Almost Like Praying



How do you pray for someone if you don’t really believe in God?

How do you pray at all?

I’ve been asking myself this question over and over this week.

I used to pray, with fervor.

I prayed, even though, somewhere in the deepest corners of my heart, I wasn’t sure that God was real or if s/he heard or cared. I prayed because it was what I was taught to do, because it was expected, because I wanted so hard to believe that it made a difference.

I prayed because I wanted to believe that it made a difference.

Now, though, as I work through what my honest beliefs really are, apart from what I was taught, apart from religious dogma, I often wonder where prayer fits in, or if it does at all. Continue reading “Almost Like Praying”



Me too.

Age 11 in the Cincinnati Downtown Public Library. I was too scared to tell anyone because I was 11, and I believed that I’d done something wrong and dirty.

Age 26 by a superior officer, at a work conference in Colorado.   I was too scared to tell anyone because I was afraid to lose my job, my rank, and my reputation.

Age 35 behind the bar at a gallery opening in the art studio where I still do pottery. This time, it was witnessed, and even though those who witnessed it kept him away from me for the rest of the night, he wasn’t asked to leave, and I still see him around town all the time. Continue reading “#MeToo”

Just STOP.


I just want to STOP.

Stop running around.

Stop working so hard.

Stop being perpetually behind.

Stop being so anxious.

Stop worrying.

Stop caring so much.



I want the madness of the world to just STOP.

Stop the shootings.

Stop the racism.

Stop the oppression.

Stop the violence.

Stop the sexism.

Stop the heartbreak.

Stop the madness.

I want to just stop it.


Just. Stop.