Dear You,

I don't know how I will ever express all the things flittering around my head or heart when we are in actual proximity to each other... I don't even know if we will get that opportunity. When we are together, I morph and meld- tongue held in check lest i seem too _________ [fill in the blank with the external perception of the day I am concerned about giving off and by so doing, offending]. My words, my thoughts-- the very essence of me has been deemed at some point angry, conceited, overwrought, repressed, depressed, defensive, reflexive, reactionary, aggressive, derisive, stupid, dull, revolutionary, sadistic, masochistic, uneducated, ill informed, ruthless, violent {??!!}, without compassion, bitchy, cliche, stereotypical, atypical, unresolved, a mess, et. al. Ever and always, how I spoke, how I demurred, how I acted, how I tried to remain invisible within communities churches, cities, and even a country that didn't want to have me was determined by those invisible external pressures, conditions, and rules of conformity [or by my own internal expectations and self-directed responsibilities].

Due to this, 25 years have been spent trying to run miles and meters of distance from my past, silence the phantom and demon cries, still the never-far-from-me fear, push past, pull away from all drags of personal progress. How many of us would know in our early years the length of time it will take for us to outrun ourselves and our embedded programming in our latter years? How many of us would go on if this were a known value? Even I didn't count on living as long as I have already. A childhood laden with more than the usual illnesses plus the revelation of my body's genetic malfunctions made concepts of adulthood with its ensuing freedom of personal choice a thing most foreign to me growing up. But grow up , I did, nonetheless. In a booming suburban/urban sprawl where obvious half-breeds were given clear messages in the hate-fueled scowls-- "You aren't one of us-- You don't belong!!" At 7 or 8 years old, I became aware that I was a mis-fit that didn't appear to belong anywhere. Not on east coast or west... neither in public nor parochial school... not on the playground, in the cafeteria, or in the library. The next ten years following such an awareness were squandered in a futile attempt to make such a truth false. A decade more was spent learning to not care so much about it any which way.

Self declaration: Zephyr Elise is not easily homogenized, commodified, or placed easily into tidy, bureaucratically-determined and labeled boxes. But for all that self knowledge, I still fear letting my voice rise and be heard. Still, it is hard to say I want... Quiero... As in, I want to help. I want to love and feel worthy of love. I want to believe in compassion and peaceful non-violence [yet I hold onto grievances; stew in "righteous indignation"]. I want to live a life that makes a difference [but so many days offer ample feelings of un-empowerment.] I want to see a world where few suffer; few die from hunger, none die or are orphaned by AIDS. I want to live in a world where people matter. I want to live in a world beyond and free from the fetters of patriarchy and capitalism. I want to envision myself in a world where education, creative solutions, and art thrive fully funded... where the heroes are those that create and forge peace [not by weapons or at the barrel end of a gun]... where children are safe and nurtured. Is it too much to ask to live in an age where our planet is carefully tended and beloved?! Really, though, I would be content to just live in day in which all religions of this world can shut up about right and wrong/good and bad/righteousness and sin-- stop proselytizing, and just be... peacefully just being and coexisting. Maybe, this out of every other exposition of my inner workings brands me the Queen of all fools! This is a bit of me laid bare before... you.