Home That Never Was

How hard it has been to come back home and find that “home” never was, that here it has been horrible as ever,

that there the wounds were someone elses,

and that is why I could breath.

It was not that I changed so much (though I did), it was that the climate I found myself in shifted weight and I, broken daughter that I am, was able to let some off my heart.

My heavy, heavy heart.

I got back & I forgot. I forgot that I write because it gives me a glimpse of myself, not because it gives someone else a glimpse of me. I forgot that I am the only audience that matters, along with the ragged few who clap & dance outside the city, scarred scapegoats of the society that tore them apart. I forgot that you cannot trust your (heavy) heart to someone who does not know their own. I forgot that if you do not break the rules, they will break you. I forgot that to be at the bottom is to face your demons: that a culture that forces you there is Heaven disguised as Hell. I forgot that the elders of this “home” are not elders at all, but rather dragons disguised as guides who want to lure you into the lair where they have lain with their fat bellies resting on piles of gold pieces. Safe. Unhappy. Secure in their rabid insecurity. I forgot that what I got for me, it must absolutely be for me. I forgot that I am my own, that I was not bought with any price, but I have been given a life. I have been counted worthy of living, and the power and agency to create that life is in my hands. I forgot that nobody can give me permission to be who I am; others will lead me in circles, it is mine to cut my own labyrinth.

I forgot that nobody here is happy & that if I do not beware,

I too will fall into the cycle of unending unworthiness, searching frantically for what is already mine, scoffing at the happiness of others, if it seems they have found it.

It is not that I believe the beaches of Chile to be any more radiant than those of Florida, California, Alabama, or Maine. It is that I have found that to find my voice I must exist alongside others of my own kind, and I have seen that the wounds there are someone else’s. I have felt weight shift inside & it has renewed the hope that I have cultivated since I hid alone in the wilderness of my beginning.

This homecoming has brought me to the back lining of my belly, where my body protests the religious practices that leave my knees red & raw, my heart banished to the dungeon where, perhaps, it may learn to behave. There in the deepness of my sacred self I see that wisdom is crafted when culture declares you unfit, shifts awkwardly on its heels because you are breaking the rules.


Only those who the rules have failed, are free to make their own. The rules have failed me. Could it be that their failure is my freedom?

I learned that in brutal weakness, I am terrifically strong.

I learned that there are no allies, unless someone truly loves you, but even then, you must stand on your own or there will be no room for them to stand next to you.

I learned that intimacy is not something only to be lived through stories of an ancient Jewish teacher,

something that I write myself into & thus calm my heart. It is not something that the courage-less watch me long for from the dank towers of their minds, lofty, isolated from the dungeon of their hearts.

In other worlds, not this “home”,  I am not the only one with a heart, My yearning is not unique, it is universal, and there are other hearts that are interested in meeting me in the garden to play.

I know well how to garden my heart, nurturing my cactus-soul amidst the tumble weeds of “home” for 23 years has been the grueling training. This training brought me here, to myself, with the capacity to live unwatered, with a soft & delicious inside.

Perhaps now it is time to be a flower in the sun. A lizard sun-bathing in this flip-side of “home”, a place where the burden may lift off my heart as I see others with the courage to meet themselves in the garden, the place between their banished mind & their dungeoned heart.

In the powerful rhythm of Hope,

Lydia Nomad

What Spring Has Sprung

Truth is, I have spent some painful moments reflecting on the feeling of unbelonging that has plagued me since I arrived here on this Planet Mother, 23 (and some) years ago, as if it were a bad thing.

Now I see, the nomadic shape of my soul is what gives me my place here, and that the unbelonging is the Guide of my becoming. Yes!


Unbelonging Onward


Adults didn’t want me

I found children


Whites didn’t want me

I found blacks


Guys didn’t want me

I found girls


Insiders didn’t want me

I found internationals


America didn’t want me

I found Jamaica, México, Uganda, Puerto Rico, and Chile


Religion didn’t want me

so I found God.





I find myself back in the United States, far north of Chile, and feeling closer to the North Star, my Jesus, my Guide to freedom. Home but not really home (I am a nomad, you see, a life time wanderer).

Below are three poems and 4 passages of Holy Scripture. Please embrace the figurative language of my pieces. I do not make attacks or write with intention of polarizing, I tell my story.

May you find your story in mine.

Lydia Nomad


Jesus: Does no one condemn you?

No, Master.

Jesus: Neither do I. Go on your way. From now on, dont sin.


My Experience of Being White


To be white is to be told you are bad

to believe you are bad

to know you are bad

to protect your badness

to project your badness.


To be white is to bleed the same color as the sunset

to die like leaves in autumn

to be crushed and ground into the earth

to provide nourishment for new life.


To be white is to live again though you have died.


Lord, if you will, make me clean.

Jesus: I will; be clean.



My life is short

but I am very good

so its okay.


Jesus: Your sins are forgiven you. Rise and walk.



Your sins are forgiven” is enough to be Gospel

when its the closest youve come to You are good.


Then God looked over all (S)he had made, and (S)he saw that it was very good!




The Tree; Tobacco Eyes

The Tree

Sun & Moon came together and you, child of the constellation family, were placed as a seed into dark earth.

Left there, you gasped for the air that there wasnt.

But with beautiful boldness you rose, pushing away crumbling sod,

begging, begging your roots to descend that they might give you what you needed to crack the dry earths crust.

Your seed-head butt the ceiling until it ruptured. The Light was the first you had seen since the community of stars watched you be planted; Sun.

She saw you & you saw her; resplendent Love & Harmony.

She saw you & you saw her, and I, from a distance, saw you there, destined too be the most majestic tree yet to dig roots in this soil.



Tobacco Eyes

I saw myself
in you, in the yellow chair,
with your legs pressed against one another
on its arm like hopeful ideas tossed over
two decades of rubbish theology.

Melancholy like smoke
wafted from your tobacco eyes;
you would have cried
if not for the hope sounding in your heart:
dachshund nails clicking against the hardwood floor.

I saw your shoulders shaped by the fear last year left. Memories like
bubbles from the alcohol
in secondhand champagne flutes
rose to tickle your lips
as you sighed a tired greeting to the year

that we did not know
would surprise us
with new beginnings born from the bonfire
of several candles
pushed together.

Dry leaves blew out from under the red Christmas lights
on your concrete porch
when I saw you there:
when I saw myself
in you.


Happy Birthday, Em. I love you & cannot say enough thank yous for who you are to me!


Lydia Nomad



Awake. We woke up. You wake.

Do you remember how it feels? Remember last spring when we lifted the lid on limitation & found ourselves at the foot of God?

She was there in front of us, Grandmother Willow, all approving, mysterious, still, affectionate. Connective, there between us, the isolated ones.

Those lies we thought were truth we started to doubt & the doubt burst through: rays of hopeful sunshine on our white skin.

Now we remember again, Daughter. Those lies have been killing you; it wasn’t you like you thought. Look, now we are in a rush again, but it’s not to save our skin. It’s because there is SO MUCH. The end isn’t in sight and now we see that as Good News. We hesitated to think that Love Wins because if Love Wins there has to be an End and whose will it be?

But it won’t be anyone’s because it doesn’t.

Do you see how free we were made to be?

Give it up & receive it back. The sky above us only knows how much good we can hold. Pour it out, push back on the Lies until they burst; they’re not part of you anyway.

Abundance is written in the letters of Her holy tree-bark: I see your name there too.

There can be no wrong thing, no wrong creature, if every bit of it has been declared GOOD.

Until forever.


if you wish to survive
you will find the guide inside

(Nahko & Medicine For the People)

Today, I Go Forward

I came here for the victory.

I did not arrive a victim and I ask for nothing.

I came here to fight and to win.

When all I hear from the daily details is a tragic tale

I close my doors to let in the light; I run to pursue the Light.

Today it does not matter if I have once visited a place where it was safe to live with doors open.

It does not matter if there is someone out there who gives me the courage to live with open doors.

Today what matters is the victory I came here to gain.

Today I am alone, and mine is the victory.

As the pain is mine, so is the joy.

As the captivity is mine, so is the liberation.


These are the eyes through which I see the prisms in raindrops, the green glow of grass.

This is the body that carries me forward


I go forward.

Today I leave the irrelevant aches and envy behind.


Today I am alone and I am victorious.

Today is for victory so I sideline the sadness,

jump the starting gate,

and run the race only I can give myself permission

to win.


My doors are closed because I already have all that I need;

I will be inside until I find it.


There are days when it does not matter who you love

where you have been

what you have done.

All that matters is this path, these words, finding

the strength to travel light

towards the Light.

It does not matter if someone loves you

or if for now you are alone.

Keep going.

The light is yours.

You are the light.


A veces no te queda esperanza. 

A veces no hay tiempo ni espacio para un plan.

A veces corres sin mirar hacia atrás.

A veces sigues adelante sin platicar o quejarte.

A veces sobrevives para que un día, prosperes.

La luz es tuya.

Eres la luz.

Lover Song


Draw the silence out like a string from a ball of yarn.

The silence is where I see my dream most clearly:

you being God, filling me, inspiring me, and me loaning the space

I create to beloved sojourners: pilgrims who travel in and out of my environment.

They are attracted like moths to the gentle rays of peace and I am

an oasis; steady joy, hard work, laughter, space, nothing else.

Nothing less than what the world needs.


I want to walk without making a mark,

to speak my own Truth without hesitation

in nothing more than a whisper.


Just wait…

it all returns to simplicity in time.

I hear You saying, enjoy me.

I know that is all I want from this life and the next.

Nothing is worth the forfeit of this Peace,

so profound,



beyond words.


…I will spend my best days naming this unnameable Being.

This divine touch that is beyond

my language,

bigger than the human intellect,

more gentle

than the purr of a kitten,

or the press of a baby thumb nail.


Ser She Ahora

As am I

So are you:


Como soy,

igual eres:


She is trying to grow and learn.

She is a deep mystery.

She is imperfect and young.

She is a delight.

Ella intenta a crecer, a aprender.

Ella es un misterio profundo.

Ella no es perfecta, ella es joven.

Ella es una maravilla.


My cup of coffee, the leaves of big trees all around,

the fear between us that we both understand

because we are women

in a world we adore

set to destroy us.

Mi taza de café, las hojas de los árboles en su jardín, el miedo entre nosotras el cual entendemos bien

porque somos mujeres

en el mundo que adoramos

y que nos intenta a destruir.


12 For now [in this time of imperfection] we see in a mirror dimly [a blurred reflection, a riddle, an enigma], but then [when the time of perfection comes we will see reality] face to face. Now I know in part [just in fragments], but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known [by God].~1 Corinthians 13:12, Amplified Bible

Nuestros conocimientos son ahora muy limitados, como si estuviéramos viendo una figura en un espejo defectuoso; pero un día veremos las cosas como son, cara a cara. Mis conocimientos son ahora imperfectos, pero en aquel día podré conocer tal y como Ella me conoce a mí~1 Corintios 13:12, NBD

To Tori


She was special to me.

China Dolls

We were pieces of china,

dolls smashed,

determined to assemble ourselves.

How I would have liked to know how to put one piece of you back

where it belonged, a hard pigtail maybe, or a pale pink toe;

I was unable to find my hands in our rubble.

Now that my dust has become pieces,

my white fingers a delicately unified hand,

and I am more doll than shell,

you have disappeared.

I cannot touch even the pieces of your shiny forehead,

cannot see your ceramic eyes, cannot lift my ragged arms

to rest them on your limp shoulders.

As love turns my dust into china,

I see more clearly why I loved you: that

I wanted to be like you.

Our souls were sewn together like a doll skirt,

before I had a body to wear it on.

Ode To My People

Ode To My People


Rationality is me seeing what I see

and not saying otherwise.

To say is to be brave;

for to say is to admit that you are not happy

in a system where the meter of your happiness provides true indication of belovedness.


This is the system of my heritage and it demands Truth or belovedness, but finds their coexistence to be

a confounding impossiblity.


If this system is true

then I am unloved and unhappy,

(though I often feel both loved and happy)

because this is what I see and must speak:


Dehumanizing declarations made at Thanksgiving and families move yet further away from unity

Original land owners herded like cattle and eighteen year olds commit suicide on the eve of high school graduation

Women with ebony eyes disappear along with elephants and no one says if either one is important

New neighbors forced into corners of lives spent with hands red and bruised from tearing frozen

chicken breasts


Little feet and necks swell with flesh and with every click Coca-Cola makes millions

Men have bad dreams of the children they killed beneath a red flag

Ebenezer Scrooge lives in privileged pockets, sewn with the blood of Taiwanese factory workers,

just $7.99 at Old Navy

The final chapter of the Biology textbook goes untaught and lives of girls without options

grind to a halt

Twelve year olds are hustled across state borders like sacks of cocaine

Girls are touched in taxis and under tablecloths

Boys get shot in the street


Candy wrappers fly out of open windows and choke sea turtles

Concrete eats the grass

Earth´s belly heats up and casts religious people out of their homelands

Ice melts and Santa Claus will show up soon; a wintery work shop disrobed by our insistence on a 66 degree house year around

Regions suitable for cultivating vineyards move from North to South and still the planet is unchanging;

She is wrong about her own health


Irrationality is expecting the blind to see

the way I see.


Sight is a gift:

a gift that weighs on souls,

shaking the burden too long left on the shoulders of the beloved Underdog:

firstborn of the Christ.


This is the system of my heritage and it demands Truth or belovedness; but I dance

in their coexistence.

Truth is, I find myself beloved.


Woe to you!….For you load people with burdens hard to bear, and you yourselves do not touch the burdens with one of your fingers. (Luke 11:46)

Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you shall be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep. Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the prophets. (Luke 6:24-26)

Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways. (Luke 3:5)