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,
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.