Athena's Favorite Sewing Project

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Updated Thursday July 19th 2018

United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights Preamble

Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world, 

copyrighted to United Nations


inherent recognition whereas (poem title)

(the following poem is in correspondence {look up Swedenborg's definition about  correspondence:  it means more than writing letters} with the beginning of the United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights preamble


perhaps I am an ignoramus?  I never realized how much my left foot was wearing out until I found (after decades of searching) properly fitting supportive boots;  now I admit, a woman in big clunky boots is not always expected:  however, these are the feet I was born with and my ability to walk without shame is a conversation between grace luck and work


Forgot to send files so re ~ sending


I’m planning on starting a dance class tomorrow.  I am worried about my and family’s on going safety.  I still believe the best way to combat hatred and discrimination is to assertively go on with life


My Mom would be much safer imho if I were rich and famous


Easier said then done.


The chronic wound on my left ankle is still there.  However has recently healed enough to at least try being active again


I may or may not perform in this lifetime


if you are wondering why I am announcing my activities, it is because I went to a dance class in Honolulu

 and it was cancelled {I don't know why}



here is a writing about current life




Jane Doe’s Dance ( rough draft)



Tomorrow evening is when I dance for survival.


It might as well be August 17th.

Celebrating life in the face of hate crime.


I am one of those women who survived against the odds.  Or perhaps because of the Odds.


I am one of those women who you probably never knew existed. Perhaps you have never seen anyone like me on television or in movies or read about me in a book.


Am I different from any other woman who is in love with love with love and who falls in love with women?  I am permanently and severely injured and have been since age eleven.


Tomorrow evening is when I dance for survival.


Some people dance as a hobby.  Some people Waltz and Ballroom and go to the club  or disco every month or maybe every few years when they can afford a babysitter.


I haven’t danced since two thousand and seven.  Or is it two thousand and eight?


I mean I have spent countless hours in covered garages.      A wheeled chair moves differently than a wheelchair.  It requires a flat surface with plenty of turning space.


Cars and trucks roared up and down the steep Honolulu enclosed slopes, sometimes pausing to offer help, usually zipping past my iPod ~ ish endeavors without seeming to notice me, my walker or my mobility dog.


I saw the motorized vehicles, stayed out of their way, ignored them.


My legs rapidly going backwards forwards against gravity with momentum my knees to my ears, my feet in heavy black boots painting outside the lines, my femurs creating an ever ~ changing cycle  of disappearing and re ~ appearing ramps, brief forms like uplifting bridges, hips wide solid planted to the seat, my four ~ wheeled seated walker  occasionally tipping like an over ~ sized skateboard rather than a serious medical tool.


Late at night, becoming restlessly alive.  Early in the morning covertly enthusiastic.  Afraid my joy would be taken from me.




I tend to become timeless when I dance.


In the moment when I am rolling backwards or testing how my walker spins when descending a sharp grade, I forget to judge my life harshly.  Performing on stage has, at times, been the only activity I cared about enough to actually do.


I forget to be afraid of someone stopping me to tell me I’m not really dancing because I am not standing up.


Mostly, I forget to be afraid.


When I am not dancing, I wonder if there is anyone else who understands or anyone who cares.


It is a process, dancing away fear. When I danced alone on the cement, I avoided detection as if I had something to feel guilty about.


What I fear is someone, anyone, will remind me about losing my Dad five days before my past greatest on ~ stage dance/theatre achievement.  Around two thousand nine hundred and twenty days ago.


Then they might ask if I had heard from Inez, my co ~ performer or if I had produced anything recently with my band of volunteer Usher’s from On The Boards.


Then they might ask me why don’t I produce theatre anymore. Or why I live with my Mom.  And why don’t I dance or write or didn’t I used to be excited about how brains and bodies played and worked in harmony.




Tomorrow evening is when I dance for survival.   Tomorrow evening is when I dance for my family, friends and everyone I love although they can’t be there.


I am going to dance a revenge dance if I remember.


It might as well be August 17th.

However, I am no longer an eleven ~ year old kid, temporarily named Jane Doe.



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