Cassandra Today

Choice and Queerness

May 18, 2013 — CassandraToday

A friend of mine wrote a thought-provoking blog post about the issue of whether being gay is a choice, and whether it matters if it’s a choice or not. Part of what makes her essay so good is that it’s intentionally not from a theoretical viewpoint; it’s based on her own personal experience. When I told her it connected with some thoughts I’d been having recently, she encouraged (urged? demanded?) that I write my own post on the topic. I can’t improve on what she said in her essay, but I can bring my own story to it, a story that’s both similar to and different from hers.

I’m queer. I’m not a lesbian, but rather a bisexual transsexual (which is fun to say out loud, if nothing else). Both my gender transition and my sexual orientation have raised questions of choice for me.

This post will look at my gender transition, which took place during the period mid-’05 to mid-’06. It was in the time preceding that transition that questions of choice came to the fore. One obvious question: did I have a choice about my inner feeling of femaleness? To that I would say no. In the course of counseling, I went back all the way to age 4 in my memories, and that feeling of femaleness, along with the desire to act on it, had been there all along. I won’t hold any 4-year-old accountable for making bad life choices, myself included. So it wasn’t a choice then. As I grew up, and on into adulthood, I tried to make the feelings go away by force of will; that is, I tried to choose not to feel female inside. When I had still not succeeded by the age of 53, I had to admit that it looked a lot more like part of who I was, than a feeling I chose to have; and if that’s what it looked like over the course of half a century, it very likely really was what it looked like.

That was lesson one about choice: sometimes you just are who you are, and you don’t have a choice.

Certainly that realization of powerlessness over something so big contributed to the unprecedented wave of depression that then enveloped me at that time. As sort of a Plan B, since I couldn’t make the feeling just go away, I did my best to research what could cause something that was so resistant to will power. Fortunately, I was working at the University of Michigan at the time, where the graduate library has excellent collections on gender, both from the feminist and from the transgender points of view; there’s also a medical library for the university’s med school. Surely, in all that, I should be able to find an answer to this problem of having no choice about feeling like the wrong sex – maybe a hormonal imbalance, or childhood abuse, or a traumatic brain injury in my past.

Six months, dozens of books, and hundreds of articles later, I surrendered. The answer was simply this: some people just feel like the opposite sex inside, in their hearts, minds, and spirits. Nobody knows why. And when the feeling is strong and persistent, the only relief is found in transitioning to the sex that a person feels like inside.

Having now accepted that I had no choice about feeling this way, I saw that I did have a choice about what to do about it. Neither alternative appealed to me, though: continue to struggle for the rest of my life as I had for the preceding 50 years; or turn my life completely upside down and live the rest of my life as a woman. Choosing gender transition carried the risk of losing relationships with family and friends, and possibly losing my job as well. Choosing not to transition carried the risk of never escaping the clutches of deep depression, and the certainty of never escaping the feeling of being a different sex inside myself than I was on the outside.

Lesson two: having a choice doesn’t necessarily mean that any of the options looks really desirable.

I couldn’t decide. I went for long walks. I got drunk a lot. I prayed. I cursed God. I considered suicide. I joined a gender group, then switched to another. I talked endlessly with my counselor, my wife, my gender groups, and anyone else who would listen. None of those things made the choice for me. At the time, I thought I was deferring making the choice, but I see now that to defer was itself to choose – to make a choice for the status quo.

Let’s call that lesson three: having a choice can free you from one of the alternatives. But it does not free you from having to choose; in fact, it obligates you to choose.

As I said at the beginning, I did end up choosing transition. I felt that I could no longer stand feeling as bleak and as sad as I had for the preceding year. If transition could relieve that depression, I just didn’t have the will to fight it any longer. I took my chances on the consequences of that choice. As it turned out, I lost my marriage and with it, the ability to live in the same house with my then-5-year-old daughter as I watched her grow up. There were also some collateral material losses. By and large, though, none of the other feared consequences came to pass.

But it still didn’t feel like a choice really, not a free choice. You may say that I could’ve chosen to wait one more day; since I’d waited so many days already, what difference would one more make? And the same argument would apply the next day, and the next. Why should I ever have to choose transition? The analogy I’ll use here is holding your breath. If you can hold your breath for 10 seconds, surely you can choose to hold it for 11 seconds; what’s one more second? And if you do hold it for 11, then we know you can choose to wait one more second, so it’s your choice whether to hold your breath for 12 seconds. And on and on. But of course, eventually you have to breathe again; at some point, you can’t choose even that one more second. And as I continued to choose not to transition — by deferring making the choice — that one more day and one more day finally reached a point where I could not defer it one more day.

So I guess lesson four is something like this: sometimes logic tries to tell you that you have a choice, while nature is saying that you don’t have a choice. When that happens, nature eventually beats logic, every time.

In wrapping up, I want to touch on one more thing: this is my story, about my struggle with choice and queerness. It doesn’t prove or disprove anything about anyone else’s story. And nobody else’s story can prove or disprove mine. And that brings us to

Lesson five: Your mileage may vary.

Posted in Ethics, Feminism, Gender, Psychology, Sexuality. 8 Comments »

An Old Prayer in New Words

May 18, 2013 — CassandraToday

Divine Spirit who fills the universe,
Sacred are all your names.
Your Way will be consummated on Earth,
As it already is in your heart,
When we all love one another
As you love all of us.
Please provide for our everyday needs;
Call us to no more than we can do,
And help us to do no less than you call us to.
This we ask, knowing that the beauty of your power
Will surely lead us to your Way.
Amen.

Posted in Faith, Poetry. 2 Comments »

Death and Privilege

December 15, 2012 — CassandraToday

Quick! How many kids have been shot to death this year in Newtown, Connecticut?

That’s right, 20. That number is seared on our brains. How sad, how frightening.

“If it happened here it could happen anywhere,” said Danielle Collins, who attended a candlelight vigil in Newtown last night.

No, Ms. Collins, it could not happen anywhere. That’s the voice of privilege. You’re right, though, in this sense: We don’t expect kids to get shot in Newtown or places like it. That only happens in places like…

Quick! How many kids have been shot to death this year in Detroit, Michigan?

The answer is 21, but you didn’t know that, dear reader. Honestly, the only reason I know is because I spent a couple of hours researching it just now. And about that many kids were shot to death in Detroit in 2011, and 2010, and 2009, etc. How many child homicides were there in Newtown in those years? You know the answer without having to look it up.

Newtown is a bastion of privilege: 95% white and less than 2% black, median household income $111,000/year, 9 out of 10 people live in single family homes that they own. Unemployment is 6.1% and the poverty rate is 1.2%.

The comparable numbers for Detroit are: 11% white, 83% black, income $31,000, owner-occupied housing 49%, unemployment 15%, and poverty rate 35%.

Twenty dead kids in Newtown are national banner headline news; the same number of dead kids in Detroit… well, you can find the information if you look hard enough.

This is so unfair. Our white privilege is supposed to protect us from bad things. Our affluent enclaves are supposed to be safe for kids. As Ms. Collins said, if we can’t protect our privilege behind the barricades of Newtown, where can we?

And by the way, this is not about gun control. Oh sure, now we’re all screaming for gun control, but when the twentieth kid was killed in Detroit, the silence was deafening. And really, give me a break – nothing short of a national ban on handguns would have made a difference in Newtown. Remember, the guns belonged to the killer’s mom. Realistically, a retired white kindergarten teacher in an affluent white suburb will never be denied a gun.

No, the gun control reaction is just part of the overall emotional reaction of sadness and fear. We affluent and middle-class white people are afraid, because we never expected that violence would find us. Sure, we expect violence in Detroit; that’s just the way it is, right? We are sad because children are dead, but we are especially sad because the dead children in Newtown look like our own children. The poor, black little faces in Detroit don’t touch our hearts in quite the same way, and so they don’t make the national headlines.

It chills me and it sickens me to say it: our extreme emotional reaction, and the resultant screaming headlines, are about nothing but privilege.

References and credits:

http://factfinder2.census.gov/faces/tableservices/jsf/pages/productview.xhtml?pid=DEC_10_DP_DPDP1

http://www.newtown.org/pdf/NewtownFactSheet.pdf

http://chamspage.blogspot.com/2012/05/2012-detroit-homicidesmurders-partial.html

http://chamspage.blogspot.com/2011/12/detroit-homicide-statistics-age-ranges.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Detroit

http://www.movin1077fm.com/cc-common/news/sections/newsarticle.html?feed=104668&article=10643188

http://www.areavibes.com/newtown-ct/employment/

http://zipatlas.com/us/mi/city-comparison/percentage-housing-units-occupied-by-owner.7.htm

http://www.mlive.com/news/detroit/index.ssf/2012/09/detroit_has_half_the_median_in.html

Posted in Justice, Uncategorized. 2 Comments »

Mythic mystic Christianity: a theology

December 10, 2012 — CassandraToday

I was recently asked to write a brief overview of my personal theology. If you’ve read any theology, you probably know that “brief” is among the least frequently used words to describe theological writing. Nevertheless, I took a crack at it. I don’t know if the result – two and a half single-spaced pages – counts as “brief”, but at least I kept it shorter than book length.

Oh, and as you might have guessed from the title, my personal theology is rooted in the Christian tradition. If that’s not your thing, you might find something you like here.

I believe in God, the creator of all that is.
I believe in Jesus Christ, both God and human, who, by grace, is the source of our redemption.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, equally God, present and active within us.

But these statements are not my theology.

My theology is my contemplation, analysis, and understanding of these statements, my “unpacking” of them.

God

God is the creative force that powered – and still powers – bringing the universe into existence. God is a Being, a be-ing, as in the Hebrew name for God, I Am. This being underlies all else; God is the Ground of all being. We creatures – we created ones – are connected with that creative force, making us one with it, and thus with all of creation. And we humans, blessed with consciousness, are able to be aware of that connection. We can know that we are connected not only to all else that is, we can know the connection itself, and through that, we can know that Ground, that Creator, to which we are connected.

We have two crucial sources of knowledge of God: what we experience, and what we learn from others.

I believe the experience is essential. Without experiencing that connection with the creative force that grounds all being – without physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually experiencing a connection with God in some way – we would not have the frame of reference to make sense out of what we would learn from others about God. This direct, personal experience we call mystic. I believe that everyone is capable of experiencing this connection, though some have not (yet) had the experience, and others have chosen to interpret the experience for themselves as something other than connection with God. One person cannot cause another to have the mystic experience, nor can one person prevent another from having the experience, nor can one person prove to another that she or he has had the experience. The mystic, experiential element of knowing a connection with God is completely individual.

The other source of knowledge of God is what we learn from others. Since we cannot directly share one another’s experience of God, we need an indirect way of communicating. Sacred story, song, sermon, and poem serve this purpose. They may tell of something as corporeal as eating and drinking, or as intangible as dreams and visions. They may be emotionally raw or intellectually rigorous. They may recount past events or prophesy the future. Together, they comprise myth, in its original sense – sacred tellings about God. For Christians, much of our sacred myth is embodied in the Bible. Other ancient and even modern writings, as well as traditions that have defined Christians (and Jews before us) over the millennia, are also part of the body of our sacred myth. It must be stressed that “myth” does not mean something that’s not true – quite the opposite. Myth is how we express truths that we cannot express more directly. Thus, what is important about myth, including our sacred Christian myth, is not its historical accuracy, or its direct commands, or even the precise words used to speak or write it. What’s important is what we can learn about God from these stories, songs, sermons, and poems.

Jesus Christ

What, then, do we do with that knowledge, whether learned or experiential, mythic or mystic? What does it mean for our lives? It is through Jesus Christ that we can approach the answers to those questions. The phrase “Jesus Christ” itself demands unpacking. The one we call Jesus Christ is rooted in ancient tales of a man who had a special relationship with God, but Jesus Christ is more than this man. We need not even know whether such a man “really” lived in the first century, near the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea, nor whether he “really” said and did all that has been attributed to him. To focus on his historicity is to focus on the narrative instead of the story; it is to miss the meaning inside the myth. The purpose of myth is to learn about God.

“Jesus Christ is Lord” is perhaps the earliest statement of Christian theology. From it, we learn three things. First, Jesus, the central character in the uniquely Christian part of our myth, was a man in a primarily agrarian society, a society that also included cities, a semi-autonomous society under occupation by a foreign army. From this we learn the context for his teachings. Second, he is the Christ – he has a unique relationship with God – he was created to be the appointed one to speak for God to people, and to speak for people to God. From this we learn the authority of his teachings. Third, he is Lord – he is himself God. He contains God within him, just as God, the Ground of being, contains him. The wall of separation between that which is God, and that which is not God, is shattered by Jesus Christ’s very existence. Our connection with God is not a bond connecting two separate things; our connection is that we are not separate at all. The bond is simply this: that God and we – and by extension, everything that is – are a unity.

In this brief overview, I won’t go into the ethical theology implicit in this understanding of Jesus Christ, except to observe that Jesus’ ethical teachings are grounded in, “Love God. Love others. And those two are a single imperative.” Suffice it to say that all Christian ethics are derived from that.

From our sacred myth, there is a further lesson to learn for our theology of Jesus Christ. We have answered, “Who am I to God? Who am I to others? How am I to relate to God, and to others?” but we haven’t addressed, “Who am I to me? How am I to relate to myself?” This is the question about redemption.

To redeem, at its root, means to take back, to regain possession of something, usually by paying a price. What we regain through Jesus Christ is our lives and ourselves, the essence of who we are; traditionally we call this our soul. The price was graciously paid by God – as Jesus Christ – in living on earth as a human being, with the work, pain, and death that are part of that life. God chose to pay this price, not for God’s benefit, but for ours – hence we call it an act of grace.

In our redemption, in our reclaiming of our souls, we receive the knowledge that we are not weak, isolated, helpless, and alone. Jesus’ lessons of love and unity teach us to know ourselves: as part of a universal whole, even when we feel lonely; as strong in the face of fear, even the fear of death; as loving, even in the face of all the selfish acts we know we’ve committed; and as beloved, connected with all humankind, and with God. We need to hear those lessons from a fellow human sufferer in order for them to touch our deepest selves, and so it was necessary for God to be among us as a human being. For how else could we see with our own eyes that there is no separation between us and God?

Holy Spirit

As God the creator fills the universe, and as Jesus Christ is God with us, it is the Holy Spirit that is God within each of us. We sense God as the creative force. We encounter Jesus Christ. But we feel the Spirit, in some ineffably non-physical way, and this feeling changes us. It makes us more open to God. The Reformed way of expressing it is helpful. Reformed theology asserts that the Spirit is the first to come to us; that the Spirit enters our hearts, and prepares us to receive God. The Spirit readies us for the mystic and the mythic knowledge of God that follow.

Moreover, the Spirit stays with us, a presence within that keeps us aware of our connection with God, even when our minds are too busy and our emotions are too roiled. That awareness can serve many purposes: it can comfort us, it can motivate us, it can inspire us. God the creator is always creating anew; God, through Jesus Christ, is always teaching us about love and unity; but these are so big that we have trouble staying focused on them. It is the Spirit who is with us in day-to-day life, walking every mundane step of our path with us.

Closing observation

The structure of this theological overview parallels the classic Trinity: Father, Son, Holy Ghost; Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. However, orthodox Trinitarian doctrine does not, and cannot, truly describe God. It is not literally true that God is three and God is one simultaneously. Our words are inadequate to qualify God, let alone quantify God. Theology is part of our sacred myth, our indirect, linguistic way of telling truth. This overview is nothing more than how I tell you about my own understanding of the truth of God.

Posted in Faith, Mythology. 4 Comments »

Take Up Your Cross! Alleluia!

October 24, 2012 — CassandraToday

A sermon by Jenny Howard
Preached at Central Presbyterian Church, Louisville, KY
on May 2, 2010, the 5th Sunday in Easter

This is written as a dialogue sermon, though it was preached by one person.
Boldface is used to distinguish the second speaker from the first.
Italics are used for quotations from published theologians.

Scripture:
Matthew 16:24-25
Matthew 10:38-39
Mark 8:34-35
Luke 9:23-24
Luke 14:27
(texts below, at the end)

Jesus died for your sins! Human sin is a crime against God, and a just God must punish crime! But, as God is infinite and eternal, so any crime against God is equally infinite and eternal. What human punishment could ever suffice to atone for that infinite crime, you poor finite mortals? That is why God sent His Son, divine yet also completely human, to take the punishment for all humanity, to be the perfect human sacrifice! Jesus’ excruciating death on the cross satisfied God’s thirst for venge— …er, I mean satisfied God’s just demand for punishment! This was an act of grace! Yes, having Jesus killed was God’s loving act of supreme grace! By this your sins are forgiven – your sins, and the sins of all humankind in eternity! In this brutal (yet infinitely just) act of human sacrifice, you should find unspeakable joy! Shout Alleluia! Shout Alleluia! Shout—

Excuse me, I have a question?

Yes, yes, what is your question?

Well, I’ve been reading the Bible—

Good! Good! Scripture is surely the place to seek answers to all our questions.

Um, well, I can’t find the part where Jesus teaches what you just preached?

It’s in there! After all, this doctrine of substitute punishment has been the bedrock of our faith for 2000 years!

Um, actually, it was only about 1260 that Aquinas developed that particular theology of atonement. St. Anselm of Canterbury, some 150 years earlier, wrote something similar, around the year 1100. But before that, that’s not what the church taught.

What are you trying to say?

Well, as I said, I’d like to explore what Jesus himself said about the crucifixion, in the Gospels, you know? May I?

I suppose. I’m sure you’ll find this clearly explained in the Gospels.

I’d like to start with this morning’s Scripture readings. They’re from Matthew, Mark, and Luke, the three earliest Gospels. I hear Jesus saying over and over, if we want to be his disciples, we have to take up our cross and follow him. And then I have to ask the question—

Wait a second! You can’t question the Bible!

Oh no, I would never do that! I’m just questioning one interpretation of the Bible that I heard. Isn’t it part of the whole idea of being Presbyterian, being Reformed Protestants, that Scripture is the ultimate authority, not the church’s interpretation, or anyone else’s interpretation?

Y-e-e-s-s…

So my question is, if Jesus paid the price of sin for us, once for all, why do we have to take up our cross, just like he did? Where’s the good news in that? I’ve always thought believing in Jesus set us free – free from our sin – that Jesus set us free when he died on the cross. If I have to carry a cross, does that mean I have to be crucified too? Getting crucified doesn’t sound very free to me. And yet, this is something that Jesus said in these three Gospels, so it can’t be wrong. What did he mean?

I did a little digging, and I found out that Matthew and Luke were both written about a generation after Mark. So Mark’s Gospel is the oldest. Plus, the evidence is pretty strong that Mark was a major source for the people who wrote Matthew and Luke. So I took a closer look at Mark. It turns out that, when this earliest Gospel talks about the meaning of Jesus’ death, it never says that Jesus died as a substitute to satisfy God’s demand that humankind must be punished for their sin – our sin.

Now hold on just a minute there! What about Mark chapter 10 verse 45? “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” Doesn’t that say that Jesus was killed as punishment for our sins?

Thank you, I was just going to say something about that. There is that verse, or really half a verse, that says Jesus “came…to give his life a ransom for many.” It might seem to support this vicarious punishment idea. But is that really what the word ‘ransom’ means? Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan, in their book The Last Week, point out that the word is also used elsewhere in the Bible, and they explain its usage quite well: “The Greek word translated as ‘ransom’ is used in the Bible not in the context of payment for sin, but to refer to payment made to liberate captives or slaves. [It] is a means of liberation from bondage. Thus to say that Jesus gave ‘his life a ransom for many’ means he gave his life as a means of liberation from bondage.”

And when I looked at this verse in context – I’m sure you agree that we have to read Scripture in context? – I saw it differently. Even within that verse, the first half says Jesus “came not to be served, but to serve.”

This sounds more like a voluntary act than it does like a passive sacrificial lamb. He made a conscious choice to give his life for us – like a soldier who gives his life for his country. Jesus chose to serve his disciples, to serve us, by showing us his new way, the way of salvation, even knowing it meant death. Borg and Crossan put it this way: “How does Mark think Jesus’ death is a ‘ransom’ for many? …. It is not by Jesus substituting for [us], but by [our] participating in Jesus. [We] must pass through death to a new life here below upon this earth, and [we] can already see what that transformed life is like in Jesus himself.” Jesus was saying this is so important that he put everybody else’s good first, and put himself last, and he called us to follow his example.

Look at it this way: Jesus faced death knowing, in complete faith, that new life waited on the other side, and knowing that the only way to attain that new life was by passing through the death of his old life. That’s what he was trying to teach his disciples. Does that make him some kind of creepy precursor to Jim Jones, only with crosses instead of poisoned grape Kool-Aid?

By no means! (I’ve always wanted to say that in a sermon.) Jesus used death on a cross as an illustration of what it meant to serve, rather than be served. As Frederick C. Grant wrote in his analysis of Mark when he was Professor of Biblical Theology at Union Seminary, “Mark…hardly assumed that all Christians must be crucified; the language is certainly figurative.”

In almost every one of today’s readings, right after Jesus says take up your cross, the next thing he says is that those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for his sake will find it. Again this is figurative: as disciples, we must make the choice to lose our old life, our old self that wants to be served, so that we can find the new life, in which we serve others. That is how we take up our crosses and follow Jesus.

We are set free by participating with Jesus in this supreme act – set free from our slavery to our wanting, set free from our own desire to be served, and set free to love and serve the world, as we have always known God wants us to do.

Make no mistake, Jesus tells us – it’s difficult and it’s dangerous, this business of putting everyone else first. It will cost us our life, if not literally, then at least in the sense of losing our old self, losing our old idea of who we are. But, oh, the reward! To participate in the life and work and death and resurrection of Jesus – not as something that happened long ago and far away, but right here, right now, we can choose to participate in Jesus’ cross, and in his service. We can choose to follow Jesus – we are not captive to our own sinful ways. By taking the way of the cross, Jesus freed us from that captivity.

And that is good news indeed. That is a source of joy! That gives our lives meaning! That gives our lives holiness! That is something to celebrate! Shout Alleluia! Shou—

I’ll take it from here. Shout Alleluia! Shout Alleluia! Shout Alleluia!
Shout Amen!

——————————

Matthew 16.24-25: Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.’
Matthew 10.38-39: ‘and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.’
Mark 8.34-35: He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.’
Luke 9.23-24: Then he said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.’
Luke 14.27: ‘Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.’

Posted in Uncategorized. Leave a Comment »

Bear

October 1, 2012 — CassandraToday

I had a close encounter with a black bear after lunch one day when I was camping in the Smokies. I was reaching into the bed of the pickup, to move the food box and the cooler into the cab (to avoid bear problems!), when suddenly, from the other side of the truck, a bear leaped into the pickup bed, its nose a foot away from mine. Needless to say, my nose — and the rest of me — did not remain in proximity to the bear for very long at all. Moving to keep the truck between me and the bear, I called out, “Bear!” to alert my partner, Nancy, who was just down the hill a ways, near the tent. Actually, she reported later that it was more like shrieking than calling out. And that I repeated it numerous times. And with a great deal of emotion. The bear, meanwhile, was unimpressed. Astutely assessing the situation, it observed that I hadn’t yet completed my task of hiding the food box. It casually helped itself to a loaf of bread, and was on its way to the woods to eat it when Nancy arrived to see what the commotion was all about. As I was stuttering my explanation, the camp ranger from down the road arrived on the scene — apparently my volume level had been sufficient to get his attention as well. The ranger asked for a description of the bear. After I finished what I considered a perfectly adequate description — “Big! Black! With teeth! And claws!” — he gently coaxed more details out of me, then concluded that our bread had been stolen by “Round Ears”, whom he described as a small bear who frequented the camp, though usually at dusk. Small. Yeah, right. I had inspected that bear, albeit briefly, from much closer up than the ranger ever had, I was sure. But what I really found striking was that this monster had a name: Round Ears. Almost made him sound cute. Almost.

Posted in Adventure. Leave a Comment »

Dream

September 29, 2012 — CassandraToday

I dreamed that we woke up together
in a hotel room in a lakeside village
midway between the cities where we live.
And as I slipped out of the dream
and slowly awakened
I started to tell you about the dream.
Then I opened my eyes
and you weren’t there
and I remembered
I sleep alone now.

Posted in Dreams, Poetry. Leave a Comment »

« Older posts