Maria Scott Herndon: Fabric Of Being

It was about 11PM. There was virtually no moon in the night sky. The wind hit my cheeks a cold blade. I was walking home from a friend's house. The neighborhood seemed now, a darker more sinister version then earler that day. There was total absence of color. The gardens, the cars and the sky had all blended together into a dark shadowy grey existence that floted low and wide down each street. The voices of children's aughter were replaced by arguing drunks as they swayed in unison down the walkway. I was two blocks from home when I heard the footsteps. The sound of heavy boot heals were drumming the pavemet and increasing in speed. Then it stopped. A heavy hand eveloped my shoulder. I spun around and my mouth covered by the other. I felt his switch blade open to the side of my neck. He grabbed me by the hair from the back of my head and pulled me between two houses. A women saw me through her kitchen widow and I saw the fear overtake her too as she simply pul...

The reality in life is that people are almost always too close or too far away.  Proximity invites conflict. Distance invites loneliness. Distance is yearning. With distance I can be selfish, I can own myself so completely there is no other reality than the one that exists in my head. It can be perfect and I can revel in the pain of the idealist, holding onto what comes next, of what could be. It also means that I guard myself against the world. It means experiencing highs and lows, strength and weakness, in sometimes feeling each moment so strongly I can lose common sense, my misery can be so sharp I forget to notice where it falls into joy, where I am the mood, where I'm passing through agony and bliss so rapidly I forget the movement exists at all. I also will make mistakes. Many of them, many many of them. The point is to get close to people because ultimately the best moments and worst moments in my life involved other people. It becomes clear that I can’t do this witho...

For those of you that don't recognize your party since Trump took over, I want to let you know something. I respect you. I may not always agree with you but I respect you. I'm not going to Trump bash in this post. In fact, there were some Republican values back then where you and I would probably agree; Personal liberty Personal resposability A strong defense without ballooning the National debt Strong relationship with our allies Strong stand against our enemies So as an olive branch I extend a link to " Words Matter "  a new podcast by two ex-Republicans that I respect immensely Elise Jordan and Steve Schmidt. They dropped out of their beloved party when they couldn't recognize it anymore. On their podcast they talk about how to bring back the party of Reagan, McCain....the party of Abraham Lincoln. As for me, I'll always be a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. I'm quite proud of my party these days. But hey....I respect the struggle.

Venting (again) I'm trying to find a job. I go the interview prepared, bring a notepad along to take notes, etc. but it seems like no matter what I do I get absolutely no where. I call and follow up. If they have voicemail I leave messages..but they never call back. The last job I went in for to interview, I was thrilled to get that far. Then I (and evidently the potential employer) noticed that I was the only person in the place over thirty. :( "Young and slim" are what companies aim for, because they apparently think the public doesn't want anyone else to serve them. :-/ Its just as well, the job was to answer calls from people who's pet just died and would be arranging to pick up their dead animal AND while in that process, try to sell them a plot in a "animal cemetery". I'll pass. Oh yeah...and I don't speak Spanish. I worked at the snack bar for awhile selling hot dogs to bowlers. Good honest work. But my knees couldn't take it...

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – Martin Luther King, Jr. Resistance can be a tough cookie. She’s not always pleasurable. She’s usually the advocate for a lofty or seemingly unattainable ideal.  Oftentimes working with resistance for me means complete acceptance of starting just exactly where I am starting. That means, no matter how much further along in the process I want to be, or how frustrated I may feel with not knowing or understanding the ride I’m on, that I embrace with complete love where I am in the process. AND more than that, I must completely surrender to where I am in the process. There is a little girl that lives inside my head. She holds the very important job of managing me. She manages my mind, my thoughts, my emotions, my experiences, my memories, in essence, she manages everything that happens with my mind because that’s her job. She spends her days...

I write. I sing. But writing words to music is a whole different kind of writing than ....uh....just regular ol' writing they say Well, here goes.. . Prisoner In My Skin Maria Scott Herndon Verse 1 I chose the paisley blouse for our rendezvous the pattern matched the sheets we had when we were new We politely talk as we nod in all the right places But more is said within the empty spaces Verse 2 A tarnished frame traces us from long ago It was taken the night we saw that Vegas show Beside it is a picture of a younger me With shining eyes beside a Christmas tree. Chorus I'm a prisoner in my skin, unseen, unheard within But I try to be the me I'm supposed to be I play the part so well, you could never even tell That the woman lying next to you isn't me. Verse 3 An old married couple walked down the road ahead of me Their hands were joined together like a tangled tree I would love to feel that kind of authentic c...

Political liberals are “bleeding hearts” because they empathize so strongly with the sufferings of others. As Bill Clinton so succinctly phrased it, “I feel your pain.” When Republicans wanted to compete in the empathy department, they had to invent a new term called a “compassionate conservative.” I ask why conservatives have, or are perceived as having, too little empathy. Why do liberals have too much? I guess conservatives see the world as a challenging place in which there is always someone else who is ready to steal their lunch. Confronted by a potentially hostile environment, the best course is to take precautions and to ensure well-being of themselves and their families. I can be categorized as a bleeding heart liberal. Those like myself, have a more optimistic view of the world as being somewhat filled with humans and as such ultimately should have a bond in at least that. So I feel that government is a vehicle through which the the people together in a democracy can so...

While the act of young people speaking out may seem to be new, there’s a long history of Americans who were too young to vote shifting the national conversation on social and political issues. The March of the Mill Children , the three-week trek from Philadelphia to New York by striking child and adult textile workers in 1903. which energized efforts to end it by law. The Woolworth' Lunch Counter Sit-in On February 1, 1960, four African American college students sat down at a lunch counter at Woolworth’s in Greensboro, North Carolina, and politely asked for service. Their request was refused. When asked to leave, they remained in their seats. Their passive resistance and peaceful sit-down demand helped ignite a youth-led movement to challenge racial inequality throughout the South. Thousands of students left their classrooms and marched on downtown Birmingham, Alabama in 1963. Their Children’s Crusade changed a na...

I think the NRA would love if Trump moved forward with his idea to arm the teachers. Hell, they probably crafted the idea and told Newt Gingrich to tell Trump in a way to make Trump think he thought of it. (Not at all hard to do). So, there they are our teachers.... the already underpaid, under appreciated  with their pistols, armed and ready for murder in their schools. But more will die. More will die because their pistols will be no match for the automatic or semi-automatic weapons. Only in the cartoon brain of Trump can a teacher hit a moving target that is magically not shooting at them. Only in his comic book mind, will the bullets not miss and hit children instead. We ask a lot of our teachers. Can we really ask them to to be armed and ready to protect our schools? Do we demand that they risk killing the very souls they're trying to protect let alone educate? How would they live with that?  Kids are sent to school to learn. What are we teaching them? ...

FACT - People age at different rates and in different ways depending upon a person's lifestyle and genetics. So much can and has been said about a person's "coming of age" - when we attain the age of accountability, sprout wings and go out in the world on our own and become responsible for our own decisions and actions, and find ourselves on the verge of discovering life's unknown wonders. At the opposite end of this equation is another "coming of age". Those people over the age of 50 years old ... who find a somewhat different "coming of age" than their younger counterparts. Those of us who have reached our GoldenYears have found on more than a few occasions that the mind is willing but the body just says, "Are you kidding?" Yes, we find ourselves on the downside of that adage "coming of age" -especially the age part. When the knees and the back just won't take the long hours of working, standing on your feet to d...

One thing leads to another. Somewhere along the way I became lost; too many blurry details. I try to focus; find the positive steps that lead the way out. Is there more than one path? How do I know? Should I just sit back and watch? Some of it is entertaining, some just irritating. It becomes tiring. I continue to sift through the turmoil; searching and learning. I do not let it break me; it is controllable. Knowledge keeps me grounded. Strength keeps me going. The light shines through; only if I am aware. The path opens up; only if I can see past the brush. There is always a way up the ladder, for one thing leads to another.

Donald J. Trump’s first year in office as President has been one ludicrous, mind-numbing day after another. From his nuclear war-baiting Tweets to his calls to investigate or criminalize legitimate opposition and our free press, Trump has shown America that we may no longer use the term “America First” without cringing. We allowed, even if we didn’t elect, this racist, mind-blowingly ignorant, sexist, likely criminal, narcissistic child to ascend to our highest office in the land, a catastrophe from which there may be no turning back. Propping himself up with profoundly unqualified, white male sycophants, Trump has unloaded  damage to the air we breathe and the water we drink. He has brought out deep-seated hatreds, emboldened the Nazis, caused average citizens to doubt basic science and fact. The Trump regime has, lowered our standing as a democracy at home and abroad. Yet, here is the greater problem, the proverbial “elephants in the room:” the Republican Party leadership in ...

A dark figure stands alone on the side of a bridge. A saxophone, reflecting the lights of street lamps and passing cars, is clutched in his hands. He stands motionless for what seems like an eternity. Cars go by. As the street lamps flicker the one closest to him goes out, leaving him in complete darkness. Every now and then another car goes by, illuminating the figure standing silently on the side of the bridge for an instant before driving by. After what seems like years a single note pierces the still and quiet air. Not a loud note, nor a sharp one. A simple G, alone and without company, sustained for a few seconds and then lost amid a flurry of passing cars. The sound begins again. The G pierces the air again, followed by a slow and mournful melody. Each note reveals the innermost recesses of the artist's soul, disappearing as fast as they come. Far to fast for anyone to read upon them the true feelings of the man, but long enough for a casual listener to bathe in the sh...

Let’s be honest, when we’re getting false ballistic missile warnings, the most powerful politician in the world describes countries as shitholes, and women are vilified for coming forward about sexual harassment, it’s time to step back and immerse yourself in whatever makes you happy, even if it has been proven to clog your arteries or makes you pretentious. Is this all there is to life? Chasing one high after the next? Slaves until the weekend, when we can drown our sorrows and feel okay for a few lousy hours? That’s what we do, right? Chase these momentary fleets of happiness so we can feel alive once again. So we can look at our lives and say, “I am living!” Or maybe it’s just me? I don’t know if I’m going through some sort of identity crisis or existential dilemma, or maybe I am just losing my freaken mind, but it’s as though the universe has slapped me hard across the face and said, “GO CRAZY… you only get one chance at life!” I suppose, over time, life had robbed...

Hello 2018.   Uh.......Now what? I'm a bit skittish after 2017. (Sigh) Okay...... Here goes. Sometimes, I think of our goals in life much like a dark alley in the middle of the night. For some it might be just a shortcut, but for others it’s the path home. Either way you get scared easily. If you can avoid it, you will. Because looking into the darkness and not seeing the light at the other end is too terrifying. And maybe, despite being 90 percent sure, you’re just not willing to risk making it out. So you don’t. And day after day you walk the long way home, avoiding the alley as if it didn’t exist. Just like, day after day, you avoid thoughts of the things you wish you were doing. The things you know you could be doing, should be doing. Or maybe you got stuck in that place somewhere between thinking of your goals constantly, and actually doing something about them. That is the worst place to be. An accomplished goal brings with it the euphoria of success; the beaut...