The creek next to the house is totally unfrozen. It was partially frozen when I left for Arizona last weekend. There are more critters out now. I didn’t realize that the bird that hit the window fell right on a chair underneath the windowsill and has been there since Tuesday. I found him, and I have him, and I don’t know what to do with him, but the Great Spirit sometimes gives gifts in odd ways.

I’m reflecting on a moment I saw right before I left Boulder, CO.

It’s been sitting with me lately, or more appropriately, haunting me.

I can’t seem to shake this thing. This place. These people.

And I remember what happened. I remember the last thing before I basically left the community in my RV. I went to a workshop that I paid to go to, that I wanted to go to, with a community I adored. I still adore.

But during that event, I just broke down.

And it’s not typical for me to break down like that. I’m not usually the one crying in a process, but I was there.

And it happened after I saw a friend get waterboarded. Yes, no joke.

A. Friend. Got. Waterboarded.

And honestly, people waterboard each other, okay, people. It’s not actually that weird. People do lots of things in a sexualized context, and they do it safely, and they’re fine. GROW A PAIR.

But what got me was not that the person was getting waterboarded and struggling (they’re fine — this person was a freak and they liked it).

What got me was that…