You guys, I'm back. YES, the Impulse Itself is vibing high and vital! Screaming surging pulsing pressing to get out and witnessed, or at least not to just stay bubbling under the surface any longer.
Can a blog that started only six years ago be called vintage? No haha and I am alright by that bc I dowhatiwant and also, yes of course it can--bc in this high-wire frame of techno overdrive time blogging is as yesterday as MySpace so holllaaaa and whatev. Who's gonna stick with what feels good anyway?
Ya. Def this girl.
So for two years I worked out my esoteric witchy wisdom stuff over on Wild Women Wisdom. I'm really hella proud of that project and how it informed me as a tool through which I could be self-taught. That whole time, (and still) I was getting fed from the bottom on up by my education in depth-influenced counseling psychology at Pacifica Graduate Institute. For the past several months I have been behind the scenes, relying on the old persona of KadadaB to work it out for me as I begin to coalese the old with the new in order to focus actively on what will yet be! So STOKED!
Wild Women Wisdom is slowly changing into the hub of my women's coaching practice. I am focusing on self-empowerment, whole-bodied practical day to day meeting of yourself where you're at and learning to love and live your self, through whatever responsibilities and roles are alive and real in your life as a woman. I am happy to work with men too! I will also specialize in The Women's Work, or the Menstrual Mysteries, which is helping women to embody their personal tides until they are no longer mysteries! A life's work, for sure…I offer Skype sessions right now, can see clients in an office space in San Juan Capistrano, and (especially for more ritual or sacred-based work) in my home.
Ultimately--and here's the exciting stuff to me! The seeds of what yet will be! Woot woot--I will be incorporating--ever so slowly, my goal of doing the Social aspect of Permaculture work. SoCIal Perm. I'll be using Wild Women Wisdom to mostly work that out but you know there's no separating soul--so stay tuned on here to learn--WITH ME!!--more about what I mean by that. We'll learn together, since that's always how I do this jam.
The Impulse Vintage Series will be alive-- again! Horay. Bc sure as I am living I need a place to express all the minute expressions of the holy mundane coming through me and that I'm out there relating to each day. In this way, I re-Christen this blog, at the season of Samhain, holy celebratory tide of reverence for the dead. From which comes all new life.
To Poetry, as a way of being, living, seeing. Getting it all down~ holy act of self-creation. Amen Amen Amen.
I love you guys! Play on~
"It is play, not properness, that is the central artery, the core, the brain stem of creative life. The impulse to play is an instinct..."~Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Showing posts with label wild women wisdom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wild women wisdom. Show all posts
November 1, 2014
November 9, 2012
When the dark time of year gets here
This is the second Friday in a row I have spent with no agenda. Today and last week included time on my little square deck that's built into the canyon wall. I deeply soaked in to the feel of the land around me. The trees, the exotic green, the breeze out of nowhere then gone again, the happy dance it did on my skin. The sun, on its fall retreat.
Yesterday my cousin Erin called. I was on my way to the grocery store in Laguna Woods, where everyone is over 70 and more than once I had to help an oldtimer pick out food or manage what was directly in front of them. I followed my inner knowing it said cook something golden delicious and fatty for me that's what I so, so need. Erin laughed, totally understanding and in the same spot. She lost her mom three months ago. Her mom Mary was young, a teacher, loved the sea and nature, loved her family and to be active outdoors. In the last year of Mary's life much of those loves were taken from her--that is she had to give them up. She raised her head anyways and walked with courage and grace through it all. These past three months I've tried to do the same. I've been so grief-struck though I couldn't even comprehend the grief itself.
Erin and I found one another on similar shores last weekend, having both finally stopped the ceaseless running, willing to slow down. How significant I thought, same weekend as the time change. No fighting it a second more, and indeed we talked all last weekend in grateful surrender--we had to enter the season of the dark. It was time. My body, yesterday, begged for more of the same. I cooked the most delicious verde enchiladas. Baked my cousin Erin in. Laid on my couch and ate them in front of netflix all night, with black cherry soda and red velvet cookies to wash them down. I was seized, out of nowhere, by the most rapid tears in the middle of a movie of vignettes about different women. I let them come out and snuggled deeper on my couch. The rain made fat airy sounds on the concrete from out my window screen . This, this aloneness, this powerless over life's biggest swings and atrocities, this is why people fear the night. In my Women Who Run With the Wolves book, since Mary died I've drawn the same thing. The story about Baba Yaga, and the girl who because of her motherlessness must face the dark, hard sides of life. Those are her psychic tasks, her work in her own personal inner or under world. To confront the dark or fearfulness that lay within and gain the ferocity of strength that comes by completing that part.
This is what we do on a spiritual level when the dark time of year gets here. We look at how we are human, often so connected to what we fear. Tuesday in the afternoon the moon is new... it is Lunar Samhain, or Lunar New Year. The dark moon after the final harvest of fall. When we look if we dare at the kneedeep shit, all that detritus that will grow the new seeds in us through this winter's dark. My gain and blessings this year have been enormous. Because this is life: the way of circular, spiraling path, of the balance within of human and holy being kept--my loss and pain have also been profound. I enter the dark hallow now--we all do. I bless it all, surrender to the hard with the light and good. It is not good it is not bad, it is rather the seeds of both from inside the same. We are where we need to be, right on time. The end, and also, how to begin.
Yesterday my cousin Erin called. I was on my way to the grocery store in Laguna Woods, where everyone is over 70 and more than once I had to help an oldtimer pick out food or manage what was directly in front of them. I followed my inner knowing it said cook something golden delicious and fatty for me that's what I so, so need. Erin laughed, totally understanding and in the same spot. She lost her mom three months ago. Her mom Mary was young, a teacher, loved the sea and nature, loved her family and to be active outdoors. In the last year of Mary's life much of those loves were taken from her--that is she had to give them up. She raised her head anyways and walked with courage and grace through it all. These past three months I've tried to do the same. I've been so grief-struck though I couldn't even comprehend the grief itself.
Erin and I found one another on similar shores last weekend, having both finally stopped the ceaseless running, willing to slow down. How significant I thought, same weekend as the time change. No fighting it a second more, and indeed we talked all last weekend in grateful surrender--we had to enter the season of the dark. It was time. My body, yesterday, begged for more of the same. I cooked the most delicious verde enchiladas. Baked my cousin Erin in. Laid on my couch and ate them in front of netflix all night, with black cherry soda and red velvet cookies to wash them down. I was seized, out of nowhere, by the most rapid tears in the middle of a movie of vignettes about different women. I let them come out and snuggled deeper on my couch. The rain made fat airy sounds on the concrete from out my window screen . This, this aloneness, this powerless over life's biggest swings and atrocities, this is why people fear the night. In my Women Who Run With the Wolves book, since Mary died I've drawn the same thing. The story about Baba Yaga, and the girl who because of her motherlessness must face the dark, hard sides of life. Those are her psychic tasks, her work in her own personal inner or under world. To confront the dark or fearfulness that lay within and gain the ferocity of strength that comes by completing that part.
This is what we do on a spiritual level when the dark time of year gets here. We look at how we are human, often so connected to what we fear. Tuesday in the afternoon the moon is new... it is Lunar Samhain, or Lunar New Year. The dark moon after the final harvest of fall. When we look if we dare at the kneedeep shit, all that detritus that will grow the new seeds in us through this winter's dark. My gain and blessings this year have been enormous. Because this is life: the way of circular, spiraling path, of the balance within of human and holy being kept--my loss and pain have also been profound. I enter the dark hallow now--we all do. I bless it all, surrender to the hard with the light and good. It is not good it is not bad, it is rather the seeds of both from inside the same. We are where we need to be, right on time. The end, and also, how to begin.
October 23, 2012
With the mere mind and heart
I moved to Laguna because one day in May on a field trip my students and I hiked the canyon at Crystal Cove. That day for the first time since I'd been south I felt the mama impulse in my blood. That means I could feel the land rise and fall, it means that my breathe as if breathing earth particles caught then plummeted in silent then threshold spirit-plateaus. Like the earth was actually breathing me. I forgot how it felt to be so connected to the green, even though it was coming to me in my dreams. I looked on the map when I got back to my room in Huntington that day and saw the wilderness surrounding Laguna. In the most quiet place in my heart where I go when I get still or maybe where stillness goes when I get my heart I quieted then asked me, I mean spirit-me, what do you want and this little apartment here, that's what, when the silence parted, I could see. Fall has never had such a thrill.
The two first months here I ran in constant press in preparation for grad school which was between two major trips back east. It was not until Beth came the weekend before last that I could be here, now. Grief can be so hectic the way it pushes you around.
Tonight I made dinner then sat outside under my plants and twinkle lights the canyon walls above me houses constellating the ridge like touchable stars. Oh big California, oh rancher artist adobe houses on cliffs I could put 9 of my little apartments inside. 12 if you count your deck. 16 your garage and carport with the at least two antique cars....
In the last two chapters of one of my textbooks for gradschool I read about contemplative therapies. I was sitting in the crazy sun. I learned that Maslow and others have long issued what came to me those early months my first fall out of college, when I gave myself to poetry and meditation each and every day. That human consciousness, for most of us, is in its infancy. That with the mere mind and heart alone we are capable of sheer galaxies inside. I strapped in, alone, back then and have never stopped enjoying the ride. Since then it has been my only and final guide.
It's nice to be not so alone in that anymore. To know what this path has all been for, or to have one tiny clue anyhow. It's really nice to be outside at dinner, in the warm fall in California, the mama hush cradling me in her round green Laguna arms.
The two first months here I ran in constant press in preparation for grad school which was between two major trips back east. It was not until Beth came the weekend before last that I could be here, now. Grief can be so hectic the way it pushes you around.
Tonight I made dinner then sat outside under my plants and twinkle lights the canyon walls above me houses constellating the ridge like touchable stars. Oh big California, oh rancher artist adobe houses on cliffs I could put 9 of my little apartments inside. 12 if you count your deck. 16 your garage and carport with the at least two antique cars....
In the last two chapters of one of my textbooks for gradschool I read about contemplative therapies. I was sitting in the crazy sun. I learned that Maslow and others have long issued what came to me those early months my first fall out of college, when I gave myself to poetry and meditation each and every day. That human consciousness, for most of us, is in its infancy. That with the mere mind and heart alone we are capable of sheer galaxies inside. I strapped in, alone, back then and have never stopped enjoying the ride. Since then it has been my only and final guide.
It's nice to be not so alone in that anymore. To know what this path has all been for, or to have one tiny clue anyhow. It's really nice to be outside at dinner, in the warm fall in California, the mama hush cradling me in her round green Laguna arms.
October 17, 2012
Enjoy. Settle in.
All these marvels jigsawing across the floating screens in my head. It is two weeks since I've blogged but that doesn't stop me from composing in my mind. From wanting to tell you, funny computer page, about the yellow fall light it's different not for its bright but its shadows, how a dark edge can make the radiance so much more succinct Understand, if you can, the way the brown earth rises from the sea at Crystal Cove, how the crowns of land remind me of low tide on the Choptank River where I used to jump from tump to tump, where the fragmite grows. I want to tell you that my friend is on the road in canyon country and that talking to him made me see the Anasazi riches and how the gnosis of that energy once lived me deep and whole on that same land. Made me smell the high-nosed sugar of the black-green pines, made me exalt Coconino coconino...ahh Kaibab. O to truly live off the land. Enchanted. Poet wanderer on the road, any person on the road. And me, for the first time, the first ever when talking to such a person, did not yearn to move, felt no ache no pressing that said go get out go be and allow, no hard thin line in me with no words but an urge that says must go be simply in the flow. Do you get it white page? What that feels like, the outbreath? The exhalation of these roots, straight down are meant to grow?
I spent last fall in the mountains under the tall trees. I watched magic manifest. I am here now, fall again, a different setting, just as blessed. I am plugged in to this, am plugging in now, to my real life. To what I want to build, to grow, powering on and in to the best parts of who I am. Or can be, or become. As recently as (my most recent) trip east I was near that quitten point, with the drain-strain of exhaustion nipping at my heels and running tapes in my head. The only thing worse than regret is doubt and I believe the two shadow box from an arm with two fake fists. Thankfully the lesson of retract curved me in its hand, I remembered the heir of patience which is acceptance, blends to compassion, softens in to loving tenderness with my self. Is the gentle loving hush that sings Slowww down. Sink down.
Enjoy...
Settle in.
I spent last fall in the mountains under the tall trees. I watched magic manifest. I am here now, fall again, a different setting, just as blessed. I am plugged in to this, am plugging in now, to my real life. To what I want to build, to grow, powering on and in to the best parts of who I am. Or can be, or become. As recently as (my most recent) trip east I was near that quitten point, with the drain-strain of exhaustion nipping at my heels and running tapes in my head. The only thing worse than regret is doubt and I believe the two shadow box from an arm with two fake fists. Thankfully the lesson of retract curved me in its hand, I remembered the heir of patience which is acceptance, blends to compassion, softens in to loving tenderness with my self. Is the gentle loving hush that sings Slowww down. Sink down.
Enjoy...
Settle in.
October 4, 2012
To tame this head
The Eastern Shore is the rural, country side of Maryland. It is flat but full of agricultural and watermen history, you can almost see its bias and charm in the fog banks that stack thick on a fall day like today. The Chesapeake Bay divides the shore from the stretch of urban corridor between Annapolis, DC, and Baltimore where I am right now. Over there, or the other side is what Shore people call it here.
The last time I was here in this shop I lived on the shore. I had edits due to Erika; her most recent submission of Hemingway's Girl. It didn't have a contract on it yet. She didn't even have an agent then. In such little time so much can change.
My cousin Erin drove us to Annapolis this morning. Last night sort of late we went to Ellicot City, my favorite place to go in the fall. Later of course it was Sex and the City reruns in her bed. We parted ways this morning at her car, she to the State House where she works me to the Hard Bean where now I can write and study and be the Kelly that inside me really is and needs to be. It's been a whirlwind, in San Antonio with mom and dad the Montezuma Cypresses hung over us on the river walk and talked low like they knew our names. A Mexican man fell in love with me and spoke in Spanish about the true ancient heritage of my tattoo. It made me laugh in a gentle way and turn red. It's the first time anyone has done that, ever, in spanish Los Indios, Los Aztecos...not one of my Mexican friends ever knew, not one. Coatalique in the eyes, lore of female divine still living in our unconscious but in the temporal from day to day she is dead. In Austin I stayed on a ranch with 26 other McMullens for the weekend. It was like being a child again at Gram and Pops at the beach. People on mattresses on the floor and every couch bodied. Kate looked like a Grecian princess in the times of the Goddess on her wedding day. We made a circle around them and I couldn't stop the hot tears that ran the whole time. Now I'm here, Maryland where I'm from, time at Uncle Tim's where I slept all night two nights ago, the first time I've done that since Mary went in the hospital. Time with Brian my brother in Canton and my family in Pennsylvania, too.
And now time with me today, before I meet with my brother Sean and Aunt Sue, to write poems and sing this soul of mine back to life. Out the shop front the boat show is setting up, years ago I worked twelve hour shifts at Pussers back to back because boat show weekend brings all the tips. I lived here then and was going to marry a man named Joe. Years after that I came here to the docks on my first date with Brandon, who I would spend six years with in a farmhouse deep in the country of the Eastern Shore. Growing veggies and swapping music and fresh eggs. Years after that I came up here to meet with Erika, begin this phase which has been all about the soul song, all about trusting that there is no arrival, just a path that presses and spirals, and cycles on.
Good for me to think on that today. To tame this head that really wants to know about ...Years from now...? That really loves to wrap up in the different experiences of home.
The last time I was here in this shop I lived on the shore. I had edits due to Erika; her most recent submission of Hemingway's Girl. It didn't have a contract on it yet. She didn't even have an agent then. In such little time so much can change.
My cousin Erin drove us to Annapolis this morning. Last night sort of late we went to Ellicot City, my favorite place to go in the fall. Later of course it was Sex and the City reruns in her bed. We parted ways this morning at her car, she to the State House where she works me to the Hard Bean where now I can write and study and be the Kelly that inside me really is and needs to be. It's been a whirlwind, in San Antonio with mom and dad the Montezuma Cypresses hung over us on the river walk and talked low like they knew our names. A Mexican man fell in love with me and spoke in Spanish about the true ancient heritage of my tattoo. It made me laugh in a gentle way and turn red. It's the first time anyone has done that, ever, in spanish Los Indios, Los Aztecos...not one of my Mexican friends ever knew, not one. Coatalique in the eyes, lore of female divine still living in our unconscious but in the temporal from day to day she is dead. In Austin I stayed on a ranch with 26 other McMullens for the weekend. It was like being a child again at Gram and Pops at the beach. People on mattresses on the floor and every couch bodied. Kate looked like a Grecian princess in the times of the Goddess on her wedding day. We made a circle around them and I couldn't stop the hot tears that ran the whole time. Now I'm here, Maryland where I'm from, time at Uncle Tim's where I slept all night two nights ago, the first time I've done that since Mary went in the hospital. Time with Brian my brother in Canton and my family in Pennsylvania, too.
And now time with me today, before I meet with my brother Sean and Aunt Sue, to write poems and sing this soul of mine back to life. Out the shop front the boat show is setting up, years ago I worked twelve hour shifts at Pussers back to back because boat show weekend brings all the tips. I lived here then and was going to marry a man named Joe. Years after that I came here to the docks on my first date with Brandon, who I would spend six years with in a farmhouse deep in the country of the Eastern Shore. Growing veggies and swapping music and fresh eggs. Years after that I came up here to meet with Erika, begin this phase which has been all about the soul song, all about trusting that there is no arrival, just a path that presses and spirals, and cycles on.
Good for me to think on that today. To tame this head that really wants to know about ...Years from now...? That really loves to wrap up in the different experiences of home.
July 22, 2012
The only ones who get it
The week after next will be one year since I got in the car to drive to California. With no place to live and no real plan. I arrived at Mike's in Newport Beach on the 8th of August. I had my first breakfast with Mo on her backporch in Santa Cruz on August 15. Days later she took me north to farm and meet Em and Bebe and Nicky and Jon and everyone. These people who became my precious family in SoHum. I have messages saved on my VM that make me smile or grateful...Erika saying she's closing in on a book deal. Erin shhhmrrring....My brother repeating the word farts... My sohum fam, one from Em and one from Jon each calling me Mama in character, with a tone of voice that immediately draws laugh-based tears. That was one year ago. On August 15 this year I will move in to my own studio apartment in Laguna Beach. A mile up the canyon, surrounded by green trees.
I haven't had my own place since I officially left behind Easton, my job at the Community College, and the final remnants of life I'd created in Chestertown in May 2010. The next two years were intermediary. A long, major crossing. I went to my then love Brandon in April 08 and said I want to go to California for grad school. Four years later my application is now in, same school as the grad packet that was in my hands all the way back then. I am waiting. Awaiting. Primed to move, to lock things in. This next step so timely, and so long in coming.
One night this past week I watched the sun go down with Jott on the other end of the phone. I cried a lot and put some things to rest. Her friendship one of the prime bounties that came from those two years in-between. I talked to Gretchen another night and laughed the wild laugh the whole time. This women who continues, again and again, to see to my rounds. Bebe called Thursday and I lay on the ottoman in my room, my back half-hanging down, in the lavender-smelling orange-lit candled-air. My fan turning, Bebe and I in communion over the passing of her mom. Sonoma, my life with her, just one corner ago--just January--but so much living this year that it feels so long ago. I did little this weekend other than sleep on the clear blue beach. I swam, alot. Finally. I feel whole, rhythmic, much as I can connected and whole to the many different parts of all of who I am.
In Starbucks now a dad holds his baby girl on his lap in the most tender, devoted way. It's just the same gesture as my brother with his baby girl on Skype this morning. Not one part of me considers my life any differently than it is right now. Wishes that it had gone any other way. Here I am, with me, about to go whole-heartedly after me. My place, my book, my students and teaching, my avocation. The beach and bike rides the sun and palm trees. I am quiet, not in awe, just still. I wanted everything on the shelf. Every cake and muffin every tart and scone. Every last treat so I helped my self. A cookie and a donut. Sometimes a girl deserves more than just the one.
It's quiet, sometimes, the little marks and occasions that pass. How we are the only ones who get it, who really know.
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July 8, 2012
A way back
So I am going to try to blog more.
(Got that Kelly, here it is, in contract!) I told Erika over email I will check-in on my blog as much as I can. I will rely on the only thing I've ever fully committed to--writing--as the frame to help me commit to the other new changes on the helm. Writing, which I once wrote is my tool, and my reward. How it keys me in, cuts my trail in to my inside. Then leaves an archive map, a way back, to who I am just behind.
Summerland on Friday was so rad. When I used to sit in my room in the Pines and relax and breathe and listen to my poemas de la luna on Pandora over and over again I would feel where on the map in California that I belonged. And it was always Ventura. All along.
Not that I'll move. Just, I can't wait to have this reason to go there where the trees breathe and the coast is quiet once a month. This reason, this commitment to myself. In a book I got at the bookstore at Pacifica on Friday it says They need to mature before they will be able to protect themselves. The book is about unfolding the sacred in women and the quote refers to symbology in the dreams of the two writers. Symbols speaking to the burgeon of understanding they were growing of their individual spirits. And I read this, and knew communion. And thought yes, yes. These next steps are about that. I know where I am heading, always have. But I must go make this deep passing now. I need to mature my vision so that I will know how to protect it. And in protecting it, allow it its process to grow.
Nick and Norah's was great. It made me want a boyfriend to run around in whimsy with taking random roadtrips up PCH stopping to eat ice cream and singing really loud out the windows. It made me relish the youth in me. Going to Derryn's today for a BBQ. Looking forward to yoga and a long bike ride in the sun. Talking to Beth tonight.
There. Check in, number 1.
(Got that Kelly, here it is, in contract!) I told Erika over email I will check-in on my blog as much as I can. I will rely on the only thing I've ever fully committed to--writing--as the frame to help me commit to the other new changes on the helm. Writing, which I once wrote is my tool, and my reward. How it keys me in, cuts my trail in to my inside. Then leaves an archive map, a way back, to who I am just behind.
Summerland on Friday was so rad. When I used to sit in my room in the Pines and relax and breathe and listen to my poemas de la luna on Pandora over and over again I would feel where on the map in California that I belonged. And it was always Ventura. All along.
Not that I'll move. Just, I can't wait to have this reason to go there where the trees breathe and the coast is quiet once a month. This reason, this commitment to myself. In a book I got at the bookstore at Pacifica on Friday it says They need to mature before they will be able to protect themselves. The book is about unfolding the sacred in women and the quote refers to symbology in the dreams of the two writers. Symbols speaking to the burgeon of understanding they were growing of their individual spirits. And I read this, and knew communion. And thought yes, yes. These next steps are about that. I know where I am heading, always have. But I must go make this deep passing now. I need to mature my vision so that I will know how to protect it. And in protecting it, allow it its process to grow.
Nick and Norah's was great. It made me want a boyfriend to run around in whimsy with taking random roadtrips up PCH stopping to eat ice cream and singing really loud out the windows. It made me relish the youth in me. Going to Derryn's today for a BBQ. Looking forward to yoga and a long bike ride in the sun. Talking to Beth tonight.
There. Check in, number 1.
June 19, 2012
Your irreverent wild women crazy laughing friends
Northeast out of Bakersfield it's green on the map. The kind of green I learned a long time ago to give my attention. I took off from Huntington by 10 expecting to be setting camp surrounded by sequoias by 2. A road trip's a road trip tho--so it didn't happen that way.
I detoured off the 5 because of traffic just north of LA, did a bigass square in the desert and wound up in Tehachapi. Tehachapi I hate you all your ignorant dust and heat. When I go I will come back to haunt the dreams of the ones I have loved and I will do so in order to prove one thing. Those windmills, those dreadful mechanical prisons those things are living dismal proof of aliens among us and that will say a lot, because open-spirited as people will remember me a conspirator I am not. But they hardline me a panic that runs my blood and so Sierras your foothills with those mills I drove and all the whole time I did so I screamed. Man screams to maybe get that fierce knowledge out of me. Windmills are not of this time or land I know it in my blood aww, man. Tehachapi you are not my love.
Kern River Canyon would have to be where I'd lay my head. The camp host looked me through he said Alone? You're sure? I looked over my shoulder to my back seat, I poked at my purse next to me and checked under there. Yep I said, I'm sure of it, just me. I wanted nothing but quiet I just needed green and quiet and to feel the earth breathe. But that's not what I told him when he said well what do you need? Just a place to sleep...We're full he said. Then stared a long time at me, the joker in his eye. Unless you want to go to the overflow.
He told me follow him and go slow. We drove the canyon upstream. When we parked I listened when he said get out of the car. Pablo he called to a man supervising a small tent city being tucked against a yellow and saged earth wall. This is Pablo this is his camp he says to me to him he goes this girl's alone and needs to be fed and taken care of. I laughed at this point it was too funny and I didn't care what would happen. Pablo shakes my hand and looks through my eyes to way inside too. The host goes I been working these woods 20 years I know what people need when they come here. Pablo and his family are good you can stay for free with them this weekend if Pablo says...and if you want that is. Pablo nods then calls Maria! And over comes the woman who will be my tia for the next two days. If your tias like my aunts back east are also your irreverent wild women crazy laughing friends. Who in one breath feed you homemade food that makes you cry it's so good and in the next drop cold in on the truth in your heart you only half-see or want purposefully half-hid.
I have many new tias now a whole familia in fact because that's what she wanted of me, la mama tierra madre when she used her green breath all this time to call me back. We sweat together in the 100 degree heat in Kern River stream under canyon trees all twenty of us and I spoke spanish and them english and they fed me, and took care of me, indeed. So the road yet again leads me home to me, in a twisted unexpected way when I let it, the road whose funny trickery always gives me what I need.
I detoured off the 5 because of traffic just north of LA, did a bigass square in the desert and wound up in Tehachapi. Tehachapi I hate you all your ignorant dust and heat. When I go I will come back to haunt the dreams of the ones I have loved and I will do so in order to prove one thing. Those windmills, those dreadful mechanical prisons those things are living dismal proof of aliens among us and that will say a lot, because open-spirited as people will remember me a conspirator I am not. But they hardline me a panic that runs my blood and so Sierras your foothills with those mills I drove and all the whole time I did so I screamed. Man screams to maybe get that fierce knowledge out of me. Windmills are not of this time or land I know it in my blood aww, man. Tehachapi you are not my love.
Kern River Canyon would have to be where I'd lay my head. The camp host looked me through he said Alone? You're sure? I looked over my shoulder to my back seat, I poked at my purse next to me and checked under there. Yep I said, I'm sure of it, just me. I wanted nothing but quiet I just needed green and quiet and to feel the earth breathe. But that's not what I told him when he said well what do you need? Just a place to sleep...We're full he said. Then stared a long time at me, the joker in his eye. Unless you want to go to the overflow.
He told me follow him and go slow. We drove the canyon upstream. When we parked I listened when he said get out of the car. Pablo he called to a man supervising a small tent city being tucked against a yellow and saged earth wall. This is Pablo this is his camp he says to me to him he goes this girl's alone and needs to be fed and taken care of. I laughed at this point it was too funny and I didn't care what would happen. Pablo shakes my hand and looks through my eyes to way inside too. The host goes I been working these woods 20 years I know what people need when they come here. Pablo and his family are good you can stay for free with them this weekend if Pablo says...and if you want that is. Pablo nods then calls Maria! And over comes the woman who will be my tia for the next two days. If your tias like my aunts back east are also your irreverent wild women crazy laughing friends. Who in one breath feed you homemade food that makes you cry it's so good and in the next drop cold in on the truth in your heart you only half-see or want purposefully half-hid.
I have many new tias now a whole familia in fact because that's what she wanted of me, la mama tierra madre when she used her green breath all this time to call me back. We sweat together in the 100 degree heat in Kern River stream under canyon trees all twenty of us and I spoke spanish and them english and they fed me, and took care of me, indeed. So the road yet again leads me home to me, in a twisted unexpected way when I let it, the road whose funny trickery always gives me what I need.
May 30, 2012
Sometimes it's suntime
The jasmine here is delirious. Some day it will be normal to say well back when I first came to California I remember smelling the jasmine. It comes on right when lightening bug season comes on in Maryland and I would smell it riding my bike around the little beach town where I went to live and write in the sun like I always said I would. I would smell it and wonder what godly gypsy-scented air is that so high and full in my nose, even more flowery sweet than honeysuckle is? I would smell it and almost gag and think my god earth we get it, you're here! With your fertile sticky yellows and greens. I would smell it on the way to cut loose at the beach for just an hour between grading exams and writing and on the beach I would smell the seaweed and feel so in love with my moment to moment life it felt like there was a halo in my heart. Or I would smell it at a light in Corona when the white sun so fierce as it grew more and more close shone down on my head through the sunroof of my 20 year old car and I would pretend I was in a movie about California driving PCH in a convertible driven by a scarf wearing 1950's actress glamorous as she was innocent. So much whimsy it's serious, or is it the other way around?
That will be someday. For now I am in that funny place that happens to me right before I get truly comfy. Reviewing all the reasons to split. Which is not so much review as it is thinking of all the amazing other things going on in all the other places I could be right now. Eeeek. There are permaculture havens in Equador. There are tribes of aloha spirits in Hawaii and in one week the Big Island came to me three different times. This is what happens. I get to the footwork part of actualizing what I really want and then this wild card I have inside me flips. Which is why I will go to the woods to feed my spirit. It's funny Ed Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros literally just sung 'sometimes said its suntime let the sun shine on my mind' and it seems to fit. Exactly. There's all these million needs we need. But really, they come down to just a few. I need the sun and the sea and sand. I need the green breathing trees. I need poetry and relationships and love and to move my body. I need to say yes to my spirit when it asks can you hear. Sometimes it's suntime....
That's not a lot. Why's saying yes take so long to learn though?
April 26, 2012
When she's ready to speak
The sea has its own language and if you know how to listen the trees give hints of when she's ready to speak.
I don't want to write today, that's the only reason I am. This is discipline, what Beth and Amy have helped me learn with repeated reminders: No effort is wasted. I woke up yesterday from a nap in the afternoon and could hear the tree-talk, the way the palm fronds were enlivening the air. This is different from hearing them move in the wind. It was raining, then it wasn't, then it was, then no. There was a cloud-line of grey and gold light. There was dance on the air. I got up, sad, unsure, didn't even comb my hair. Just got my shoes and purse then drove to the beach.
I took pictures from PCH, thought of Aunt Lori. Talked to Mandy in the spirit way. Took off my flip-flops with my toes and walked down the stairs in to the sand. And then there was stillness, and ocean-speak. I just sat a long time and listened, the way the ocean noise is sometimes just like breath.
On Monday before my cousin Erin left to fly back to Maryland we took our annual dip in the sea to cleanse us of the winter funk. This is the first time it happened in the Pacific. There will be more. After we got out, a pod of dolphins flipped and played in the ocean straight out in front of where we were. Dolphins, who play just to play. We laid there a long while, sang This Little Light of Mine, let the memories of her visit saturate. We had burgers at a burger shack and then I drove her to LAX to say goodbye.
There is nothing easy about this, it keeps saying in my head now, days later. She reminded me of a memory in 1997, on the day our grandmother died. Erin was about to be 12. I was 20. We were driving. I was driving--her, our four other girl cousins in my car--the oldest was 13, and Total Eclipse of the Heart came on and I explained that that's what happened. Our hearts went dark just for a minute when Gram left, but now every time we hear that song it would be her saying hi and bringing her light. I cried, fat funny tears sitting in the diner on Sunday, when she reminded me of that. We both did.
It's amazing how family will always keep us tethered to who we truly are. It's amazing how easy this is, and also how hard.
January 26, 2012
I'll make good decisions and see things more whole.
Deborah sent me back to California with a box full of homemade toffee and for three days all I ate for breakfast and lunch came out of that little box. Toffee and coffee, sugar and caffeine. It was a cheap way, and convenient, to stay powered. Now I'm in Eureka, old town which has been nicely revitalized even since I was here in 2004, writing. And drinking the best Americano ever. The toffee here makes me happy because there's only one piece of it, so I'm savoring, plus it is wet outside but not too cold, so the downtown dock air smells thick with salt.
Em took me to the herb store before her and Nick split, when we were done I realized my phone was missing and probably was left in the motel. I got back there and the woman was halfway through cleaning our room. My phone was nestled in my winter hat on her cart. She was happy to see me so happy. Timing. Timing is everything.
And my timing right now is that aligned with medicine of gypsy. I gave appropriate space for the decompression from Earth Activist Training that my psyche needed from me, on just the other side of that sat the details of living arrangements for the next few months. So I've retreated a few days, not to figure anything out but just to relax and shake it loose and have some fun, knowing this step is part of the alchemy of alignment. I got on the road yesterday to see Nick and Em, light and open music and floating up the 101. We ate, danced, did our thing. Slept in a cheap motel stinking of bleach. Today I'm a poetry girl and am looking forward to a sweat in the Arcata sauna-steam. All this, and knowing complete that when I get back to Monte Rio and the Cazadero hills I'll make good decisions and see things more whole. I'll see things all the way through.
A hike tomorrow, among the oldest and roundest redwoods, some quiet time and witnessing how they do and have always stood. That too will bring gyspy rightness. The magic of all-good.
Em took me to the herb store before her and Nick split, when we were done I realized my phone was missing and probably was left in the motel. I got back there and the woman was halfway through cleaning our room. My phone was nestled in my winter hat on her cart. She was happy to see me so happy. Timing. Timing is everything.
And my timing right now is that aligned with medicine of gypsy. I gave appropriate space for the decompression from Earth Activist Training that my psyche needed from me, on just the other side of that sat the details of living arrangements for the next few months. So I've retreated a few days, not to figure anything out but just to relax and shake it loose and have some fun, knowing this step is part of the alchemy of alignment. I got on the road yesterday to see Nick and Em, light and open music and floating up the 101. We ate, danced, did our thing. Slept in a cheap motel stinking of bleach. Today I'm a poetry girl and am looking forward to a sweat in the Arcata sauna-steam. All this, and knowing complete that when I get back to Monte Rio and the Cazadero hills I'll make good decisions and see things more whole. I'll see things all the way through.
A hike tomorrow, among the oldest and roundest redwoods, some quiet time and witnessing how they do and have always stood. That too will bring gyspy rightness. The magic of all-good.
January 16, 2012
Say YES
I think this might be the right time to share something really important.
If no one's told you today, if a song hasn't inspired it, if an overheard conversation in the bank line didn't make you raise a brow, if the sight of the sun going down wasn't just the right majesty to make your heart open, then hear this. Please:
It is never, ever too late to follow what your heart is telling you it deeply wants.
It is not whim.
It is your calling. Never doubt the great swiftness by which Life will align to move you exactly where you are meant to be. Don't be stuck on the why or how.
There is tremendous courage and unseen answers that come, simply by saying YES.
Say YES.
If no one's told you today, if a song hasn't inspired it, if an overheard conversation in the bank line didn't make you raise a brow, if the sight of the sun going down wasn't just the right majesty to make your heart open, then hear this. Please:
It is never, ever too late to follow what your heart is telling you it deeply wants.
It is not whim.
It is your calling. Never doubt the great swiftness by which Life will align to move you exactly where you are meant to be. Don't be stuck on the why or how.
There is tremendous courage and unseen answers that come, simply by saying YES.
Say YES.
January 13, 2012
This was all cement.
One of my favorite things is riding in the back seat of someone's car.
As most people, I am a recovering control freak. I have several years of active recovery in this area, and one of the finest remedies for it has become a knack of mine: I'm really good now at just showing up to the moment if other people or new experiences are involved, showing up and being open, and going with the flow. Which is why I think that one of my secret joys is riding in the back seat of someone else's car with no say over where were headed. Just giving over to the moment, happy to be going wherever it is I am going. It is such simple fun. Five gypsy women, five thirty or almost thirty somethings riding in a car. Single, gypsies, funny, happy, wise. DeVotchKa on, sun almost down, radiant plume-air and shadows of pine canopies twisting all around.
In September on a date with me I randomly found this town called Sebastopol. I spent four hours there, in the buoyant sunshine of the market, on my knees in the used bookstore, smiling and milling on the sidewalks, grinning at strangers like they were friends I was about to meet. Today I went there, me and four gypsies, and also me and forty-five others, to our instructor's house one street away from sunny downtown.
"This was all cement" he said. One third an acre is what he was talking about, tho whole of his land. All cement when he bought it, an old ratty lot. We ooohhh'd and ahhhh'd. Now a food forest Permaculture Neighborhood Center only three years later. One of his six water tanks for rain catchment hold 4000 gallons of captured rain water, or the equivalent of drinking water for his family for three months. We ate fresh veggie cob-oven baked spelt pizzas for lunch. The awe goes on and on.
While he showed us his garden guild he paused at the nitrogen fixers and ran his hand through a literal stalk of sage. It broke mid way down in the most gentle way, literally fell in to his hand. He grinned and horay'd, it was white sage, what I and many other gypsy wild types love to burn for smudging. The group accepted it to take back to camp, an offering from Eric's most amazing land.
I make fun of hippies. I really do. But really, we have fun and love our lives and you can't make this stuff up, so fun is more than okay.
Go here to learn more, and see the before and afters of Eric's lot.
As most people, I am a recovering control freak. I have several years of active recovery in this area, and one of the finest remedies for it has become a knack of mine: I'm really good now at just showing up to the moment if other people or new experiences are involved, showing up and being open, and going with the flow. Which is why I think that one of my secret joys is riding in the back seat of someone else's car with no say over where were headed. Just giving over to the moment, happy to be going wherever it is I am going. It is such simple fun. Five gypsy women, five thirty or almost thirty somethings riding in a car. Single, gypsies, funny, happy, wise. DeVotchKa on, sun almost down, radiant plume-air and shadows of pine canopies twisting all around.
In September on a date with me I randomly found this town called Sebastopol. I spent four hours there, in the buoyant sunshine of the market, on my knees in the used bookstore, smiling and milling on the sidewalks, grinning at strangers like they were friends I was about to meet. Today I went there, me and four gypsies, and also me and forty-five others, to our instructor's house one street away from sunny downtown.
"This was all cement" he said. One third an acre is what he was talking about, tho whole of his land. All cement when he bought it, an old ratty lot. We ooohhh'd and ahhhh'd. Now a food forest Permaculture Neighborhood Center only three years later. One of his six water tanks for rain catchment hold 4000 gallons of captured rain water, or the equivalent of drinking water for his family for three months. We ate fresh veggie cob-oven baked spelt pizzas for lunch. The awe goes on and on.
While he showed us his garden guild he paused at the nitrogen fixers and ran his hand through a literal stalk of sage. It broke mid way down in the most gentle way, literally fell in to his hand. He grinned and horay'd, it was white sage, what I and many other gypsy wild types love to burn for smudging. The group accepted it to take back to camp, an offering from Eric's most amazing land.
I make fun of hippies. I really do. But really, we have fun and love our lives and you can't make this stuff up, so fun is more than okay.
Me and White Sage
Cob Oven
yummmm
Double Yummmm
Eric in front of soil remediation, or soil bringing-back-to-life
January 7, 2012
One sacred inter-connected realm
At Buddha camp we couldn't look at each other. Or speak, or read or write, or even for that matter eat after a certain time of day. We just meditated, from 5 in the morning til 9 at night. And in the evening watched lectures from a grainy vcr and old tv.
When I went back the second time it was as a volunteer, out of service, to cook for first time attendees. That time I could speak, thankfully because the most important part for me turned out to be the community of consciously-minded attendees all back for their second or fifth or twelfth go-round. It warmed my heart, does to think of them still. To find people who really got my heart.
Now I am at Earth Camp, and the people here believe in the earth and communites and Nature as I do, all as one sacred inter-connected realm. It's such a joyful, fun atmosphere among these like spirits! Earth-worhsiping tree-huggers. So many sacred smiles and light reverie. I thought California was a place with minds and spirits like mine, that was before I came here: I could never imagine such a similar-spirited tribe! Men and women, old and young. Tonight we were led to recall the feeling in our heart of the moment we decided we would come here.
That was 2005, late fall, in the red and orange living room at Truslow Road. I was desperate, certain I was on the wrong path. On the stolen internet of one of my neighbors, I googled as I so often used to the words wild, and women, and wisdom. That was when I found out about Earth Activist Training.
I've wanted to study with Starhawk ever since then. Her books are pure muse to me. And now here I am, finally. Seven years, a full wisdom-cycle it took me, but that decision from back is finally coming true. My next two weeks, here in the redwoods of Cazadero, Sonoma County,CA. At EAT. For my permaculture certification. Camp for Wild Women at a Peace Institute run by Tibetan Buddhists. And oh yes, for wild men, too. Wild Men! My path, it circles back time and again.
And already such a long inspired journey it's been...
When I went back the second time it was as a volunteer, out of service, to cook for first time attendees. That time I could speak, thankfully because the most important part for me turned out to be the community of consciously-minded attendees all back for their second or fifth or twelfth go-round. It warmed my heart, does to think of them still. To find people who really got my heart.
Now I am at Earth Camp, and the people here believe in the earth and communites and Nature as I do, all as one sacred inter-connected realm. It's such a joyful, fun atmosphere among these like spirits! Earth-worhsiping tree-huggers. So many sacred smiles and light reverie. I thought California was a place with minds and spirits like mine, that was before I came here: I could never imagine such a similar-spirited tribe! Men and women, old and young. Tonight we were led to recall the feeling in our heart of the moment we decided we would come here.
That was 2005, late fall, in the red and orange living room at Truslow Road. I was desperate, certain I was on the wrong path. On the stolen internet of one of my neighbors, I googled as I so often used to the words wild, and women, and wisdom. That was when I found out about Earth Activist Training.
I've wanted to study with Starhawk ever since then. Her books are pure muse to me. And now here I am, finally. Seven years, a full wisdom-cycle it took me, but that decision from back is finally coming true. My next two weeks, here in the redwoods of Cazadero, Sonoma County,CA. At EAT. For my permaculture certification. Camp for Wild Women at a Peace Institute run by Tibetan Buddhists. And oh yes, for wild men, too. Wild Men! My path, it circles back time and again.
And already such a long inspired journey it's been...
December 4, 2011
Guns and whiskey.
We hadn't walked the hills all the way to the creek in a long time, most nights now we just do several laps from our cabin down to the gate. It's more athletic that way, the steep climb. Tonight the moon was right though, and besides. It's my last week.
Two new guys moved in while I was away in Oregon, they are younger and the family names we gave them stuck. Bucket and Son Won. They're from Washington in the Cascades and bring this amazing new enthusiasm combo'd with that boundless, nameless mountain spirit. It has a name actually, I'd call it peace.
Also, Em had to leave, which hurts my heart every day.
When we got to the field in the middle of the hills and the valleys circled like a black tapestry backdrop hung in the sky we stood a long while and looked at the stars. None of us used our headlights the entire time because the moon of course was so wide with the soft white light. We walked to the bridge, the creek was running high and the air around it was cold and wet as snow or ice. In the daytime here it's warm in the sun, at night next to the creek by the bridge our bodies caused steam. At night it's winter in the hills.
In the field walking back Mo and Bucket and I stayed back and I showed them how to use their breath to open their instinct. Their backbreath, or moonbreath, that subtle wild body we all have but dont use because we think we're higher or better than animals now. It got Mo all jazzed and talking about wanting to take survival classes, how to live in our enviroment naturally. Permaculture! I was happy, going on to her and Buck about my earth activist training coming up in Jan. Native plants and invasives and medicinals and eco-diversity and harmony. We were amped, inspired, energized and grounded from the moon and breathing exercise. How? I asked them then. How did we get so disconnected from our home?
Guns, Bucket answered. Guns and whiskey he said. And we laughed and walked up the hill past our gate, in the dark, through the woods.
Two new guys moved in while I was away in Oregon, they are younger and the family names we gave them stuck. Bucket and Son Won. They're from Washington in the Cascades and bring this amazing new enthusiasm combo'd with that boundless, nameless mountain spirit. It has a name actually, I'd call it peace.
Also, Em had to leave, which hurts my heart every day.
When we got to the field in the middle of the hills and the valleys circled like a black tapestry backdrop hung in the sky we stood a long while and looked at the stars. None of us used our headlights the entire time because the moon of course was so wide with the soft white light. We walked to the bridge, the creek was running high and the air around it was cold and wet as snow or ice. In the daytime here it's warm in the sun, at night next to the creek by the bridge our bodies caused steam. At night it's winter in the hills.
In the field walking back Mo and Bucket and I stayed back and I showed them how to use their breath to open their instinct. Their backbreath, or moonbreath, that subtle wild body we all have but dont use because we think we're higher or better than animals now. It got Mo all jazzed and talking about wanting to take survival classes, how to live in our enviroment naturally. Permaculture! I was happy, going on to her and Buck about my earth activist training coming up in Jan. Native plants and invasives and medicinals and eco-diversity and harmony. We were amped, inspired, energized and grounded from the moon and breathing exercise. How? I asked them then. How did we get so disconnected from our home?
Guns, Bucket answered. Guns and whiskey he said. And we laughed and walked up the hill past our gate, in the dark, through the woods.
November 2, 2011
That's me, laughing at you
It's late to be blogging. I know. Especially because of the hard time I've had waking up to start work by nine the past several days. I haven't. Started by 9 that is. I like my mornings, it's the only time I get quiet time, and peace.
Beth told me: I was in the hot tub with Benj three or four nights ago listening to the wind blow. I asked him do you hear how deep it sounds? He didn't get it...
I smile when she tells me this, admiring of her wild wisdom. The trees moved in constant rustle here for two days. Spoke tree-speak but the air didn't move at all close down to the grass on the land. I get it, I know what it means, know what Beth means. I recognize when my soul, my "other 92%" (that awareness my brain chooses not to make me conscious of) beckons my attention for example by drawing me, reasonless, to the breeze. I relish these bits of times. I bless it as sacred for the tiny moment that it is.
And the changes, they are coming. But first much will be moved gently away. I talked about it all with Beth. In preparation for what will change--what will come, what will end, what will begin again--I am up late, researching cars. My rental is due back Saturday. I've been on the internet every night now for three days, edmunds and autotrader and I can tell you all about V6's and 4 cylinders and why CVT's aren't good for the engine if you're looking at an SUV. Also, side and curtain airbags. They saved my life and are a necessity if the car is going to get anything more than a POOR rating for safety. I try to walk the even line between being prepared but knowing I can't be in control.
Life! You're funny. That's me, laughing at you giggling at me.
I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, and seeing my family in Oregon. I am also looking forward to getting paid. And, I like the idea of seeing the path ahead unfold in a way that was first whispered to me from a steady California wind, high in the Humboldt trees.
Beth told me: I was in the hot tub with Benj three or four nights ago listening to the wind blow. I asked him do you hear how deep it sounds? He didn't get it...
I smile when she tells me this, admiring of her wild wisdom. The trees moved in constant rustle here for two days. Spoke tree-speak but the air didn't move at all close down to the grass on the land. I get it, I know what it means, know what Beth means. I recognize when my soul, my "other 92%" (that awareness my brain chooses not to make me conscious of) beckons my attention for example by drawing me, reasonless, to the breeze. I relish these bits of times. I bless it as sacred for the tiny moment that it is.
And the changes, they are coming. But first much will be moved gently away. I talked about it all with Beth. In preparation for what will change--what will come, what will end, what will begin again--I am up late, researching cars. My rental is due back Saturday. I've been on the internet every night now for three days, edmunds and autotrader and I can tell you all about V6's and 4 cylinders and why CVT's aren't good for the engine if you're looking at an SUV. Also, side and curtain airbags. They saved my life and are a necessity if the car is going to get anything more than a POOR rating for safety. I try to walk the even line between being prepared but knowing I can't be in control.
Life! You're funny. That's me, laughing at you giggling at me.
I am looking forward to Thanksgiving, and seeing my family in Oregon. I am also looking forward to getting paid. And, I like the idea of seeing the path ahead unfold in a way that was first whispered to me from a steady California wind, high in the Humboldt trees.
October 21, 2011
Can't you?
Writing just to write. That part's frustrating, the long hours working are gratifying but the no time to write, much harder. There is discipline, there is being lazy or unmotivated, then there is just. Tired.
The girls are getting yoga instruction in the middle of the common room, it is our Weekend. Tomorrow I am going on a date with myself and I simply can. not. wait. Mountain Fever turns out is a real thing. I am wonky this week, I am in need of quiet time, I am in deep need of some Kelly space. If I weren't saving money for a writing cabin when this gig is over I would've gone north tonight and gotten a room. Cable TV, black out curtains and most of all. Quiet, and peace that's my own.
Starting to look forward now. Whatever cycle that had to wash me over with the car accidents and the guy seems to have integrated and passed now, I am me again able to identify the me inside. Not personality me or maybe personality me who knows, this isn't eastern thought here this is just one girl with different ideas every day. The solid me I call spirit that is there, I sought to be able to find her through most of 2009 and 10. Were friends now, past few weeks she was injured and hurt a while and that was process and emotions that she dipped down in to and disappeared in to but all that, as just said, seems to be settled. Because most of all I feel like I have choice again.
There is revolution going on the world over. I have anarchy in my blood and am a natural leader and orator, so when I meditate I include the world now, too. Otherwise it is solution, my retreat I often see or feel, but first what I will use this money for. A little cabin somewhere near the coast, in the woods. I can almost see it, cant you?
The girls are getting yoga instruction in the middle of the common room, it is our Weekend. Tomorrow I am going on a date with myself and I simply can. not. wait. Mountain Fever turns out is a real thing. I am wonky this week, I am in need of quiet time, I am in deep need of some Kelly space. If I weren't saving money for a writing cabin when this gig is over I would've gone north tonight and gotten a room. Cable TV, black out curtains and most of all. Quiet, and peace that's my own.
Starting to look forward now. Whatever cycle that had to wash me over with the car accidents and the guy seems to have integrated and passed now, I am me again able to identify the me inside. Not personality me or maybe personality me who knows, this isn't eastern thought here this is just one girl with different ideas every day. The solid me I call spirit that is there, I sought to be able to find her through most of 2009 and 10. Were friends now, past few weeks she was injured and hurt a while and that was process and emotions that she dipped down in to and disappeared in to but all that, as just said, seems to be settled. Because most of all I feel like I have choice again.
There is revolution going on the world over. I have anarchy in my blood and am a natural leader and orator, so when I meditate I include the world now, too. Otherwise it is solution, my retreat I often see or feel, but first what I will use this money for. A little cabin somewhere near the coast, in the woods. I can almost see it, cant you?
September 20, 2011
The Adventures of Charlotte Bliss. California, poetry & tidbits.
~Sebastopol, 9/18/11
In California everyone knows what an Americano is, the light still slants the same dark yellow in the fall, and asada always comes with cilantro and lime.
~
I told you help me remember this the body has a body all its own
The poems are back again, little do you know this is truth about us
already written
how timelessness aches to find someone
willing to come to life
the song
~
I love spontaneous shuffled-ipod moments that sum it up. that cant be planned.
12 song round-up, driving out Ukiah down the 101.
masquerading as mere sound
~
Nobody wants you when you're old and gray, they'll be some changes made
~
Bodega Hwy, The Russian River...
so what i dont have money. i also dont give a damn.
~
In California everyone knows what an Americano is, the light still slants the same dark yellow in the fall, and asada always comes with cilantro and lime.
~
I told you help me remember this the body has a body all its own
The poems are back again, little do you know this is truth about us
already written
how timelessness aches to find someone
willing to come to life
the song
~
I love spontaneous shuffled-ipod moments that sum it up. that cant be planned.
12 song round-up, driving out Ukiah down the 101.
- Home. Edward Sharp...
- Sweetest Thing. The Waifs
- Tree. Blitzen Trapper
- Below the Hurricane. Blizten Trapper
- Lie Detector Test. Sage Francis
- No Dough. The Mamas and Papas
- Wasted. Brandi Carlile
- Dreams. Brandi Carlile
- Oh Dear. Brandi Carlile
- Speed Law. Mos Def
- That Hump. Erykah Badu
- Tiny Cities Made of Ashes. Modest Mouse
masquerading as mere sound
~
Nobody wants you when you're old and gray, they'll be some changes made
~
Bodega Hwy, The Russian River...
so what i dont have money. i also dont give a damn.
~
"In San Francisco, everything is more bohemian, and a good deal like Paris." --Alfred Hertz, 1910
~
9/20/11
You met me, I want to tell him, when I had my at-home body. Might as well of been my winter-weight. Comforting, taking of food and tv. Low light of evening, settling sounds of night in the comfort of mom's home. It falls so easy in to flopping. In to not taking care of myself. I ran yesterday for 45 minutes, the whole time next to the sea. I walked around town twice, once before that to the market and once later, in the afternoon, to the beach. California is the active high-bodied vitality. Of how to live.
~
It's not cryptic! Some things I just keep private on here
~
the girl w the pendant of her grandmother's also has genuine, kind eyes.
~
maybe she is a student? probably. i want to tell her. hold tight to this freshness. the vitality will try to disappear. the maintenance of which will be all that matters in your times to come.
this is not california. just, soul. that which can not be taught. but practiced. well-practiced in to a disciplined gold.
~
i love coffee shops.
it's hot in Central California,
& who cares the boys club
I may never get in?
~
Sebastopol, finally~these are my ppl.
groovy as they come.
May 14, 2011
More on Lunar Beltane. Divine Feminine Aspect.
So Beltane comes to us from the peasants, or country folk, all over Europe.
Pagan, or peasant or folk (of the people) religions centuries ago meant worshiping polytheistic, or worship of more than one God. I think the reason I was drawn in my teens to learn more about Paganism was specific: Pagans also worship female divinities or Godesses. Mary, though present in my Catholic upbringing (if I tried hard I could still remember the words to her prayer) was never a female godhead to whom I, as a grl in the eighties and nineties, could readily relate.
Depending on the culture, and in this application we can span the whole world, folk religions in every single country as far back as anthropologists have dated venerate or make holy all kinds of Gods and Godesses.
There are corn gods, fire goddesses, snake gods, bird goddesses, elephant gods. For every god there's a goddess you can find and likewise. It goes on and on and on and is a beautiful, traditional example of the everything is holy approach, that ever-present basic tenant of all great dogmas: how you treat life is how you get treated...do unto others...etc. Joe Campbell, the pre-eminent mythologist of the last century, normalized the idea that the world was far more encompassing than Judeo-Christian myths or beliefs, and in his many books and interviews put it this way. (I am paraphrasing.) Iindigenous, folk cultures of old applied their religions as if everything in the world was a Thou.
Beltane was celebrated traditionally all over old Europe as May Day, time when the female aspect (the Lady, the Moon, or any one of many different Goddesses,) and the Male (the Great God, the Green Man, the Sun or any one of several Gods) came together to make life. It was a celebration of the fecundity, or ever-re-creating fertility of the earth. In those days the earth, and the food and fruit it provided, was holy because of the integrated relationship the peasant people had with their environment. Literally, the earth and its harvests were how they lived and sustained. Beltane was when the first crops started to put forth, and it was this Thou which was celebrated.
The ancient world over, this earth holiday was celebrated in different and various forms. You find history of it in Native American, Chinese, Roman and Grecian traditions as just a few examples.
Religious applications, as far as how the individual practices, vary and are as different as footwear is from person to person in one single pew at church on Sunday. That said, a tenant of Paganism that I have always intimately enjoyed is the enlivening of the female aspect within Life. I've never, personally, worshipped many different Gods or Godesses, though I do pray periodically to everything from trees to the ocean to Marilyn Monroe to Jesus to Kali-Ma, depending on how my spirit and heart move me. Afterall, I believe in Thou. But that said, as a poet who speaks in the first language of metaphor, or symbol, my studies of Paganism continue to inform me of a rich and ancient heritage that specifically embodies and empowers the feminine aspect of the Divine. The moon often is a symbol of this energy.
Folk wisdom teaches us that the earth lives and dies and lives again in cycles (what the Old Sun-God did, every year. As later the Son of God did, dying and being re-born right around Beltane, she wrote with an ironic wink...)
Personally, I just really like having a significant tide to tie my own inner-life processes, and outer-life growth and changes, to. The parts of me that live and die and come back to life, too. The moon cycles work really well for me to watch myself, it's an active, hands-on way for me to feel connected to this great, wide and holy Life as a whole. The full moon is a time that life peaks, we are fertile, abundant, shiny. You cut crops then, both because the moon helped the field workers see AND because the grow cycle, as all is connected, is at its peak. Just google farmers almanac and full moon for more on these old folk ideas. It's really beautiful and will undoubtedly connect you to someone in your family (we all come from agricultural roots in this country) maybe only a generation or two back.
The full moon in May, known as Flower Moon or Taurus Moon, is also known as Lunar Beltane. It's time to celebrate the growth aspect--union of man and woman and the converging fertility as result--but with the moon as your starting point. The moon lights up the dark. The feminine aspect, as the Chinese teach with Yin, is the flow aspect inside every person, it is that which cant be contained. It is the dark or pureness of void-potential, or to my liking, where the light of gnosis or Knowledge makes its entry point. Yang, the male energy in each person, is solid, concrete, manifesting. To this one person's way of thinking, this application is how to capture just some of the celebration of Life using old folk holidays as a guide. We use our consciousness or doing-aspect of Yang to find the Stillness in there, the moving beating constant of presence which is Yin. At the conjuct of Yin-Yang is your own Holy Thou in the center. My intention from there is to be happpppyyyy about Life, and that all of Life may Beee Happpyyy, too. As within. So without. Amen amen amen.
Pagan, or peasant or folk (of the people) religions centuries ago meant worshiping polytheistic, or worship of more than one God. I think the reason I was drawn in my teens to learn more about Paganism was specific: Pagans also worship female divinities or Godesses. Mary, though present in my Catholic upbringing (if I tried hard I could still remember the words to her prayer) was never a female godhead to whom I, as a grl in the eighties and nineties, could readily relate.
Depending on the culture, and in this application we can span the whole world, folk religions in every single country as far back as anthropologists have dated venerate or make holy all kinds of Gods and Godesses.
There are corn gods, fire goddesses, snake gods, bird goddesses, elephant gods. For every god there's a goddess you can find and likewise. It goes on and on and on and is a beautiful, traditional example of the everything is holy approach, that ever-present basic tenant of all great dogmas: how you treat life is how you get treated...do unto others...etc. Joe Campbell, the pre-eminent mythologist of the last century, normalized the idea that the world was far more encompassing than Judeo-Christian myths or beliefs, and in his many books and interviews put it this way. (I am paraphrasing.) Iindigenous, folk cultures of old applied their religions as if everything in the world was a Thou.
Beltane was celebrated traditionally all over old Europe as May Day, time when the female aspect (the Lady, the Moon, or any one of many different Goddesses,) and the Male (the Great God, the Green Man, the Sun or any one of several Gods) came together to make life. It was a celebration of the fecundity, or ever-re-creating fertility of the earth. In those days the earth, and the food and fruit it provided, was holy because of the integrated relationship the peasant people had with their environment. Literally, the earth and its harvests were how they lived and sustained. Beltane was when the first crops started to put forth, and it was this Thou which was celebrated.
The ancient world over, this earth holiday was celebrated in different and various forms. You find history of it in Native American, Chinese, Roman and Grecian traditions as just a few examples.
Religious applications, as far as how the individual practices, vary and are as different as footwear is from person to person in one single pew at church on Sunday. That said, a tenant of Paganism that I have always intimately enjoyed is the enlivening of the female aspect within Life. I've never, personally, worshipped many different Gods or Godesses, though I do pray periodically to everything from trees to the ocean to Marilyn Monroe to Jesus to Kali-Ma, depending on how my spirit and heart move me. Afterall, I believe in Thou. But that said, as a poet who speaks in the first language of metaphor, or symbol, my studies of Paganism continue to inform me of a rich and ancient heritage that specifically embodies and empowers the feminine aspect of the Divine. The moon often is a symbol of this energy.
Folk wisdom teaches us that the earth lives and dies and lives again in cycles (what the Old Sun-God did, every year. As later the Son of God did, dying and being re-born right around Beltane, she wrote with an ironic wink...)
Personally, I just really like having a significant tide to tie my own inner-life processes, and outer-life growth and changes, to. The parts of me that live and die and come back to life, too. The moon cycles work really well for me to watch myself, it's an active, hands-on way for me to feel connected to this great, wide and holy Life as a whole. The full moon is a time that life peaks, we are fertile, abundant, shiny. You cut crops then, both because the moon helped the field workers see AND because the grow cycle, as all is connected, is at its peak. Just google farmers almanac and full moon for more on these old folk ideas. It's really beautiful and will undoubtedly connect you to someone in your family (we all come from agricultural roots in this country) maybe only a generation or two back.
The full moon in May, known as Flower Moon or Taurus Moon, is also known as Lunar Beltane. It's time to celebrate the growth aspect--union of man and woman and the converging fertility as result--but with the moon as your starting point. The moon lights up the dark. The feminine aspect, as the Chinese teach with Yin, is the flow aspect inside every person, it is that which cant be contained. It is the dark or pureness of void-potential, or to my liking, where the light of gnosis or Knowledge makes its entry point. Yang, the male energy in each person, is solid, concrete, manifesting. To this one person's way of thinking, this application is how to capture just some of the celebration of Life using old folk holidays as a guide. We use our consciousness or doing-aspect of Yang to find the Stillness in there, the moving beating constant of presence which is Yin. At the conjuct of Yin-Yang is your own Holy Thou in the center. My intention from there is to be happpppyyyy about Life, and that all of Life may Beee Happpyyy, too. As within. So without. Amen amen amen.
May 12, 2011
A pause in our path.
I surprised Erika on Tuesday.
I surprised myself even, driving 97 southbound on my way towards Annapolis, route 50, and eventually the Bay Bridge. The hour and forty minute straight shot that follows once I'm over the Chesapeake Bay--route 50, Ocean Gateway--of Maryland's Eastern Shore, its farmland expanse that finally levels out at the Atlantic Ocean and the beach.
Instead of straight and eager to get home, without even thinking about it I found myself easing in to the exit lane off 97, same one I used to take when I was in high school and lived with Sean and my mom. Less than three minutes from where I grew up there I stood, knocking at my writing partner's front door, sure she was home because the overhead light was on in the kitchen and a sippy cup was on the table. Erika's hair was wet from the shower, her nose stuffed from a cold and still her signature bright-face and grin opened the door.
It was a good visit. We moonbounced with two of her kids and one of her nephews. We shared lunch and breif conversation with her husband's parents. And we shared the quiet, the skinny hungry quiet behind our shiny eyes. That specific straggled desperation only a writer knows, the secret look that says I've been too long away from the words.
The soul has a funny way of talking, and for regular readers of this blog I dont need to say that it is soul speak I pay most close attention to. A few weeks ago my spirit spoke with a language so palpable that it moved me and my heart the way music or the ocean flow does, a surge so strong and real I had to listen. Why go, it said, when the sun is back again? I called Erika before I even thought it all the way through--this automatic yes my heart had instantly sung. And so it was Yes, we agreed, pushing back my departure for the road until August, and following the warmth and the sun west at the end of our high season here. It only seemed to make good sense.
Changes in my life are always accompanied by extra meditation and quiet-time. It's a habit, built on years of practice. I am a firm believer that readying my own well of wisdom and peace--that inner reserve--takes attentive commitment. Like the Buddhists say, it is something which I must always Begin Again, to which I must be always willing to return. To hear my soul speak requires the fine, mysterious alchemy of the present moment. I have a choice, but that choice is minute. It involves the business, merely, of showing up. The readiness to be present .
And so thankfully, everything since my choice to stay has fallen easily in to place.
Everything, that is, except the words. The words, I knew, would take some gentle easing of my self and my sensibilities. Blog about that, Erika said on Monday when we were together. I will, I told her. But it is not me to credit for this idea, the idea of being where we are at, and how actually surrendering to our present position is the precise action necessary to catalyze the energy of change. This is from the Taoists. My old friend Charlotte, from Colchester Farm, is the one who used this metaphor:
Picture a stream gently flowing through the woods. The water moves slowly and peacefully along, according to its own flow. Eventually it encounters a fallen log. Rather than fighting or rushing over it, the water pools. It gains momentum in its state of non-action. Eventually the water gathers so much a reservoir of itself that with no effort whatsoever it simply flows right over its obstacle. It passes the log from the power it generated by merely staying still.
Making even a pause in our path or flow a sacred, mighty thing.
I surprised myself even, driving 97 southbound on my way towards Annapolis, route 50, and eventually the Bay Bridge. The hour and forty minute straight shot that follows once I'm over the Chesapeake Bay--route 50, Ocean Gateway--of Maryland's Eastern Shore, its farmland expanse that finally levels out at the Atlantic Ocean and the beach.
Instead of straight and eager to get home, without even thinking about it I found myself easing in to the exit lane off 97, same one I used to take when I was in high school and lived with Sean and my mom. Less than three minutes from where I grew up there I stood, knocking at my writing partner's front door, sure she was home because the overhead light was on in the kitchen and a sippy cup was on the table. Erika's hair was wet from the shower, her nose stuffed from a cold and still her signature bright-face and grin opened the door.
It was a good visit. We moonbounced with two of her kids and one of her nephews. We shared lunch and breif conversation with her husband's parents. And we shared the quiet, the skinny hungry quiet behind our shiny eyes. That specific straggled desperation only a writer knows, the secret look that says I've been too long away from the words.
The soul has a funny way of talking, and for regular readers of this blog I dont need to say that it is soul speak I pay most close attention to. A few weeks ago my spirit spoke with a language so palpable that it moved me and my heart the way music or the ocean flow does, a surge so strong and real I had to listen. Why go, it said, when the sun is back again? I called Erika before I even thought it all the way through--this automatic yes my heart had instantly sung. And so it was Yes, we agreed, pushing back my departure for the road until August, and following the warmth and the sun west at the end of our high season here. It only seemed to make good sense.
Changes in my life are always accompanied by extra meditation and quiet-time. It's a habit, built on years of practice. I am a firm believer that readying my own well of wisdom and peace--that inner reserve--takes attentive commitment. Like the Buddhists say, it is something which I must always Begin Again, to which I must be always willing to return. To hear my soul speak requires the fine, mysterious alchemy of the present moment. I have a choice, but that choice is minute. It involves the business, merely, of showing up. The readiness to be present .
And so thankfully, everything since my choice to stay has fallen easily in to place.
Everything, that is, except the words. The words, I knew, would take some gentle easing of my self and my sensibilities. Blog about that, Erika said on Monday when we were together. I will, I told her. But it is not me to credit for this idea, the idea of being where we are at, and how actually surrendering to our present position is the precise action necessary to catalyze the energy of change. This is from the Taoists. My old friend Charlotte, from Colchester Farm, is the one who used this metaphor:
Picture a stream gently flowing through the woods. The water moves slowly and peacefully along, according to its own flow. Eventually it encounters a fallen log. Rather than fighting or rushing over it, the water pools. It gains momentum in its state of non-action. Eventually the water gathers so much a reservoir of itself that with no effort whatsoever it simply flows right over its obstacle. It passes the log from the power it generated by merely staying still.
Making even a pause in our path or flow a sacred, mighty thing.
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