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Growing Alligator Skin
As a child, art, creating was a kind of magic¡in adolescence it was still acceptable behavior. The move into adulthood was a bit traumatic because¡art for art¡¯s sake is not practical. It is not a job job. So, I began doing shows with my art, trying to get my words published, trying to make that all important thing called money. And what happened at shows and in responses to my submissions? My work, my time and my investment in myself was rejected and/or criticized. I thought, well I must grow tough skin. I remember going to a book signing and telling the author that I wrote and I was growing alligator skin from all the rejection. The smile she gave me was weary. The truth is I have never grown alligator skin. I tried really hard, but alligators aren¡¯t known for their kind and tender hearts. For me the effort to grow such skin stunted me creatively. One day I thought, this is not working for me, and it wasn¡¯t. So I stopped. I accepted alligator skin was NEVER going to grow on me. I had to find a different way. I wanted to love creating the way I once had. It took time, but I finally managed to get back to creating magic. I have earned a little money with this approach, but it isn¡¯t practical or life supporting financially. It is however spirit supporting, and soul supporting. The process is the part that matters most. And I love the magic of the process. Yes it is tedious at times and hard at others. Still I¡¯d rather be comfortable in my skin, than be protected by an alligator exterior.
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Learning to Live
Tending to my mom, while she was in hospice was very much like tending to my babies. It was all consuming, and deep. I did not know where I stopped and she began. I lost all sense of myself as a separate person for awhile. Time passed and I wasn¡¯t even aware of how it was marking me. My life without her physical presence feels untethered¡like I am floating in space and I can¡¯t find my rocket. I can¡¯t even remember where I parked it. During her illness I lost contact not only with myself but also with others.I still feel encapsulated and insulated. Slowly I am making my way back to life, but it is a very different life than it was before I learned the rules of letting go. Those are tough rules that make you want to hold on and hide at the same time. I did let go¡I am still letting go¡it hurts¡its hard.
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I miss Mama the way I missed my children when they grew into adults. They didn¡¯t need my constant care anymore and I wasn¡¯t sure who I was without that particular role. It took a while for me to rediscover me. Its taking time to do that again. Who am I without my mother? For all my life I was Sandra¡¯s daughter. I am still her daughter, but I no longer can share her physical light. I miss her so much. I don¡¯t think this kind of missing ever goes away, so I am learning to live with it.
Sometimes I cry because I want to show Mama, I want to tell Mama. Yes, I can still talk to her in my heart, but it is just not the same as seeing her, knowing for sure that I am being heard, hearing her voice¡hearing her laughter. What I miss most of all is her laughter and the shine in her eyes. She gave me so much light. That light does shine for me still. It warms me and keeps me going. Thank you, Mama.
On a Side Street
This poem comes from an actual occurrence that happened years ago. The memory is so vivid as is the question that still haunts me.
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From the window
of my car
I see dusk fall.
Down a side street
walks a crumpled man
with a small girl
on his shoulders.
Her hair catches
the scattering sunlight.
Are they headed home
to a crumbling apartment
in the distant rundown neighborhood?
I turn away.
To my right,
glass sky scrapers
scrape the sky.
Wealth and poverty
side by side.
There is not enough
and never enough.
I continue down the free way,
haunted by the small girl
with the shining hair.
What will become of her?
Looking for Light
Small specks of lights glisten. So much darkness between. I look out at the lights¡the traveling lights are old and weary. They are a map of what was. My eyes feel blistered by my staring. What am I looking for? Hope in the midst of my darkness? Yes, I am, but what will I find? My life is brief and growing briefer still with each breath I take. If I play dot to dot with all these specks of moving light, I can create a face¡each dot connected could form the face of my mother. Mother¡she was my light. She was the one who lit my darkness with hope. She was home¡and now she is gone. I cannot find her among these stars and yet for some reason I feel like she is there among them and here within me. Is this foolishness?
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The telescope brings so much close that is distant. If only its lens could bring what is beyond the edges of the universe into view. Do universes have edges like the rims of of our oceans? So many questions. I¡¯ve always had too many. When I was a child my mother would say to me, ¡°Aurora, let your brain rest.¡± My brain has learned to rest, my heart has not. It is my heart that keeps me seeking, keeps me asking questions, keeps me searching for what I once held so easily. Sometimes as I study this view I wonder, if my mother¡¯s light still travels. Starlight still shines after stars stop producing light. I wonder, will my mother¡¯s light travel through me? Will it travel after me? What about my own light? How do I find it? Who can I share it with? I want to shine too. I believe I can.
One View
Often, in my creative life I have said, ¡°If what I write is appreciated by one person, my work and time are not wasted.¡± One view, just one. Right. When that one view is received and that one person shows up week after week to read my labors, do I really feel like I haven¡¯t wasted my time? If what I write is found worthwhile by that one person is that enough? The truth struck me hard when week after week, a story I post on a site has one, sometimes two views. I find that I am not as generous as I imagined, and I have fallen victim to the numbers game created by social media. This week I had to stop myself and contemplated, the one thing that someone has said to me, the one note or text I received, the time spent one on one that helped me take the next step, learn the next lesson, understand the next truth. What if those people had chosen not to share what was in their heart, if they had chosen not to share what had been given them to share, where would I be? I would not be in this here, in this now, as I am. Those one time occurrences have shaped me, helped me, opened new doors and new avenues of thought and reflection. I wish I could be happy about just one view, but I can¡¯t, not yet at least, maybe not ever. Still, I can be grateful for that one viewer, who ever they are, that shows up for me when no one else does. I know I will continue to delude myself with my own generosity, I am human after all, but I will also finish the story that I started, because of that one viewer. Whoever you are, thank you so much for showing up week after week. I don¡¯t know your name or who you are, but I appreciate you. You are worth my time and my effort. Thank you.
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Tahita
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This Skin
This skin
does not fit anyone
but me.
So don''t think
you can put it on
and intervene
in my consequences,
or fix me
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with your wisdom.
I will try
to do
the same for you.
In this life it is so easy to think we know better than another. I have had to fight the urge to fix or advise when it was not helpful or appropriate. Life is a tough gig, and so is love. We don¡¯t always have the answer, nor do we always have the means to heal. At best we can listen or just be with another. At other times what they need most is to work through their own stuff alone. It is hard to know what is needed, and sometimes we get it wrong. Learning to tread softly in the life and heart of another is a life long lesson. Upon rare occasions what another needs is a heavy step, a shout, and/or a yank to love them. But when the heavy step, the shout and/or the yank, go unrecognized or unheard, we have to take a step back and wait, and hope and pray¡and sometimes we have to release. And that is hard.
Through the Spaces
Building memories
without you
feels like not having
all the bricks
or any mortar.
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I keep seeing
you
through the spaces
and the cracks
that you would
occupy
if
you were here.
Grief is hard. It is hard to sit in and feel it. My first instinct is to run, but I have learned, grief can¡¯t be out run. It can be numbed for a while, but it always surfaces and demands to be dealt with. How I deal with it is important. Writing this poem helped ease the pain some. Creative expression offers a place to sort and identify and reveal what I feel and what I think. Dear Reader, if there is someone that your heart is missing. My heart goes out to you.
To Cry
____________________________________
Its okay to cry¡ª
cause it hurts.
Tears are made
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to fall.
Disappointment happens.
The things I wanted
Didn¡¯t always come.
Its a fine art
to appreciate
what I already have.
In my life,
I let
too many blessings
slip away¡ª
while I focused
on what I didn¡¯t receive.
I don¡¯t want
to waste any more
of my time or my life
longing for what
Was never mine.
______________________________________
Good Days
Good days don¡¯t announce themselves¡often they aren¡¯t even entire days. But, when the good comes, and it does come, I am trying to enjoy it however it lands. I don¡¯t clutch it, or try to hold onto it. I also don¡¯t try to replicate good days, because they are unique unto themselves. When the sun shines in my heart and mind, that is a good day. There are times though, a good day is just being able to get from point A to point B. On those days I know the meaning of gratitude, because I did make it from point A to point B even though it was hard. For me good days and hard days aren¡¯t exclusive, sometime they happen in the same 24 hours. Like when good news comes after much worry. Or a misunderstanding gets resolved. If you made it through another day, my hope for you is that you are proud of yourself for your persistence. Wishing you hope and peace this night.
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Luna
This is fused glass painted with glass paint and ceramic underglaze. While being fired the glass broke in four places. One of the best things about broken fused glass is that heat can heal it. I laid out the groken glass in the kiln and fired it again at 1400 degrees. While heat does heal, it doesn¡¯t remove scars. The breaks are still visible but they are mended. I used a portion of this piece as the cover art for my story, The Sea Castle.
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Something
Something quiet
that doesn¡¯t light up
and try to capture
my attention.
Something private
for only my eyes
that no one else
will see
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or track.
Something that
doesn¡¯t live in
a cloud
or on a flat screen.
Give me a cheap
ink pen,
a lined notebook
and silence¡
Hard Work
There is an old saying that I think, everyone who creates needs to hold on to. The saying is: Hard work is its own reward. Hard work requires dedication, discipline and the willingness to fail and start over. Its not an easy thing, but one grows in the process, and one learns so much. Lionel Richie says, ¡°If you win, you win, if you lose you learn.¡± I think we cripple ourselves creatively when we focus too much on what other people think about what we do. I went through a really dark time when what I was doing wasn¡¯t getting the results I thought it should. I became frozen, unable to create and deeply depressed. Releasing the magnitude of my expectations and grandiose dreams was like stepping out of a prison. I learned to create for the creation. I learned how to work for the work and all it gave me. I learned to shut out negative debilitating voices including my own. Creating will always be a challenge. It will engage us in a life long conversation about our worth and the worth of what we do. Don¡¯t let anyone stop this conversation inside of you. Honor the gifts you have been given, don¡¯t compare. Do what you do, watch your own growth. Celebrate every step gained, every technique gained, every moment when you feel yourself growing. I have had massive disasters that have enhanced my perception of the tools I use and the art I create. Live with your creative spirit and learn the steps it longs to teach you.
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To Remember
It took so many years
for me to remember
the ways you loved me.
What I needed
and what you had to give
did not match.
From the broken child inside of you,
you loved with all your fractured
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heart,
a heart I could not heal.
Still, I carry the love
you gave me.
It brings me joy
where bitterness
once grew.
Different
Compassion is not a course in educating those we deem ignorant. It is meeting one another in our complicated differences. It is acceptance, courage and the humility to lay down our self righteousness.
I wrote the above lines after hearing how stupid someone¡¯s chosen beliefs were. Why do we do that? Why is someone stupid or dumb, just because they don¡¯t think the way that they should, in our opinion? It is a tale as old as time. Wars are fed by differences, families are shattered by differences. Different doesn¡¯t always mean stupid, it just means different. I don¡¯t have to understand it, but I can show respect. Different doesn¡¯t mean wrong most of the time. Dare to be different. Dare to accept others who are different.
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Bird Parade
There is a book of photography that I stumbled across when searching for books. I knew Eudora Welty as a writer, but I never knew she was also a photographer. The title of the book is, Eudora Welty Photographs. Her work is stunning. The photos are set in Mississippi in the 1930s. I was moved to tears as I viewed the photographs. So much humanity, so much that was real and raw and also beautiful. I was especially moved by her photographs of the Bird Parade. Women and girls dressed in wings and feathers marched together in the parade. Their creativity is reflected in their feathered attire. I have always loved birds and the thought of having wings and I longed to march with them.
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A Prayer
Help me make changes in myself not based upon my opinions, but based upon my commitment to love and make this world a better place. Let me not be so married to the things I think that I am not willing to listen to the thoughts of others. Help me not to be so concerned with my own heartbeat that I refuse to hear the heartbeat of another. Please let me know my own worth and not discount the worth of those who disagree with me. Move me into this day with peace and clarity. When chaos comes remind me that it will pass.
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Time to See
The bud in the photo is a miracle of sorts. We adopted a Magnolia tree from a neighbor. The poor thing was root bound in a small pot and sickly. It had not bloomed and its leaves were sparse. What it most needed was to be removed from its small pot and given room for its roots to stretch out. My husband planted it and watered it. I went out every morning and spoke to the tree, not sure my words would actually help anything. What I needed and wanted most was for it to live, not just survive but thrive. It is thriving and it blessed me with beautiful short lasting blossoms. I didn¡¯t know much about Magnolia trees. I knew almost nothing about their blooms. It is amazing what observation and time spent can teach. Take some time to see.
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Always
The letting go¡
I loved you
through the days
and nights we shared.
The memories
that can bring both
tears of joy
and sorrow,
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I hold close.
I am thankful
for every good moment
we spent together.
I release every difficult
one, but
I keep what I learned.
I am thankful you came
into my life¡
I will miss you
always¡
Was and Is
How did I land
in the place and time
of you.
Our souls might
never have met.
If not for that
moment,
I would have
been so much poorer
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than I am.
There is a richness
in happenstance.
I could have walked
on by.
I could have not gone
at all¡
only I did stop, I did go
I did find you
and you found
me¡
It was
and is
A struggle
but it was
and is
us.
And that is enough,
and everything.
There Is
Breathe slow,
tears are okay.
The adventure is good¡ª
but not easy.
The wind moves through
causing the grasses to dance.
There is beauty
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in the sky
where brown pelicans
soar in formation
and gulls glide
on outstretched wings.
To be Rooted
Trees have always felt like friends for me. I have a deep love for their presence in the world. As a small child I lived in a wooded area of Texas. I have vague memories of the patterns of leaves cast in shadow upon the ground. In my grandpa¡¯s cow pasture there was an ancient oak that my brother, cousins and I gathered around and played beneath its branches. It was over a hundred years old and we liked to imagine what the tree might have seen in its life time. After years of not having trees in our yard, a neighbor gave us a magnolia tree. It was not doing well cramped in its clay pot. My husband planted it. I believe in talking to trees, so I went out every morning and offered it encouraging words. I don¡¯t know if the words helped the tree (it bloomed this year) but my time with the tree helps me. It provide a place to slow down, breathe and focus on a still and silent life. Trees are rooted. They stay were they are put. They will thrive in good circumstances and perish in harsh ones. Each is made to thrive in a particular climate and area. Some thrive many places, others do not. For all but a few years of my life, I have lived in the same area in different houses. I need the sky to be a familiar sky with a familiar landscape. I am rooted here and I am thankful.
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Distance
The long run. I signed up for it, not understanding the depth and time it would take to love you. Choosing to love, choosing to forgive, choosing to accept is hard. Knowing I don¡¯t have an answer or even know the right question to ask, jabs my pride. I would like to jump to conclusions, heap all the blame on your head, turn you into the baddy, just this once¡ Though I have been deeply hurt, not heard and ignored, I still had a hand in this situation. I have kept to quiet, been too vague, expected you to read my mind, or was it my heart? I wonder often about why love has to be so challenging. It is arrogant of me to believe I am easy to love. Life is challenging and those challenges test love, stretch it, hurt it and sometimes utterly destroy it. Why?
This imperfect me struggles with my own limitations, right now I just don¡¯t want to struggle with yours. I want a safe quiet place where no one can reach me, especially you. But more that getting away from you, my flawed love, I think I want to get away from myself even more. All the feelings I just don¡¯t want to feel refuse to be wished away no matter how hard I try. Since I can¡¯t distance me from myself, distancing myself from you looks like a solution. In a way it is, but it isn¡¯t entirely. My issues won¡¯t evaporate with your absence. I have to take responsibility for my own self and my own choices. I have to feel what I am feeling. At this moment I DO NOT WANT TO. What I want if for life to be easier. I want this difficult time to disappear. It won¡¯t. So I choose to continue to live this time of confusion, and uncertainty. I choose to believe in my own capacity to survive. I choose to allow myself to feel, to cry and grieve. I choose to be merciful and forgiving to you and to myself.
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Until…
As I look at the photo of that young bride, I think about how very little she knew.She began with such hopes, dreams and impossible standards. Despite all that I have learned and misunderstood, deep down I am thankful that young woman was so idealistic, and so attached to her dreams. If she had not been would I be here now, knowing what I know? Would I have survived all I have survived? Broken dreams hurt¡but they also are a symbol that I had the courage to dream and the courage to hope. Discovering that the man I married was not the man I dreamed of, but a flesh and blood person who was as flawed as I was, meant finally setting sail in the reality of human love. Yes, I have loved him poorly at times, as he has loved me poorly, and yet here we are knowing each other like no one else knows us. I have been far from the perfect wife, but I have loved my best¡and it has cost me and also given me much. Often I come across that question, if you could tell your younger self one thing, what would you say. This morning I have flipped that question. If my younger self could tell my current self one thing, I think it would be, ¡°Continue to dream until your last breath.¡±
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Rain on the Roof
Remember the time we danced in the rain on the roof? That was joy in the midst of sorrow. I am grateful the human heart has the capacity to hold both sorrow and joy, sometimes together at the same time. The future that day was uncertain, but we were happy. Your laughter is a sound I hold dear. You were the one who taught me how to love in difficult circumstances. You taught me to keep the faith. You taught me what it means to be real. I remember how cold the rain drops were that fell from the springtime sky. They hit the tin roof and made music, our own separate rhythm. I see you, and our dear Ronnie, and all our hopes and dreams reflected in the rain. And I am thankful for the love of our family and the richness of our time shared.
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To Continue
To continue¡there are times when just the first step is so paralyzing I can not move. What ifs fill my mind and none of them have satisfactory conclusions. It is all going to rubbish, I am sure, so why start at all? The most daunting thing I face creatively is the blank page, the empty screen, the unformed clay. These represent the place to fail, a place to succeed, or the place of nothing. Failure is always a possibility. I have poems, novel beginnings and more art pieces than I want to count, that disappointed me or left me feeling hopeless about my own talent and my own worth. Why? My value is not determined by what I make, or by what I make creating. It is so easy to get lost in a world that doesn¡¯t value my personal vision, or capabilities. Comparisons are poison. Being angry because I¡¯m unlucky doesn¡¯t help, but it is there, and it is very real for anyone who creates. Timing, how timing is drilled into us and how important it is. I spent so much time trying to conjure a place and a time for me to be discovered. In the long run, what I discovered was myself. What I began to create was a space where my creativity could breathe and grow. I took myself out of that cage that is the death trap of creativity. I stopped caring about what others did, or achieved or arrived at. Those who have luck and timing seem to think everyone will arrive too if they just work hard enough and long enough. Sometimes they are right, and sometimes all they are is lucky. For me continuing to face the page, the screen, the lump of clay brings me challenges, discoveries and the opportunity to be who I am created to be. So, I continue, because it is worth it to me.
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The Meeting
Today I felt like I was not connecting. There was an odd sense of peace though, because at least I was seeking a better route. At the moment it feels like only a miracle can change this situation. Something must happen ¡ªif it doesn¡¯t then it either isn¡¯t time or it isn¡¯t meant to be. I really don¡¯t want to cling to the result I want or beg for it. I just want to trust that I can continue to follow path¡that hurts so much. I don¡¯t have the energy right now to conjure futures but at the same time I don¡¯t want to release hope. I think there is a place inside of me where despaired and acceptance exist. Both can be long and painful. Some days I do feel despair, but it¡¯s not where I want to live. I want to accept what comes next and meet it with all the love and courage I have.
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After the Fire
We had forgotten
the sound of thunder,
the feel of cold rain.
Our landscape¡ª
scorched by sun¡¯s
constant heat,
birthed wild fires.
Now, we sit
in ashes.
Vultures,
with singed wings,
circle overhead.
After so much loss
we refuse to be carrion,
We stand¡ª
We walk¡ª
toward a future
that only our hope
can reveal.
Fragile
These fragile petals
reach for the sun,
bend in the rain
and quietly close
when the sun
bids good night.
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Writing Old School
I have started writing old school, in an actual notebook with a pen. There is something about the flow of ink, that is soothing. And a real notebook doesn¡¯t offer any forms of distraction. There isn¡¯t any noise either. True, my edits don¡¯t disappear but then neither does the information I wrote down. I still have a record to go over if I need to remember what my original thought was.
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Clouds
Clouds amaze me¡so huge, so wispy¡.when I look at them I see faces, animals, what ever my imagination can conjure. They are the best part of being outside. They also comfort me with their beauty and their ever changing forms. I love the way they catch morning light. They can be as tall as mountains. They can be dark and full of lightning. They can race across the sky or sit for hours in the same spot. Look up, look at the clouds, what do you see?
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My Bubba
It¡¯s been a while¡I am thankful for the childhood we shared. You were my dearest friend and my brother, my closest confidant and the one who journeyed with me in our family. I miss you. I hold the good memories close. Our imaginations created many cool and goofy adventures. We had so much fun! I know I was a bossy big sister. I remember when I convinced you that most of our toys were actually mine. That was cold. There was also the time I accused you of stealing the moon pie, when I was the one who stole it. You got in trouble and I didn¡¯t. There was the night we camped out in the back yard and our dog, Squeaky, stole and ate all our pop tarts. My favorite memories of happened in our grandpa¡¯s pasture. The times we built camp fires, searched for cow bones and arrow heads. In our imaginations we traveled through the galaxy on rusted an old car frame we called the Starship Enterprise. We were peasants fleeing aristocrats and hobbits looking for dragons. I remember your joy, the way your eyes lit up when you laughed. Also, there was that time when you put a toad in my purse¡not funny.
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I don¡¯t miss the distance that came later¡we parted ways in high school. As the years passed from time to time we had these conversations where the distance disappeared and we were close again. It was rare but it did happen. I am so thankful I got to have you as a brother.
When I was two, Daddy and I came up to hospital to see you after you were born, I told Mama, Get Bubba and come home. There is a photo of us when you first came home. I am holding you as carefully and as seriously as I could. I was so proud of you. I will always be proud of you. Love so much!!!
Together
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A thousand different
things, I had to learn
in loving you.
The sacrifices made
and received.
The road of love is long
and sometimes it breaks.
Holding on or letting go
is a decision
that¡¯s been hard to make.
I¡¯m holding on,
you¡¯re holding on,
scared of what
comes next
and what time
will take.
Yet once again,
we greet another day
together.
This Simple Life
Thoughts, so many travel with me as I walk in the mornings. For a long time I did not make time to be out of doors. I need the sun, the sound of the breeze, the flight of birds, dragonflies in bottle green and beautiful blue. I don¡¯t live in a beautiful place, still there is beauty to be found in the sky, in the air, in the light that dances on dirty waters. I want to see what is in my world such as it is, where I am as I am. I am not a traveler though I have gone so many places in the pages of books that I have read and stories I have written. Finding what matters here, now, without longing for mountains and vast and beautiful scenery can be difficult. I do think mountains are beautiful, but there aren¡¯t any here. There are oak trees, pines and cedars. There are tiny ferns growing between the cracks of side walks. Two frogs live just outside my back door. Sometimes they come inside and I have to catch them and put them back outside. When I hold them they aren¡¯t afraid of me. They know my voice, they know who I am. They don¡¯t struggle as I carry them to where they belong. The also don¡¯t pee on me either, which is an added bonus. I love this simple life that I have been granted.
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Of the Soul
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I think sometimes
on nights that
sleep doesn¡¯t come
and I am left
with the dark
hours to say
my prayers
and repeat
my meditations
that I am being
taught a dance
that cannot
be learned
in light
or in the
company of others.
A Puppy
A little miracle entered my life. I wasn¡¯t sure I was up for the challenge, and then I firmly decided I was not up for the challenge¡but I couldn¡¯t forget that face. She was available, but I was anxious about caring for a puppy again. So, I decided to wait until after the holidays and if she was still available I might try again. There were so many reasons not to get a puppy and fewer reasons to get one. But, as I tried to close the door firmly on the idea of getting a puppy because they are so much trouble, I just couldn¡¯t get passed the joy of having a puppy. It is such a brief span of time before a puppy becomes a DOG. I thought of my dog, Bird, she was a feisty cute thing, that came during such a difficult time in my life. And my old dog Starbuck, who has health issues, she was heaven sent when my oldest child was struggling. Could this puppy be a blessing too? Would she be good for me and my other dogs? I didn¡¯t know if it would work out. Bird would be jealous and taking care of an aging dog is a job in itself, but I still couldn¡¯t get passed the joy. So, I brought her home and it is challenging but then there is the joy of a new creature learning about life and love. There is the absolute cuteness and the sweetness of tiny paws and big eyes. I am tired. It is a lot. Giving a home to an animal is a commitment to love and cherish, and it is a commitment I never take lightly. I have loved each of my dogs whether they were shelter dogs, or abandoned dogs or a puppy from a friend.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Night Wind
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The night wind
sang in my ears,
soothed me
with its soft, cool breath,
swirled around my body
and then
invited me to dance.
The Smallest Dragon in the Room
The smaller dragon in the room. I wonder if the right question was asked. I wonder if its even about freedom of speech or if its about the money people not wanting anyone to nibble into the contents of their pie. While there are big threatening dragons in our lives, the powers that be have chosen to silence the smaller dragon, the people¡¯s dragon. My heart hurts this morning as I think of those who use TikTok for good, for financial support. I think about the indigenous people who have shared the stories of their lives and their culture. I think about creatives like me who share their creative process. The Supreme Court ruled with in an unsigned unanimous decision that "divestiture is necessary¡±. What does that even mean? The justices without signatures citing their personal ruling together decided that Congress didn¡¯t violate freedom of speech by taking action to address the threat of China gathering information through TikTok. I don¡¯t know what will happen. I do pray someday that the powers that be slay the huge dragons in our lives like the actual physical safety of children, teachers and all employees in their schools. And, the for profit shenanigans of the Medical finance culture and Big Pharma.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.