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Where do you find yourself? In picture,
story, song. Or in between the lines,
in the crowded spaces where nobody lives.

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With the recent passing of my father
Another link to my ancestors is now gone
The echoes from the past are becoming more incoherent

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Wipe out the hard lines that separate;
allow the lines in the body;
that teach acceptance of soft beauty.
HilaryC

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My Lenten practice starts strong

Then: erasure. Next thing I know...

next week is Holy Week?

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I have erased the joy from much of my personal highlight reel

Frustratingly fixated on hardships and hurts

Incapable of celebrating myself

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Something done can't be undone
Something spoken can't be unspoken
Something thought can't be unthought
Until, unless the deed, the word, the idea is totally, compassionately,selflessly erased on the cross.

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What's been done
What's been said
What's been thought
Can never be undone, unsaid, unthought...
Except through total erasure by the most holy one - through His grace, through His love, through His forgiveness.
Through His willing surrender to the cross.

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In the rush to be right, we left the Light. / In the choosing of sides, I'm left behind. / In the rush to judgement, forgot why we were sent.

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My tongue does not do as I wish it would.

Raised speaking English, I stumble through

The words of Kerala that I would speak if I could.

dm

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I didn’t understand how uncomfortable my body made people, how automatically they erased me from reality, until I became someone else’s idea of pretty.

No, I am not “new here.” You’ve seen me every week for three years.

Except, of course, you haven’t.

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My brother said it offhandedly, that our ancestors had owned people.

I should have known, they were southern, some of them bankers, people of means.

Sometimes I rage about injustice, superior in my understanding, my purity, and have to look deeply again, remember my complicity, humble myself.

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A woman must be submissive.
A woman must be erased.

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I walk by but am a ghost. A ghost even to myself.

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Sins of ancestors
Bloody shameful history
They don’t teach in school

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God forgave us all,
Erasing our trespasses,
Nailed to the cross.

Colossians 2:13-14

WDRplus

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I’m not sure what’s being erased, or what needs to be.

Erase hate. Erase racism. Erase capitalism. Erase white supremacy. Erase cages and dividing walls. Erase the patriarchy and capitalism.

Erase my sin. Erase my inaction. Erase my selfishness. Erase my fear.

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Life is too precious:
You’re too priceless to ignore.
You ARE visible.

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I can tell stories of my many-times-great grandmothers because someone else will never know hers.

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you and your horse are anchored to the town square, cast in metal yet/
no mention of your people, your history, your land upon which we dwell/
my temporary inhabitance of this place has been my excuse to turn away--three years later and I am still contributing to your erasure

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a narrative? a whole story? /
is that even possible when so much was erased /
to protect the memory and shield my soul