LIVING THE VERY GOOD

A paraphrase of a response to one of my posts from my dear, dear brother and friend Stefan Andre Waligur: "Sounds like you are living the 'very good' of Genesis - our deep satisfaction in our creative work; the pleasure of God upon us." I think my deep joy is meeting the world's great need. Love.

My hands are dirty

with the kind of joy that comes

only with digging around the roots

of plants that need re-potting

My feet are dancing

with the kind of rhythm that comes

only from a song justice rings

from the walls in my house

My eyes are shining

with the kind of passion that comes

only with recognition of love

in every corner

I am living the very good

the first creation

the promise

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 31, 2013

FIRST DRAFT (August 26, 2011)

August 26

DEAR LOVE #15

We sat across from each other
smile, eat, breathe in the moment
and wait. Neither of us wants to 
say the unmentionables. But good,
true, real relationship means we
must call each other out of our mess;
it means we have to decide to
do the hard work. Let me say:
I am glad to be in the struggle(s)
with you because, honestly,
you make it easy. And even our
fights--fierce as they can be--
are so full of love that others 
looking on might mistake them
for foreplay. I love the way
we get even THAT right.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 30, 2013

HOME (LESS) #4

There are not enough closets
and the boxes take up space
looking for parts of my life
packed away in corners
remind me that more than
"stuff" has been put out of sight.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 29, 2013

ON SECOND THOUGHT

You found me underneath

all my broken pieces

stitched together by threads of love

needled into place by sheer will

and the deep grooves of want

you make me strong with your kisses

every touch reminds me why

life can be so tender 

on second thought 

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 28, 2013

A BIG DIFFERENCE (HOME-LESS #3)

I get that "God wants you to know" post on Facebook. Some days I look it and and just say, "meh." But then I get a post like this: "Today, Valerie, we believe God wants you to know that 'your home is sacred.' Where you live makes a big difference. Every little thing in your home influences you through its colors, shapes, textures, smells. Take a look around your home,--what can you change to transform your home into a place of communion."

I stay with a friend (or with friends and family, depending on what part of the country I need to be in). But I am consciously aware that I am homeless. I have not been able to change my driver's license, my car insurance, my health insurance, my credit cards, or the like, to a new address because I don't "live" anywhere. This statement irritates the hell out of my friend and my family and friends. "I don't know why it matters," my friends says. It matters because: I have jury duty in a city I don't live in (but where I own a home) because I haven't yet changed any legal documents that say I live in a physical place--and post office boxes do not count. In fact, you cannot get a PO Box without proof that you have a physical address in the city where you want the box. It matters because I cannot register for the ACA medical exchange because I don't live in the state where I stay and I can't return to see the doctors where my house is (the one rented to someone else and where the government is SURE I don't live because of it). I can make any space "sacred." What I can't do is make any space, "home."

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 27, 2013

RIOT

A posting of a poem written April 1, 2013

Riot

A Palm Sunday reflection

He rode in on a donkey

mocking the powers that be

no king sits happily

on a beast of burden

but power likes to think

itself, well, powerful

and he was a peasant

leading a revolt

among common people

and we have made him

something he consciously 

and continuously refused

to be when he lived--

a royal.

He liked prostitutes and lepers

tax collectors sidled up to him

he made jokes in the marketplace

and wore a hoodie

but we have made him

a joke, an April's Fool

someone who doesn't

care one whit

for poor folk, teenagers

with skittles and tea

or women shot in the head

while standing

on corners

waiting on 

buses

He would not recognize

himself in the portraits

we have painted of him,

with no whips,

overturned tables

or gall.

© Valerie Bridgeman

April 1, 2013

WHO ARE YOU LOVE? (#14)

Song of Solomon 5:10 (NRSV):

‘Who is this that looks forth like the dawn,

   fair as the moon, bright as the sun,

   terrible as an army with banners?’

No matter how I look at you

I wonder, WHO ARE YOU?

Fair as the moon, bright as the sun

shining shafts of love

through my half-opened

curtains?

WHO are you/Love intended

and never denied

as awesome to behold as

any army with banners/

any storm-drenched rainbow?

Who are you Love?

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 26, 2013

HOME (LESS) #2

There is a deep vulnerability to being without an address. I am very aware of this fact these days. "Where do you live?" People ask me all the time. And I can't say--because I truly am still "in transition" and I don't "live" anywhere. I mean, my books are in storage, for God's sake! A scholar whose books are not on a shelf within reaching distance is not living in that space. So I "stay" some places. Among friends and family--here and there. Really. It's not that bad. I'm attached to these people more than the "place." 


© Valerie Bridgeman
October 25, 2013
(For Friday; written, but I forgot to push 'send')

TRAVEL WEARY

The body needs movement
walking, running for its life
its health, its joy
sitting for long hours
makes the body weary
the bones tired
the mind sore
I'm travel weary.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 24, 2013
(For Thursday.... I just keep forgetting to post on time)

DEAR LOVE #13

Maybe it's the crisp cold air
light on the night covers
but you are heavy in my thoughts
like a walk in the park
hands holding tight
throats full of secrets
spouting in the sunshine
we don't mind telling
each other just how
glad we are 
for these
days. 

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 23, 2013

HOME

Several times in the past few months I've said I am among the "hidden homeless," i.e., those people who do not have their own place, their own address. I sleep on a "borrowed" bed or couch. When I say this about myself (homeless), my friends and family get visibly upset and sometimes angry. "You're NOT homeless," they insist. "You ALWAYS have a place to stay." But that's the point: a "place to stay" is not the same thing as a place that is "home," where you LIVE. Graduating college students who finish but can't find a job experience these emotions when they move back with their parents. Siblings who lose their jobs and need to regroup experience it. I brought this moment upon myself. I'm not complaining in the true sense of that word. But in the brief time that I've been a part of this population, I've paid attention to how people treat you when you don't seem particularly independent. I mean, we claim we believe in interdependence, but when we have to live it--culturally--it doesn't jibe with the American narrative. Really, I've had people live with me for as long as I've had space. I don't remember looking at any of them with pity, but I might be rewriting history. It's hard sometimes to remember if you've been less than stellar in a relationship. But I honestly think I saw the reciprocity in those relationships. For example, once a whole family moved in with my family and they cooked, cleaned, repaired broken appliances, straightened the garage, and fixed the cars. We couldn't have PAID for live-in maids, butlers, babysitters. We didn't require these services; they offered them--actually, they just did it without asking permission. Reciprocity. In my current situation, most everyone is actually glad when I'm around. I start cleaning kitchens without even thinking about it. The same thing with bathrooms... I cook and run errands. If I can't have a "home," I can at least help the persons with whom I might be staying care for their home. In that way, I feel always "home," even if I am a part of that governmental statistic--the hidden homeless.

PURPLE KIND OF DAY

It's a purple kind of day
wraparound warmth
in gray, overclouded skies
hot coffee or hot mint tea
sweet with honey and
the thought of you
a book, or books
surrounding because
reading is the order
in these pullover
times; I love you.
That, of course, was
the point of this purple.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 21, 2013

MAKEOVER

Times like these
you want the sun to stand still
or the earth not to spin so fast
so you can have time to think
You want people to hush
in the holy kind of way--to
reverence silence like its
god; like angels lit on the
sun's surface to bring fire
to earth; like fairies are in
a cave somewhere to make over
all the mistakes in one life
and give you one more chance
to get it right.

Times like these 
you want quiet to descend
like dew on Mount Hermon,
to whet your appetite for
the stillness that follows
you want to savor the
wetness as if it means to hug
your very liver, as if your 
intestines did not need
your lips to drink in any 
water; you want angels
to dance on the desert's floor
to bring heat to your 
sheltered life; like fairies are in
a cave somewhere to make over
every wayward word to give
you another chance to
say it well.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 20, 2013

EXPERIMENT

You are not an experiment
with a hypothesis waiting to be
examined, explored, proven
You have already passed any
test and are solid as rock
fluid as water 
ethereal as vapor
you cannot be contained
to one form; you are 
infinite in your possibilities
and always come out
positive to those who
dare to love you--
and it is a dare, an
chance of heart-sized
proportions. Everything
about you says, "Try."
And everyone who tries
learns that you are
consistent, true, tried.
Not at all an experiment.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 19, 2013

BIRTHDAYS

Celebrations

old stories repeated

laughter fills the room

dancing required

The years tick on

Children make you believe

even when it's hard.

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 18, 2013

THIS NIGHT

Nothing is right with the world
and all is right with the world
I have lost everything
I have gained more
It's amazing who you can be
when things get out of the way.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 17, 2013

TAKE CARE

Take care how you decide

whether a thing is true or not

how you form your opinions

whose word you take on a thing

The how of your process says

as much as what you finally 

decide. And if you care about

the people behind it all,

they will take center stage

over any so-called principle.

Hiding behind principles

is an easy out to looking in 

the eyes of someone who's

lost and expecting you to 

guide the way. And when

you have no compass

that includes compassion

then why should anyone

trust your leadership?

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 16, 2013

DEAR IMANI (NEIGHBORS YOU DESERVE)

The news has been too macabre
too full of dead and missing children
and I think of you tonight, so curious,
so innocent, so ready to take on the world.
I want for you to be safe. I admit that I
don't know how to protect you.
I wish I could promise you safety,
and a world worthy of your
wonder and joy; a world full
of expectation, of making all
this well. I want you to be okay.
I want the world you inherit, you live in
to be okay. And there are too many
dead and missing children; it's not
enough that you not be one of them.
I want you to have neighbors you deserve.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 15, 2013

STOP

There have been too many stories of children dead by domestic violence (and do not misunderstand: ANY story of dead children is too many)
I want it to stop.
That's not a poem. But it is the truth.
I wish there was a way to make it. STOP.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 14, 2013

DEAR LOVE #12

Dear Love,

Thank you for allowing me to care for you.
It is an honor I bear with great joy.

Your Valerie

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 13, 2013

DEAR LOVE #11

Dear Love,

Riding in cars

Praying in whispers

Holding hands in hope

Kissing in genuine expectation

Planning with a future in view, in mind

All these and more remind me

of just how much 

I love you.

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 12, 2013

DEAR LOVE #10

Sometimes, I'm not so easy to love
I can be prickly like a porcupine
hard to hold, not willing to be touched.
Sometimes, I crawl inside my
inner self and refuse to come out
in the sunshine; I have memories
that push back against my brave,
make me cave in and run 
from the possibilities that are.
Sometimes I can be slippery
like water, flowing right through
your fingers trying to catch me
tight, in place; flow right around
your boulder of love; I can be
elusive inside and out.
Sometimes, you're stuck with 
the me that can be triggered
by a look or a word never
meant to harm, but cuts me
anyway. That's not your fault, Love.
Sometimes, I'm just not so easy
to love.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 11, 2013

DOODLING

I am writing in circles today
refusing the kind of clarity
that truth-telling demands--
there are things I don't 
want details for; don't want 
to know. Sometimes,
ignorance just makes
it easier to write and walk
in circles, make lucid
decisions, operate like
you mean business.
Today, I don't won't work
that requires me to go straight,
turn bends, overcome impasses.
Not today. Doodling is good
enough for right now--I just
want to write in circles 
and not think--deep or
otherwise.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 10, 2013

DEAR LOVE #9

When you lay your head on my chest
and let go of your strength, you 
honored me with it. Thank you for 
trusting that I would hold you
and not buckle under the weight
of your need. You've held me
so often. How glad I was to 
return the favor.

With All my Love,
Your Valerie

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 9, 2013

TODAY'S GRATITUDE

Today I am grateful for:

The black-eyed peas infused with turkey necks and wings
seasoned with garlic, onion, black pepper and expectation
The way you looked at me when you came into the living room
San Miguel laying across my feet -- this cat is insistent
The slow but steady home we create everytime we hang a piece of art
Clean bathroom and lavender essential oils
Your smile as you enter the room
Feeling safe and secure and "home"
Knowing it's not just a feeling, but true
Friends and colleagues who see, celebrate and employ my gifts
The beginning of completion
Expecting that it's not just a beginning
Loving when I thought I wouldn't again
Being loved when I thought I was unlovable
Happy. Glad. Supported. Joyed. Content.
Another day's journey.


© Valerie Bridgeman
October 8, 2013

DEAR JAHA (ON COUNTING THE DAYS)

Dear Jaha,

We are less than 100 days away from our faithful
to ourselves, to each other, to the words
in story, in poem, in tears--
almost there after all the times of 
"are we there yet" irritation that 
what we want to fall out of our sky 
comes down like a thud to the earth;
not at all as pretty as we'd hoped

But there they are--words on screen, on page.
(Did I tell you: I rarely write in my journal
anymore; I go straight for the computer.
Now I think, in this moment, "I should write
all these words down in my journal somewhere.
I mean, what if noone can ever find my passwords
and the secrets that I've locked up against my
own hopes").

Some days, when I sit to write, I wonder
what you will say at the end of the day.
You people watch better than me.
Truth is, I don't even go outside some days,
so I'm the only person to watch--and that
can be scary or boring, depending on
how much of my heart peeks from behind
the curtains drawn tight and dark.

In any event, here we are in October.
I was so full of hope that something
profound would pour from me in these days.
Most times, I'm just glad I remember
to keep the commitment, that keeping
the words comings is all I can muster.
I gave up on rhythm or rhyming in July,
I think. I think it was July. I know I gave
up on it, probably about the time I quit
believing this one relationship that I had
would mend. It turns out that I'm
a pessimist and a nihilist--and I'm
pretty sure that's a deadly combination,
but I keep writing anyway. 

I wonder what you're thinking as you
read these words? Whether you think of
me writing when you sit to write some
days. I've been thinking of touring lately--
I mean really touring. Taking to the stage
and storming the world with stories
and poems and my heart full of love
and the sorrow and joy that comes
with it. What do you think of that?

Anyway--I just wanted to acknowledge:
we've come this far and written way more than
a poem a day; we've told stories and talked
on the phone and laughed at the craziest
things and held each other's sanity
and cried, too. Thank you.
In less than 100 days, we will have
made it. I'm counting down.
And will have a bottle
of merlot just for you.

In Hope
In Sisterhood
Valerie

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 7, 2013

EXCHANGE

She and I are not really talking to one another
just one of those exchanges that happen
in bathrooms when the silence is awkward
and we both have to wash our hands.
"I like your singing," she says. And I say, "really?"
"Yes," she says. "it was pretty." Then she
folds her hands over and over under the water
with a look of determination so intent I pay
attention; she is teaching me something
about commitment. "Thank you," I say.
She thinks I mean for the compliment.
I mean for the lesson from an 8-year-old
teacher who meant every word.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 6, 2013

MAKE DO

We make do
with what we have
content to know
that we will be alright
smile. release.
no anxiety. be still.
know. There is more
to life than things
and what we have
is priceless.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 4, 2013 

WE KEPT SAYING

We kept saying 

we had ‘no regrets’ 

while we voiced all 

the regrets that came 

with lovers feeling 

betrayed. 

Feelings, we both know, 

are only that, and not 

in and of themselves 

real. How were we to know 

that loving each other 

would mean 'they' felt less 

loved, even though

 it were not true. 

“Come back to me,” your lover said. 

But really? You never left, 

and that was a part of the lie, 

crafting a story of betrayal, 

of intrigue, of subterfuge. 

You were my Man; 

I was your Woman. 

but sometimes 
I cannot breathe 

because of they way 

your “no regrets” 

regrets

So let's tell this truth: 

we both have regrets, 

though mine are very 

different from yours—

and we ought to 

admit that too.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 4, 2013

DEAR LOVE #8

We have come to this journey

From different directions—

Your path more direct; mine

strewn with regrets and

possibilities of never

recovering from pain.

But I promised you that

you would get me; not some

shell of a woman left for

dead by someone who did

not know the value

of my heart or how delicate

it really is. I'm no

shrinking violet prone

to faint at the sight of blood.

Still, I am scarred from

the act of living, from

getting up and facing the world

and its demons and angels

and having to figure out which

is which more times than I

wanted (can I confess to you

I guessed wrong too

many times and embraced

an “angel of light’ only to be

burned from the encounter?)

You have invited me

to walk beside you; to run

when we must and to carry

only the bags that belong

to me… what a gift that

is, to not be required anything

but the walking. I am

your companion dipped in

this moment of angst

and amber. We are the

reason the trail has

opened up: it’s our path

and I’m glad we get

to walk it together.

© Valerie Bridgeman

October 3, 2013

GRACE

We say grace over
food and our love
and laugh as the food
slips easily down as
do the tender touches
of our hands.
We move in grace
and never stop
marveling at love.

© Valerie Bridgeman
October 2, 2013

DEAR LOVE #7

Dear Love,

Fall has begun and the turning leaves make me think of you. Today as I drove, the brilliance of the red overtaking the trees reminded me of the way you fire up every room you ever enter. You are pure energy sometimes. I don't mean by this description that you are never in need of care or being held--I like that you know when you need those things. I just mean that the leaves, like you, are full of wonder and change, of windswept hope, even if they are dying. You, my Love, are anything but dying. But like this red, you are powerful. 

Just beyond the red are golden leaves that glisten as the sun kisses them topside up. They shimmer even, like your eyes when you are full of wanting. There are times you speak without saying a word--like the heavens. And these golden testimonies are of how the world should work: give and take, come and go, always with the hope of return. I love that like these leaves, you always return to me--green and ready. But today, like this gold, you are shining.

The rest of the leaves of brown and gradations of many colors remind me that you are multiple--not fragmented, but so complicated, so complex that I could spend lifetimes with you and still not know the depth of your wonders. You are composed of the Wonders of the World and beyond them. You are wondrous, and home.

With All my Heart,
Your Valerie

Valerie Bridgeman
© October 1, 2013

IF I WERE BRAVE #2

If I were brave
I would challenge
the way you remember
what went down; call
you on your rewrite
of the history; remind
you that your misery
lives in your house,
in your skin--that I am
a convenient
scapegoat, 
the punching
bag to make 
the pain
go away

I would remind you
that you rolled up on me
told me you were in love
called me all through the day
for days on end, texted me
all through the night
called love out of me
I would say 
I responded to you,
that we discovered
that we were
good for each other
and to each other
and afraid of losing
each other because
of these truths

I would tell you that
you're full of crazy
if you think rewriting
it, accusing yourself
or me of something
"wrong" of "bad"
will fix what was
already broken
I say, you're
delusional
for no good
reason.

I never was the "problem,"
friend. I was the answer
to the question in your 
head: could love be
easy and kind without
rancor or anger, without
screaming or slamming doors. 
You discovered it could be 
with me--and that discovery
scared you because it
means you either have
to make a different
choice or just keep
lying to yourself.

Valerie Bridgeman
© September 30, 2013