You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October, 2007.
today I was holding up the sky and I dropped it.
accidentally
slipping my hand from the left side
a fraction too far up the sphere.
my mistake felt
instantly,
too late.
the sky fell.
bright blue splatters all over the place
swirled up by puffy clouds
of grey sliding into white.
a mess.
a brilliant hued sight
but a mess
nonetheless.
I had best get busy cleaning it up.
@junemoon 2007 [photograph courtesy of Flickr photographer]
After viewing many altars at today’s Dia de los Muertos street festival, my mind is pondering what would entice my spirit to return to Earth once it has gone onto whatever is next. Of course there would be the opportunity to commune with my loved ones when they might be paying attention to my visit versus mistaking my whispered messages for the whir of butterfly wings or an annoying mosquito (depending on the content of my message). But I can’t help but hope that whatever is next after life as we know it, will be wonderful enough that coming back, if even for a visit, will require some efforts of attraction from those left behind. In other words, my altar will need to be loaded down with some Good Stuff! *wink*
And by Good Stuff, I mean Stuff Like This ~
- patchouli incense
- beautiful Bullfrog candles
- my favorita ceramic hedgehogs handcrafted by my daughter
- seashells from my seashell collection
- salt plum seeds
- shiny crystals
- framed photographs of those I love (and you know who you are)
- homemade stuff made with me in mind
- fresh squeezed lemonade in a beautiful cobalt blue Mexican blown glass
- bouquets of colorful poppies
- colorful fancy lights
But most of all, I’ll be expecting you to drop by for a little visit. When you do, leave me a handwritten note from your heart to mine. I promise to read it right then and there.
~ [photograph courtesy of Flickr photographer]
I’m excitedly looking forward to my tomorrow day’s plans. And that is saying a lot, the excitement piece that is, given the disser depressive state that I’ve been wallowing in for a while now. Every year since I’ve lived here in the Bay area, I have wanted to check out Fruitvale’s Day of the Dead festival but this is the first year that I am actually going to act on this wanting. Fruitvale’s celebration is touted as being the nation’s biggest Day of the Dead street fair. I am psyched!
Yesterday I got on the miraculous Information Highway and Googled Day of the Dead as I realized that I did not know the origins of this tradition or what was really being celebrated. Okay, I sort of figured that dead people were at the center of the hoopla but beyond that, I was ignorant. Not that I haven’t been known to ignorantly partake of celebrations without understanding their cultural underpinnings or meanings. I have been guilty of such a sin against enlightenment and even enjoyed the fruits of the celebratory foods and festivities. But this time, my inquiring mind got the best of me and I am glad that I read up on tomorrow’s festival as I think it will hold much more meaning for me now.
I appreciate the idea of honoring the dead and having two days set aside to encourage and invite the spirits of those who have passed over to another time and place, back to this Earth realm. Some of the enticements include their fave foods, beverages, and fave material items all set up on an altar. The belief is that on Halloween evening (it used to be at the beginning of the summer but the traditions were blended with Christian beliefs a long while back) that the door between the cosmos opens and the spirits of those we hold dear can come through, hang out, and party with us for a few hours. I like that idea!
I’ll let you know how the street shindig pans out tomorrow.
I wrote this poem as part of a group writing exercise. We were tasked with writing a poem in three minutes using the following words ~ lavender, obsession, river, and scrub. The poem could contain additional words but had to use those particular four. The goal of this exercise was to move us out of what writer, Natalie Goldberg [Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind], calls our monkey mind and into full-on creativity. Fast. Do you wanna play? Okay. Remember the four words ~ scrub, obsession, lavender, and river. Get ready. Get set. Go. You have three minutes and not a second longer. Write that poem! and if you want, share it with me ~ I’d love to read it.
Here’s mine ~
There is a river
of remembrance
that rushes by my door.
I hear it calling me
the moment after the day sky
flashes lavendar,
completely it scrubs away
the problem
that missed its chance to
materialize
in my mind’s eye.
There is a river
of obsession
for life that flows by my door.
I follow it.
Won’t you come with me?
@junemoon 2002 [photo courtesy of Flickr photographer]
I have a little theory percolating around inside my head and it goes something like this ~ the drivers who are most likely to cut me off in traffic or flip me the finger or honk really obnoxiously at me while flipping and cutting me off, commonly adorn their cars with bumper stickers. Not just any kind of bumper sticker mind you. Peace bumper stickers to be exact. Slogans such as ~ Visualize World Peace, Let Peace Begin With Me, One More Human Being for Peace, Teach Peace, or Just Another Peacenik for Peace.
I first noticed this bumper sticker – aggressive rude driver connection several years ago. Initially, I laughed off this obvious incongruent behavior and chalked things up to everybody gets to have a bad day now and then. But come on folks! I mean really. If you are committed enough to this ideal of peace thing to go to the store and purchase a bumper sticker or in some cases multiple stickers, and you spend the time to peel off the sticker’s back, and then take the time to slap/carefully place them on your beloved vehicle, then for cripe’s sake, practice what you advertise. Puhleeze. Cuz I’ve gotta tell you that when you whip past me blaring your horn and foisting your middle finger vigorously and forcefully toward your side window in my direction – you are definitely not generating peace-full vibes of any kind.
Please consider this my little rant for the week. Peace out.
In the season of the heat
that’s where you’ll find me
that is, at least until autumn gives way
to virginal whiteness or until whichever comes
first.
In the heat that lasts the season
I don’t go underground to cool me off.
Instead, I stand in the torrent of the moments
loudly begging the season not to end.
In the heat of my season, the ground of my back
gives way to buttocks and I sit connected to earth,
connected to the tides, their ebb their flow making me flow.
I have no ebb.
In my season of the heat, the colors are rich, deep
but fleeting,
I am not deep rooted.
I am wild and the heat consumes me.
In my heat of the season,
a hurricane must come through.
Wild wetness stinging rains
hot breath on my neck.
In my season of the heat
no holds are barred and no bars will hold me
no holds can touch me in this searing heat.
@junemoon 1996 [photo courtesy of Flickr photographer]
Yesterday I read a supposed quote by country singer, Carrie Underwood, saying something to the effect that she is a “no ripples in the water kind of person.” Wow. I guess if I were to define myself in these terms I would be a “a big loud kerplunk in a standing pond.”
What are you?
How many Carrie Underwood, no ripples, have you/do you know(n)? How many junemoon, loud kerplunkers, are there in your life? What is the value of each style?
For me, I think I have grown from a small stone to a larger rock – weighty, of substance, capable of holding down the fort when needed, or doing some damage when thrown, and certainly capable of making some wave action when jumping/thrown into a still lake. I am still pondering the value of both styles, the non-rippler and the let her rip.
~ [photograph courtesy of Flickr photographer]
Whenever I am going through challenging times or when my psyche is trying really hard to figure something out, my dreams become particularly vivid. Do yours? Since I was a little girl, I have had a theory about dreams. It goes something like this ~ there are alternate realities, planes if you will, where we live tandem lives to the one we think of as reality and that’s where our dreams are taking place. In other words, we go where our dreams take us. When we experience deja vu, we are re-experiencing moments lived in these alternative realities. At least that’s a theory that rings true for me throughout my life.
My psyche is presently sifting through my disser topic or at least that is what I truly hope is happening in there. Otherwise, this little speculation of mine is blown to smithereens. As a result of this concerted effort on my behalf, my dreams are allowing the other components of myself to live a full, exciting, and sometimes dangerous life(s). In this past week, I have been a helpmeet to incarcerated women and their children in prisons, a surviving family member of a kidnapped child, a windwalker who was loathe to touch the earth, a nameless person adrift on a small handmade raft on a lake surrounded by fog, and a uniformed soldier scared for my life and terrified of taking a life.
Dreams. So vivid so engaging so lived.
Meanwhile back on planet Earth in my little Attic apartment, my mind continues to percolate on prisons and their loud sounds and putrid smells and human spirits striving to survive the feel of rough bark and smooth log under my haunches, the damp mist on my face and the water’s eddying motion taking me to Who knows where.
~ [photograph courtesy of Flickr photographer]
I am currently participating in a comparison game of the pro’s and con’s of living in a Big City versus a more rural little town or village setting. I wish any of the scenarios I am currently considering were as vibrantly lovely as the village in this photograph [courtesy of a Flickr photographer].
It seems that each time I identify one good thing here in the Big City life then I am confronted with an immediate negative thing. Or maybe it just seems that way following yesterday’s afternoon walk in downtown Berkeley. Now some might say that Berkeley is not a Big City and I would agree with them only to the extent that there is a much Bigger City across the way from here. But in my mind and experience, Berkeley and all of the neighboring connected ‘burbs, constitute Big City living.
Lest it seem that I am transferring all of my dissatisfaction and angst onto city living and before I start sounding slightly (okay, overly) shrewish and whiny, I will now identify some of the perks I receive from living in a Big City. Because there are some. Really, there are. And just to prove it, here’s the beginning of my list ~
- first, and foremost, a diverse population
- second, and secondmost, a diverse population
- lots of DeeLish eateries from which to choose – some even fairly inexpensive
- Farmer’s markets within walking distance from my Attic
- a really cool independent movie rental place within walking distance of my Attic
- fairly reliable public transportation
- a modicum of annonymity on those days when I crave such a thing
There are more good things to go into the Rah-Rah for City Living column and I will add to it as I continue life as a city dweller. I would throw in the part about the awesome weather but I have a feeling that if I went into the wilds hereabouts (and some folks swear there really is such a thing here in the Bay area), that the sun would be shining there too. I would also most likely be followed by the brisk autumn breeze that is blessing the Big City today.
When asking a stranger who is innocently walking down the street minding their own beeswax for money, I want to remember the following three tips. If I remember to heed these suggestions, I might actually get some money:
- Do not approach said person with a glowering look on my face;
- When passing this person, avoid shouting at them ‘give me some f – - k’ing money!’; and,
- Do not proceed to verbally ream this person a new one if they fail to look at my glowering face and not fork over any money.
I wish the angry man in downtown Berkeley had taken my Demanding Money 101 class prior to our encounter yesterday.
City living, gotta’ hate it some days…
