TRA camp Decompression #1

I just got back from PACT camp. It was both very very hard and very fulfilling at the same time. Its going to take me a few days until I am able to articulate some of the emotions I had while I was there – but of course they include rage, comfort and well… rage.

Things I promise to write about soon:

• The precious and for me – the first time ever – fellowship with fellow adult adoptees Ji-in, Susan Ito, Amy G., Heather and Robin Rasbury.
• The adult adoptee panel madness
• Going to little kid, ‘tween’ and teen sessions and my interaction with the kids during each (oh HELL no – no she didnt!)
• My poetry workshops with the Teens
• My ability to call upon my superhuman strength to protect AP’s from getting choked in public and in front of their kids. (even tho some of those kids probably would have joined in the choking)
• Where this all puts me in relationship to my own birth search.
• oh – and dont let me forget to tell you about the woman who actually challenged my relationship with my own AP’s, saying – wow, you and your mother must not have much to talk about, making sure we all knew SHE wasnt like that. woman- dont talk about my momma! dont you know betta than to talk about a black womans momma?

so i am left with this – my own poetry piece that emerged when I did the workshop with the fabulous TRA teens, who I at this moment pledge to protect and serve until … I cant stand thier parents anymore and I need to take a break.

I am a head full of silence

I am an arm weak with fighting

I am a heart bloody with tears

red hot from explaining

we are lost children

red cold from the refrain of we are lost

and simultaneously found

we are safe and at the same time in constant danger.

Until we find another safe space

until we wake and we are home

until we sing a round of songs that lifts our

souls up high and washes out the dream

that continue to make us tired of hearing your lies

about our lives

about our mornings

our times alone

our strengths, my weak arms,

weak fingers

constantly trying to continue to move move move

to breathe, to groove

all i need is a story of my birth

the reclamation of how i am connected

to this earth

not just an unfamiliar silent head.