Justice For Trayvon Martin Speech

I will be part of the March for Justice for Trayvon Martin today. Below is my speech. I think it might send some love out there. I hope anyway. [♥] Thank you for taking time from your day to join … Continue reading →

Daily Gratitude List, A New Way to Celebrate Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving Day. I am struggling with celebrating a holiday that originally began with a massacre of 98% of the NATIVE American population. However my experience of this holiday is tradition and warm memories of family and a wonderfully … Continue reading →

Escalante River Chant

I’m still processing my early summer river running trip. Everyone keeps asking me if I will do it again. I immediately say, “not this river.” It was very challenging and very beautiful. I haven’t ever experienced technical river running like … Continue reading →

Letter to the Real American People (not corporations recently deemed people)

It is time our representatives did what they are supposed to do….represent the REAL American People NOT the corporations recently DEEMED people. Our country is slipping between their fingers and it is not acceptable any longer.

I want them to know we are paying attention. Their morals and ethics are showing through the thin fabric of the truth of who they represent.

It is time to fix the problems they helped create with the ridiculous partisan antics that hold us (REAL American people NOT the corporations) hostage to their greed.

WE, the American people, are paying the ultimate price of the contributions that buy their marketing and slick sound bites.

What is priceless to you…your country, your children, your freedom, the canyons, the mountains, the sea’s, the truth?

Our representatives hold the fate of all that is priceless to us and then take contributions from corporations (new American people they helped create) to destroy it.

I am tired of watching our country fall because of their greed and the corporations they represent.

Soon it will be to late to undo the damage they have done for their contributions to our democracy, freedom, planet and way of life our founding fathers fought so hard for.

We are no longer sleeping. We are watching our representatives and we will commence with the layoff’s of the representatives who don’t represent real human beings, not only in America, but in our world.

Below is a link for the names and addresses and causes of the enemies within our walls. Maybe you will be moved enough to share your thoughts with your representatives and your sphere of influence.

They say we got what we voted for….its time the true American people got educated to get what we deserve….better representation.

The Enemies Within

http://www.addictinginfo.org/2011/08/04/the-enemies-within-the-20-most-dangerous-conservatives-and-their-organizations/

© Terry Jackson-Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Terry Jackson -Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Caylee’s Light Shines Through

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Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

—

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

—

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born,

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to endless night.     William Blake (1757-1827)

Destiny’s Views

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This weekend as I was hiking through the magnificent wonders of Capital Reef National Park in southern Utah I felt as though I were walking through an endless art gallery of divine contradictions in beauty…changing always with the seasons and the light of the day. Challenging my senses and inspiring me to see that life finds a way….even in the bitter cold of the darkest night and unforgiving heat of the desert summer.

While the desert is not lush and loud like the jungle, it is a feast of color and quiet contemplation.  Thousands of years ago covered in water filled with aquatic life, now dramatically changed to the complete opposite. It must have been just as breath taking to experience in the beginning when it was lush with water and life. I can’t help but wonder if those who saw it then would mourn the transition from shores of beauty to desert canyons.

As with everything in life, we could mourn the loss of the way it was in the beginning or celebrate the evolution of change nourished by mother nature over the years. It’s an example that by adjusting attitude and gratitude, destiny’s view’s are drastically altered.

I felt so blessed to be there in that moment, surrounded by the shocking colors of red rock cliffs and brilliant blue sky. Serenity resides there…..a cathedral of nature….my true church. No religion can own this wonder as theirs alone. It is a feast of blessings that swirl around every person who walks the trails. It speaks to all who appreciate it for what it is now.

It made me connect to the poem below when presented to me this afternoon:

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Invictus By William Earnest Henley

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

…Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate…..I am the captain of my soul.

Except for the poem Invictus by William Earnest Henley (no copyright infringement intended)  © Terry Jackson-Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Terry Jackson -Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s Dream Realized On My Cul De Sac

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction…the chain reaction of evil hate, wars producing more wars-must be broken or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.           Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., The Strength to Love 1963

Being a Negro in America means trying to smile when you want to cry. It means trying to hold on to physical life amid psychological death. It means the pain of watching your children grow up with clouds of inferiority in their mental skies. It means having your legs cut off and then being condemned for being a cripple. It means seeing your mother and father spiritually murdered by the slings and arrows of daily exploitation and then being hated for being an orphan.  -Martin Luther King, Jr., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?, 1967.

 

DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR’S DREAM UNFOLDS IN FRONT OF MY EYES

The day after Obama was voted as the next American president I sat in my car waiting for a friend. Two little girls were glowing with true joy, holding hands, playing & laughing on the cul de sac, one black & one white.

Dr King’s dream was achieved in so many ways. We still have so far to go. But at that moment I watched them play & I thought of the change in our country &, our people. I felt blessed to be alive to witness his dream come to life in front of my eyes as tears of appreciation dropped from my eyes.

Rest in peace Dr. King. Your dream is alive & evolving one person at a time, but at an increasing speed every day.

More quotes from Dr. King http://www.mlkonline.net/quotes.html

Click on “You Tube” to watch one of the most inspiring speeches ever spoken.

That Which Was Evil Was Made Good

On August 20, 2010 I posted this on facebook . I decided that the people in my sphere of influence will know me a little better through this note and maybe it will bring healing to someone, which is always … Continue reading →

Heaven or Hell

After surviving the “dark night of the soul” it helps to know that there is hope and growth from the pain….ultimately allowing me to find that I am more aware of my strengths and weaknesses. I can cling to fear … Continue reading →

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Excuse my while I vent. I just watched the last Jon Stewart show of the year about 3 hours ago. I am still on fire. Normally, I will find a way to vent the anger in a positive direction. So I got some work done, cleaned my house, did the laundry. This explosive energy deserves more than cleaning my house or work, it must be cleaned from my psyche. There is nothing else to do but write.

I watch the news on CNN, MSNBC, NBC, CBS, ABC, everything but Fox, because lets face it they aren’t really fair and balanced.  None of the broadcasters have mentioned this bill in 2 1/2 months.  I have a question for all the broadcasting networks…“Why do we  have to watch a comedy show on cable tv, to find out the truth of where our leaders stand on the important issues that affect the true American people (not corporations recently deemed people)?”

I am certain all TRULY PATRIOTIC Americans would overwhelmingly agree that the first responders of 911 were AMERICAN HERO’S, “proud protectors of the constitution”. Whatever they need to get healthy or help to continue living, they deserve it. We owe them and should all pay attention to passing this bill, NOW.

We must stand united behind them as they stood united behind the victims of 911 when they needed them most. They didn’t think twice about getting dirty at ground zero because of their love of our country and it’s citizens. American leaders and news media turned their backs on them. Apparently they only use 911 as a moral issue when they are slamming someone in an election year or spreading half truths about terrorism and Muslims. The opinions and information we receive is selective patriotism.

Help me understand how the senate and news media has chosen to ignore this important bill. There is no excuse. They made time to get the upper class and corporations tax cuts because there was a deadline of January 1st. We don’t want them to go one day worrying about paying their fair share of taxes.

Can I just remind you that the first responders have been waiting 9 YEARS for reparation!!!! Many first responders are dead, losing their homes, lives & or sanity….they have been relieved of their duties, pay and benefits because they are to sick to work, because of the health effects directly related to saving victims of 911 in the line of duty. We need to relieve the American people from death grip on our throats by the insurance and pharmaceutical companies (but I will save that rant for another day).

Senator Jon Kyl has the ABSOLUTE AUDACITY to say that it is disrespectful of Christmas and their families to expect him and his filibustering thugs to work on voting for this bill during Christmas break, December to January.  NO REPUBLICAN senator has had the time to address this bill on the floor!!!! These DISGUSTING FAKE CHRISTIAN PATRIOTIC leaders who’s salaries and benefits are paid by the Americans, without the same benefits, should be relieved of their duties!!!

While I was a single working mother in America, I can’t count how many Christmas and New Years holidays I worked for the greater good of my family. My pay was taxed on those days just as any other day for the greater good of my country! Should we relieve our police officers, fire department’s of their duties during the holiday so that they aren’t disrespecting Christmas? RESPECT?! Where is the respect for the First Responders of 911 and the American PEOPLE?!!!

I humbly say to our “patriotic Christian”senators, “MAKE THE TIME TO VOTE ON THIS BILL NOW…. WHILE YOU STILL HAVE A JOB!” God knows you have lost your souls by ignoring any semblance of conscience you were given at birth.

To learn the truth about this issue check out this link   http://swampland.blogs.time.com/2010/12/20/did-jon-stewart-turn-the-tide-on-the-911-first-responders-bill/

Death of a Phoenix

Several times throughout my life I have had the same question posed to me. Why did I turn out the way that I did? Why didn’t I end up a drug addict, in prison or on welfare? I certainly would … Continue reading →

Three Fold of Sacred Innocence

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In my lifetime there were two people who created an enormous amount of pain, abuse and trauma in my family. They were supposed to love and protect us but it didn’t work out that way. My maternal grandmother, E, was … Continue reading →

Today I am Grateful

The more you are grateful for the blessings in your life, the more you will have to be grateful for…..Zig Ziglar I am so grateful for the love I have in my life. I am truly blessed with every breath … Continue reading →

Little Ghosts

I am in the fog today. What is going on? I can’t seem to stop visiting the headstone of the past I want to move away from this …. ominous feeling But it’s like looking at a train wreck I … Continue reading →

Little Girl Lost

(click on the black screen to be taken to youtube for the video it is absolutely amazing, it speaks the truth of incest, Sleep by Stabbing Westward) Some days I feel you so deeply, hidden in the dark I look … Continue reading →

The Space Between Memories

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What is the truth of my life and those in it? Our entwined experiences allow us different truths even when we are at the same place, same time. Our little demons gnawing on our hearts, reaching towards the future but … Continue reading →

Changing Paradigms

As my relationships are transforming into another paradigm I am overwhelmed….stepping into the realm of growth and maturity, accepting the truth of all the love I afford to everyone but myself.

This is a fire I must walk through alone. No one can do it for me if I am to achieve the glory that fuels the fire.

I release the pain of the past, my thoughts of the future, and unforgiving nature that stops me from accepting my Self…….all that comes with where I’ve been in my life….all that leads me to this perfect moment.

I am so blessed. I live every day with gratitude.

This song by Frou Frou says it all

drink up, baby down
mmm, are you in or are you out
leave your things behind
’cause it’s all going off without you
excuse me, too busy you’re writing your tragedy
these mishaps
you bubble wrap
when you’ve no idea what you’re like

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it’s alright
’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it’s so amazing here
it’s alright
’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown

it gains the more it gives
and then it rises with the fall
so hand me that remote
can’t you see that all that stuff’s a sideshow

such boundless pleasure
we’ve no time for later now
you can’t await your own arrival
you’ve 20 seconds to comply

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it’s alright
’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it’s so amazing here
it’s alright
’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown

© Terry Jackson-Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Terry Jackson -Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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This is one of my favorite prayers. I don’t know who the original writer is, but it speaks to my heart.

We pray for children
who sneak popsicles before supper,
who erase holes in math workbooks,
who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never “counted potatoes”
who are born in places we would never be caught dead,
who never go to the park,
who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money.

And we pray for those
who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can’t find any bread to steal,
who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,
whose monsters are real.

We pray for children,
who spend their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw temper tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under their bed and never rinse out the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church or temple and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a doctor or a dentist,
who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep
who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children who want to be carried
and for those who must,
for those we never give up on and for those who don’t get a second chance.

For those we smother….and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.

Showers of Stars and I Get to Wish on Every One of Them

Tonight, I lit candles, immersed my senses in a hot deep bath of epsom salt and lavender oil. I couldn’t get warm. I turned up the heat and I channeled my spirit to you and I felt you so deeply … Continue reading →

Love or Infatuation

We begin holding hands in the streams of infatuation Where emotions run deep Riding on a current of lust that has the power to carry us further or pull us down to our demise Lazing about, floating on our backs, … Continue reading →

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This strange silence that engulfs my world
Is profound and untouchable
Even to myself

I am watching life flow around my body
Like a rock in the rapids

Creating a hole that was unknown
Yet so familiar

Washing away the old path

Polishing my inner voice to a beautiful reflective shine
A part of me I never met

It quiets all emotion and reaction that was once the norm
As though a new spirit has taken over

The protection of a mother, a friend, a lover,
A higher power that wills away the bitter anger and
Ugliness of my former world

The winds whistle in the silence
Blowing the clouds to reveal the brilliant glory of the old me-the new me

Recognition of a path ignored welcomes me on the horizon with vibrant fuscia, orange and pink desert sunsets

Ironic…
The avoided paths of uncertainty and pain in my youth….
The path that promised growth and healing
Has always followed me in the distance and awaited my exploration

It sits in the distance hoping for recognition
This path is sure
It will bring about change
It is undeniable

I know that until I travel this road….
I will keep walking miles in circles hoping to avoid it
Yet knowing I will arrive here yet again

So I accept it
Not knowing what will happen next…

Slowly meandering, walking miles in baby steps and
Recognizing beauty on this challenging journey

30 years later I tread a new path
I have followed the paths that led me to the artist of my soul

Creating friction and chipping away at my negative past
I have become a fine diamond of many facets,

Reflecting the lessons of my past and choices I wasn’t allowed to make

Creating colored prisms of light, beauty, my essence,
Dancing like stars
That light up the night
Giving me direction
Pacifying my insecure reasoning

Lessons like a pool of water in the moonlight
Reflecting all the beauty that defeated all the pain
While I skinny dip in on the surface and dive down deep
I am truly blessed

© Terry Jackson-Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Terry Jackson -Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Polite and Pretty

I haven’t slept for several weeks more than a few hours here and there. I don’t want to dream. But I want to sleep. Not possible. This morning I awoke from  a horribly vivid nightmare. This haunting visitor follows me, … Continue reading →

Healing doesn’t occur in the past. It occurs in the present.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and attend them all: Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently … Continue reading →

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On a hot summer night, August 20, 1980, I was jogging with 3 friends in Liberty Park in Salt Lake City, Utah; two black men barely legal adults, Ted Fields was 20 and David Martin was 18 and my girlfriend Karma. We were both 15 years old and considered “white”, although my mother is a first generation Mexican American.

On our way home from the park, we were shot in the crosswalk on 900 S 500 E. At first I thought the shots were leftover firecrackers from Pioneer Day, July 24. I assumed someone was throwing them at us because we were “race mixing.”

With the first shot, my arm, neck and legs were bleeding and felt like they were on fire. I couldn’t figure out where the firecrackers were coming from. There were no cars on the street. I couldn’t see anyone near us.

Dave said, “They got me.” We all laughed nervously and said “good one.” He fell. His blood was everywhere and the shots kept coming. We all tried to catch him and carry him to the end of the crosswalk. The blood was such a brilliant red color against the black pavement. Ted fell. Both of the men were on the ground. I went into a state of shock. All I could hear was gunfire. All I could see was Ted’s face.

Ted kept telling me to run. I couldn’t hear him but I could see the words he was saying, when I looked at his contorted face. It took a second for me to absorb what was really happening. “I can’t leave you here!” I said. The shots kept coming. I had the strongest telepathic message from Ted at that moment. “If the situation were reversed you would want me to run. RUN!”

I ran as fast as I could, into the field of 4-5 foot tall grass facing the crosswalk. I thought I could hide from the sniper. Something made me come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the field.

I didn’t know it at the time but I was running right to the killer. I felt like I ran into an invisible wall and I stopped. I couldn’t move. I never saw him. Karma ran into the field and grabbed my arm. A brave woman came outside and ushered us into her basement apartment.

I kept hoping I was having a nightmare. “This isn’t real” was played on a loop over and over in my head. But it WAS real.

By the end of the night, Ted and Dave were dead and I was covered in bullet fragments from bullets that passed through Dave and shattered on the pavement all over my small 98 lb. body.

We were shot by Joseph Paul Franklin (JPF), a racist serial killer who killed at least 22 people in 12 different states. He also shot and paralyzed Larry Flint for printing pictures of a black man and white woman having sex in Hustler magazine. He was trying to start a race war all over the country.

He wasn’t captured until October that same year. So for a couple of months, I was blamed, for setting up the murders of my friends, by local media and community.

It was the PERFECT EXAMPLE of victim blaming. My father was the president of a local motorcycle club and I was still alive. The survivors were pretty “white” girls and the murdered were college bound young “black men who were a credit to their race.”

For several days the local newspapers printed my full name and address. They told my mother the public had a right to know. The other victim’s addresses weren’t given. The reporters made up stories when no one had any leads on the story.

I was a responsible 15 year-old, volunteer tutor, head cheerleader and honor roll student back then. I was also voted Miss Dream Girl at my school. But none of that was ever brought up to describe me in the misleading articles that painted me as white trash. I upset the court of public opinion by “race mixing” and they made an example of me in the worst ways.

I wasn’t allowed to go to the funerals. The victim’s families blamed my friend and me. The victims were dead and black. We were alive and white. We weren’t considered victims.

When the killer was identified, the news never retracted the rumors they started. The rumors stuck to me like a scarlet letter. By October it was still too dangerous for me to live in Utah. There were cars full of people driving slowly by our house with guns pointed at our home. I called the police and asked for protection, but I was told, “Maybe you should have thought of that before you hung out with those niggers. We’re too busy. Call us if anything happens. “

It was like a bomb was thrown in my family and I believed it was my fault, (I am still overcoming that obstacle at the age of 49). I had to move out of state and into hiding for our safety. Our lives and relationships would NEVER be the same.

Eventually I came back to Utah and married a black man. We were friends from junior high. He and his family embraced me like their own child and helped me heal.

Initially, I was fearful of tempting fate and I knew that I would be judged harshly for “marrying outside my race.” But I loved him and I refused to let a racist society dictate whom I was allowed to love.

30 years later on August 20, 2010, I tearfully left a crystal, a candle and an unsigned note on the memorial plaque at Liberty Park on the anniversary of the murders.

I was vulnerable that night. I came out on Facebook and told my friends what happened in 1980. Some “friends” chose to “unfriend” me.

The next day someone saw the offerings on the plaque and called a reporter. But when the reporter got there, the note was gone.

She wrote an article in the Salt Lake Tribune and pondered what the note said. A dear friend sent me the link to the article. It took several hours to get the courage to read the comments online. I felt fragile and didn’t know if it would be wise to expose my heart to be broken again.

There were so many comments.

When I finally looked, I was surprised to find that 95% of the comments were kind and gracious. I couldn’t believe it. I decided to respond and include the letter I left.

I had to create a user name to respond. I used the name OneLove and I thanked the commenters and reporter for their interest. I didn’t leave my name or number. But I was required to leave my email.

What unfolded after that comment was miraculous. Within 15 minutes of the post, the reporter called. She wrote another article based on that interview. My only stipulation was that she use my maiden name.

The victim’s families got in touch with the reporter and asked for my contact information and we spoke for the first time. All was forgiven. Every day the reporter wrote a new article to update the community about what was happening.

By the second or third article a woman from Utah Progressives said she would like to create a march in the park for Ted and Dave, which coincided with the 48-year anniversary of Martin Luther King’s, “I Have A Dream” speech. She asked if I would speak in Liberty Park on August 28, 2010, eight days since I left the offerings on the plaque. I accepted with the exception of using my maiden name rather than my married name.

Ted’s family flew to Utah from several states on a moment’s notice. Dave’s mother was there as well. When my father and his brothers rolled up on their Harleys wearing their colors, everyone tensed up, noticeably.

My father got off his Harley and walked up to Ted’s father with open arms. When they embraced he let out a sound that was primal. It startled me. I turned to see my father crying in Ted’s father’s arms. I will never forget it as long as I live. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.” Dad explained.

Dad brought his brothers there to protect the crowd from any racist antics from JPF’s admirers.

When the printed program of the “March In The Park” was passed out, my full legal married name was included. At that point the tv news reporters gave out my name and the paper asked if they could as well.

I lost clients and business associates due to my “coming out.” I was worried about my children and their safety more than anything. I knew JPF said his greatest regret was leaving survivors. I was concerned someone would hurt my children to seek his approval.

After the dust settled, I decided to go back to college hoping to understand and heal racism in my community. My first semester, I took a race and ethnicity class as well as a design class. I learned a lot about the world and myself.

I learned that race is a social construct. It isn’t real. It was built to keep people of color and immigrants of “undesirable” countries from having access to democracy, wealth and education.

Irish, Italian, Jewish and Germans people weren’t even considered white originally in America. Being white was a privilege then, just as it is now.

The first semester final project for my design class was to create a mask. I made a mask out of the newspaper articles mentioned above. I didn’t know it, but I would have to wear it and explain it to the students in the class on the last day of school. It was challenging to be that vulnerable in front of these people who thought they knew me.

Trayvon Martin’s story was reaching a fever pitch at the time. I just happened to be wearing a hoodie that day. When I explained my story to the class, I had to put the mask on. I couldn’t wait to leave.

A student followed me in the hall and asked if I would be willing to consider doing an art exhibit. Another student asked if I would lead and speak at the Trayvon Hoodie March. I accepted both invitations.

At the end of the semester the students in the Race and Ethnicity class were surprised to know my story and came to the Hoodie March.

I found the more that I allowed myself to be vulnerable, the more I healed my PTSD. Migraines, memory lapses and nightmares were less frequent as I became educated and created art.

In June of 2013 I created an art exhibit with art created from the newspaper articles in 1980, 1981 and 2010. I read the articles from 1980 and 1981 for the first time when I created the pieces for the exhibit.

I was shocked and grateful my parents didn’t allow me to read the articles at the time they were printed. I really don’t think I would be here if I’d seen them back then. Suicide or drug addiction would have been a very likely outcome.

My life changed again, for the better, in a dramatic way.

Many people attended the exhibit, including the Tribune’s editor and the former mayor from 1980. I met a man whose aunt gave Dave mouth to mouth resuscitation at the crosswalk. He said his aunt recently died and she was deeply affected by the crime. A woman who worked at the tennis shop in the park the night of the murders came to the exhibit and told me how the crime affected her. A woman who survived Auschwitz attended and told me her story and said that my art was very important.

Many times I was humbled to tears, listening to the stories of ripple effects from JPF’s crimes in Salt Lake City. For 30 years I ignored how the murders affected me. But I also ignored how it affected others in my village.

I created an art piece for JPF. I read an article about his childhood abuse and neglect. One of the statements in the article was from his aunt said that she knew of the severe abuse he had endured and regretted not helping him.

I thought of the ripple effect of his child abuse. What would his life be like if help had arrived when he was at the mercy of the merciless? How many lives would be different?

I realized he was to be imprisoned from the cradle to the grave. The child victim in me saw the child victim in him. I couldn’t hate him anymore and my heart felt full of Light. Joy replaced hate in the hole in my heart.

He received two life sentences for murdering Ted and Dave. I received a life sentence as well. So did all the victim’s loved ones.

The child abuse he endured had a ripple effect that proves no one is immune to the effects of a village turning their backs on the suffering of others.

I created an art piece for him and placed it in the gallery on the last day of the exhibit. Then I immediately drove to Millcreek Canyon. I meditated that his suffering be eased.

Three weeks later JPF was given his execution date for the murder of a Jewish man. He was never given a death sentence for killing black people. He chose solitary confinement for 33 years.

I believed execution was the only way he could be released from the suffering of this lifetime. I still do.

About a month before the execution I was looking at my Facebook feed and found an article from Southern Poverty Law Center. It said, “Joseph Paul Franklin Denounces Racism and Asks His Victims for Forgiveness.”

I lost time. My husband walked in the room and said “What happened? Why are you crying?” I didn’t even know I was crying. I literally couldn’t talk. I couldn’t find the words. I knew this was an answer to my meditation.

I included a comment to the writer along with a picture of the piece of art I created. I told him to tell JPF I forgave him and to go in peace. I said that I always wondered why he didn’t kill me. Later an author, writing a book about JPF, commented on the same thread. He mentioned that JPF admitted he couldn’t get me in his scope because the light was in his eyes.

Light? It was dark and there were no street-lights that would get in his eyes at that time.

I couldn’t help but think Light energy protected me. What happens when we die? Where does our energy go? Will his energy bind with more hate and make it stronger?

I think of my higher power as Light. My baby book said “Light” was my first word. I had dreams of Light that helped me get through the worst of what happened to me after the murders.

I wanted to heal JPF. I wanted to ask him to choose Light when he died. I thought I could give him some of my Light before he died so that he would choose Light and it would tip the scales of healing for everyone who was affected by his murderous rampage.

My family was understandably fearful of me talking to him. At one point my sister said, “What if you give him your Light and you have none left for you?” “It doesn’t work that way. A candle does not lose its flame by lighting another candle”, I said.

I sent him a couple of books to ease his fears while he was waiting in his cell next to the execution room, “Feelings Buried Alive Never Die” by Karol Truman and “The Great Divorce” by CS Lewis.

JPF wanted to talk to me in person. The week before and the day before the execution, we spoke for about 2 hours each time, over the phone.

I tried to be the embodiment of compassion while I spoke to him. He told me about his life in and out of prison. Sometimes it felt like I was forever falling. I could smell the burning crosses when he described being inducted into the KKK. I could see a thousand white hoods chanting their hate. There were moments of our conversation that I felt dizzy from it and wanted to hang up.

He told me that he was changed by meditating, reading about different religions. He even read the Koran and thought it was beautiful. He said he regretted his ignorance tremendously.

He said he would do anything for me. I asked him for one favor. I asked him to choose Light when he died. I knew he believed in reincarnation, as I do.

I come from a family of sisters, no brothers. I have daughters, no sons. I have granddaughters, no grandsons.

I told him, “every time I hold my grandchildren I will love them the way you should have been loved. If you choose Light, come to me as my grandson and I will love and protect you the way you should have been from the beginning of this lifetime.”

He knew I had biracial children and he didn’t care. He kept thanking me and saying that no one was ever so kind to him. He said he loved me and thanked me over and over, many times. He was as happy as a child on Christmas morning.

I dodged the press and stayed busy as much as possible that day. I withdrew from everyone close to me while dealing with school tests, flashbacks and migraines.

The last time we spoke, I told JPF to come to me in spirit if he chose Light, so that I could finally sleep.

The day of the execution was challenging. He was given 2 stays of execution the day before. But in the early morning of November 20, 2013, I awoke to the news that he was executed.

That morning I saw the interviews he gave on TV. I was grateful I didn’t speak to him in person. He looked like a broken neglected animal that hadn’t been groomed in 33 years. It reduced me to tears all day. My greatest comfort came as I held my infant granddaughter close to my heart while she slept for hours and hours.

The following night, I told my husband, “I feel so light in my chest. Have I carried this heaviness in my heart since the murders? I didn’t even realize the weight of it until it was gone. I don’t know if it’s gone because I forgave him or because he is dead.”

“I wonder if he chose Light?”

At that moment, a tsunami of what can only be described as intense love, joy and gratitude knocked me back into a chair behind me. It was a thousand times more powerful than the way it felt when my healthy newborn children were handed to me at their birth. I didn’t think anything could compare to that feeling. But there are no words to describe that moment adequately. I sat and quietly wept with the deepest feelings I’ve ever encountered in my life. I sat with my face in my hands until I could stand again. I felt so humbled and honored to be a part of this journey.

My husband was speechless and didn’t know what to say or do, staring helplessly at me.

On a hot summer night, August 20, 1980, I was jogging with 3 friends in Liberty Park in Salt Lake City, Utah; two black men barely legal adults, Ted Fields was 20 and David Martin was 18 and my girlfriend Karma. We were both 15 years old and considered “white”, although my mother is a first generation Mexican American.

On our way home from the park, we were shot in the crosswalk on 900 S 500 E. At first I thought the shots were leftover firecrackers from Pioneer Day, July 24. I assumed someone was throwing them at us because we were “race mixing.”

With the first shot, my arm, neck and legs were bleeding and felt like they were on fire. I couldn’t figure out where the firecrackers were coming from. There were no cars on the street. I couldn’t see anyone near us.

Dave said, “They got me.” We all laughed nervously and said “good one.” He fell. His blood was everywhere and the shots kept coming. We all tried to catch him and carry him to the end of the crosswalk. The blood was such a brilliant red color against the black pavement. Ted fell. Both of the men were on the ground. I went into a state of shock. All I could hear was gunfire. All I could see was Ted’s face.

Ted kept telling me to run. I couldn’t hear him but I could see the words he was saying, when I looked at his contorted face. It took a second for me to absorb what was really happening. “I can’t leave you here!” I said. The shots kept coming. I had the strongest telepathic message from Ted at that moment. “If the situation were reversed you would want me to run. RUN!”

I ran as fast as I could, into the field of 4-5 foot tall grass facing the crosswalk. I thought I could hide from the sniper. Something made me come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the field.

I didn’t know it at the time but I was running right to the killer. I felt like I ran into an invisible wall and I stopped. I couldn’t move. I never saw him. Karma ran into the field and grabbed my arm. A brave woman came outside and ushered us into her basement apartment.

I kept hoping I was having a nightmare. “This isn’t real” was played on a loop over and over in my head. But it WAS real.

By the end of the night, Ted and Dave were dead and I was covered in bullet fragments from bullets that passed through Dave and shattered on the pavement all over my small 98 lb. body.

We were shot by Joseph Paul Franklin (JPF), a racist serial killer who killed at least 22 people in 12 different states. He also shot and paralyzed Larry Flint for printing pictures of a black man and white woman having sex in Hustler magazine. He was trying to start a race war all over the country.

He wasn’t captured until October that same year. So for a couple of months, I was blamed, for setting up the murders of my friends, by local media and community.

It was the PERFECT EXAMPLE of victim blaming. My father was the president of a local motorcycle club and I was still alive. The survivors were pretty “white” girls and the murdered were college bound young “black men who were a credit to their race.”

For several days the local newspapers printed my full name and address. They told my mother the public had a right to know. The other victim’s addresses weren’t given. The reporters made up stories when no one had any leads on the story.

I was a responsible 15 year-old, volunteer tutor, head cheerleader and honor roll student back then. I was also voted Miss Dream Girl at my school. But none of that was ever brought up to describe me in the misleading articles that painted me as white trash. I upset the court of public opinion by “race mixing” and they made an example of me in the worst ways.

I wasn’t allowed to go to the funerals. The victim’s families blamed my friend and me. The victims were dead and black. We were alive and white. We weren’t considered victims.

When the killer was identified, the news never retracted the rumors they started. The rumors stuck to me like a scarlet letter. By October it was still too dangerous for me to live in Utah. There were cars full of people driving slowly by our house with guns pointed at our home. I called the police and asked for protection, but I was told, “Maybe you should have thought of that before you hung out with those niggers. We’re too busy. Call us if anything happens. “

It was like a bomb was thrown in my family and I believed it was my fault, (I am still overcoming that obstacle at the age of 49). I had to move out of state and into hiding for our safety. Our lives and relationships would NEVER be the same.

Eventually I came back to Utah and married a black man. We were friends from junior high. He and his family embraced me like their own child and helped me heal.

Initially, I was fearful of tempting fate and I knew that I would be judged harshly for “marrying outside my race.” But I loved him and I refused to let a racist society dictate whom I was allowed to love.

30 years later on August 20, 2010, I tearfully left a crystal, a candle and an unsigned note on the memorial plaque at Liberty Park on the anniversary of the murders.

I was vulnerable that night. I came out on Facebook and told my friends what happened in 1980. Some “friends” chose to “unfriend” me.

The next day someone saw the offerings on the plaque and called a reporter. But when the reporter got there, the note was gone.

She wrote an article in the Salt Lake Tribune and pondered what the note said. A dear friend sent me the link to the article. It took several hours to get the courage to read the comments online. I felt fragile and didn’t know if it would be wise to expose my heart to be broken again.

There were so many comments.

When I finally looked, I was surprised to find that 95% of the comments were kind and gracious. I couldn’t believe it. I decided to respond and include the letter I left.

I had to create a user name to respond. I used the name OneLove and I thanked the commenters and reporter for their interest. I didn’t leave my name or number. But I was required to leave my email.

What unfolded after that comment was miraculous. Within 15 minutes of the post, the reporter called. She wrote another article based on that interview. My only stipulation was that she use my maiden name.

The victim’s families got in touch with the reporter and asked for my contact information and we spoke for the first time. All was forgiven. Every day the reporter wrote a new article to update the community about what was happening.

By the second or third article a woman from Utah Progressives said she would like to create a march in the park for Ted and Dave, which coincided with the 48-year anniversary of Martin Luther King’s, “I Have A Dream” speech. She asked if I would speak in Liberty Park on August 28, 2010, eight days since I left the offerings on the plaque. I accepted with the exception of using my maiden name rather than my married name.

Ted’s family flew to Utah from several states on a moment’s notice. Dave’s mother was there as well. When my father and his brothers rolled up on their Harleys wearing their colors, everyone tensed up, noticeably.

My father got off his Harley and walked up to Ted’s father with open arms. When they embraced he let out a sound that was primal. It startled me. I turned to see my father crying in Ted’s father’s arms. I will never forget it as long as I live. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.” Dad explained.

Dad brought his brothers there to protect the crowd from any racist antics from JPF’s admirers.

When the printed program of the “March In The Park” was passed out, my full legal married name was included. At that point the tv news reporters gave out my name and the paper asked if they could as well.

I lost clients and business associates due to my “coming out.” I was worried about my children and their safety more than anything. I knew JPF said his greatest regret was leaving survivors. I was concerned someone would hurt my children to seek his approval.

After the dust settled, I decided to go back to college hoping to understand and heal racism in my community. My first semester, I took a race and ethnicity class as well as a design class. I learned a lot about the world and myself.

I learned that race is a social construct. It isn’t real. It was built to keep people of color and immigrants of “undesirable” countries from having access to democracy, wealth and education.

Irish, Italian, Jewish and Germans people weren’t even considered white originally in America. Being white was a privilege then, just as it is now.

The first semester final project for my design class was to create a mask. I made a mask out of the newspaper articles mentioned above. I didn’t know it, but I would have to wear it and explain it to the students in the class on the last day of school. It was challenging to be that vulnerable in front of these people who thought they knew me.

Trayvon Martin’s story was reaching a fever pitch at the time. I just happened to be wearing a hoodie that day. When I explained my story to the class, I had to put the mask on. I couldn’t wait to leave.

A student followed me in the hall and asked if I would be willing to consider doing an art exhibit. Another student asked if I would lead and speak at the Trayvon Hoodie March. I accepted both invitations.

At the end of the semester the students in the Race and Ethnicity class were surprised to know my story and came to the Hoodie March.

I found the more that I allowed myself to be vulnerable, the more I healed my PTSD. Migraines, memory lapses and nightmares were less frequent as I became educated and created art.

In June of 2013 I created an art exhibit with art created from the newspaper articles in 1980, 1981 and 2010. I read the articles from 1980 and 1981 for the first time when I created the pieces for the exhibit.

I was shocked and grateful my parents didn’t allow me to read the articles at the time they were printed. I really don’t think I would be here if I’d seen them back then. Suicide or drug addiction would have been a very likely outcome.

My life changed again, for the better, in a dramatic way.

Many people attended the exhibit, including the Tribune’s editor and the former mayor from 1980. I met a man whose aunt gave Dave mouth to mouth resuscitation at the crosswalk. He said his aunt recently died and she was deeply affected by the crime. A woman who worked at the tennis shop in the park the night of the murders came to the exhibit and told me how the crime affected her. A woman who survived Auschwitz attended and told me her story and said that my art was very important.

Many times I was humbled to tears, listening to the stories of ripple effects from JPF’s crimes in Salt Lake City. For 30 years I ignored how the murders affected me. But I also ignored how it affected others in my village.

I created an art piece for JPF. I read an article about his childhood abuse and neglect. One of the statements in the article was from his aunt said that she knew of the severe abuse he had endured and regretted not helping him.

I thought of the ripple effect of his child abuse. What would his life be like if help had arrived when he was at the mercy of the merciless? How many lives would be different?

I realized he was to be imprisoned from the cradle to the grave. The child victim in me saw the child victim in him. I couldn’t hate him anymore and my heart felt full of Light. Joy replaced hate in the hole in my heart.

He received two life sentences for murdering Ted and Dave. I received a life sentence as well. So did all the victim’s loved ones.

The child abuse he endured had a ripple effect that proves no one is immune to the effects of a village turning their backs on the suffering of others.

I created an art piece for him and placed it in the gallery on the last day of the exhibit. Then I immediately drove to Millcreek Canyon. I meditated that his suffering be eased.

Three weeks later JPF was given his execution date for the murder of a Jewish man. He was never given a death sentence for killing black people. He chose solitary confinement for 33 years.

I believed execution was the only way he could be released from the suffering of this lifetime. I still do.

About a month before the execution I was looking at my Facebook feed and found an article from Southern Poverty Law Center. It said, “Joseph Paul Franklin Denounces Racism and Asks His Victims for Forgiveness.”

I lost time. My husband walked in the room and said “What happened? Why are you crying?” I didn’t even know I was crying. I literally couldn’t talk. I couldn’t find the words. I knew this was an answer to my meditation.

I included a comment to the writer along with a picture of the piece of art I created. I told him to tell JPF I forgave him and to go in peace. I said that I always wondered why he didn’t kill me. Later an author, writing a book about JPF, commented on the same thread. He mentioned that JPF admitted he couldn’t get me in his scope because the light was in his eyes.

Light? It was dark and there were no street-lights that would get in his eyes at that time.

I couldn’t help but think Light energy protected me. What happens when we die? Where does our energy go? Will his energy bind with more hate and make it stronger?

I think of my higher power as Light. My baby book said “Light” was my first word. I had dreams of Light that helped me get through the worst of what happened to me after the murders.

I wanted to heal JPF. I wanted to ask him to choose Light when he died. I thought I could give him some of my Light before he died so that he would choose Light and it would tip the scales of healing for everyone who was affected by his murderous rampage.

My family was understandably fearful of me talking to him. At one point my sister said, “What if you give him your Light and you have none left for you?” “It doesn’t work that way. A candle does not lose its flame by lighting another candle”, I said.

I sent him a couple of books to ease his fears while he was waiting in his cell next to the execution room, “Feelings Buried Alive Never Die” by Karol Truman and “The Great Divorce” by CS Lewis.

JPF wanted to talk to me in person. The week before and the day before the execution, we spoke for about 2 hours each time, over the phone.

I tried to be the embodiment of compassion while I spoke to him. He told me about his life in and out of prison. Sometimes it felt like I was forever falling. I could smell the burning crosses when he described being inducted into the KKK. I could see a thousand white hoods chanting their hate. There were moments of our conversation that I felt dizzy from it and wanted to hang up.

He told me that he was changed by meditating, reading about different religions. He even read the Koran and thought it was beautiful. He said he regretted his ignorance tremendously.

He said he would do anything for me. I asked him for one favor. I asked him to choose Light when he died. I knew he believed in reincarnation, as I do.

I come from a family of sisters, no brothers. I have daughters, no sons. I have granddaughters, no grandsons.

I told him, “every time I hold my grandchildren I will love them the way you should have been loved. If you choose Light, come to me as my grandson and I will love and protect you the way you should have been from the beginning of this lifetime.”

He knew I had biracial children and he didn’t care. He kept thanking me and saying that no one was ever so kind to him. He said he loved me and thanked me over and over, many times. He was as happy as a child on Christmas morning.

I dodged the press and stayed busy as much as possible that day. I withdrew from everyone close to me while dealing with school tests, flashbacks and migraines.

The last time we spoke, I told JPF to come to me in spirit if he chose Light, so that I could finally sleep.

The day of the execution was challenging. He was given 2 stays of execution the day before. But in the early morning of November 20, 2013, I awoke to the news that he was executed.

That morning I saw the interviews he gave on TV. I was grateful I didn’t speak to him in person. He looked like a broken neglected animal that hadn’t been groomed in 33 years. It reduced me to tears all day. My greatest comfort came as I held my infant granddaughter close to my heart while she slept for hours and hours.

The following night, I told my husband, “I feel so light in my chest. Have I carried this heaviness in my heart since the murders? I didn’t even realize the weight of it until it was gone. I don’t know if it’s gone because I forgave him or because he is dead.”

“I wonder if he chose Light?”

At that moment, a tsunami of what can only be described as intense love, joy and gratitude knocked me back into a chair behind me. It was a thousand times more powerful than the way it felt when my healthy newborn children were handed to me at their birth. I didn’t think anything could compare to that feeling. But there are no words to describe that moment adequately. I sat and quietly wept with the deepest feelings I’ve ever encountered in my life. I sat with my face in my hands until I could stand again. I felt so humbled and honored to be a part of this journey.

My husband was speechless and didn’t know what to say or do, staring helplessly at me.

Finally, I stood up and said I was going to bed. I was tired to the bone.

I fell asleep quickly. It felt like I was being watched. I could sense someone standing at the doorway watching me. I could feel him, like a parent looking at a sleeping child. He came towards me and traced my nose and my cheek with a fingertip as I slept and said, “Don’t think of it as a death. Think of it as a birth. Thank you. Thank you.”

© Terry Jackson-Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Terry Jackson -Mitchell and http://www.bringbalancetomylife.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

He was a prisoner from womb to tomb.

Dear Congress

DEAR CONGRESS,

I mismanaged my funds and this year my family cannot decide on a budget. Until we come to a decision that fits all of our interests, we will have to shut down our check book and will not be able to pay our taxes. The first thing we cut will be YOUR salaries and your health insurance benefits. Thank you so much for setting an example we can all follow. (Repost if you agree!)