Today marks the fourth anniversary of this blog, and I wanted to give a warmhearted thank you to the thousands who subscribe, who have commented, and sent me kindness from around the world. Thank you for letting me into your lives, for being patient with me and my finicky, inconsistent entries. Special thanks to the photographers who are the either yin or yang to my prose, especially Alison Scarpulla and Aëla Labbé, whose photographs I believe I've featured here more than any others. If it wasn’t for you, the readers, I’d keep this all in a private diary. I once vowed to never write again, at the age of thirteen (yes, I was a dramatic little thing), and perfectly kept this vow for five years. It is only because of this blog that I began to write again, and now I can’t imagine my life, if I didn’t still write. Thank you for believing in me, for seeing something in me that I don’t always see in myself. I am indebted and grateful and honored, and I hope I have given you something to cherish, as well, even if only a smile. You are worth more than gold.
As for this strange giveaway, yes, well, I don’t know if this even constitutes as "giveaway" or if its desirable, but I thought since I will be on a hiatus from blogging June through August (I will probably squeeze in one more entry before I go), as I vagabond across India, Nepal, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, I could send one reader a series of six postcards, one from each country I visit, and perhaps a small souvenir or two. I can’t promise they’ll be most eloquently written, however, postcards are a lost art that need reviving, and it’s wonderful to receive old-fashioned, tangible mail and parcels. So, if you’re interested leave a comment, and I’ll contact the “winner” before I depart in June (very soon). If you don’t have a blog I can contact you through, please leave me your email address or some way I can contact you.
Photo by Alison Scarpulla & Aëla Labbé
Soothed by the golden trembling of evening light from where the drawn window drapes have parted at the hip in a tender breeze, scooping frozen pillows of raspberry ice cream from grandmother’s parfait glasses, perched precariously on the arm rest of the sofa, one naked foot grazing the berber rug of the darkened den.
Drinking in the philosophy of the sea, waves frothing through the esophagus, I am drunk on milk moonlight, dizzy with the bliss of intoxicating fresh air. Our ancestors gave names to the moon, forgotten. Flower Moon, for the month of May, Strawberry Moon in June, in January, Wolf Moon, Snow Moon for February. How beautiful is it, to crane your neck to the moon and call it by name? Old friend.
P.S. A list of full moon names and their meanings, for all months, can be found here.
P.P.S. If you missed it earlier, please read the previous post here, and consider supporting the Summer of Freedom campaign to help end human trafficking and slavery.
Photos by Elliot Michael Fairhurst
I am a child of summer, I believe freedom has been in my bones from birth, and it’s lovingly woven into my prose you read on my blog. My freedom is a beautiful gift though, something precious that the estimated 27,000,000 slaves in the world don’t have the joys of possessing. This summer, it is my wish to celebrate freedom, and fight for the freedom of the enslaved, by raising $10,000 for International Justice Mission (IJM) by my 22nd birthday, on August 27th, through my fundraising campaign.
In our evolving world, generosity has decreased, philanthropy has declined. If we can love freely, and live freely, then let us give freely. Let us be a revolution of radical generosity, a generation to be remembered, good and kindred spirits banded together against those who treat humans like unfeeling objects, who rape and abuse and bully, and sell people like a commodity. We must show them that we will not tolerate this, and if we do nothing, we let them win.
Do not think of those enslaved as strangers in a far away land. Slavery is in effect all around the world, and these are our brothers and sisters in humanity, people who desire and deserve the human right to be free like us, people who could be us. Sacrificing the equivalent of a cup of coffee, could help keep a little girl from being repeatedly raped as a slave. Donating what it costs to buy a magazine from the newsstands, could help free an entire family from abuse and endless labor in a brick kiln. Envision a new generosity, not of a practical nature, but of radical compassion. Never of guilt or persuasion, but of overflowing love, a reflex of our hearts, freed from selfish excuses.
I’m calling this the Summer of Freedom. It will see me through travels and adventures in India, Nepal, Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam, and it is my hope that it will see further justice for the enslaved. You can donate to my fundraising campaign here, as well as, read more about IJM and watch a video. And if you all could please spare a bit of your blog space, dedicate a Facebook status, a Twitter update, etc, to spread the word that would be wonderful, as well. I can't do this without you. In the well-spoken words of Margaret Mead, "Never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has." Let victory be ours!
P.S. Feel free to comment if you donate or spread the word, I would love to thank you with every fiber of my being, and if I could, I’d give you a good old bear hug to express my appreciation. May you be blessed.
Photos by Elliot Michael Fairhurst and Sundry Sullen
