Thanks For Living

Driving to Chicamauga Battlefield this afternoon with Rusty; to hike, walk, jog, stretch, kick, punch, I tuned into one of the local Christian stations, and my heart again began to ache. I have heard the stories before. I have watched the, " 20/20", "Inside Edition" specials concerning the children in Cambodia/ Northern Thailand. I to know it happens here in the USA. Children are being sold and their bodies are being used in the foulest of ways. And it happens to them again and again. The children sell themselves often because they need food, and their family needs food, so there are probably numbers of parents who sell their children. Then I know (although I have never seen it firsthand) some of these children have undoubtedly been stolen.

Ohhh, my heart, my mind reaches out to all the children enduring acts of... of... of... well, what can i write: "sexual abuse" doesn't seem to cut it, for these little boys and girls are enduring so much more mentally. If they are able to become accustomed/ tuned out to the sexual penetrations they receive several times a day for weeks/years, then it only makes sense that their minds and bodies will carry sickness with them. I think of the children's' brothers and sisters, their moms and dads, their aunts and uncles, the sons and daughters running these sick, perverted, houses of hell.

I believe in prayer, I believe in meditation, I believe energy can be transferred and good vibrations sent wherever, anywhere, someplace. The man who traveled to Cambodia to check it out live got his stuff together, had investigators sent out and they got names and pictures to go with each little face. He presented the information to the right hands after much prayer and mediation. The Cambodian, "do-gooders" alongside their distant relative US, "do-gooders" got the caravans lined up and managed to safely rescue these kids, arrested the pimps, and justice is being served to the men/women who kept these children in their "brothels." Ummm, the man who traveled to Cambodia and helped to rescue the boys and girls said, "...the house is boarded up...,"....BURN THE SHIT DOWN, I said out loud in the comfort of pops F150, headed to the woods.

I began thinking more. Wondering what type of punishment these people are enduring. I pray and meditate that these ( I feel like I need to call them sick, gross, nasty, wrong) people, who sold little kids as young as 5, and the people who bought them for freakin' money are really receiving/enduring their just punishment. But what is just? Should they be sodomized repeatedly day after day, week after week? Should they be put in prison and given food, water, shelter, clothes? Should they be sent off and put to work in mines, or in the battlefields? Should they be killed, and never thought of again, never given another opportunity to get it right/to make the same mistake? What I really like to think is they will have remorse, they will experience guilt and in some way, any way, one day they will be able to give something back.
You understand, I mean it would be great if you could really know these peoples thoughts.

I think back to the kids my friend, and the lives they lead now after being rescued. I hope they have warmth, opportunities to color, paint, play with dough. I hope they read, write, swim, hike, run, climb, kick. I hope there voices are heard. I hope someone enjoys spending time with them. Oh, for I feel I could listen to them, or just play alongside them, I have in my own way I am sure, I look forward to tomorrow, and I send you this letter in hopes one day of having my own home, a safe haven for children to play, run, swim, climb a tree, with warm quilts on their own little beds.

------- Melissa wrote at 9:32 PM Wednesday, December 3 - California Time

I would like to think that the pimps suffer... at the same time I wonder, like you, if they can somehow "get it right" after punishment. And honestly.... I don't know how much people can really change. A person who can do something like that has a selfishness and a greed so deep that I don't think it can be undone. And you are right: child abuse doesn't do it. That is not what these kids endure. The thing that kills me is that for some of them it is all they know. How is it that anyone can live through certain circumstances like that? When I think of horrible suffering I wonder how one can get through it and ever think about any sort of goodness in this world. 

And yet time and time again we hear stories of tragedy, and the subsequent stories of those amazing people who not only survive, but go on to do amazing things with huge smiles on their faces. I know those are the lucky ones. I know that. But I want to hope that more of them are lucky. 

It feels so strange and useless to be here in the United States living the life of choice when there are so many people out there who are slaves to the government, or lack of government. I think that dreams and passions like yours are what it takes to make things a bit brighter, or at least give more than we receive. The least we can do is that. 

lonliness

I know there are countless numbers, oogles (ogles) of men, women, and children out there who have undoubtedly experienced a trillion times the heartache i feel this day! Ahhh, but I am hurting mentally, and spiritually, causing the physical to hurt as well. I am not so far down in the doldrums where I feel there is no hope of sunny, sunshiny days. I have met "shiny happpy people." I laughed so hard Saturday afternoon making crafts with my friend Amy, that my sides hurt. I went out this morning to the woods, breathed the cool air, felt the rain on my face in almost complete solitude. Sunday morning I hitched up Mic and Rusty in the back of pops red F150, and headed to the battlefield where i feel so connected. I walked the trails saw several adventure scouts and their families, I could smelll the scent of the fires being estinqguised. On the way home I stopped at a gas station for some tobacco, Mic and Rusty in tow, was listening to roots reggae (my ultimate favorite) met some man headed to Compton (Southern California) who began to "juug" with me saying, "You don't know anything about this (music)," I responded a lil' sarcastically, "Yeah I don't know anything about a universal message, the way music makes me feel...!" He laughed and his laughter was filled with soulfullness, his eyes with thanks.

Saturday Seth and I met Kavi (his daddy) at the East Lake Park. There were twin five year olds playing on the playground reccommended for kids seven and above, of course Seth plays on this side of the park too. The brothers were there together. They spoke no english (I never heard an english word) but only spoke spanish to each other. We had a great time together. One of the brothers let me wipe his lil' bloody nose...twice. They lauged as I climbed up the slide and down the "tubular, covered slide" repeating the colors in spanish and english as I went down. I missed a color and one of the twins pointed up high to the blue tube, oh yes i said, "blue, azul." I asked them to repeat, they weren't to interested, oh well! Seth shared his pistachios, raisins, mango, pineapple, papaya, sunny bears and his juice drink! Oh I prayed those boys wern't allergic to nuts. I asked them incorporating spanish/english/and some hand/voice language, the little boys smiled and continued to eat.

I have food to eat (I am able to eat), water to drink (I can swallow liquids), a roof over my head (occasional mice in the walls, scampering about in the kitchen, eeek-a mouse), love from my family, support, a beautiful son, a car to drive, gas in the tank....maybe their are no "diamonds on the souls of my shoes," but i do give thanks for the many blessings in my life. even as lonley as feel during the night time (that is when it is the worst right now) without my son Ras Ariel Yohaness Dickerson-Broadous. I have hope i won't continue to have this oh so lonely feeling, at least not as bad as i felt this day, things will get better!

Good Times

It is Tuesday afternoon. There is an oddly shaped bug chasing me around my office. The weather outside is not hot, but sticky, and a gray "film" covers the view to the hills. Smog? Overcast? All i know is that it hurts my eyes and makes me sad. I hate sticky weather and unblue skies. I would rather it be 40 degrees with bright blue skies than 70 degrees with hidden sticky hills. I may sing a different tune if i lived in Boston for any length of time, though.

The skies are what killed me in Washington, though. Not the constant rain or cold, but the fact that it was always overcast. I wouldn't mind 5 hours of rain if it broke and you could see a big blue sky.

I should go. but more thoughts on good juice later.