Choices.

Every day we experience the opportunity to make important choices in our lives and the lives of the people we love.  We choose how to respond to events that affect us, both minor and catastrophic.  We also choose what we will allow to impact us and our families, positively and negatively.

During the days since the tragedy in Connecticut, we have read a plethora of misinformation and incorrect “facts” and statistics from the general public and our sensationalized media.  We have witnessed boundless anger and retaliatory rhetoric tossed back and forth, even among “friends.”  We have seen and read raw and frantic political fanaticism.  We have also watched numerous heartfelt exchanges of honesty and pure, vulnerable strength and compassion.

It is so simple a concept, yet we as a modern culture are still so hasty to blame, lash out with anger and hatred, “tell it like it is,” and make broad, generalized statements that often skip right over the humans we say that we are so insistent on protecting.  We bend the truth to fit our agenda and skip to policy that we only think we understand.  We are so quick to tell everyone how to immediately “fix” the problems that are flashed across our computer and television screens, and yet, we are absolutely unwilling to do what is actually necessary to safeguard our very own evolution.

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him.  We need not wait to see what others do.”  Gandhi

For those of you who have taken the time to get to know me personally, you know of the challenges I have navigated over the past few years.  During that time, I have learned that sheltering my children from everything that is happening is not a productive way to teach them about real life.  I have cried in front of my boys, I have told them I didn't have the answer but would do the very best I could, and I have led by example by allowing them to witness my resolve, over and over again.  

So I choose honesty.  

I choose authenticity, accountability and integrity.   It is my hope to instill in my children the very same attributes, and to arm them with a diverse skill set to confront their fears openly, to recognize and ask for what they need, and to extend love and compassion to others in need.  I choose not to assume I have the power to fix massive, broken systems, but to focus on what is important in my life, right now.   I have learned that lesson well.

Today, it was important to sit outside in my car for fifteen extra minutes to allow my boys to tell me what they felt was important to say.  I laughed with them and when they left to go to school, we said "I love you."   I choose to be the change I want to see.

What do you choose? 

12.6.2012

the sky is holding

we see it:  the impending

it comes down to this

© 12.6.12 heather brager

four incomplete memories.

it was most likely a holiday, as

she stood over the kitchen counter

bending forward to sip a glass of warm

pinkish liquid from a crystal wine glass

her hair was dyed almost black

and had lost its youthful shine

when she inhaled, the ember

of her cigarette shone hot amber,

just enough to force her pale lip gloss

to shimmer for a few seconds

his clothes were normally coated in dust

sometimes he clutched a tattered

comic book and his black finger nails

followed the words

as if he was actually reading them

he taunted the boys behind him

in the padded, torn green seats

until one day the red haired boy

took a swing and knocked his eyeglasses

onto the slippery bus floor

he was lying there, carefully unobtrusive

in a cold, dim room that stank

of urine and bleach

his hands were shaking slightly

the aquamarine colored blood

tenderly protruding through the veil

of transparent skin that was

carefully stretched over his bones

reminded her of

a hotel swimming pool

the weeds and wildflowers

grew above her head

even when she stood on her tip toes,

she could not see the cars that made

the rushing sound out on the road

she held a handful of mayflowers

and sniffed them periodically

with simple pleasure, and

when she returned to the house

she would put them in a glass of water

and leave them on the kitchen table

© 12.4.12 heather brager

providence.

there is a yellow home

three proud stories with painted gingerbread

that waits patiently for her

leaning quietly and sighing through the seasons

it watches the random gene of bravery

that nudges her along in a warped plane

a careful but curious overlap of realities

she can understand the creaks of boards

that speak to her soundlessly through the ether

she contemplates another woman's memories

that have set up camp in her head, while

she dreams awake through her daily life

and waiting at traffic lights

in another world that is miles or years away

from the black and white cat

who bends slowly around her ankles

whiskers whispering in the sunlit kitchen

speaking the familiar synergy

that she wonders how

she can understand

© 11.27.12 heather brager

11.20.12

we have come miles now
seasons revolve within us
we won’t hibernate

© 11.20.12 heather brager

scenery and a soundtrack.

she was in the south, the dry flanks echoing

stretching inside-out on all sides

birds of prey and iridescent clouds losing altitude

lucinda williams in the speakers

and emptiness in her palms

she was that eagle flying east and west

the midwest stretching lazily beneath her

speaking through the voice of bob dylan in the earbuds

stirring her to dream of the deciduous trees

and trilliums that raised her

she was consumed by the promise of the sea

the urban rhythms and city lights

heels in alleyways and over cobblestones

slaid cleaves on the stage and this man beside her

stirring optimism in her glass

© 11.16.12 heather brager

a new day.

there it is, seeping
the wounds and light are the same
we are transforming

© 11.13.12 heather brager