, ten or or so wrong answers the floor just drops out from under the candidate like on Ellen?

Cursed

Cursed is woman.  Cursed by God.  Cursed by herself.  Cursed by everyone around her.  A facade, a facade, all is a facade.  Nothing is reality.  All is another's perception.  Who am I to you?  Who do you need me to be?  There is no room for me.  I am irrelevant.  Irrelevancy defines me, cursed as I am.  My reality is of no consequence.  You know me when I do not.  Who do you say that I am?  It is all of me.  Cursed.  Emotions threaten my damn.  Billows of waves incessantly barrage me.  Waves I can not suppress.  The beauty of them is lost.  I dare not relent, lest I drown.  Drown myself.  Curse myself.  Breathing is irrelevant.  It benefits no one in this cursed land.  This cursed state of being.  Perhaps I shall plunge in.  How bad can drowning be?  Perhaps this curse would be absolved.  If only I were worth sacrificing.  But who wants a tainted offering?  The cloak of the curse spoils the good.  Woman is cursed.  The entire lot of us.  Cursed, we rip at each other's flesh.  Struggling, we drown each other.  We all become oblivious.  Worthless.  Cursed.  Our true selves become irrelevant.  Perhaps irrelevancy is truly who we are.  Cursed is woman.  Cursed, everyone.  In our cursed world honesty is merely a perception.  A hall of mirrors reveals our truth.  I once heard that truth was in the armory of God but here it is only used a the talon with which we rip each other apart.  My breast is open and bleeding.  Shreds of flesh litter my feet.  I realize the threatening waters are composed of my own tears.  Those not shed exceeding any barriers.  Cursed woman.  I plunge in.  I have decided to drown.  I go down to the depths of the earth.  The waters close in around me.  All is dark.  I relent to the drowning.  Moments pass.  Moments that are as hours.  I can not breathe.  Fear envelopes me.  What have I done?  I shall die cursed.  Moments. Moments.  Darkness.  Nothing.  My heart stops.  All is calm.  All is at rest.  I see the sun.  How can that be?  How can I, having drowned see at all?  There are no more waters.  I am free.  Absolved.  Free.  I lift my head, my weary arms follow.  I touch my breast.  Scars.  Scars healed.  Sacrifice accepted.  Curse absolved.  My worth, insufficient.  Covered by another.  Absolution from curse.  Woman, once again.

Remember Who You Are

"You have forgotten who you are, and so, have forgotten me."  Okay, okay, so I know that's Mufasa and all but I think there's some validity to this statement.  This was a divine voice for Simba in his culture of ancestor worship.  There is real truth in this animated moment of spiritual awakening.  How easy it was for him to forget who he was.  On that note, I ask myself, who am I?  Sure, I could tick off a list relatively easily; I am a mother, a wife, a minister, a nurse...  Is this really who I am, a quantitative list of roles and obligations?  How many of us define ourselves this way?  Let me add Christian to this list; does that really change my definition?  Is this not just another obligation, a set of rules to follow and standards to adhere to?  No wonder I have forgotten who I am; perhaps I've never known. 
Let me think about this for a minute.
I suppose the only way to know who I am is to imagine who I would be stripped of all these roles, these obligations.  What does that leave?  Loneliness, emptiness, me.  Am I but a tragedy blanketed over in a thousand things to do?
Again, I need a moment for reflection.
I have wants, I have desires.  I use my roles to fulfill them.  That is why they are never satisfied.  What are my core desires?  To love, to be loved, to be accepted for who I am, who I am not.  So, I suppose that answers the question I originally proposed.  I am just a little girl, wanting to hear I'm lovely, I'm worthy.  And yet, in my solitude I can hear a still small voice.  "I see you, I hear you.  I love you.  You are lovely, you are perfect, you are worthy of my love."  Outside of myself I find myself.  This is who I am.  This is spiritual awakening.  I remember myself, and so, I remember God.