Central Park Attacks letter to the editor

I’m watching Dateline NBC… the special on the attacks in Central Park of women during the Puerto Rican parade.
I was outraged by this special, and not just at what happened, but at the way that you reported it. You blamed the victims and made excuses for the criminals, and that is wrong, plain wrong.
I can walk naked down the street with a rose in my teeth, and no one has a right to touch me without my permission. If they do, they should be arrested, and spend every second of the rest of their lives in jail. It’s as simple as that. The young women who were laughing and flirting before they were attacked were NOT at fault for what happened to them. They have a right to be out in public, enjoying themselves, and enjoying attention paid to them.
You practically apologized for the behavior of the men involved. You cited things like testosterone, beer, marijuana as the causes, not moral bankruptcy and total lack of conscience. Then you had the unmitigated gall to cite the squeaky clean backgrounds of some of the young men.
These young men were criminals. They’re bad and evil, and deserve to spend their lives in jail. I don’t care if his brother is a cop, or if he’s a barber.
Our society has this weird mass delusion that rapists are men that hide in the bushes and just jump out and rape women all day, as though that’s their job.
Rapists are people’s brothers, basketball stars, fathers and sons. They are regular people. The fact that we can’t realize this and deal with it is the reason that we can’t stop rape, and the reason that women can’t get justice when they’re attacked.
Watching this special, I got up several times and walked around my apartment, acting out what I would do if I were caught in this situation. I was raped in 1989, so this isn’t the first time I’m acted out this scene. And every scenario I came up with involves me attacking and hurting, maiming or killing one or more of these men.
I can’t begin to express the rage I feel that this can happen in our society and that we, rather than deal with the issue swiftly and punitively, make rationalizations about why it happened.

Continue ReadingCentral Park Attacks letter to the editor

The Invitation

May 1994, Oriah Mountain Dreamer

From the Book The Invitation

The Invitation - Oriah Mountain Dreamer
The Invitation – Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, If you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own: if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul, I want to know if YOU can be FAITHFUL and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from ITS presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still Stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "YES!"

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Continue ReadingThe Invitation

Phenomenal Woman

In the poem below, on the line after “the stride of my steps” there should not be any asterisks. But for some reason my content management system blows up whenever I try to take them out.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I’m not cute or built to suit a model’s fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I’m telling lies.
I say
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
t*h*e*c*u*r*l*o*f*m*y*l*i*p*s
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It’s in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.

Continue ReadingPhenomenal Woman