Her beauty cannot be measured with standards of a colonized mind

I am here no longer just a vision birthed into this body I accept my praise, my blame, my joy, my sorrow I realize we are, in truth, the truth we seek God, perfect this very moment.

We're all just bags of bones and muscle and hormones; I'll never understand what makes our minds do the things we do. It's like that statue of the monkey holding a skull. We're trying to use a thing we don't understand to understand ourselves.

It's very limiting to us as a species, the concept of better-than/less-than. It just seems to be at its end. I'm like, this all fades to black, and it's gone. It's dust. Choose carefully what you obsess about.

Any ideas of “other” are complicated, and otherness is relative to personal ideas of “normal.”

Not to be a Bible-thumper, but there really is nothing new under the sun.

Your yes means nothing if you can't say no.