For All the Victims of Sexual Assault, With Love.

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People’s hearts are ripping open.
Mine is too. The clawing tear.
There is no painless way to arrive
at the truth, at emancipation.
To wrest the long-buried secrets
From festering in the darkest caves,
To lay bare the grisly stories
And understand the vicious stronghold
Of the oppressor in locking them down,
For so long, in their greed, and fear.
There is no winner where power lives.
There is no winner where power lives.
Past the bloody fields of power’s rule,
I see children. Wounded, bright, pure.
They are us. What we want to be.
What we have never learned
To retain as we grow older.
I see us feeling before thinking.
I see us accepting before drawing lines
in the sand of you and I, he and she.
I see us looking around at the wreckage,
unsure how this all came to be.
I see us crying, understanding
from a deep place of ancient sadness.
I see looking at each other and
bowing at the alter of what is sacred
in every last person among us, and,
without speaking, vowing. Never again.
No subjugation. No lies. No cover-ups.
No thirst for more than we need.
No false needs. No avoiding the pain inside.
I see us embracing our pain together.
I see us knowing this pain is all of ours.
I see us reaching for joy beyond pain,
and knowing this joy has no limits,
and is destined for each one of us.
I see peace. I see love. I see peace.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
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Be Compassion Be Love

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There’s everything to be said
For the way we try, so hard
 
To be a part of the world,
Truly and fully where we are,
 
Even when we don’t understand,
Even when there is little left
 
That holds it all together,
Or of our own sensibilities.
 
It shatters. We try; we attend
To the wild perceptions shifting,
 
Clinging like desperate savages
To the remains of our Truths,
 
Afraid to distill the gold
From the piles of our history.
 
We look for pockets of seamless
instances of harmony, like miracles,
 
The reminders that we walk
Walk this Earth in unison,
 
That we all, at the very bottom,
Would love for the same thing:
 
To be at peace, to connect,
To belong and find our purpose,
 
And it always comes to this:
Even when it hurts,
 
Even when it might all be lost,
Be compassion, be love.
 
– TS

The Art of Meditation

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breathe in –
breathing becomes laboured
snagging and catching before the end
 
breathe out –
the breath becomes a cry
caught on a gasp of surprise
 
sit tall –
the spine aches from holding
stories thousands of years old
 
be soft –
i feel not softness but threadbare fragility in
bone and skin that threaten collapse
 
i am falling –
but in the falling, an acute awareness
of what i’ve neglected so long
 
i am restless –
i have within me infinite little pieces
that have been struggling to be heard
 
i am suffering –
i have awakened to brilliant depths
of what it means to be alive and trying
 
i am human –
i will ache and burn as i sit with each one of us
feeling a unity in all our pain but also our triumphs
 
i am learning –
every moment, every breath in, breath out
is a change, a movement, a new leaf born. – TS

For The Lost Ones

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for the lost or never-was
for the ones scampering
up great hills of mirth and joy
innocent, still, of shadows
and dangerous places
lighting a thousand suns
with their laughter
 
(we are all so blessed)
 
for the empty womb pulsing
with the love of a thousand
mothers, bleeding compassion
that spreads like stars
in the vast, timeless night,
the one saving grace we have,
and the only one we’ll need. TS