Oleander Main

The Possibility of Art and Art of Possibilities

2010-12-19T21:58:00.004-06:00

I have a friend who is an artist who recently suggested that I allow for possibilities. Both my writing and my day job are rather cerebral endeavors using words, so it was good to get an artist's take on things. Actually, he said a great deal more than that, but I'm going to really take a look at the one part for now. Now that I think on it, my expertise is in the area of process and his is in the area of possibilities. Together, we might rule the world. However, I just resigned from that position, so I don't think I'm going to be going back to it anytime soon, and frankly, I don't think he has any interest in it.

Visual artists are interesting people. I do art sometimes myself. For me, it's about taking what exists and making it into something else. Repurposing, re-envisioning, recycling, revealing the beauty of something. I never really thought much about how my initial endeavor in art is preceded by both allowing for and imagining the possibilities. That, of course, changes everything!

Art is a form of alchemy and magic, in my opinion, whether visual or being a wordsmith. The absence of both forms are a kind of death that don't lead to transformative process. The presence of either done well is amazing. Yet both start with the possibility of art and the necessity of being open to it.

So, how is it that we compartmentalize out art from our lives? We place it in buildings or admire it in art shows, or put it up around us and change it up again later when the whim to do so comes upon us. It never occurred to me that I'm equally guilty of doing this separation from art until he said something wickedly clever, as he is apt to do.

While art starts off in the imaginative arena of possibilities, it is most definitely a process as well. It's about putting in the patience, time and creative effort. Here I am with my expertise in process and it's the part of doing art I enjoy least! I view at times my life as a process without fully understanding it as being both the possibility of art and the art of possibilities.

If your life were art, how differently might you be approaching it?

Resistance Fighters I Have Known (or, What I Learned About Myself in 2010)

2010-11-30T22:09:00.006-06:00

I recently met a lady who was a Warsaw Uprising Polish Resistance fighter who was thrown into a POW camp in WWII for throwing Molotov Cocktails at the Nazi's. Good for her! I was actually at the symphony with my son when we met her, and her story came to me through her daughter, after the woman gave my son her 50th year commemorative pin as a gift.

I'd taken my son there because they had the national folk dance troupe of Poland dancing there and I wanted to expose my son to more of one aspect of our multiple heritages. Little did I know that he'd be sitting next to a national living treasure of Poland and impress her so with his listening abilities that she'd gift him something that important.

Many of the people in attendance were Polish...like from Poland, or first generation here. All of them would ask my son "You Polish?" with a hopeful look in their eye and when he would say "Yes" in his American accent, they'd look to me and say "Ah, your mother, she's from Poland!" I'd explain that I'm 5th generation here and he's 6th generation here. I was actually quite proud of myself for remembering how to say "Thank you!" in Polish and knowing the towns we came from in Poland, thanks to my genealogy research.

The irony of me encountering possibly the only Resistance fighter in the crowd was not lost on me. On my Irish side, while we've got no claim to activism in Ireland, we still hold fast to the idea that Northern Ireland is still occupied by the invaders and still hope for freedom someday. My son still refers to himself as Cherokee and the invaders as "Americans." We've got something going on all sides of our heritages, it seems.

So I go to watch the beautiful dancing and listen to the songs, and get this really alluring visual of this dear, sweet elder lobbing off Molotov Cocktails in the general direction of some pretty nasty people. Rock on!

I don't think that I can discuss what I learned about myself this past year without referencing my heritage or ancestors. There's so much of us that lays dormant until a good storm comes to knock everything about and unearths the gifts of our lineage. That's what happened to me. I discovered some things about myself I might not have, were it not for the challenge presented by this year. I've learned that I'm like my father in regard to seeing something through no matter how painful the process. I'm like my mother in her ability to move forward without holding onto resentments or regrets.

I can't say how far many of our attributes go back. In watching the dancers, I saw the beautiful women and the fearless men and the ways in which they balanced and supported one another. Four generations after my family left Poland, my mother used the same template for success in a marriage that ultimately failed. I had a new insight into the decision making that led her down the path that it did. She was only following along with what the culture prescribed and in her case, it failed her. She was the ultimate in beauty for her day, and my father was the ultimate in fearlessness. Their dance became one that was toxic until it finally ended.

As for me, I think that I viewed whatever she did and tried to do the opposite in order to learn from her mistakes. Then, many years later, I see the dancers and think, how beautiful! How wonderful! And just when the metaphor for the ideal relationship might pull me in, voila, a Resistance Fighter pops up.

If nothing else, I've learned the value of being a modern day Resistance Fighter in my own life over this past year. I've learned the importance of knowing what you're fighting to maintain. In times of great abundance, we truly do not know what to value, we're so dazzled by it all. In times of great suffering, we know it all too well and we know what is worth fighting for.

Lord knows what a 16 year old girl was subjected to in a POW camp of the Nazi's. She told my son, "Whatever you do in life, ENJOY LIFE." I've learned in my own process of this year to take the blessings where and when they come. I've come to recognize the need to cull back the accumulation of what I thought was abundance but was really distraction. I've laughed harder and in a more authentic way this year than ever before. I've recognized that the greatest injustices we have done to us are those we would do to ourselves at times, for accepting the unacceptable, selling ourselves short, or even allowing for a moment someone else's negativity and attitude problem to define our experience.

Year's still got another month to go, so who all knows what else I'll discover, but you can be sure I'll enjoy life doing it.

Getting to Essentials

2010-10-05T23:40:00.003-05:00

I've been reflecting on this past year and have been happily surprised about how positively focused I've felt about it. One of my friends said she thinks it's because I'm a pretty positive person. Be that as it may, when you are dealing with considerable life stressors, it's easy for even the most positive of people to fall prey to the negative thinking. So that leaves me with the question, why didn't I?

First and foremost, it's about enacting one's self-care. I really do a great deal of self-care on a consistent basis. That I would say is the foundation of it. It allowed me to stay focused on the here and now moment and in touch with myself and what I was feeling. Sometimes, it even made me feel better. However, there is more. I don't sit with how I'm feeling for great periods of time. It has limited shelf life value, in my opinion. Take for instance if I am feeling awful. I can sit with myself and focus on feeling awful and all of the reasons for it. This doesn't really get me anywhere, and I'm all about getting somewhere. When I say this, I sound uber-ambitious and that's not really it at all. I'm not particularly invested in getting somewhere society thinks I ought to be, or what looks good to other people. The place I'm all about getting to is being right with myself and my Creator. Taking my own path and not somebody elses. On my own time, not another's timeline.

So what I did was I found other like minded people to befriend. A funny thing happened when I did this. All hell broke loose in my other relationships. It was as if the universe was throwing a purging party on my behalf. I didn't really see it this way at the time, but I realize now that it was one of the best things that could have ever happened.

When I surrounded myself with people who boldly and courageously walk their own path and are invested in their own self-care, it helped me to see essential elements to who I am as a person. I'm very strong, have a great deal of tenacity, and am authentic. So why did I surround myself with people in the past who weren't, or were invested in staying with their one emotion to centralize around, or who just didn't have the courage to really live life as it's meant to be lived?

The next step was purging myself of the "whys" as they aren't essential. It really doesn't matter why what happened happened, or why I did what I did in the past. The "whys" are perennial rabbit trails, distracting from the path ahead.

After that, I just started taking steps. One step after another and I left myself open to all of the possibilities that they might offer along the way. In retrospect, a critical element that contributed to my success was that I detached from an anticipated outcome. Honestly, this is probably because I was exhausted from everything else that had come before. Some people say it's trust or faith that it will all work out that leads them to their detachment from an outcome. For me, there were elements of faith involved, but an active participation on my part in the process.

Amazing things began to happen! I'm beginning to like this and can't wait to see what happens next!

No Giving Up Hope!

2010-09-07T23:00:00.004-05:00

It's almost 9 years later, and tonight I am remembering the two most powerful experiences I had in September 2001. The first was watching the terrorist attacks on television on 9/11 and the weeks after. The second occurred about a week later, when I discovered someone had put an apple and honey packets in my mailbox where I worked. I didn't understand why someone would do this or what it meant, until a Jewish friend explained it to me. The Jewish students on campus were gifting us with apples and honey as a part of Rosh Hashanah. I'd never eaten apples with honey before, but the sweetness of it and the act of the students was in stark contrast to the bitter taste left in my mouth of the terrorist acts of 9/11.

Where I did not understand the gift given, I most certainly understood why the act of terrorism occurred and what it meant. I'd spent 10 months working with political asylum seekers and torture survivors prior to 9/11, and I understood the mechanism and motives behind torture and terrorism.

I remember the mourning by myself and those around me and the sweet sight of candlelight vigils and flag waving unity that followed. People seemed to find comfort in this, but I did not. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before we'd go to war. In order to have unity around something, we've got this habit of going aggressively against something. It was only a matter of deciding what thing we were going to drop bombs on.

I knew it wouldn't be Saudi Arabia (despite the fact that many of the terrorists were from there) because they're an ally and we need our military bases there. Additionally, Saudi Arabia contains two holy cities of great spiritual significance to Muslims everywhere. It would start the Holy War to end all Holy Wars to bomb there. We'd show our unity by attacking something else that people didn't seem to care as much about, and so we selected Afghanistan.

I'm thinking about all of this tonight because two years ago, I became on online English practice teacher of a female refugee from Afghanistan who is living in Pakistan. She wants to learn English because her father believed in women receiving an education and she is doing this to honor his memory. I think she's been a refugee for these eight or nine years, shortly after 9/11 and when I discovered apples and honey. Tonight we were discussing what has been termed the "Ground Zero Mosque," future educational prospects for her and what it might be like to come to America being a conservative Pashtun female.

Apples and honey are eaten during Rosh Hashanah, I've learned, to symbolize our hopes for a "sweet" new year. I think that my student has never eaten apples and honey, and still waits for that sweet new year to happen, all these years after being displaced from her home. She's told me about the bombs at the bazaars in her town in Pakistan, of the girls getting kidnapped while riding a cab, of the threats of violence against women who try to attend school. Now they're faced with a wave of new displaced people owing to the floods in Pakistan.

As we were discussing the available options for obtaining an education elsewhere, I could slowly hear her losing hope. I kept saying and typing "No giving up hope!" It absolutely cannot be an option, for either of us to give up hope. I was saying it for my own benefit as much as for hers. When we give up hope, we've lost it all.

I have the great luxury of being able to write this without a fear of bombs going off, losing power, losing the Internet connection, or having retaliation for what I write. I have the liberty and luxury of being able to leave my house at any time, day or night. However, there is no great luxury for me in seeing the hatred emerging in its various forms across America.

The same people unified over candles and under flags, saying we are all Americans are fighting each other in nasty ways across political divides. The same people unified over candles and under flags are labelling a mosque in NYC the "Ground Zero Mosque" and saying that Americans can't have a mosque that close to ground zero. I'm reading reports of women harassed (by US government and law officials) here in the US for wearing the scarf.

I'm trying to explain to my student why there can be no option of her coming here as a visitor and then applying for a student visa, out of fear that if her status becomes illegal, wearing covering from head to toe in this current climate of animosity, she might become a target by people who do not understand her religion, cultural ways or values. I have no idea of how well the INS understands the importance of her wearing this, if she was found to be illegal here. It was difficult to explain this to her, painful, actually.

So we're done attacking other people and have turned on ourselves and those who need our help the most. In my mind, there's absolutely no justification for it. I would like to know someday that we are in a better place than we are right now - for my student in terms of physical location, and for our country in our mindset.

I am going to keep reminding myself, "No giving up hope!"

The Uncharted Course = Courageous Defiance

2010-09-05T00:02:00.005-05:00

Today my son showed me art work he'd done and the most striking element of one piece was where he'd written "And you thought I was crazy!" surrounded by images and words of love. There was something very visceral about it, a kind of courageous defiance to it. I understood it on so many levels, but the level I understood it on the most was in my own experience of that same phenomenon.

His art work brought me back to a time when I was about his age and did my own meaning making through art. I used to draw phoenixes over and over again, making each more personally my own, and putting quotes around them that echoed my reaction to the world. I believed in (and still do) the power of transformation, which took the form of the metaphor of the phoenix, rising from its ashes.

At the time I did this, there was absolutely nothing in my environment that would have given rise to such an idea. There was no reason for it. What I saw around me was quite the opposite and my courageous defiance had to do with believing in something in the absence of proof. I believed that people could transform themselves and rise from the ashes. I didn't know how it would happen, or what it would require, but I knew it to be an absolute truth in my life.

A funny thing happened as I grew up. I began to live my values to the degree where my own transformative process has been an impetus for me to help others, and even to be an inspiration to others, oddly enough. I never really wanted to inspire others, I just wanted to live a life consistent with something that was an absolute. I still am.

I reflect on my son's artwork and his own evolving absolute value, and I can relate, from the perspective that everyone thought I was crazy, too. It's amazing what crazy faith in a core value can do for a life, though. In his case, his relates to love. I think he means romantic love of the steadfast and undying kind. He may not see it modeled in his current environment, but it's enough for me that he believes in such a love as an absolute value. If he can imagine it, he can manifest it in his own life. I suspect he'd like me to believe in it too, based upon his insistence I watch every romantic comedy in existence with him.

What strikes me as endearing is the recognition that he shares with me the common bond of a sort of courageous defiance of "what is," a kind of blind trust in something. I nodded in admiration of his work, and silently contemplated that the moment you allow the circumstances to define you, you've lost the game.

If in his life, he holds the belief in love in some fashion, I think he'll enjoy himself as much as I have in my path of transformation. I appreciate his defiance of what exists so long as he can contemplate what is yet to be in a positive way. I can model for him the power of transformation and he can model for me the steadfast belief in love as a commitment that does not end. The place where we converge in our thinking is kind of magical.

Deconstructing a Story/Reconstructing a Life

2010-08-13T23:16:00.010-05:00

Why do we wait until someone does something wrong to do something right with our lives?

I haven't figured this phenomenon out yet, but I see it happening all the time. Does it take being wronged to motivate us to transform something in ourselves? Or is it that we become complacent with ourselves and feel that so long as no one's bothering us, we can continue along our merry course? To what end and what destination? When we charted the course, did we really have an idea of where it would lead? Along the way, did we replace satisfaction for a real and authentically lived life? Whose definition of a satisfying life were we relying upon and for what purpose?

A week into co-habitation of my body with a bat tattoo, I'm thinking on all of these things. Before I jettisoned my Jungian analyst in favor of a bankruptcy free life, we'd been working on this quirky concept called individuation and what archetype was emerging in my life. They say in the second half of life, you get a calling from an archetype you've otherwise judiciously avoided in the first half. If you don't take up the call and integrate it, you won't be successful in your individuation process. While I don't have to be successful in all things, I take this one rather seriously because the consequences are said to be fairly dramatic if you don't. Accidents can happen, or even death for failure to integrate that archetype.

In the first half of my life, I vacillated between being something of a healer and sage. Being unable to avoid looking at this bat looking back at me, I'm reminded that he was undoubtedly the hero of the Cherokee story "How the Bat Got His Wings."

I was telling a friend recently that it's a Main family trait that we can face off with things that other people can't. We have a reputation, if not for starting trouble, definitely for finishing it. There are a great many of the Mains I'd count in my mind as heroes, and I am not one of them. I tell myself it's not been a lack of courage on my part, but in truth, I can't be sure.

I think in the first half of my life, what drew me to the healer and sage path was the recognition of a need in others and ability within myself. Along the way, however, I grew complacent, in that I was satisfied with having reached what I thought was a sufficient amount of personal growth. I had enough skill, training and experience to do the job right, so I settled.

What's wonderful about the universe is that just when you think you got there, some major chaos comes in to shake you right on out of the complacency tree where you were lounging. The Creator has other plans for you, so you'd better get a move on and make up for lost time!

I hate these chaos moments, by the way. They make me question everything I thought I knew until ultimately, there's no question left. It's as if I'm hanging upside down and all the questioning coin has slipped right from my pockets to the ground below my reach. Their glitter beckons, and of course I could hang there upside down staring at them all day and engaging in the intellectual self-flagellation of the "whys?"

But I won't.

If nothing else, hanging upside down in relation to my own life, much like a bat in its cave, gives me the opportunity for a new perspective. It doesn't matter that I became complacent along the line and settled for a satisfying life by someone else's standards. Really, what matters now is what I intend to do about it.

The chaos and the challenges of a life turned upside down ultimately are a gift. In the first half of my life, I responded to every gift I received with profound gratitude. Of late, I've balked and been surly, juvenile in my grand defiance of a calling. However, I think in that first half of life, I took the gratitude too far. I took it to the place of being grateful to the wrong people for the wrong reasons. Time and experience illuminated that for me, and I had a choice of being hurt and bitter, or embracing this as all a part of a design no longer mine and one that I might just envision as an adventure. I opted for the latter and am intrigued by what this new uncharted course will bring...

The Iroquois Nationals

2010-07-22T23:45:00.007-05:00

So, I'm on a bit of a personal mission here, to make sure that the news of what occurred with the Iroquois Nationals does not die. To sum it up, they were invited to the World Games to play Lacrosse, a game that they were the first players of, and England refused to recognize their sovereign right to travel under their own passports. The US stepped in and offered to provide supporting travel waivers, and England refused to accept this as well.

This is a really big issue. The team outlaid a great deal of time, money and effort in order to be at a game the world would not have without them. The closest approximation I can give to this for readers unfamiliar with First Nations, sovereignty issues, or failure to be recognized or acknowledged is this:

Consider that a woman gives birth to a child. That child is her gift to the world, among the many gifts that she has, but she shares this gift with the world. Now imagine that her child is loved by many across the world. Of course, she would take pride in this. Her child has grown and is now being celebrated in another country at a large event. The mother seeks to go to celebrate her child's influence in the world, but she is held back from attending her own child's big moment. Why would this happen? The host government refuses to recognize her passport. In doing so, they refuse to acknowledge her role at all in having brought forth such a wondrous child to be shared and loved so by so many across the world.

I am trying to do my small part to keep this matter on the radar, and support the team. There are many different ways we might help. Donations can be made direction to the team through their website:

www.iroquoisnationals.org

There are some fantastic team logo shirts and jackets currently for sale, and an auction for an official team jersey and shorts set.

The issue of recognition by England is another matter. I've decided to send an email to the Prime Minister of England and would encourage you to do so as well. Their link is:

https://email.number10.gov.uk/

Here is what I wrote:

"Your government's refusal to allow the Iroquois Nationals in to play at the Lacrosse games is highly offensive to many of us. They were the original players of it. I wish you to issue a formal apology to the team and their respective sovereign governments, and change your policies in the future. Their First Nations sovereign right to issue their own passports are unquestionable and your stance indefensible. I personally intend to boycott all products from England and refuse to do business with any corporation that has ties to your Nation, until said apology is formally issued and the policy of animosity toward sovereign First Nations people has changed. Thank you for your consideration."

Please consider forwarding this blog to your friends. They do not need to be First Nations people or Lacrosse fans in order to recognize an injustice. They need only to want to right it.

I'll post updates on the matter as I have them. Thanks all!

Oleander
The closet Lacrosse fan and totally out activist

Why Do More Than Your Share?

2010-07-20T23:42:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've had a number of conversations with friends where they've pointed out to me that I do more for people than they do for me. Sometimes even more that their own family members would do. They say that I tend to give people a lot of credit, or invest more in others than would seem reasonable. One even gave herself as an example, of feeling that she received more in our relationship than she had given.

Perhaps they think it's a self-esteem thing, or that I get taken for a ride, or that I'm trying to prove something. In those conversations, I refer back to teachings I received and particular traditional values that I hold, or about my desire to prove the world wrong. My early experiences in life would have given me every reason never to trust anyone, ever, let alone go out of my way to help others in this world.

Tonight I was reflecting on how I ought to pay attention to this, given the number of times it's come up lately in my conversations with friends. The more I thought on it, the less it was about particular traditional values I was taught or trying to prove the world wrong. I have some pretty rock solid self-esteem, so that's not it, either. So, here's where my thought process took me:

The idea of "responsibility" can be seen as having the ability to respond. If I have the ability to respond to something, I do it, and if I don't, I don't. I'm pretty clear with folks about what I can and can't do. So why do more than your share in a friendship? Mainly, it's because I can. Beneathe that is a sentiment I don't share often, or even consciously do, but is a fairly strong undercurrent to all of this. It is that I was given amazing opportunities, chances, and gifts in this life.

I had very little in terms of prospects, and quite a lot going against me in my earlier years. The Creator saw fit to open these doors for me, give me these opportunities, and support me through all of it. I have been both humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude for this, and really, there's not a lot I can give the Creator that he doesn't already have, right? So I decided that when people need help and I might just be in a position to do something, just go ahead and do it.

I don't want folks to think this idea just sprung forth from me. I remember one summer, when I was working at the Mall putting myself through college, and having only a bike to get me anywhere, we got a terrible rainstorm. One of my friends, Gabrielle, also worked with me, and after work she took me to her house. Her mother was all changed for bed, ready to sleep, and she knew my house was a few miles away. She got up, changed clothes and drove me home that night. I was overwhelmed by her kindness, because I hadn't expected her to do that and hadn't asked. I felt ashamed to make her go out of her way for me, and that I'd caused her to change her evening plans. We talked about it, and she shared a story about people doing things for her, and that the best way to thank her would be that if someone ever needed my help someday, just go ahead and do it.

I've been thanking Mrs. Shemett ever since, on some level, for both her kindness and the wisdom she shared with me that night.

If we're given opportunities, gifts, and chances by the Creator, my thought is that if I can't return the gift properly to him, the least I can do is pay it forward.

Redemption

2010-07-18T11:33:00.000-05:00

Hello World!

I fell asleep last night thinking about the word "redemption" so this morning, contemplated what it might mean for me.

As I am wont to do, I began doing searches for the origins and meaning of the word. Then it occurred to me that words have no power or meaning except those which we give to them. It is in the context of our lives and circumstances that certain words might raise themselves up to be given such power over, through and in us. Yet when most people hear the word "redemption" it is in the context of giving ourselves over to a power greater than ourselves in order to receive something.

When I looked up the word in Merriam-Webster, it said it means the act of redeeming. Redeeming serves to offset or compensate for a defect. One difficulty that I have with the commonly held meaning of redemption is its link to the idea of offsetting or compensating for a defect. I'd prefer to actively work on my defects, rather than to offset or compensate for them. I decided then to cast aside the commonly held meaning and work this morning on examining what I ascribe to it in order to give it power.

The word "redeem" has multiple meanings, according to Merriam-Webster:

Main Entry: re·deem
Pronunciation: \ri-ˈdēm\
Function: transitive verb
Etymology: Middle English redemen, from Anglo-French redemer, modification of Latin redimere, from re-, red- re- + emere to take, buy; akin to Lithuanian imti to take
Date: 15th century
1 a : to buy back : repurchase b : to get or win back
2 : to free from what distresses or harms: as a : to free from captivity by payment of ransom b : to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental c : to release from blame or debt : clear d : to free from the consequences of sin
3 : to change for the better : reform
4 : repair, restore
5 a : to free from a lien by payment of an amount secured thereby b (1) : to remove the obligation of by payment (2) : to exchange for something of value c : to make good : fulfill
6 a : to atone for : expiate b (1) : to offset the bad effect of (2) : to make worthwhile : retrieve

There appears in this to be an exchange of value that occurs in which something positive is claimed as the end result. I began to understand it as the possible outcome of imminent justice.

Of late, I've had a lot of discussion with friends about unjust situations. Invariably, there is a desire to cast blame, claim injustice by another person or group, and otherwise elevate oneself or ones position through the vilification of another. I suppose that's one possible way to handle it. Excepting that the moment that we do this, we give power over to that other person or group without even realizing it. Consider, what if our anger, self-righteous indignation, fears, superiority and hurt are all forms of energy? In claiming and holding onto those, we give them value over other things. They take up a lot of our time and energy.

For a situation to be redeemed, (or, as it relates to me, for me to receive redemption as I so define it) an exchange needs to occur in which we give over what we formerly gave such value and power in our lives in order for something positive to occur. That, my friends, is POWERFUL.

That exchange opens the doors for imminent justice to occur and for balance to be restored, and for my concept of redemption of manifest itself in my life. This has been happening with me, which is why I've felt the sense that something good is coming my way.

What good is coming yours?

Ogoun on Michigan Avenue

2010-07-08T22:52:00.000-05:00

Hello Readers,

I'm contemplating the sequel to "The Summer of Pomba Gira" (SOPG) which will be "Ogoun on Michigan Avenue." It's set in Chicago again, several years in the future from the end of SOPG.

This is going to be an edgier book. Ogoun is an Afro-Caribbean Condomble deity who comes to Chicago looking for one of the characters from SOPG. Somebody is causing trouble for all of the world, and he's sent to set things straight.

This book will be addressing racism head on. In SOPG, I worked on themes of internalized racism and internalized sexism. In the sequel, we see it through the eyes of Ogoun as he's on his search to find one of the characters. We'll see the evolution of Evaline, Jonah, Maria and Thomas.

In the beginning of SOPG, I share a short snippet of a Cherokee story of the contest set forth by the Creator, one that results in unique gifts given to the mountain lion and the owl. In SOPG we're introduced to the mountain lion. In the sequel, it will be the owl that comes.

I've got half the storyline firmly planted in my head, insofar as it relates to Evaline and her mother. As was the case with the first book, I find myself struggling with Jonah's plotline. I think this is because I most closely relate to Jonah's character and therefore I'm as clueless about what he'd be likely to do as I am about what I myself might do at times. However, I trust myself and my characters to lead me to exactly where we need to be.

So I'll be busy writing, as I'd like to get the first draft done by the end of the year.

Wish me luck!

Oleander

Bomb-proof Anchors

2010-07-07T04:07:00.000-05:00

I am thinking tonight of the view from the cabin my sister and I had in Utah, and the talks that we had on the porch.

I'd shared with her that there were some essential elements I'd experienced up where she's from at LCO, and how I wanted to be able to retain those when I'd left there, and over time, I did. The lessons and growth I'd experienced back in those days I was able to bring into my personal life. I'd shared with her that I wanted to be able to do the same with aspects of our Utah trip together.

For our trip, I'd set a course and made a plan. As we were driving up to where we were staying, my sister said something to the effect of: "Boy, when you say you want to get away, you REALLY get away." I think it's safe to say we saw more mule deers than people up in the La Sal mountains. I'd never been there before and wasn't sure what to expect. But sitting there on the porch late at night, watching the stars watch us, I felt somehow this was worth bringing into my heart, mind and experiences. In other words, something to bring inside and take home with me.

What I'm talking about aren't just trip memories. I've got a lot of memories of LCO, and now Utah. Those are fine, but this is something more. I felt a sense of wonder, amazement and security.

In climbing, there's something called bomb-proof anchors. My instructor on real rock walked me through setting up some basic ones. I'm not as well versed on this aspect of climbing as I'd like to be, but bomb-proof anchors are critical to top rope climbing. Some features they have are setting them with the gates opposite each other in order to ensure maximum strength. They have redundancy to them, if they're going to be solid and secure. They are reliable and secure, which enables the climber to take the risk of climbing itself with relative safety.

I am thinking about bomb-proof anchors because of the similarities of my experiences at LCO and Utah in that I grew a lot from both and want to bring that growth back with me. I think in both cases, I trusted my instincts about people and let the Creator provide the experience.

Maybe the Creator's my bomb-proof anchor. The gates set in opposition are the balance of both the positive and negative experiences that create for me the opportunity to develop awareness, learn and grow. Perhaps it was never a matter of bringing back from LCO or Utah some essential element of an experience. Rather, it was bringing the awareness of my bomb-proof anchor to my daily life, trusting it and allowing the experience to flow.

I had to get away pretty far to recognize what's always with me.

Lessons in Trust and Anchors

2010-07-03T01:00:00.000-05:00

So I'm back from my Utah trip now, still processing the things I learned on it. I'd done the rock climbing in Moab as a metaphor for trust in relationships. Coming off a metaphoric big fall, I needed to know I could climb again and see what that would be like.

Just in case I forgot what the whole climbing trip was about, I was reminded by a colossal blow to my trust in relationships right before the trip. I was like, "Okay already, I get it!" So, I went into the trip with that experience in mind as well.

What I learned from my climb is that I can trust in all forms of relationships, and that I can be in the here and now with the experience. But what I need - nope, need is not strong enough a word for this - what I require in the journey are some anchors to know what it is I can expect to count on and what it is I intend to reach.

In climbing, there are physical anchors that keep you safe. I like those, but this isn't about those. When I climb, I know my skills and abilities and where I'm generally going and what my limits are. I rely on the visual anchors to know what I'm reaching for. And that's where I came to the "ah ha" moment of processing my climbing trip.

You see, I realize that up until recently, I was climbing blind in relationships. There is such a thing in actual climbing as climbing blind - it's a technique used to hone your skills. There are even some excellent visually impaired and blind climbers that I know of. However, in my relationships, I was trusting the process on all accounts and climbing blind, without seeing what I was headed for.

I'm not entirely sure why I would do this in relationships, but the thing I came out of the trip thinking is that I need to know my anchors that keep me safe, and I also need to see some visual anchors from other people. In my climb, and most areas of my life, the anchor that keeps me safe is the Creator's quirky desire to keep me whole. Time and time again, bad stuff has happened, and the Creator always steps in and makes the way for me through it. So, that part is good.

But in terms of relationships with other people, there are visual anchors I require going forward. Reciprocal respect and intention, shared passion and focus toward common goals of human dignity and decency.

I need to see it manifested in your actions toward myself and others.

If you're not doing it, you won't come within 3 yards of me, no matter how slick or entertaining you think you might be. Simply put, I refuse to climb blind in my relationships any longer. The air of mystery about what to expect and drama and excitement of not knowing where I stand with people has lost its appeal, if it ever had any to begin with. Because, as I said in the post on lessons from my Utah trip (Balanced Rock) I know where I stand.

I'm around and a part of multiple Indian communities and people, and often they'll talk about "Indian wannabees." Some mistake me for one because of how I look and treat me accordingly. I let it roll, because it's really nothing worth getting worked up over. But insofar as the concept of "wannabees" relates to relationships I'll be in going forward, human wannabees are not cool in my book and have no place in my life. Either you're one of the real people, or you're not. And it doesn't really matter to me what race, ethnicity, religion, sexuality you happen to come in is. I don't need posers acting like real people in my life going forward.

So, I am happy to realize I'd been climbing blind, because I was really beginning to doubt my instincts about folks, and I realize it's not my instincts that have been faulty. It's been my steadfast refusal to require visual anchors that would indicate the above that has.

My instincts led me to some amazing and positive encounters when I stopped climbing blind on this trip, even off rock and into human relationships. I met some wonderful people who reminded me that the world likely has many more of them.

Choices, Chance or Luck?

2010-07-03T00:25:00.000-05:00

I'm thinking of my youth tonight, a place I don't go to very much. It's kind of like a dark alley for me, with memories threatening to jump out from the shadows. I was writing something about the drug culture in my neighborhood where I grew up, and it made me think back.

I have two good friends from high school that I stay in touch with and am close to even today. But I'm thinking of the other one tonight, one I lost touch with many years ago.

We both grew up in the same neighborhood, with the same broken up, messed up crazy families. We both went to the same high school. She was a year older than me, a beautiful, spiritual and artistic girl. Her spirit was just so full of love.

She had to have a surgery that kept her out of school for a few months, and she fell behind with her coursework. There was a high school drop out guy who had some time on his hands who started to hang around. He didn't treat her like the piece of meat to be ridiculed and gossiped about later like the other guys she encountered did. No, instead he showed her a whole new way to make the pain go away.

Drugs.

I don't really know, I think she was grateful for the attention and bored, stuck at home with the hideous life I also had a few blocks away. Eventually, she became pregnant, and decided to drop out of school, too. Told me it wasn't so bad, she'd be a mom, they'd maybe get married. We started drifting out of each other's lives. Pretty soon, another baby was on the way, and she came by, asking for money to help. She looked haggard and sounded surly most times.

The last I heard of her, she was selling heroin out of a van on the streets, living in it.

I thought I saw her once. I was on my way to some fancy dinner party downtown, and we drove past someone that looked like her. "I wanted to scream and shout, stop the damned car!" and run over to her. Except the people I was with didn't know about me. All polished up and pretty, educated and shiny, hair coiffed and makeup on, they had no idea of where I came from, nor would they have understood it if I'd tried to explain. And what would I say to her?

I've tried to find her since, but she's nowhere to be found. We were very much the same, and came from the same environment, but we took very different paths.

I think I strive to avoid the dark alleys of my memories. Yet every time I've found someone who reminds me of her, I work that much harder. I don't want to see beautiful, spiritual, wonderful people having that kind of life. There are those who say, we're exactly where we're meant to be for a reason and that there are lessons we learn in life from our experience. We can't take those away from people,. Still, I'd have liked to have seen something better happen for her.

I'm not really sure why I didn't end up going down that path. Was it choice, chance, luck or some combination? I think the thing I had with me during those years was a desire to get out of the environment I was in, the neighborhood that I was in. I had a belief that there had to be something out there that was better than what I was living with. I'm not really certain what I based that on, since I hadn't experienced anything different at that time, except to say that I had an active imagination, or ability to speculate on the possibilities that something, maybe, could be different.

Maybe, on some implicit level, I realized that while I couldn't change my environment or the people in it, I had the power to create something new and different for myself.

And I still do.

Do you?

Balanced Rock

2010-07-01T01:18:00.000-05:00

I've returned from my Utah trip, and I'm thinking about the things that came out of it for me. The above is a picture of me by Balanced Rock in Arches National Park in Utah.

I'm thinking of how to be Balanced Rock myself in these days. How did this formation weather the centuries and environmental realities in order to maintain its beauty and formation integrity?

I think the rock must know what it's made of, essentially. I heard an amazing orator speak this week, and he happens to come by it honestly, in that as he spoke, I imagined how his ancestors must have spoken, and how he carries who he is forth to the present day and weathers today's environmental realities.

I got to know some wonderful Maori people for a brief period of time, and they explained their perspective, of how our ancestors can be with us. It seemed to me that they maintain the balance through a steadfast commitment to the integrity of their teachings and core central view.

As you can tell, I met some amazing Balanced Rocks even outside of Arches National Park!

In my own family, we've lost much of the oral traditions that would have sustained us. A cousin and I are the main proponents of examining the genealogy and extending back our family tree. A generation before, someone had begun the work for us, and perhaps a generation after, it will continue. Still, I do feel that there are qualities and attributes we carry forward into today's environment that are a product of our shared ancestors, perhaps without fully even realizing it.

I'm ever vigilant for signs that direct the course that give me indicators of a
course of action that may not seem to make much sense to others. I sit back, watch, listen, before swooping in taking action, but by the time I've taken the action, I've already got a bead on something. I don't expend unnecessary energy in my hunt, so I'm very efficient in my use of what some might consider power. I do this, but it never occurred to me until I heard the orator speak, that perhaps this is a gift of my lineage.

I discovered my playful humor on this trip, and experienced in in quite a new way. It was genuine, bubbling forth like water from a stream, dancing across rocks. I found myself out from the shadows of whatever portals of hell had opened above me, and into the sunlight in order to flow. That resiliency is a part of the Balanced Rock that is me.

Perhaps I embraced the death to all of the things I held dear, and just went with "what is" rather than what I wanted it to be. Even in doing so, there's the knowledge and awareness of choices made by others beyond both my comprehension and control, on areas that directly impact me. But I feel at peace with it and myself, because like Balanced Rock in Arches National Park, I know where I stand.

Really, that's all that matters, is knowing that and being all right with it.

Father

2010-06-20T11:04:00.000-05:00

Today is father's day and I'm thinking of my dad, who passed on many years ago. How I remember him is his silent groundedness. He could converse with people and was quite adept at it, but I could tell even as a child, it wasn't his preference. We could sit in a car for hours on end, just he and I, without saying much of anything at all, because really, there was no need. We both knew we loved the other, and that was enough, just to spend time together.

There is one story I've heard that comes to mind this Father's Day. Another couple was staying with my parents, and it might have been around the time when my mother was pregnant with me. The woman got her period during their stay and someone needed to go to the store to get feminine napkins for her. My mother, in her advanced stage, wasn't going. The woman herself wasn't going. So it was left to the two men. The woman's husband pitched a fit about it, because this was the 1960's when "real men" didn't go to the grocery store to buy ladies products. It bothered him to no end to have to do this, and he made sure that they all knew how wrong this whole idea was.

There's a thing about my father's silence. I understand it because I do have that same thing myself at times. People mistake it for a lack of intelligence, passivity or disinterest. Really, what it is is that we're thinking...

My father said that he'd go with him, so he wouldn't be alone in this venture into shame and masculine downfall, and together they went into the store. The man was so nervous, he wouldn't take the box off the shelf, and didn't want to go to the counter with it. My father, being the ever-supportive friend, told him not to worry, he'd take care of everything.

They walked to the check out and my father handed the woman the box. She looked up at him in surprise as he handed her the money.

"Oh, they're not for me," he explained, motioning to his friend. "They're for him. Hemorrhoids."

Yes, my father took care of everything, all right.

And Devious Thoughts Shall Accompany Me...

2010-06-19T11:23:00.000-05:00

While my sister packs her wide angle lens to get a good shot of my butt as I haul said butt up the vertical plane, I've had my own encounter with planning ahead for a good time. Suffice to say, the world ought to keep somebody like me VERY BUSY, since a little time on my hands can go a long way.

What happened was that a fellow bucker of the rules inspired me in a recent conversation. He pointed out that Dirt Barbie ought not to be reserved merely for rock, camping and outdoors activities. And how right he is! It's definitely a transferable skill, this ability to throw caution to the wind and be my bad ass self.

The thing that makes Dirt Barbie work is the idea that nothing really influences you much so long as you know your skills and have the right equipment. I have a veritable windfall of skills insofar as being devious is concerned. And baby, you've got to know I've got the right equipment to do the job right!

So wish me well in Utah, because some amazing things are going to be happening while I'm there!

I Remember

2010-06-17T23:03:00.000-05:00

Tonight I am remembering this one particular moment. I was up at Lac Courte Orielle and we needed to gather cedar. It was in the middle of winter, and cold as all get out, so I had my Army coat on. It was a WWII heavy wool coat that went all the way down to my feet, and I didn't care that I looked a bit odd, because it was really warm. So Maryellen says we're going out for cedar, and it's just her and me. I'm expecting that we'll be deep in woods looking for it, but no. She pulls into a residential area and talks with the property owner, who agrees to allow us to gather cedar. The only trouble is, the only cedar to be had was about 9 feet up, next to a rez car with no wheels, only some boxes.

We made a plan together, that I'd need to get up there on that engine block and gather the cedar and hand it down to her. Just before I climbed up, she takes a look at me and says:

"You know, people are going to be staring out their windows, looking at you."

I did believe she was entirely right. It's not often somebody wearing a WWII trench coat is climbing up on an engine block and gathering cedar in the middle of a residential area.

I remember thinking about it, and saying:

"Well, if they're looking at me, it'll remind me of just how special I am."

Other memories come flowing through. How I loved the north woods so much, gathering cedar where we did deeper in the woods. I decided if I got lost there and died, I'd be content because I was where something mattered.

Sometimes we've got to go where something matters.

And yet...

There are essential elements of life and living it in a good way, that transcend where ever you go, and make things matter.

I've been blessed by knowing a lot of strong, good traditional people throughout my life who've taught me a lot. They taught me a lot more than just what to do with medicines or how to do things a particular way.

A lot of it was about how to live a good life.

Heading West

2010-06-16T18:37:00.000-05:00

Portals of Hell still raging over my head. Better there than in my heart.

I was talking with one of my elders this week, and he told me, "You've got to have the right tools, if you're going to do the job." He was referring to my upcoming trip to real rock, but really, it applies to most situations.

There's one thing that nobody knows about me. That is that I've got a lot more tools at my disposal than I actually let on. I've got tools that haven't seen the light of day for years, and only come out when it's important. Every one of them comes with teachings I've received over the years on my own journey. It's not that I've forgotten them, or what they're for. I just reserve them for when it counts. Because, I agree with my elder, that you've got to have the right tools if you're going to do the job.

Possibly the reason nobody knows what they are or that I have them stems from the fact that I'm usually alone when these situations find their way to my door. Or, in this case, above my head. I envision a day in the future when it will not be this way, and I will be with another to share that aspect of my life. I've determined it's not happened because there's not yet one strong enough to face off with what I am willing to join into battle.

People will turn away from the challenge, turn their backs on their fellow man and a blind eye to injustice. It occurs most frequently when they feel powerless, and in an effort not to allow something to overtake them, they'll run from it, motivated purely on the adrenaline of fear. That's when that which they fear becoming most creeps into their hearts, and therein Hell resides.

I don't much believe in Hell, or even think that it exists. Hell is the choices we make, and no other place. Every day the Creator hands us an opportunity to recognize our blessings and gifts, and we make the choice of whether or not to recognize that.

So I'm heading West soon, see you when that journey is complete.

Inshallah

2010-06-16T01:17:00.001-05:00

My student from Afghanistan often says "Inshallah" meaning "God Willing." I've been thinking a lot tonight about what God's willing to do for me. He's done so much already, I feel bad asking for anything else.

A very wise woman once said that the Creator sends you what you need. You ask for what you want, but you're given what you need. We think we need what it is we want, and that's where the trouble starts.

So I'm trying to take it from the Creator's perspective. Does He feel I need some added loss and suffering in my life? And, do I? No, I think that's not it. I don't think of my Creator as being that way. Maybe He feels I need to cry more. I don't really do it much, except recently. Maybe He's sick of watching me stoically and cynically glide through life. There's a certain irreverence that comes in the package deal of me, and perhaps that's been grating on his last nerve, too.

In my storyline for Ogoun on Michigan Avenue (SPOILER WARNING) I follow up on a line in The Summer of Pomba Gira. It's where Jonah and Evaline are talking and she gives him a gift but asks him not to open it while she's there, because whole worlds fall apart when she cries, she tells him. I'm not looking at the book as I write this, but that's the gist of it. In the sequel, we discover that in fact, it's true.

The thought came to me, because often that's how I feel when I cry, that my world is falling apart. So I just don't give into it, because I'm a firm believer in keeping my world together.

Lately, however, many of my worlds have fallen apart. Some so irrepairably, that it's beyond my comprehension how it could have happened. I've gotten so shocked and numbed by it, that tears are the only release, and the peace they bring after.

An Owl once told me, get ready, be prepared, you're going to find yourself crying all the time soon! Really, he's a man who's an owl, but I try not to hold that against him.

I think I'm mourning my former ability to co-create goodness in this world. Somehow, I seem to have lost that gift. I'm pretty sure I didn't misplace it. The thing about co-creating goodness in the world is that I've relied on other people to maintain their relationship with me, and work toward the same vision. At this point, I think it's just me and the Creator left in my crashed apart worlds.

I'm not quite sure if He wants me to pick some pieces up and rebuild, or just walk away and start over completely. I'm not sure I understand all of it, or any of it.

Oh, don't get me wrong, the contest is still happening. It's about the choices I make. Hold devestation in my heart, or embrace love? This is why I know that the Creator selected a champion for the cause based on attributes and experience for this particular contest. He knows more than anyone the devestation I've seen. He knows that I gravitate toward the good, toward the positive. Takes me some time, but eventually I get there.

Meanwhile, there's the question of what to do in the here and now? I'm kind of shocked and numb by the sheer collateral damage around me. Like, what just happened? I didn't expect to be here. But I must be here for a reason. There are at least three reasons for everything that happens, and I don't have to know what the reasons are. But I certainly didn't expect to be here, in my present here and now.

So I'm thinking that the Creator has a plan. I don't have a clue as to what it is, but I'm signing up for the ride. Maybe all of this collateral damage around me isn't necessarily about me and what I need to learn on my journey. Maybe it's about other folks journeys and what they need to learn. But it hurts so damned much, even if it's not about my journey, when mine is intertwined with theirs. Really, it's the untwining that gets me every time.

The loss and letting go, and that's what I mourn for as well. I don't think I'd go to the place of asking the Creator why this is happening, because I don't ask the question unless I really want to know the answer. But I find myself asking these days, if all is beyond me, and all is beyond repair, and it's just you and me, Creator, standing amidst the rubble, can you tell me why it's always the ones I love the most that are taken from me in the cruelest of ways? So that in my mourning, I am always, invariably alone, just me and the Creator? Any why, while I'm asking, is it that I'm always so busy that I have little time to be able to mourn the loss?

I am willing to be your champion, Creator, to go to battle as you wish, but inshallah, can you provide for me just one person along for the ride this time round? One that has suffered and is growth oriented, and sees the battle as an adventure?

All will be provided in due time.

Job Goes to the Desert

2010-06-14T21:39:00.000-05:00

If you have a morbid fascination with disaster, dear blog readers, read on!

So lately, Job from the bible comes to my mind. He was a good guy, really. Just that he was needed to prove a point in a contest. Happens all the time, only most of us aren't fully aware of it.

I was put on a medication that makes my head spin, as if the pace of my the events of my life these days simply wasn't enough. Even on it, I can see the signs when a contest is afoot, so that's something. If I believed in "shoulds" I should have seen it coming when I opened the bible one day not long ago to a passage from Job. Put me in a hotel room with not much else to do, and you'll find I'll open up the most extraordinary things. The passage was Job 29:25:

"I chose the way for them and sat as their chief; I dwelt as a king among his troops; I was like one who comforts mourners."

It seemed important enough at the time to write it down, and so I did. It's often hard to understand the meaning of things when they're taken out of context. However, I believe the whole of holy books, each word a word of the Creator. So, perhaps there's a meaning for me. We'll get to that later.

So, in the span of a week, a lot has awakened me to the fact that a contest is at hand. I've lost people dear to me. As if that wasn't quite enough, I was served with rebuttal papers shortly before this Job heads off into the desert.

Then, this morning, I discover that my bid for freedom is causing me to hemorrhage $1000.00 per month, much higher than expected. I'm guessing that a cocaine habit or Maserati payment would cost about as much. Either of those, I imagine, would provide a bit of a good time, in comparison to what my bid for freedom is providing me. Still and all, one can't overlook the small joys in life of paying someone to be able to swear around them as much as one needs to. Frankly, if I have to sell my own blood at a blood bank to pay for the cost of my freedom, I'll do it.

As if the medication side effects, loss of family, and cost of my freedom wasn't enough to buy me a clue as to what's going on, a spiritual lady told me yesterday that I've got something bad coming after me. I think my visualization based on what she described was that the gates of Hell had opened up directly over me. She certainly wasn't talking about anything pleasant.

It was probably a bad idea for me to challenge it, thinking:

"Yeah, you and what army?"

Because shortly after that, my son looked up to the skies and said "It looks like an army's building up."

And this is when the words of yet another friend who isn't talking to me these days ring through my head. He'd said something about that God's won the war, and we're just soldiers in the battle. Man knows what he's talking about, I think.

Of course, this all comes shortly before I go west, to the arid regions of Utah. There's a thing about going west, I recall. That the old Cherokee traditionalists didn't want to be removed west during the Trail Where They Cried, because the west was associated with where we go when we die, the Darkening Land.

I don't fear death. For those who've read my take on fears in the last post, they all stem from things that have happened to you in the past and that you don't want a repeat of in your present. And I don't fear the gates of Hell opening up over me either, with the army of Mignon's chasing after my sorry self, if that's got to come to pass, too. The spiritual lady said if there's someone that I trust completely with spiritual stuff, I ought to call that person. I sat there and thought on it, laughed to myself. Yep, you guessed it, that person isn't talking to me either these days.

The thing I didn't have the heart to tell that spiritual lady was that this isn't the first time stuff like this has happened, and it probably won't be the last. I told someone once that I'm like a lightening rod for extremely random potentially dangerous experiences. I wasn't quite thinking of this scenario when I said it, but I'll cut myself some slack for overlooking it on my top 10 list.

Today was a fasting day for me, so I had a lot of time to think on it, and still don't have a plan, but I'm good with it. The two thoughts that came to mind were that may help. One is that I'm descended from some really strong people, and their blood runs through my veins. The other is that when a contest is at hand, you've just got to be clear on what side you're on, and let the Creator take care of the rest.

During my fast, I made a lot of jokes with the Creator about what was going on, many of which have found their way into this blog. I know the Creator's got a great sense of humor, otherwise I'd be living in Hell instead of just having the gates of its portal opening up over my head. We all would, for that matter.

I don't think a lot of people realize what a great sense of humor the Creator has. They miss it as much as they miss the small blessings in their lives, overlooked by the dark clouds that loom over their heads. I don't miss the humor, and I don't miss the blessings, just because an army's after me. They'd have to distract me from the reason I'm here at all, and that's because the Creator made me. They'd have to get me to fear, or to hope, and neither one of those is happening because I've reoriented to the here and now. Best place to be, really, when you're in a battle.

There's an association people have to the Creator, or God, and that God is hope. So when they hear me dismissing hope out of turn, they assume I've turned from God. This is not the case. In my mind, hope is an illusion and the Creator is a fact. If we believed the authenticity of the Creator in all things as fact, a lot of the animosity in the world would simply cease to be. A lot of hearts would be turned from the coldness of their ways.

I don't think I am nearly as good a person as Job was, but what I lack in those areas, I make up in others. The Creator knows this, otherwise this battle wouldn't be going into play.

So I'm off to the deserts of the west and we'll see where this goes next.

Something Dramatically New

2010-06-12T02:06:00.000-05:00

Following up on the last blog, I've been thinking of my life without an escape plan and no ability to downclimb, metaphorically or otherwise...

What I love most about climbing is the here and now experience of it. I don't climb often, but when I do, the reality of the here and now in the moment on real rock is a beautiful thing. There's never a moment for me of "can I do it?" It's just doing it. Nothing else matters.

I was talking with friends today about the illusion of hope and its dangers. At first they thought me morbid, because I decided to "unfriend" hope. Perhaps they still think me morbid. I didn't mean it in that sense, but in the sense that when I have hope for something, it resides in the future, which isn't here yet. The shadow side of hope for some is despair, and for me is that that which I'd hoped for and perhaps even had, will disappear. It strikes me that those feelings relate to fear, and all fear is based in the past.

I need to repeat this, for myself as well as my blog readers:

ALL FEAR IS IN THE PAST

Everything we fear isn't based upon the newness of an experience we might face, but an experience in our past when something failed, or we had a bad time of it. The idea of even trying something new or different is terrifying for some (including me), because we've got something anchoring us to a time in the past when it didn't work out as we'd have liked it to.

So, here's my issue with hope and its shadow: Hope is all about the future, its shadow is all about the past and when I get hooked into feeling hope, I find myself in a dance with the past and future. I suspect that on some level, we all do. So where is the here and now moment? It's not the hope, it's not the shadow, and it's not the dance itself. There is no time or space for the here and now moment.

Why do we so fear the here and now? What could we do with the reality of it? When I'm on real rock, I know it intimately. There's really no choice in the matter, if I'm going to climb. All instincts are honed toward what is immediately before me. Choices are made though experimentation, experience and and what works.

When I'm living in the here and now moments away from rock climbing, magic can happen. Miracles are seen with new eyes, because my mind's not racing toward some illusion destination, or caught up in some strange, bad place in my past.

Ironically, in my post 8 days ago, I talked about how I don't cry, and found myself uncontrollably weeping these past few days. That's the part that makes the here and now difficult, because you've got to deal with the raw emotion as it comes. I can't schedule it or put it off, because doing such things will kill you in the end. My weeping had nothing to do with regret, and everything to do with being truly sad.

I stayed in my here and now moment then with the tears, and presently I am feeling some wonderous sense of peace. I'd told my friends if I "unfriended hope" that perhaps peace would find me and it did. It's not that I have any resolution whatsoever with what's going on in my life or around me. That's a chaotic swirl still. It's more that I found the peace within my soul beyond the darkness I had to walk through to get to it. Some might call that God's grace, others serenity.

I don't want to label the gift the Creator gave me, define it or put it in a box. I don't want to hold onto it with both hands, fearful that it will go away. I only want to acknowledge the beauty of it, and in my prayers, send it along to all others who are suffering and struggling through their darkness. Because to hold onto any one thing too tightly with both hands demonstrates a lack of faith that it will return again when needed. It also doesn't afford me the opportunity to reach out to others, or to real rock, as the case may be.

And that is something dramatically new.

And Morbid Thoughts Shall Accompany Me

2010-06-05T12:26:00.000-05:00

Hello Dearest Blog Followers,

I'm getting ready for my crack climbing in a few weeks, and as you might recall from an earlier post, this rock climbing trip is a metaphor for facing fears.

Well, just when I get to the place of the trip coming up, I suddenly discover a new one! How very exciting!

In my blog on Climbing as a Metaphor, I talk about how I metaphorically downclimbed to safety in a crisis situation, and that I'm standing at the base of the rock, wondering how I'll ever get to climbing again.

This trip, I've selected crack climbing, which uses hand and toe jams into crevices, a very different experience. My adventurous self is up for the challenge, until it occurs to me that I have no idea of how to self-rescue or down climb from a crack climb. This is accompanied by visions of the belayer beneath me dying of a heart attack, or me happily climbing along, until the rope above me snaps and I watch it sailing down past me as I hang there.

Sometimes having an active imagination decidedly does NOT serve me well.

So I'll put it back to the metaphor from which this whole adventure originates. Yes, I'm used to climbing, but I'm used to and know more traditional routes. I suspect that my morbid fears are the result of my taking the unfamiliar course. And really, it's not what I know about climbing, it's what I know about myself that matters.

My friends would laugh and tell me that they've never known me to take a familiar route and speculate that perhaps I'm allergic to them. They may well be right. I've got this believe that if some challenge is thrown my way, some insurmountable odds, then there's also a gift that comes in the form of overcoming it, if I'm open enough to it to see it.

Essentially, the question then becomes - Am I?

Where does the courage and will to move forward despite all of the odds come from, if not from my openness to the experience of something dramatically new?

One of my cousins sent me today a letter that was erroneously ascribed to a famous Latin American writer, but was, in fact, written by an obscure ventriloquist about his puppet. Despite the lack of fame, the ventriloquist wrote something quite beautiful. The part that sticks out in my mind was:

"I have learned that everybody wants to live at the top of the mountain without realizing that true happiness lies in the way we climb the slope." (Johnny Welch)

It makes me wonder if the way in which I've climbed the slope all of these years has been to always have an escape from disaster plan in the back of my head, and that the reason I've been more open to new experiences has been because I'm good at anticipating how to escape said experience should "new" suddenly be replaced with "dangerous."

Perhaps I am not The Gambler after all, but Houdini.

Now, there's a lot to be said for figuring out how to safely extract oneself from danger. But if that's become the course I take, then safety has replaced true happiness in my climb up the slope. So I've found another goal for myself this trip, it seems...

What We Don't Know...

2010-06-04T09:47:00.000-05:00

I've returned now from my short trip, and have been talking with female friends who've seen a picture of me with the fire that I built. I was quite happy with building my own fire, and surprised by the number of women who told me that they never had, but always wanted to do it.

It got me to thinking about the ways in which we don't do what we've always wanted to do and the reasons for that. I hadn't built a fire on my own before, because somebody always stepped in, thinking they had a better way or knew more or just wanted to do it themselves. I think at my core, I like to be a peacekeeper. I'm laid back enough to compromise when something means more to someone else. I'd rather not get into a fight about something inconsequential.

What we don't know is that letting things slide like that, over time, can erode ones soul. We don't realize the number of things we let slide, for whatever reason, until they pile up into a crisis or resentment. What would happen if we just did what we felt called to do, and embraced the beauty of our own world of self-discoveries?

I've had a rule in my life, that I try to live my life without regrets.

When I wrote that, I meant to say that I don't feel very sorry about things that have happened in the past, so I make my decisions in the present regarding the future according to the philosophy that my future will someday be my past, and I don't want to feel bad that I elected not to do something I'd said I always wanted to do.

However, I took a look in the dictionary, and the Old Norse origins of the word "regret" mean "to weep." The first listing of the meaning of regret is "to mourn the loss or death of...to miss very much." That gave me pause, because I don't cry very much. Yet the number of things I've had to mourn in my life is significant. I feel the pain, like a raw wound that's almost healed when another wound comes to replace it. Yet, I don't weep for it.

Instead, I take my mourning out into the battlefield of life. I become an activist because of it, or an advocate for myself. I realized this week, that a part of my hawk-like nature informs me "hawks don't fly backwards." So too, when there is something bad that's happened, the survival of my soul calls for me to move forward.

This, in turn, goes back to that philosophy of my trying to live my life without regrets. I would most greatly mourn having given up and retreated, than I would the whole of the tragedies of my life combined.

What we don't know is that we can...we can build a fire on our own, we can take a stand on what we want to learn, we can go off into the deep woods and not only survive, but thrive. It takes planning and preparation, but those shouldn't end up as excuses of why we can't do a thing.

What we don't know is that we can trust the Creator and this world, and many of the people in it. I think it's easy to judge, based on our experiences, precisely who or what we can trust and under what conditions. But really, what it comes down to is being able to trust myself and my instincts. How many of us really don't know ourselves? We don't know what we're capable of until we've proven ourselves capable, and how many have not tried? When you know yourself, deeply and intimately, you know what you can do and what you cannot.

I know, for instance, I can crack climb, although I've never done it, because I know I can climb, so it's just a matter of adaptation and I know I'm good at that. I know I can go to the Yukon, because while I've never been there, I'm good with traveling to places I've never been and keeping myself safe. I know I can't hike a mile up a steep hill or I'll have an asthma attack, so I don't. Yet, the other things I'm called to do are far more adventurous than hiking up a steep hill, so why limit myself and think I can't do them, just because I've not done them before?

Each time I reach a bit beyond the scope of what I've done before, I find an opportunity to learn and grow.

FB friends: In what ways are you challenging the preconceived notions you have of yourself right now? What have you done in your life that you didn't think you could do that happily surprised you when you learned you could?

Dirt Barbie Gears Up

2010-05-22T12:33:00.000-05:00

Hello Dearest Blog Followers -

I'm going camping! Looking forward to the Memorial Day Expedition with my son and extended posse. Am not sure where where camping or how we are camping - might be base camping or could end up primitive camping, which makes for a challenge when my gear's not been in service for nigh on 8 years. Still and all, it's really just a matter of remembering what you know and locating the proper resources to make it work.

Late last night I came across a picture of myself from relatively happier times. I'd actually been avoiding looking at pictures from that period of my life, but last night I did and discovered that it was really okay. I changed my profile picture on FB to one of those pictures, because it's a reminder that there's a baseline of happiness I had and that it's simply a matter of getting back to that baseline. The baseline of happiness isn't contingent on things being in their proper place in my life, or knowing what to expect, much like this upcoming camping trip. It's really a matter of what I know about myself and what I know is absolutely required for the journey, in either case.

That being said, some things you learn from experience you can just do without, even when you've customarily relied upon them. This came to me as I was inventorying my gear. I've got 5 of us going and only 4 sleeping bags currently. I scoped around to see if I can borrow one, and if I can, that's great. But if not, I know that I can do without, as I've done it before.

I was on a coastal kayaking wilderness trip about 4 yrs ago with a group of teens, and later into the night, we discovered one of the teens misplaced her gear. If you've ever been coastal kayaking and carrying camping gear, you know that when the tides change and the sun goes down, it's almost impossible to get into the kayaks to find things. It was quite a frustrating experience for our team, and while I wasn't the lead, I decided to step up and offer mine. It wouldn't get below 50 degrees and with enough layers, I knew I'd be fine. And I was.

Now, if you'd asked me, would you ever just go out there and sleep without a sleeping bag prior to this experience, I'd have said no. Yet circumstances lent themselves to me learning something new. Life can be like that sometimes. The things we rely upon aren't always the things we have available to us, and we've got to step up and try something different.

On another trip I was on, we got lost in a national forest. I didn't really know much to speak of that would be of help to our leads, but I knew some things about not knowing what direction to take, as it had happened in my life. Sometimes it happens on a physical terrain, other times on a mental one. From those experiences, I knew that the most important thing would be to stay calm and calm others. When you're afraid, it interferes with your thinking process. So I offered that to our leads and it all worked out fine.

The newest part about both this phase in my life and the actual camping trip we're going on is that in both cases, I'm the lead. It's going to be up to me to know certain things and make some decisions and assume responsibility for when things don't work out. I am grateful for the experiences I had in the past, both in wilderness and in life, as these potentially can serve me well in these new endeavors.

The Conversation

2010-05-20T00:32:00.000-05:00

I had an interesting, deep moment this week with another human being in the center of chaos. We wondered aloud how things would all turn out, and I said to her that we've got to ride the wave of chaos and not struggle against it. It inevitably will come crashing to shore in it's own time, and we will find ourselves standing in a very different place, with our feet on firm ground.

I honestly don't know where that came from, except to say that sometimes in the simple dialogues, there are moments when the Creator speaks through us.

This led us to a discussion of what we'd do when our time would come and we would meet our Maker. My companion said she'd have a lot of questions to ask. I thought on it and explained that I'd have none, most likely. I never ask a question unless I really want to know the answer. I don't know how I came to that place within myself, and can't even say it's a good or a bad thing. It's just a stance I take with life. Presumably, it would be the same with my Maker.

Afterward, I did what most people would call prayer, and I call it that, too. But it got me to thinking, when we talk about prayer, what is it we're really talking about? I decided to look up the word, and it says it comes from a Latin derivative meaning "to obtain by entreaty." I looked that up, too and it's got to do with pleading or persuading.

That's when I realized that what I call "prayer" isn't that for me, with the Great Apportioner that made us all. I don't plead with him, because I respect Him, and if something's happening that's hard, there's absolutely got to be a lesson with it, in my experience. I may not learn it now, or ever, but it's going to come whether I see it or not. I don't attempt to persuade Him, because I already know he's on my side.

What I think it is is that I have a conversation, but I call it a prayer. Sometimes, it doesn't even feel like I need to say or think anything at all, because the Great Apportioner already knows me and the situation and everybody I am talking about. There's a plan and it's made and I've just got to get a bead on tracking what part of it I am meant to be involved with and what part of it I am not. I think that the times in the past when I've pleaded or persuaded have been the times when I am not clear with or don't particularly like the part I'm meant to do or the part I'm not meant to be involved in.

The rest of the process, what might be called the continuation of the prayer, is what I do when I move next. There is a call to action manifested in the process, because otherwise, for me, the whole thing's been about words and ideas. Words and ideas have their utility, but prayer manifested into conscious daily action is an entirely different thing.

By this, I don't mean continual beseechment throughout the day. I mean instead a dialogue or conversation between me and the Great Apportioner, as I am taking the steps that I feverently hope are the correct actions. The great challenge to me is having the proper instincts to know what it is that I am meant to do and what it is that I am not, placing myself in service to the process, rather than attempting to commandeer it, unless of course, that's my given role to do.

Usually when I think of trusting my instincts, it relates to knowing if I am reading the situation and other people in it properly. But really, in the process of prayer or dialogue with the spiritual, I must reorient myself. The trusting of my instincts relates to a course of action on a path, rather than on the surrounding terrain.

Do you make your way up the mountain, whatever mountain it is you're climbing, by saying "I can trust that tree, this rock, that person, this compass?" Those all might serve as markers or guidance, but the true way to get there is to trust the inner guidance that you're given.

In the moments you have trusted it, what has come to pass?

The Other Side

2010-04-29T23:48:00.000-05:00

I got this bracelet in the mail today, and there's a funny synchronicity to it for me. There's a lady who sells jewelry and I got a necklace from her the very first time I was in NYC. I got that necklace as a reminder of what it was I could accomplish if only I believed. So when she was having a sale, I looked at her website and found a bracelet that was interesting, except that she'd already sold it. She offered to make me one like it, and sent me pictures of turquoise stones. I could select one for the centerpiece of the bracelet.

There was one that attracted me most in the photos. Photos are a funny thing, they only show you one side to things. So when I received the bracelet today, I saw that the stone I selected was there, but there was another side to the piece, and on that other side, another turquoise, with a visible crack dividing it that someone had repaired, putting the two pieces back together.

There was a time, my perfectionistic era, that I would not have worn something broken, thinking that somehow it's brokenness might rub off on me and then I might be broken, too.

Prior to receiving it and seeing this, I'd been mulling on the idea that in life, when we have our brokenness, we can't often see the other side to things. Like the full moon tonight, we have only illuminated before us one side. It's clearly visible and some say it makes us crazy, this full moon. But I appreciate it simply for reminding me that the circle in the night sky is actually a sphere. Even in seeing it's full circle face, I know that there is another side that I cannot see from my perspective.

So getting the bracelet today, with the two sided turquoise stones, I am reminded that the brokenness of one side does not discount the fact that there is another side to this that is whole and complete. We sometimes focus our attention so exclusively on the brokenness that we neglect to consider the other side of it.

And when I flip the stone to reveal the stone with it's alluring wholeness, I need to honor the side not seen, but important nonetheless. It's in our brokenness that we are made whole and complete, for without it we would fail to recognize what wholeness could be.

How is it that we overlook the beauty of brokenness? I am struck by the fact that the craftsperson who made the two sided piece took the time and care to lovingly put the pieces back together. In truth, what the stone was before it broke was beautiful in it's depth of color. Did the person realize this and honor it's beauty beyond the fractured state? It takes an artist's eye to see the beauty in the flaws.

We all have them, these flaws and broken moments. I've yet to meet a person who's had none. It's what we do with these that matters. Do we eschew them, cast them away from us? Or do we give ourselves the loving care to piece a life back together? Can we see beyond the imperfection in order to see the grace and beauty that exists and willfully and mindfully restore ourselves to whole?

I love this bracelet, as it serves as a reminder of what was and is, and how there is another side to this, like the moon, that I have to believe exists without actually seeing it.

Whatever It Takes

2010-04-18T23:36:00.000-05:00

Tonight I'm wearing a ring that has a diamond in it that was my great aunt, Pelagia's. It was from her wedding ring when she married in 1928. She was called Pela by her family growing up, until she got her social security number in order to work, when they gave her a more "American" sounding name. I grew up knowing her by that other name, that was not her own. I only discovered it wasn't her real name some 30 years later.

I do genealogy, and I have pictures of Pela that I inherited after she passed on. In those pictures, she is holding babies, and the look on her face is one of pure expectation and joy. She loved babies and wanted many of her own. It never turned out that she could have any. As I wear this ring and look at the pictures of her youth, I'm struck by the unexpected turns in life and where it takes us.

The fact that I'm wearing this ring at all is the result of unexpected turns. Pela was my godmother, and my half-brother Renfisher was my godfather, back in 1966. She thought she was too old to be a godmother to anyone, and encouraged mother Main to find someone younger. My mother was adamant it should be her.

I grew up hearing my mother's take on family stories. There was a big rift between Pela and several other family members, where she, according to accounts, willfully cut off several of our family, never to speak to them again. This loomed large in my mother's narrative, possibly because it happened in her youth and she was closer to the family members it impacted. As it turned out, at her funeral, I was the only biological family member there.

She tried to cut me out of her life at one point, too. Not for an infraction or due to any animosity between us, but because she felt she was too old, and that I needed to get on with my life. I was more stubborn than she was, and simply told her no. She'd have to try harder if she was getting me out of her life, I told her, and she left it at that.

So I'm wearing this ring with the 82 year old diamond of hers, and thinking of what 82 years all means, and the unexpected turns we have in our lives all means. Pela didn't have the children she wanted, and cut off a great deal of her family, yet she was one of the most nurturing and loving of people I knew.

I certainly didn't expect to be wearing her diamond. What had happened was that after she passed, there was a bidding war for it. Someone outside the family who was a dear and wonderful friend to my aunt had wanted it, and my grandmother, Pela's sister in law, said no. She was absolutely adamant about it. It needed to stay in the family, she said:

"Bid on it," she said.

"How much?" I asked.

"Whatever it takes," she responded.

Now, as I am sitting here with it, years after the fact, I'm thinking that's what we do when we are faced with the unexpected turns of life. Life throws down the gauntlet and challenges us, and we in turn, need to do whatever it takes.

In Pela's case, while she couldn't have children of her own, she nurtured some things in me that allowed me to grow in the direction that I have. That in turn has helped me to give a good life to my son and I, despite the ever-shifting changes that life has to offer. In a way, the things she gave me, both tangible and intangible, have helped more people in this world than what she might have done parenting a half dozen children, if she'd been able to do so. By my account, her grace, wisdom, and freedom of thought have helped nigh on a thousand people, through my ability to "pay it forward."

I don't wear this ring often, and I have to ask myself why. I think I associated it with hopes and dreams she had on her wedding day that never came to pass. Or of dreams her friend had of having it for herself that also didn't come to pass. When things don't come about the way that we hope and envision them to be, is that a loss or a gift? I guess it all comes down to the perspective we take, and our ability to do whatever it takes in the end.

I Don't Buy Into the Myth of Your Power

2010-04-14T21:36:00.001-05:00

Hello Blog Readers,

I had an interesting day today, where I realized something critical about myself (but by no means self-critical)! So, thought I'd share it in case you can relate.

There are occasions in my life (thankfully, rare) that I've encountered people who've taken a passionate dislike to and mistrust of me, when I've given them no logical reason to do so. I think I've encountered perhaps 4 or 5 of them, and it usually blindsides me, because I haven't done anything in particular to warrant their reaction to me.

Usually, it goes something like this - I meet the person, they find me so outrageously awful, that they seek by whatever means necessary, to down me, take me out of the game, as it were. This is usually characterized by some level of subterfuge on their part, sneaking around backrooms, gossiping behind closed doors, and laying plans for my destruction. My typical reaction is shock, surprise and a little bit of "Where the hell did that come from??? That doesn't even make sense."

When we encounter these people, it usually involves a great investment of our personal energy to survive their character assassination attempts. In the moment of dealing with it, once we realize it's happening, it's easy to get tunnel vision around it or start to generalize out and think that everybody is out to get us. I'd advise against that, because unless you're Osama Bin Laden, it's not true. Besides, even he's got some friends somewhere, otherwise, how would he remain in hiding? It just smacks of paranoia, and paranoia is not good.

Because these folks are the exception and not the norm, it's been difficult for me to track their characteristics in order to anticipate when I might encounter one...That is, until tonight. I was talking with someone about this and decided I finally had enough encounters with this sort to form a pattern. The pattern could be about me, and likely it is to the extent that I have little tolerance for them, and they instinctively know it.

They are the people who are in love with the myth of their own power. They like power and seek out ways to cultivate it and grow it, much the same way that I grow my garden. They seek out positions in order to maintain that power, and will do everything and anything to maximize it. Any questioning of their myth of power results in swift retaliation and the development of a plan to down the questioner. I don't buy into the myth of their power and therefore become dangerous in their world.

The Cherokee have this thing called the "Booger Dance" which is a dance that would occur where the people would dress like something called a "Booger" and dance out the people's greatest fears. It was ribald and raunchy at times, and they might wear masks carved to represent fearsome aspects of whatever challenged the people. It might be a mask representing disease, or the characteristics of a fearsome spirit, or even, later after the immigration of the Europeans (aka invasion), the masks might represent European faces. At least, this is my understanding from books, never having seen a Booger Dance myself.

I think at times for these folks who love the myth of their power, I become the Booger, dancing out their greatest fears, being that they are not all-powerful. They reach that conclusion simply because I don't buy into their omnipotent power, and therefore they feel that they need to demonstrate it through mysterious ways. Perhaps because that's how they experience the power of the Creator, that it's mysterious, full of subterfuge and sneaks up on you. Therefore, being the Creator of their Myth of Power themselves, they they enact it in such a fashion.

I often don't realize I'm dancing this out before them, because I don't recognize them right off, or haven't, historically. Their power is in reality, a myth, because authentic power has no need for such tactics. Authentic power is unafraid of exposure and directness. Perhaps that is what I dance out more frequently than I realize: Authentic Power. People who don't believe they have it are either in awe of it or a little bit afraid of it. But people who are in love with the myth of their own power somewhere along the line relinquished authenticity for the construction of a myth. I don't know where or how, nor do I particularly care.

What I do care about is making sure that I don't miss it again, next time it rears its ugly head. As I've looked back on it, the single thought I've had that's been consistent in these encounters is "How did I get that much power?" It's usually in reference to hearing about their backroom character assassination attempts, or seeing their attempts to down me. It seems incredulous to me that I might be that important to invest such efforts in taking me out, which is why I ask myself that.

So, now I'm onto them, and maybe you can be, too!

The Jungle, and a Life of Meaning

2010-04-11T02:05:00.000-05:00

Some of my family worked in the Chicago Stockyards, back around the turn of the last century. They slaughtered the hogs, worked in unsanitary conditions, and one of them died there in a horrible accident.

As a young person, maybe 13, they gave us The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, to read. It characterized what some of my ancestors went through, and was written by an activist, hoping to draw awareness to the conditions. Upton Sinclair became my de facto hero. He opened up a whole world to me, both in terms of understanding where we came from and lived through, and also, where we draw our power...

Here's one of my favorite passages from The Jungle:

"It is very imprudent, it is tragic – but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this they cling with all the power of their souls – they cannot give up the veselija! To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to acknowledge defeat – and the difference between these two things is what keeps the world going. The veselija has come down to them from a far-off time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave and gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could break his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; provided that once in his lifetime he might testify to the fact that life, with all its cares and its terrors, is no such great thing after all, but merely a bubble upon the surface of a river, a thing that one may toss about and play with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a thing that one may quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine. Thus having known himself for the master of things, a man could go back to his toil and live upon the memory all his days."

I'm looking at that passage now, and thinking of how it might relate to me (or any one of us) today. The Veselija in the passage was a traditional Lithuanian wedding feast, and so Sinclair is talking about celebration and tradition.

If, in our times of greatest oppression or sorrow, we lose our ability to celebrate using our traditions, we have lost it all. He talks of the difference between defeat and acknowledging defeat. We can, on all counts, be defeated, but if we acknowledge it, we may well lose everything. Life being no great thing at all, seems to me to mean more precisely that the struggles we encounter in life are really no great thing at all, despite how we may feel about them.

He speaks of traditions, that allow us to return to the flow of life, having simply lived it through celebration. Rejecting the acknowledgement of defeat, it seems to me is to be taking one's power back.

For example, if you have a terrible situation that you are in, it can create tunnel vision, where all that you can see is the bad that is happening or has happened. Over time, the bad begins to define your experience and perhaps even your life. In doing so, it takes the power from you, the power to be happy, to have a sense of peace, contentment and wholeness about you. Soon, all perspective is lost.

If instead, you turn back to said terrible situation and refused to allow it to define you any longer, refused to acknowledge defeat, you might find yourself celebrating the everyday moments, or even the special traditions of your respective culture.

Not everything has to be a wedding feast - we can find the daily moments, or we can find the special traditions and enact them. Doing this defies the concept of defeat. Cling to this with all the power of your soul! Celebrate using your traditions!

So, I'm going to do the happy dance of being a traditional Cherokee woman, knowing our power, and laughing in the face of such supposed big, scary things that life waves before my face. Not that we actually have a happy dance, but I feel empowered to make one up. Regardless, in my celebration, I am going to embrace what it means to be me, and revel in it with abandon!

How about you? What are YOU going to do?

Belief , Faith and Chaos

2010-04-07T23:42:00.000-05:00

I'm relaxing now, and have been in the mood to do a mental exercise I do from time to time. I reflect on a word that describes something I've experienced and I look the definition of that word up. If I've experienced it, you'd assume I know the meaning - but I think concepts such as words are sometimes like the facets of a diamond. There are many different angles that it can be seen from.

So tonight it was "chaos." I came to a place with the definitions that I found where I posted the following FB status:

"In order for chaos to exist, we have to believe in predictability. The degree to which we have faith in predictability determines how chaotic we find our circumstances to be. What if we had faith in WHAT IS, rather than what we'd like it to be?"

Where I was going with it was that a lot of times we say things like "I have faith that it will all work out," or "I have faith in my God/Creator/Higher Power," etc. and yet when things don't work out as we'd anticipated they would, we may suddenly find ourselves thrown into chaos. However, the chaos is really because the anticipation we had of what we thought would happen was ruined. So how is it that we give such power to anticipation, rather than to that origin from which we had our initial faith?

When I say "I have faith that it will all work out" I usually mean that I've got a belief that however it all works out, whether in my favor or not, I will find meaning and a way to make sense of what happened in retrospect. So in other words, I don't give power over to my anticipation, or what I think I want to happen. I anticipate anything might happen, and work with WHAT IS when it happens.

But here it gets interesting...I just looked up belief and faith and found quite a bit of difference - faith requires a level of certitude (certainty) whereas belief appears to begin with a phenomenon and seeks out evidence to confirm or refute the truth of the matter. So might it be said that faith maintains a certainty of truth, but belief seeks out the truth?

So what does that mean when I say that I have faith in my Creator? Usually when people say that, it's related to an outcome of anticipated events, typically assumed to be of a potentially negative nature. There's some level of expectation there, placed on whatever or whomever a person calls their God.

I don't know that it's right for me to have such expectations of my Creator. I mean, wasn't it enough that I was given the gift of life? The whole idea of having expectations that my Creator's going to take the presumed negative out of my life gives me pause. I'm envisioning it as if "God is my Quarterback and He's gonna take you, (it) down!" Somehow, it doesn't feel right, or fit with my relationship to a Creator/God/Higher Power.

What if the WHAT IS, the impending chaos, is just a gift from said Creator in the first place? It's difficult when you feel you're in the middle of it to take the long view on what gifts come from it.

I rather think that I will change the language that I use going forward. If I were to say "I have a belief that it will all work out" it means that I will seek evidence for it all working out, and seek out the truth beyond the chaos.

It may be closer to the truth for me to say "I believe in the Creator." In looking up the word "believe" I discovered that discovered that the Old English origin of the word means several things, including "to allow" and possibly "dear" as it relates to love and affection.

It would be nice to think of allowing the Creator into my life, in a loving, affectionate way. I much prefer that image to the quarterback one!

In considering it that way, then too, might I lovingly allow what challenges I'm given, that at the time feel very chaotic? If I were to do that, is it possible that I would see WHAT IS in a circular fashion, rather than the straight on view of the diamond that only allows me to see one facet of it? Might the gifts of WHAT IS then become more apparent?

While, admittedly, this all sounds like heady, esoteric thinking, let's bring it to a practical level. Were we only to stay in our one position thinking in relation to chaos, we could easily miss the gifts due to our frustration that what we thought would happen didn't. Those gifts exist and were created exclusively for us, based on something the Creator/God/Higher Power feels that we NEED. If we don't see the gifts in order to claim them for our own, we are still missing something that we need.

So what happens then? I believe we seek it out in the externals and escapism that is rampant in our society. Some seek out that fulfillment or gift in relationships, hoping the other person will give it to them. Others seek it out in drugs, alcohol, high risk behaviors, hoping to fill the void or give them an experience. LIFE IS AN EXPERIENCE. We don't have to seek it out or create new drama in order to have an experience. It is WHAT IS. Some will fall prey to seeking it out in the idolization of pop stars, rock stars, movie stars. The list is seemingly endless...

So, if we don't seek out and claim our gifts, we seek fulfillment other places. One last word look up - the word, "fulfill" - means in Old English "to fill" and the definition of it talks of "to make full, to put into effect..." and, (my favorite):

"to convert into reality..to develop the full potentialities of..."

We can't convert into reality or develop the full potentialities of ourselves by expecting our fulfillment to come due to externals and escapism. It just doesn't work. Why doesn't it work? Because of the error of our faith in the predictability that we can get it externally at all. When we don't (and it will happen), it throws us into chaos because we expected a different outcome.

Well, those are some lengthy thoughts to ponder - FB friends, if you've read this far (bless you for your persistence! LOL) What's your take on it?

(All definitions found at Merriam Webster online dictionary)

Life as a Work of Art

2010-04-04T23:44:00.000-05:00

I was reading something today about viewing one's life as a work of art. What is it that we are creating and to what end?

When I was young, there wasn't much room to be creative and develop oneself as a work of art. The people I was raised by had the idea that I would be their work of art, created and fashioned a particular way and for a specific purpose that served their needs. Of course, I rebelled against being their pet project. For a time, I viewed my life as necesarily needing to be created in the service of what others would find artistic and otherwise pleasing.

I can say that this was dissatisfying and unhealthy. Modeling oneself and ones life to be a work of art pleasing to the general population just doesn't work. Everyone has different ideas of what you "should" be and how you "should" do it. Throw the "shoulds" straight out the window.

After that, there was a period of my life where the work of art I created was in opposition to and in reaction to the expectations of how my life ought to look by other people's standards. This was an empowering period, but not particularly efficient. I say efficient because at the stage I'm at now, I'm realizing that for life to be a work of art, there needs to be some efficiency or flow to the art that you are creating. If you're stuck in indecision, angst, or are otherwise struggling to create the art that is your life, it can bog you down quite a bit. There's some good thinking that comes from it, if it's a short term process. However, I've known a lot of people who get stuck in that process to the point where it defines them, and they never manifest their life, dreams and art. Instead, they're defined by the struggle.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever powers that be, I was able to move to the point of actually creating my life authentically as a work of art. It became efficient, flowing and beautiful. One day, I woke up to realize that people thought it was created and existed simply to serve their own needs and reality, and had no realization that the creative process I engaged in the get to the point I am now actually had a purpose beyond their myopic needs.

So I find myself facing this dilemma - here's me, my life as a work of art, and me living it. We're good so far, right? But when your art becomes the false idol for someone else, in order to maintain it, you need to isolate it and render it static instead of dynamic. In other words, there's a great risk of becoming your own stereotype or one dimensional icon.

Now, I find my self restoring a doorknob. Sounds crazy as all get out, but there it is. It's symbolic in so many ways for me. I picked it up after I got a lead from a wonderful FB friend, on reclaimed building parts. I've posted pictures of said doorknob up, in various stages of renovation. Why? It's somewhat symbolic of my process of reclaiming my life as a work of art. When all else is stripped away, what remains?

In my metaphor of the doorknob, I'm envisioning rebuilding a life and home piece by piece, starting with a doorknob, without having a tangible home for it. Doorknobs, by their nature, open doors, and this is mentally what I am doing, through the tangible restoration of the doorknob. In order to have a doorknob work, I've got to envision doors and places in my life I will open them or close them. I have to envision what I will welcome, versus what I will close out. Doors by definition lead into or out of shelter and I need to consider what that shelter will encompass.

I selected this doorknob because it's so old, likely around the 1880's, from some long gone building now. Who knows where it was, or the history behind it. Why go for something old when I'm creating something new? Because my life and it's history did not begin with me. I'm the result of the ancestors that came before me, and their history has formed a foundation in which my beginnings were created.

In particular the period this doorknob represents for me is one where I believe something significant happened in my family. It was around the time when my great great grandmother passed on, and with her, some of the stories of our Cherokee lineage. When she passed on, it appears she was one of the few links that we had to that part of our family. Some stories remained and were transmitted orally to descendants, while others were not given the same information. It's created something of a hole for our family, the missing information and stories. Yet, whether we know them all or not, there's a part of us that remains dynamically connected to who we are. We can't run from it or hide from it, because it's a part of our life as a work of art.

So, my process unfolding is to reach back to times before I was born, and reclaim a part of my own history. It starts with a doorknob and reclaiming my life and lineage as a work of art. The further I go into this process, the more I find myself, as opposed to the paint I've been stripping, stripped away, bit by bit, to get to my own core.

I've never been one to collect things or work on them for the purpose of display, so at some point, this doorknob will be on a door, all my own. In the process of getting to that place, perhaps the work of art I'm creating in my life will be seen more as authentically me and less as the projection of what other people need to see my art as. Or, perhaps it will always go that way, that when you create your life as a work of art, others will have their opinions and reactions. So long as my life isn't based on feeling compelled to respond to those opinions and reactions, I think it will be good.

The Evolution

2010-04-01T22:17:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking of this as recently as five minutes ago, so I may as well make a blog out of it.

Who are we, really, at our core? And how do we define ourselves?

I believe it's where we stand in relationship to our fears.

Ah, now that I've said that last part, I realize this has been an ongoing internal dialogue I've had for many years.

When I am talking about where we stand in relationship to our fears, I'm not advocating a particular brand of courage, but of perception. I believe a majority of humanity operates from a place of fear based motivation. Fears can dictate and drive a great deal of what we do and the actions we take, which become the building blocks of how we define ourselves.

When a seed is planted, it must grow through dirt and manure in the direction of the sun. It's got to have it's bit of rain and available nutrients from the soil that it will need. The whole time that it's growing, in the most vulnerable stages of emerging from the hull it's in, it must grow through this darkness and muck, initially not actually seeing the sun until it emerges from however deep it's planted. How does it know what direction to grow in, or that the sun is there at all? I believe it's an act of faith embedded in its core. A subtle design within the seed that gives it the ability to grow in the proper direction.

Some years ago, a woman sent me three seeds, telling me not all of them, or any of them, might grow. Being the citified girl I am, this disheartened me greatly, as I had lived under the illusion that all seeds must grow. Not all seeds do. I don't think I ever planted those seeds, for fear none of them would take. More recently, I received 6 endangered seeds, carefully nurtured them all in the same conditions, only to watch one of them grow into a plant.

I think as people, we assume it's the environment that creates the conditions that allow us to grow, and frequently blame factors in the environment for when things don't go our way. That gives over way more power to externals than I feel comfortable giving, quite frankly. And, as my seed experiment taught me, all receiving the same environment, conditions and nurturance, only one actually grew. Darwin might talk about this in terms of survival of the fittest in the evolution of a species, but that's not my take on it. I think the seeds that don't have a fear of growing and a fondness and comfort for their hulls.

I picture the angst of the seed, buried under the dirt, wondering if the effort is actually worth it. Break free of the hull, and you have no shell to protect you. You can't ungrow. It's unknown territory, insofar as a seed might be concerned. Why grow in the direction of something you can't see from the outset? What's out there anyway that might remotely be worth the effort?

As a person, I've had my comfort in the hull, as it were. I know the lure it had, back in the day. I remember the amount of energy I invested in justifying my stagnation. It really takes just as much effort to justify not growing as it does to actually grow, perhaps more. Here are a few:

"Hulls are fine, and I'm fine as I am."

"Life's really overrated."

If we don't meet life on life's terms, we aren't living, just justifying a hull of a life. I can't speak for the social aspects of seeds, but among people, there are those who will pull us toward a norm or social expectation. Their norm and their expectation. There's an element of choice involved on our part, although we're sometimes oblivious to it, due to our justifications to self and others. We want the safety of the hull, the safety of our companionship among the other non-growing seeds.

If I were to contemplate the social aspect of seeds, I imagine that when one breaks out of it's hull and begins to grow in the direction of the sun, the other five or so look over and the dialogue goes something like this:

"See Harry? Don't know why he'd go and ruin everything by breaking out of his shell. Bet he doesn't know what he's doing."

"Sally's kind of looking green and freakish these days, can't be good."

"John's really in the muck now! Serves him right."

For those seeds that remain static, without growth, a greater value is attributed to the hull and the mentality that maintains it. Those that grew have their story become a cautionary tale for those that elected not to, resplendent with myths to go along with it.

If you're meeting life on life's terms, then you've got to deal with facts, as opposed to myths and cautionary tales. Simultaneously growing through the muck, there's also an element of faith you must have in both your growth potential and that something is on the other side of this muck worth growing toward. To me and for me, that's evolution. No seed that grows or person that emerges from their hull, is without fears. It's where you stand in relation to them that's going to define you.

So where do you stand in relation to yours?

I Get Worked Up Over Nuthin'

2010-04-01T00:23:00.000-05:00

I had this interesting day where I was on the verge of bursting into tears throughout much of it. It really only turned around for me when two of my FB friendies called me a doll, a strong woman, and told me to go get what I needed to and be my Dirt Barbie self. I don't think they had any idea of what a seriously crappy mood I was in, and just how much I needed them to remind me of just how ambitious, determined and strong I am!

Post mini-meltdown, when I'd calmed sufficiently, I realized that I get worked up over things that don't really matter. Back in the day before HD TV, there used to be times when you'd flip through channels and just get the grey, buzzing screen. Sometimes there would be a broadcasting problem, and the static screen would appear.

Much of what I get worked up over is like that - the background buzz to an otherwise good life. One of the things I need to consistently remind myself during this phase of my existence is that the "good life" isn't defined by something stable outside of myself, but must be defined by stable factors within myself. This is what my lovely FB ladies were reminding me.

Thanks, dearest ones!

Cast into the River

2010-03-20T01:08:00.000-05:00

I wanted to jump into the river today,
Cold, swollen fury that it is.
But the river's more a metaphor
And not an escape.

I want it to carry me down its currents,
Sweep me off my feet,
Deep and wild into its passionate swell.

I want it to wash away the misery,
Cleanse me in it's ever running waters.
Longman, 7 times Longman,
Come take me down.

New fires are burning,
I can see their fierce brightness
Not far off

Take me down to the oceans,
Send me reeling up their shores.
Hold me close and dive me down,
Until I am one with the current.

Being Irish

2010-03-17T22:17:00.000-05:00

Happy Saint Patrick's Day, All!

I've been reflecting today on what it means to be Irish. My Irish family has been here for awhile, since the potato famine. So I'm 5th generation here.

I see a lot of people wearing Kelly green, listening to the Chieftains, or singing "Oh Danny Boy," drinking green beer, dying the Chicago river green, talking in a fake Irish brogue, wearing four leaf clovers, funky top hats more befitting New Year's celebrations, drinking green shakes from McDonalds, eating potatoes and corn beef and cabbage, and celebrating being Irish, or just liking the Irish. My son even got pinched today by classmates for not wearing green, apparently some bizarre grade school custom I avoided as a child. Ironically enough, in his class, he was the only one who raised his hand when they asked who was Irish in the class. So the boy with the actual claim on the heritage gets pinched for not embracing the stereotype. Welcome to America.

None of the above in any way is what it means to me to be Irish. Nor are lepruachans or pots of gold. In fact, I hate "Oh Danny Boy." I don't drink alcohol, much less green beer, I am not fond of corned beef and cabbage. I object to the greening of the Chicago River on behalf of the masses who want to honor me, or pay homage to a saint who drove the snakes out of Ireland. I get irritated when people put on fake Irish brogues. I don't actually mind much if you're an Irish wannabee for a day. That's cool, because we're sharing, giving people, and in fact, it's sort of wonderous being Irish, I think. So let me share what I find wonderous about it.

My people made it out of a holocaust back in the day before they called it that. We were starved out like dogs by the occupying forces during a time when they elected not to send aid. It was not a simple matter of a potato blight, it was a series of decisions of the invaders/occupiers/warlords of my ancestral homelands that failed to consider us human. They sent us on what were called death ships, away. Some got out on their own. Most did not receive the benefit of an education prior to leaving, and the fortunate made it to America to take up some work and start again.

One of my ancestors who made it to these shores left us a quote about being Irish. He said "You have nothing to be proud of with being Irish, except for potatoes and poverty." I'll call that what it is, internalized racism. He likely meant it at the time, but here's the thing...every one of his descendants holds our pride of being Irish like a burning torch within our souls, and many of us, 4 to 5 generations removed, stay in touch and share family stories that make us prouder still.

My family came here without much of anything in the way of material possessions, on what likely took 3-4 months on a ship back in the day. They arrived in the east, and moved to the midwest fairly quickly. Despite the trauma of the move and what they left, they had a resiliency to make the best of what was before them and start anew. They worked hard, and maintained their faith and spirit. While some family history was lost, they passed on orally a family tradition of sharing the lineage. Every Irish family is different, I expect. In my family, much was shared about a unique, seemingly portable identity.

Our identity has nothing to do with the stereotypes danced out before my eyes every St. Patrick's day. In my family's version, we are tough, we are resilient, we are steely cold in our resolve to never let a situation down us. We help each other whatever way we are able, and we never forget who we are.

I grew up raised by the non-Irish side of my family, due to my parents divorcing when I was 6 months old. I was told of some of my heritage, but I didn't have much in the way of opportunity to interact with my Irish-American relatives. I expect I bought into some of the same lure of excitement with the idea of being Irish as a child. Who can't like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?

However, most of what occurred for me was learning about my Irish identity through looking at the family who raised me and noting the differences. It wasn't the food or the music or abstract cultural differences. It had to do with my growing awareness of how I thought, saw the world, and met life on life's terms differently. I had a lot of internal hope, even in the face of reasons to be hopeless. I had a great love of history, with a family that didn't like to read or write much down. I loved to write. I was passionate about knowing our lineage, and the factors that brought us here. More than anything, being raised without Irish or Irish-Americans around me, taught me just how Irish I was. My humor and my anger are definitely geneticly predisposed by that side of the family. Perhaps, too, my resiliency. I can't say that's universal among the Irish or Irish Americans. But I will say that I strongly suspect that our sense of social justice and interest in political injustices just might be bore of shared experiences.

One day some years ago, I went to an Irish festival, and stopped over at the genealogy table. A man sporting Kelly green, wearing the sparkly top hat, and making a fake Irish accent, saw my interest. Apparently, he was "Somebody Important and In Charge." He approached me and said "Ho, so you THINK you are Irish?" and went on to share a litany of all of the people from all walks of life who think they are Irish who come to his table, but often aren't. I explained, "No, I KNOW I am Irish." He didn't think much of that, and gave me a pop quiz, asking me our last name. I listed off the 5 generation of our lineage and where we came from in Ireland and when we arrived, and he was stunned. Perhaps if I'd had some green beer and a shamrock necklace with me, it might have given him some clue, that I am in fact, Irish. Sad to think that, but likely it's true.

When I'm being Irish, it's not reserved for St. Patrick's Day. It doesn't involve any of the stereotypical stuff. I don't reserve it for times when I'm with my Irish-American family now. It never involves Kelly green. It comes up around injustice, whether it be one I'm faced with or someone else's. I'll never back down from those kinds of fights, and it goes beyond banter or armchair debates. It comes up in my humor, and my ability to find it in both the joys and tragedies of life. I don't need to look the part or act the part, it just is. Most of all, it comes up in my hopeful response to life and the long view I take on most matters. I love that we are not only survivors, but thrivers, when we set our minds to it. And if everybody on the planet wants to be Irish for a day for these reasons, go for it and take it to the streets. The world might be a better place for it!

Disappointment

2010-03-16T22:14:00.000-05:00

My disappointment is
between me and my God
and I wouldn't have it
any other way.

The weight of it
bows my shoulders.
The carrying of it
pressures my heart
to go off at
breakneck speed.

"Hey you!"
I call to that which
created me.
"This didn't come,
with an instruction manual!"
I tell Him, throwing it down.
"Besides, I think it's broken.
It just doesn't work for me."

He didn't give it to me,
but I figure I can leave it here.
With it's freeze dried bitterness.
With it's residual gall.
At least if I give it to Him,
I'll know it won't be given to someone else
by Him.
And I won't have it burdening me
up the vertical climb
I'm about to venture off on.

What Really Matters

2010-03-15T23:43:00.000-05:00

Tonight I'm thinking about a friend of mine who passed on about 4 years ago.

This past summer, I was at Arlington Cemetary in Virginia and happened upon the Women's Memorial there. You can't really miss it, as it's right there at the entrance way. On TV people saw it when Ted Kennedy died and his hurst drove past it, before turning into the cemetary, but most don't people don't know what it is. The tourists scarcely bother with it, preferring the more well known attractions.

I was in a mood that day, and didn't much feel like visiting the graves of people I've never met, and now never will. I've got a bit of a grudge against the military when it comes to gravesites, as my father, who was a WWII vet never got a military headstone for his grave, due to the records of his service being lost in a federal fire.

Anyway, in my funk, I discovered the Women's Memorial. Something was nagging at me, like "I've heard about this before, but where?" As I walked through the halls, I remembered. It was my friend, an elder female who served in WWII. She'd died some years before my visit, but I remembered her being excited about this memorial finally being done.

I discovered that they had a registry of women who'd been in the military, and so I looked her up and found her record there. They had a beautiful picture, too, of her during her service days in the 1940's - one that I wouldn't have recognized as my friend, only first meeting her when she was in her 70's.

But this isn't a post about military memorials, really. It's about the lovely lady that I knew. We'd met through a mutual friend, and she'd call me sometimes to check and see how our friend was doing. We'd run into each other at events, or talk on the phone. She always amazed me with her attitude. She was unapologetically herself, and spoke plainly and clearly her truths. She'd had, by some accounts, a hard life, one that could easily have been a made her a victim of the world. However, she never took that stance in all the time I'd known her. She was a God loving woman, but not a poser or a proselytizer. She knew my belief system wasn't her own and never once questioned the validity of my ways.

I've known a lot of elders over the years, and she struck me as refreshing in not buying into the standard party line of how she ought to see her own life experience. Given up for adoption, she'd gone to boarding schools and been converted to Christianity. She might well have found this offensive, but she didn't. Other people I'd known who'd gone through similar experiences were filled with anger, regret or self-pity. Not once did I see this occur for her.

She had a certain way of looking at things that I really appreciated. We'd talk about her life and she'd update me on her family, and was sad to see some paths chosen by her children, but in no way felt she owned responsibility for it. She was neither martyr nor enabler. She'd lived her life as best as she could, and left the rest up to God.

It was always refreshing, talking with her, because you just never knew where it would go. She talked about what really mattered, in the keenest and most eloquent sense. Most people don't do that these days, and frankly, I miss it.

I saw that they didn't have that she died on their records, and they gave me a form to complete. I've had it with me the better part of 7 months. Took awhile to find the obituary, then in the flurry of my own personal dramas, I'd set it aside. When I was at the memorial, I purchased a silver pin of wings, to remember her by. I didn't set that aside, instead, keeping it on my backpack or nightstand, and now it's on a hat a friend gave me.

I never forgot I needed to get the memorial her death information, and did so tonight, mainly because I'm feeling up for it now. Thinking about her, she showed me what really mattered through how she modelled it and talked. She enjoyed life, it seemed to me - did her best by it, and didn't lament a thing that ever happened. I loved her straight forward, unapologetic, but compassionate ways. Her compassion wasn't for show, and she had no need to impress people. She had her unique interests and ways, and enjoyed them completely.

What I was particularly struck by was the many ways in which she rebuked and almost laughed at, the ways in which people sought to define her through her life challenges, or what some might call tragedies. There was a confident, low level defiance to her, like "don't make me out to be the victim when I'm not."

I can relate to her in that regard, and it's probably one of the reasons that we were friends. We knew how to let go of the things that didn't serve us well in the past. We were both equally compassionate with ourselves and other people. We didn't really care much for people defining us by our life challenges and telling us how we ought to think, see things or feel them. We squarely and head on viewed things as they actually were, rather than how we'd like them to be. So, in that sense, we were firmly grounded in reality. We were both deeply spiritual people, but viewed that as a personal relationship with our respective faiths, not one all out on display or for show.

We weren't, to paraphrase Shakesphere, acting out roles on the stage of life. We were more to the point standing there watching the others and wondering what made it so terribly difficult to be present, aware and authentic? Then we'd shrug and move to stage left, but only because it suited our fancy, not for anyone else's benefit.

She gave me a lot to consider, a lot of good wisdom in the brief time I'd been lucky enough to know her. She taught me something of a brazen approach to challenges in life. There will be people lined up to decide who I am, judge what I do, the decisions I make, like some great morality play. Others will attempt to sit at the feet on the newest martyr they think I have every right to become. After knowning this friend, there's just a part of me that can't be bothered with either role definition. There's life to be engaging in, people to be talking to, serious matters needing attending to, and a glorious set of life experiences to look back on and say, with a smile, "I learned a lot from that and it made me better today."

Cheers to the renegade angel I'm sure she must be!

Failing Forward

2010-03-10T22:32:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking a lot lately on the concept of recouping from a real or perceived failure. In business, they talk about failing forward by learning from the process in order to improve the overall product or service that was deemed to have failed to have met expectations. Today, in my regular day job, I encountered an amazing person who applied some of the concepts to personal life. And that got me to thinking...

In the course of my own personal life, failure comes typically related to what I call my "preordained expectations." I say preordained in the religious and hierarchal sense, in that the expectations take presidence over such things as, say, change or growth. Not to say it's right, but it's where I've most frequently found the source of the "failure."

Recently, I'd been using the language of "reinventing" my life when faced with personal crisis. Only today in talking with this amazing individual, did I find myself shifting my language to be as positive as I found him to be. Instead, I said "reorienting" my life. A subtle but important distinction and one that made me think, how do we go about shifting from the crisis mentality when failure rears its ugly head, to an adventure mentality, where the challenges faced might be looked upon as opportunities for change and growth?

I've heard a lot of people use the words "change oriented" and "growth oriented" and overall, to say one possesses these attributes appears to be a positive thing. I've never heard someone say that they are "expectation oriented" but in reality, this is what many of us do. We focus so excusively on the idealized outcome of our preordained expectations, that failure becomes critical, and will emerge into crisis.

With this in mind, I began to reconsider what preordained expectations I had that led me to this opportunity to fail forward in my life right now. The expectations, when they failed me, let me to feel the need to reinvent myself in order to survive the looming crisis. Taken from that perspective, it doesn't sound too fun, now does it?

Life, after all, is a journey and not a destination. If it were a destination, hurray to you and me, we made it...now what?

My "now what" begins by reorienting, and tossing aside the idea that I somehow need to reinvent myself, because my good old self just wasn't good enough for this crisis. So what do I want to reorient to? Change and growth. By shifting my perception of what is occurring, taking it out of failed expectations and embracing the idea an adventure is afoot, one what will require change and growth in their very process, I can reorient myself.

I walked by a man on Adams street today, on his cell phone asking someone to "talk me down!" as I was thinking of this. My immediate reaction was thinking that he's already on the ground, maybe he needs to know this and be reoriented to see where he is at. However, he was talking metaphorically, asking the person on the call to mentally help him get down from whatever it was that was upsetting him. I suspected a preordained expectation was at the core of whatever got him up there in the first place.

So, reorienting myself to shift my current view away from goals and outcomes, and back to the matter at hand, a process I don't like to be going through, it seems to me the only way to get it to be an adventure is going to be orienting myself toward change and growth.

When I do this, my possibilities include being able to use failing forward for my personal life. The failings can them be deconstructed and understood as gifts to learn from. In doing so over the past 5 months, I've made some remarkable discoveries. There were reasons that the gifts of failure entered into my life, due to my inattention to smaller things. In business they'd call it the product flaws, or unanticipated costs in service delivery. In my life, I'll just call them the quirky nature of who I am.

By attending to those quirky aspects, in a mindset where I am on a growth and change oriented adventure, there are greater opportunities, expanded horizons, in which to view where and what I will reorient to. Of course, those quirky aspects of me had value at some point, so they'll be coming along for the journey, too. But I expect that the experience of learning from the process will refine them, make them sharper and more focused, and a gift comes from that as well.

I didn't start being me when the crisis/adventure hit, and I won't stop being me once it's over. There's less a need to reinvent who I am and a greater need to mindfully fail forward, revoking the power and priviledge I'd given my preordained expectations, and shifting that to the process of growth and change as a part of the journey.

How about you?

Self-care

2010-03-07T01:28:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking a lot on self-care and decided to post mine here, in the hopes that blog followers will post their ideas on FB in the comments sections. Many of my FB friends and family are all about self-care, and the rest might simply need to read our wise words!

I'll start by saying I've had one hell of a year. Yet, by all accounts, I seem to be doing rather well despite this. A wise sister of mine has duly noted it's because of my self-care. She's probably one of the few people who recognizes this. Most think of me as some sort of enigma, having some magical, remarkable ability to bounce back. The air of mystery and inscrutable nature of what I do is about to be cleared!

I'll start with that the only person fully able to respond to my life is me. Responsibility is the ability to respond, and the buck stops here, with me. Self-care flows naturally from that logic. I can't be waiting around for someone else to do it for me, or wave a magic wand and make my life picture perfect. My life will never be that way, and I'm good with that. The magic is all me, all the time, and so it goes with self-care as well. Same for you, btw.

Because really, what other option is there? Misery, self-pity, powerlessness, anger? It just doesn't do it for me. If it's getting you an outcome you enjoy, keep up the good work! It's NEVER done it for me, so I don't stay with those very long. Instead, I embrace self-care. Note that I didn't say "try to" or "strive for" because that only gives it a slight chance of happening, at least in my world. EMBRACE IT. Use whatever metaphor works for you. Ride it like a bull or a bear, make love to it, make it your greatest passion. I don't care what you call it, just do it.

So, here are the things I do for self-care, in no particular order:

1. Talk with seriously good friends. I'm dogged about it. If not face to face, then IM, Skype, email, letters, leaving VM messages.

2. Refrain from judging others as potentially not being "good enough" friends to be seriously good friends - let them do their magic, too, and don't limit yourself.

3. Be a good friend, get out of your own headspace for awhile and help others.

4. You don't go to the baker and ask for an oil change, or the Oil Express and ask for a loaf of bread, right? That would be nuts, wouldn't it? So why go to people who can't give you what you want or need an expect a different result? If you're looking for help organizing, go to an organizing friend, if you're looking for a serious relationship, go to a person that can happen with. Don't go to the wrong people for the wrong things, or get angry when someone can't give you what you need, if you're asking the wrong person. Accept it and move on.

5. Stop drawing road maps for the visually impaired. If you find yourself beating your head against a wall trying to get someone to change, understand you, or what have you, it's just got to stop. It's not worth the effort, even if you love them. They can't see what you're trying to show them, and that's okay, be good with it.

6. Journal about it, blog about it, process what's going on and get it out of you.

7. Go to therapy, and if it's not working don't sulk in a corner and lick your wounds, find another therapist who will work.

8. Pray, and actually mean it. No bargaining with whatever you elect to pray to, no pleading, no half-hearted, "I'll believe in you if only you'll do this for me" kind of prayer. Seriously, now.

9. Make someone smile. It's really not that hard! I don't care much who it is, so long as it doesn't involve illegal activities or money. Could be a stranger you smile at walking by, or the Starbucks barista. They'll smile back, and that's what you need to see!

10. Spend time with good elders. Not the mean ones who berate your existence, the sweet, kind hearted ones who open up the breadth of their experience of the world and thier kind hearts, love and wisdom. It doesn't mean you need to tell them anything, just be around them, they are WONDERFUL! Elders rock!

11. Avoid obnoxious or annoying people. Schedule your day around ways to avoid them, it's kind of fun, if you're clever about it.

12. Set limits in your life of how much people access you and for what. I have about two hours a day people can pull from the depths of my soul and be needy before I start to get surly. So, if 10 people come to me and need me, great if it doesn't max out that two hours for me. Or one, that's fine. Some days, I get 10 people needing 2 hours of my time each, and here's where the fun begins - start scheduling them. Try "This is important and I'd like to devote 2 hours to speak to you about it. How about next Wednesday at 1:00?" If they are just anxious people who need to dump and you're their dumping grounds, boy are they gonna HATE that. Now, here's a question for you, under what terms did you agree to become their dumping ground? I'll bet you never had that conversation with them...

13. Eat healthy, limit alcohol and tobacco consumption, increase physical activity.

14. Candles are lovely when attended, burn the best scented candles you love, safely, as a treat.

15. Recognize people will stand in line to tell you what to do with your life, if you stand in any place for too long. It's human nature. So stop just standing there, get a move on!

16. Tell your friends what's going on, at your own pace, in a time limited fashion. Most people don't speak truth to power about their stuff, because they're afraid it's too much for their friends and they don't want to lose them. You will if you go on ad nauseum about the same issues over a duration of time. So mix it up a bit, and work on your stuff, so you can give them new and exciting information.

17. Turn away from media advertising that attempts to make you think that you are less beautiful, desirable, perfect, lovable, exciting, etc. in order to sell thier product. Refuse to make purchases from companies that do this. Refuse to befriend people who think we all need to be that way in order to be in their world. Their world is a really sad place.

18. Volunteer with an organization that gets you out of your comfort zone, helping actual people whose lives are FAR WORSE than yours. Trust me on this one, there are people whose lives are FAR WORSE than yours.

19. Turn the tragedies into something productive, like a career or a book, transform what's happened with you in the past into something that just might help people in the future.

20. Body lotions are my friend. So are expensive cosmetic counter samples. Both are cheap and female friendly ways to engage in self care daily. Sorry, men, I got nothing for you on this one!

21. Learn to say no. If no is hard, try "that just doesn't work for me." Practice saying it outloud, until it flows freely.

22. Play a musical instrument, or anything that makes some sound. I have rattles I reach for, and a Tibetan Singing bowl. Use the power of sound to transform your environment and lose yourself in it.

23. Talk to and hug children, they're fun!

24. Give yourself permission to enjoy the day, and contemplate wonderment about what adventures it might bring...

25. Remember, no matter how wacked out crazy a day might be, at least you got a good story out of it!

26. Do not let the past define you.

27. Do not let other people define you.

28. Contemplate the ways in which you are powerful and the ways in which you frequently deny it, then work to change that.

29. If you've got a quirky and non-damaging little habit, revel in it. I am a perfume junky, so I wear it every day. Don't save those things you love for only special occasions, when you get to get out of the jail you put yourself in the other 364 days of the year - no, if you love it and it harms no one, including yourself, do it every day.

30. Drink water.

31. Listen to music - not the stuff that depresses you, we've all got that - be original! Listen to stuff that reminds you of you when you're at you're best!

32. Cry when you need to, the way in which you need to.

33. Create art, even if it's not "good" by society standards, it really doesn't matter, because society standards are highly overrated. Whatever art it is, carving, pottery, drawing, photography, painting, etc. Doesn't have to be permanent, just get it out there.

34. For those of you reading this thinking, "I just can't put this issue of mine making me miserable aside" try any of the following: You could create a feelings box, get an empty cigar box for $2 from a cigar store, on the outside create images of the outside you or world you want to create. On the inside, where you're at with the problem. Then, every time you feel miserable, write out the issue, and put it in the box and shut the lid, leave it there, until the next time. Or, write the main issue on a small piece of paper, and burn it. Or, put it in water and literally freeze it in the freezer.

35. Go for regular dental and medical check ups. Go to the doctor when you need to see the doctor. Don't be a wuss.

36. Get a massage, if you can't afford it, check out the massage schools in your area to see about discounted rates for letting students practice on you.

37. If medication is needed, see a medical doctor or psychiatrist and get on it and take it. Stay consistent, don't play around with it, don't play doctor yourself. Don't self-medicate (drugs, alcohol, taking a friend's prescription), don't go off on your own.

Okay, I've given some of mine, it's your turn now - put your self-care things on FB in the comments section! I'm looking forward to adding to my options!

Climbing as a Metaphor

2010-03-01T23:25:00.000-06:00

I'm going to schedule some outdoor top rope climbing for a just for me vacation in June. I've done climbing in a gym, done belaying, and climbed outdoors twice, but it was three years ago. Now I'm back to it.

Top rope climbing can be a metaphor for facing one's fears, trusting others and pushing past what you think you can accomplish. There are climbers out there who are blind, who started in their late 50's, and anything is possible if you set your mind to it.

I don't remember exactly what got me to start climbing in the first place. I think it was my sister, and a work related crisis - I said if I could get us through that rough place, I could do anything, and I'd take up climbing. And so I did.

When you're being belayed, that belayer's got to know what they're doing, and you've got to trust them, and trust yourself. It's a pretty scary process the first time, and you gradually come to trust yourself and your belayer and learn to climb.

Metaphorically speaking, I've climbed and suddenly done one of those "I think I'm going to die!" sudden falls. All the trust got knocked out of me in a nano second, and everything I thought I loved about the metaphoric climb, belaying and trust was swept away in the terror, which wasn't metaphoric, but very real. I think what kept me alive was that I grabbed onto a metaphoric rock and down-climbed to solid ground. In the form of self-care, therapy, a great boss, wonderful friends and traditional family. I am lucky, because if I didn't have all of that, I'm sure I would have crashed.

So now, standing firmly on the ground with both feet, I look up and think, there's no way I could climb again, maybe I'll never climb again, because I'm using climbing as a metaphor for trust in relationships. Suddenly, I'm shaky and skittish, just wanting to walk away from the wall of life. I try to convince myself it's still climbing if I just boulder, but that's not entirely true. Bouldering requires I trust myself mainly, because the fall is short and there's no one belaying you. It's a cop out for what I face, and I won't do it. So top rope climbing it is.

I'm going to learn how to trust again, and trust someone with me physically, to keep me safe. I'll hire an AMGA instructor to get me out on real rock, and ask him to challenge me in the routes. I'll ask him to be okay with it if I pause, cry, whatever, because I need to do this. I love real rock, and I love a good climb, and those are metaphors for life and its process.

I'm putting some major expectations on me on this one, and I know it. Trusting my body again to remember how to climb, trusting a belayer to keep me from a sudden fall. Trusting for him to communicate with me if a risk I'm going to take might result in a swingout, so be prepared. Perfect love, perfect trust, perfect communication is needed, and I'll need to go into the climb being okay to do this, and okay to miss a hand or foot hold and dangle up there for awhile.

In the meantime,I've got to get in climbing shape. I'm at my climbing weight now, but my endurance sucks, I get dizzy from the sudden weight loss that occurred with my metaphoric drop. So I've got to come to a better place with myself physically in order to prepare to succeed in the climb. So, I'm eating healthier foods, trying to eat more consistently, and planning on going on hikes and do some resistance training.

Years ago, I did Shotokan Karate, and it was a great thing in helping me get past my "shouldn'ts, can'ts" all of the baggage that came with me about how I perceived myself. I got a lot of body confidence doing it, until I injured a nerve in my back and couldn't go back to it. That actual injury came because of a bad instructor who filled in once for my good instructor. In life in relationships, and with dangerous sports, you've really got to have a good instructor that you can place absolute trust in.

So, that's what I'm going for, a corrective physical experience that will allow me to move the shakes and terror out of my body and get back to what I know. If you concentrate on the bad experience, you'll never climb again and you'll feel safe, but you won't know the process of real rock or real life, and will be sitting at the base just calling up beta to people who do climb. I hate unsolicited beta when I'm climbing, because it distracts me from what it is I am doing. I need to trust myself, know my own body, when I climb. Know and explore what I'm capable of.

It's kind of funny, how I first got into climbing after a workplace crisis that built my confidence enough to want to try it, and now, all these years later, I'm looking to a climb to help me build my confidence physically and relationally. Coming full circle, it seems.

I was mentally inventorying my climbing gear, and realized I need to destroy all of it, because it's too old (they have a short life) - at first, I was irked, but then, my life experiences as of late have made me feel stripped of all equipment I'd previously relied upon anyway. They'll have gear, and all I need are my rock shoes and a chalk bag. It's somewhat funny for me, gear girl extraordinaire, to be thinking of destroying the old, which I loved, and walking freely and lightly with just shoes and a bag. Maybe that's a metaphor, too. I don't haveto hang onto things that no longer serve a purpose, and I can trust I'll get what I need when I'm there.

In the meantime, I've got a little under 4 months to get myself together to do this right. Eat healthier, exercise, gear up my body with the muscles it will need in order to do this right. I don't want to forget I can trust myself, too!

The Gambler

2010-02-24T23:09:00.000-06:00

It's been awhile since I posted on my blog, due to some major life shifts I needed to embark on that have taken up a lot of my emotional energy. It's been great, from the point of view of having first hand emotional experiences to use in my future writing, and rough in all other ways.

I had an excellent session tonight with my favorite Jungian analyst. He got me to realize that the bleak future I'd been envisioning for myself going forward may play out an entirely different way. In fact, I think he used those exact words. Something in that got me to thinking, and of course, that's always a dangerous thing!

My thoughts took me to the idea of poker, of life being more or less a gamble. As of late, I've been challenged by the idea that people think I'm bluffing when I'm not. With the idea of things playing out, gambling and the idea of a bluff, I came to the point of remembering Kenny Rogers song, "The Gambler."

That song came out when I was around 12 years old. It's an easy enough song to memorize, and so at the time, being 12 and having little else to do with my time, I did. It was something more than a song for me, because unlike most 12 year olds, I was in the unique position of having been taught to play poker at the age of 5. My mother had wanted me to be a casino dealer, her great aspiration for me. When you learn to play poker before you enter school, it really does something to your mindset. I learned to calculate the odds of things, understand the idea of risk, and firmly understood the game.

I know how to bluff, and I know what to gamble. I even know how to set a deck up in my favor. These skills developed at such an early age no doubt account for my success in life. I never did become a casino dealer, nor had any desire to be one, but I took something more from the lesson and applied it to my life.

Insofar as it applies to the song, the parts that resonate most for me are this:

"If you're going to play the game, boy, you've got to learn to play it right...

...Every gambler knows that the secret to surviving is knowing what to throw away, and knowing what to keep, because every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser and the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep."

It's really about knowing what to expect from the game, and understanding (as a metaphor for life) that it's not about the cards you're dealt, it's about how you play them that makes a difference. Any and every hand we are dealt can be a winner or a loser, depending upon what we make of it. It's not one of those glass half empty or half full metaphors that speak only to perspective. It's more about how a person decides to use what they've got in front of them, and making the best of it.

That really helped a lot. I've been dealt a hand I didn't expect, knew what to let go of, but until tonight, I hadn't realized there are some keeper cards in my hand, that will serve me well in how things play out in the future.

It's nice to be thinking this way, at least for tonight!

Back to Writing

2010-01-31T13:59:00.001-06:00

I'm back to writing now, this time working on the sequel to The Summer of Pomba Gira. The working title is Ogoun on Michigan Avenue. It's going to head on address some aspects of racism, and definitely tackle perception of oneself as being powerless. It took me three and a half years to finish the first novel, mainly because I got stuck on a point of discussing internalized racism in the first novel. It was too close to home in many respects. This novel will be no exception.

World's Shortest Pitch

2010-01-23T16:41:00.000-06:00

Have you ever tried to make yourself into some ideal because you hoped it would give you a better life? The Summer of Pomba Gira is about two Chicago families who encounter one another in crisis despite their best efforts to meet that ideal. A story of relationships, it weaves the lives of those struggling with family conflict, internalized racism and addiction with the influence of spiritual intercessions and transformative moments. What might happen in our lives if influences beyond our comprehension intervened and we were only the backdrop to it?

Activism: Calmly Going Where No Author Dares to Go

2010-01-22T23:25:00.000-06:00

Today I received copies of my book, to discover that the errors I'd paid to have fixed were not fixed. Additionally, 12 copies have thus far been shipped out to sellers through Xlibris. So there is a possibility that if you purchased the book between January 8-25, the manufacturer may have sent out an error copy instead of the copy that you were supposed to receive. My deepest apologies. I emailed Xlibris tonight to see what might be done. You will easily know if you received the wrong copy, because the cover title will have a ghost image of larger letters behind the title. If you aren't sure, another easy check is to look at page 63, second line from the bottom. If the last word in that sentence says "would" instead of "wouldn't" then you received the error copy.

I believe it is not the fault of the Xlibris Indiana people, despite their very best Pomba Gira party efforts. It may in fact, be the Canadian manufacturers who actually process the work. The second review copy I received and approved for sale was fine, so I think that it was an order mix up. It's entirely possible your copy is fine, and they only sent me the wrong books. One can but hope.

After I got past hyperventilating about this, I just took it in stride and thought, you know, things are far worse that are going on in this world than 12 people getting the wrong copy. The Xlibris folks, despite all my blog teasing, have actually been wonderful thus far, and I fully expect peaceful resolution based on past experience of working with them. They've been really lovely folks.

It occurred to me that one solution to the problem is activism. I blog about it, I write in order to generate some, and by and large I believe in activism. But activism's gotten a bad reputation these days. I think it's because a lot of people mistake waving an angry fist for being activism. Maybe it's because the opposite of activism in some people's minds might be being passive.

As silly as it sounds to have to say this, the root word of activism is "active." It's not "aggressive" or "blaming" or "passing the buck." If it were, we'd call it aggressivism, blamism or passing-the-buckism, now wouldn't we? Those all sound terribly idiotic, yet that's what some forms of what we refer to as activism have actually become.

According to Merriam-Webster, the term activism means "a doctrine or practice that emphasizes direct vigorous action especially in support of or opposition to one side of a controversial issue" and was first used in 1915.

I find it interesting that as a society we've tipped the scales in our emphasis of the "or opposition to" part of the definition. We're all "power to the people" which in theory, I love, but in what I've seen involves angry jeers, yelling, fist waving, flag burning and trash can tipping. Activism is fast going the way of feminism, moving so far in one direction as to make most of the people who could benefit from it want nothing to do with it.

For me, I'm heading toward the other side on this to see what happens. Just about anything can happen, and it's entirely up to me to see where it goes. I view activism as taking some action and being active in a process. I have no problem with direct, vigorous action, in support of something, namely, peaceful resolution of a publishing glitch.

Well, no, perhaps I'm not up with the "vigorous" part. That usually involves some level of force. I'm not at all against using my power, but I believe that all power must be balanced with some wisdom. Instead, Merriam-Webster provides synonyms for "vigorous" and my, they have quite a range...Go look it up if you're trying to avoid housework. I'm selecting "lusty" because it's got a nifty definition I find somewhat to my liking:

Lusty - implies exuberant energy and capacity for enjoyment. That would summarize my outlook on my better days, so I've determined that I'm going to operate as if this was one of my better days.

I shall take my exuberant energy and capacity for enjoyment and use it in direct support of my cause to see this peacefully resolved. Let's see where this goes!

Why I wrote, why I write

2010-01-20T23:01:00.000-06:00

I had a great appointment with a Jungian analyst tonight. A therapist - a psychologist no less. Who knew? What does a writer go to a Jungian analyst for, you might ask?

The process of self-exploration.

It was interesting that I came full circle in this process, because tonight we talked about why I'm doing this writing thing at all. It wasn't my question, it was his, but he wanted to know and to understand. Understanding me on my terms is a complex thing, so he must be a courageous sort. He knows I've got my day job, which has got nothing to do with writing fiction, and he knows I don't make any money off of doing this kind of fundraising writing project that I'm doing with The Summer of Pomba Gira. He wanted to understand if I'm looking to do a career change or something, and I said no.

I don't think I'd want to be a writer chasing after dollars. There's something for me about that that takes away from my pure enjoyment of the process and what it is I'm trying to accomplish. If I write for money, there's an expectation of sales, and a narrowly defined path where success if measured on somebody else's terms. I'd rather do it as a fundraiser for someone else, something I care about.

I explained it's about a sphere of influence. In my line of work, my regular career, we're not trained to be activists. Most people aren't trained to be activists, and frankly, if you try to learn it in a classroom setting, it's not partcularly easy. I learned from the people who were on the streets doing it, in communities, facing off with struggles every day that most people don't even realize exist.

Honestly, I didn't know how much I picked up from these folks. It seeped into me gradually, over a period of time. One day, a woman I worked with was reading Saul Alinsky for a class and said that she was on to me now, that I sounded a lot like him. I looked at her and blinked and said, "who?" About a year later, another woman I know said much the same thing, and was reading Paulo Friere's Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Again, my response was the same...who? I eventually got curious an read them both, and saw what they meant. I thought about the people in my life I'd been inspired by, and they were all activists who taught me the meaning of DOING.

Back to me and the Jungian analyst. We talked and I was able to convey that when you're doing something from deep inside of you, it may not be something that is fit for mainstream. Mainstream isn't going to like it, because it bucks the pre-ordained, pre-conceived ideas of what is marketable and ought to be distributed to the masses in order to keep us all well drugged.

There's a part of me long before I became this crazy writer chick, where I took the unconventional path, and defined success on my own terms. In my regular day job career, it's suited me well in terms of spheres of influence about the things that matter to me most. It's not too different with my writing. There are things that we don't talk about, things we do and experience on a mindboggling daily basis that never get talked about. Going to therapy is one of them, by way of example. Experiencing racism and internalizing it is another, one that we save for "safe" friends to talk about it with. Facing off with a constant bombardment of what are "ideal" ways to experience womanhood (or manhood for that matter) is another.

There are little islands of us everywhere, struggling with what we believe and who we believe and if we even believe in ourselves at all. We put on the smile and keep moving on. Except where is it we're moving to, or what is it we're moving toward? Is it that ideal of somebody else's expectation of us? Or the one we told ourselves was really ours, and that if only we "make it" to that something on the horizon, then we'll be acceptable? That day will never come, if we don't start with knowing that we already are.

So my writing has no answers. If it gives pause momentarily from the grind we find ourselves in, to find some magic or something sacred in what's presently and currently surrounding us that has nothing to do with escapism, but brings forth some awareness, then that's good. Then the sphere of influence I'd hoped to accomplish has been achieved. Make it your own. Host a Pomba Gira party and be sure to invite me. Better still, be inspired and live your dream.

My Brother Said He'd Buy My Book if I Wrote a Blog About Him

2010-01-19T22:19:00.000-06:00

Okay, now bro' pay up! Actually, no, he said he'd buy the book anyway and wanted to know if I'd posted his name or not on my blog. I told him that I'd only talked about him, but never by name. We all deserve our moment in the spotlight, so I've decided to throw caution to the wind and give him his. It's one way to find out if he reads my blog at some distant point in the future or not. Just listen for the yelling...

Renfisher Main is my brother. He's quite proud I've written a novel, although he's not quite sure what it's about. He can join the ranks of our readers in 5 other states in that regard. I'm curious to see if he'll talk to me after he reads it.

There you go, Renfisher, now go buy that book!

Coast to Coast, Pomba Gira Makes Her Rounds

2010-01-19T21:08:00.000-06:00

I've checked on the Xlibris site today to see how sales of the book are doing. There have been 9 officially shipped out so far, although word has it that there are more sales in the pipeline. The sales portion tells me what cities the book has shipped to thus far. So far, the book is making it's way to Wisconsin, Illinois, South Carolina, California and South Dakota. Very nice! 9 copies sold = $45.00 in author royalties, or $22.50 each for the two American Indian organizations I've committed to donating the royalties to.

It's nice know where she's going to excert her influence next. I didn't count the Canary Islands, because technically that was a trade and not a purchase, but the book made it there, too!

Fame, Family and Friends

2010-01-17T00:12:00.001-06:00

The head cold must be going now, or the Nyquil's kicking in. I'm feeling - Inspired!

So I've got this famous relative in the Main family, that no one's ever met or talks about. Except her mother, and I'm sure her mother wouldn't make things like having a famous daughter up or anything like that. The problem is, we share the same name, Oleander Main, and boy is she going to be pissed off when someone figures out that we're related.

It's not like I haven't tried to contact her before. Her mother gave me her address and I wrote some years ago. I even found a way to email her just recently. But I doubt she's going to contact me. She's probably thinking I want money or something like that. I'm sure all the Main's hit her up for money, or "Can you get an autograph from Castro for me next time you're in Cuba?" or "Can we just stay a few weeks with you at your chalet in Harlem?" Sure, I know just how pesky family can be, but really now, I'd think she'd want to know that her second cousin twice removed was staking a claim to fame in self-publishing this crazy novel. But most likely she thinks, "Oh damn, it's Oleander again, probably going to go on about us flying around like hawks in the day and wanting me to send my spit to Utah again."

Actually this time, I just want to warn her. I'm thinking the fame of a blockbuster like The Summer of Pomba Gira will be too much for her. She's the refined sort, you know the kind, eats with a fork and knife? I picture her at the posh, jet-setting parties she's known to frequent, having fans (my fans) coming up to her with a pen (or pen knife, depending on how they take the novel) and asking for an autograph (or thier money back) and her not really knowing what to make of it.

We've actually never met, but we've likely both got a certain level of popularity (piles of hate mail) due to our charm (ability to offend large masses of people). So I'd like her to know that this is coming so that she can be prepared (duck and cover). Particularly, I'd like to warn her so that when she sets foot in Brazil again, she's well aware that her distant cousin namesake has achieved fame in a way unique to our family.

It doesn't help that we somewhat resemble one another, or that her photo on her book (Managing Your Proctology Exam - 1st edition) would do equally well as the face to launch a thousand dartboards. I'm quite sure, like the readers of this blog, she has no idea of who or what Pomba Gira is. Frankly, I believe that being the namesake of possibly the first American author to publish a fictional novel with Pomba Gira in it would be lost on her.

Failing in my stalking attempts on my famed cousin, I've proceeded to stalk my less famous family on Facebook. I'm sure they've reached the point of thinking "If I just friend her, will she go away?" This comes after having emailed them 600 times to ask them to buy the book. Some have come up with clever ways to hide, but to no avail, I find them anyway. However, owing to the previous family history of having a published author embarrass the family, they aren't going to touch me with a 10 foot pole. you certainly won' find any Mains on my list of friends in Facebook. The nerve!

Friends, on the other hand, are a wonderful thing. Most of my friends haven't read my book, and let's face it, my cousin's hasn't made the New York Times best seller list. So they're blissfully unaware of being associated with me being anything more thana good time with a Sea Monkey-ish kind of gal. Besides, they've been advertising my name for years, on the bathroom walls of only the finest establishments. It probably accounts for my cousin's fame. So now, they have a different kind of wall: The Facebook Wall.

This is the place for each and every one of us to make our mark on the virtual world. We can all be famous on Facebook, at least, among our ever-widening circle of friends. I like my Facebook friends, and enjoy reading their posts. They can use my name as often as they like, because really, if somebody gets offended, I'll just blame it all on my erstwhile cousin.

Outted and Out

2010-01-16T09:43:00.000-06:00

I am feeling uninspired today, so I'll just share a true story of mine. A couple of years ago, I was working in this place and they did a diversity training for all 60 or so of the staff. One of the exercises they did was to have us all line up, shoulder to shoulder, out in the parking lot. So, there we were, facing the building, with the grass behind us.

In the place I worked in at the time, I wore suits sometimes. I've got a terminal degree, which doesn't mean you die once you get it, but it certainly feels like you will as you're headed toward it. I'm blondish and have blue eyes. This is just to give you a point of reference for what happened next.

So the facilitator asked us questions, and if the question applied to you, depending on what it was, you'd either take a step forward or a step backward. I don't remember what all of the questions were, but they were things like "If your parents expected you to go to college, take a step forward," or "if a relative of yours was killed by gunfire, take a step backward."

By the end of the exercise, everyone was standing in a different place than they were before. The facilitator asked us to look around and see where people were. One of my friends called out, "Hey, where's Oleander?!" This was because I was the farthest back, way back in the grass and almost hidden from view. Despite my terminal degree, assumptions based on how I look, and stylish suits. I should mention as well that I am short, so I don't take particularly big steps.

Insofar as diversity exercises go, it was a good one, and helped people to visually see things they hadn't before. But I left it feeling outted in some way. Like there are things I know about myself and who I am and how I grew up that I know and my friends know about me, but I didn't necessarily want 60 people at work to know about me.

I was irrationally irritable for the rest of that day. I could have stayed there with it, but at the time I was working on the Summer of Pomba Gira, and so I took some of what I was feeling related to that and put it in the story.

Clearly, They Fear Me...Censored No More...

2010-01-14T23:52:00.000-06:00

An interesting thing happened on my way to the blog...

I was considering where else I might post about The Summer of Pomba Gira, in order to generate some interest. So I posted to the Facebook Just Fans portion of the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Reader, CNN, Fox News, and that wasn't a problem at all. Then I went to the White House, because I know that our President and First Lady, being as stylish and as well read as they are, typify my readers. I thought, hey, why not?

So I post on the Just Fans part of their site, and nothing shows up. I do it again, still nothing. I felt that I was being virtually censored by the MAN, so I emailed the White House directly.

I probably wouldn't have cared too terribly, were it not for the fact that one time I posted something serious to the administration, got no response to that, but found myself on their mailing list for their press releases and promotion of the administration's agenda. I did not ask for this, but apparently, David Axelrod liked me. He hasn't friended me yet on Facebook, but given his propensity for sending me unsolicited emails, I expect someday he shall.

So I figured, you send me your press releases, it's my turn, Bud! But then, when I posted them, they disappeared. I checked from my account, where it said I'd posted, yet I could not see them when I went to the page. So I emailed the White House.

A few hours later, I was looking for something on Google related to my book, and discovered instead they'd posted my wall stuff to a links board. So it's possible they never truly meant to censor me. I will take this under consideration when I draw up my list for the Summer of Pomba Gira Party.

The Joke's On Me, Bewildered Author Announces

2010-01-14T20:42:00.000-06:00

If you've read the blog entitled "Oh Canada..." you'll know I was poking a bit of fun at Xlibris' related to how long it takes to get your book to you, the loyal reader, and why.

So you can imagine my surprise when today I get the mail, and I have a package from, you guessed it...Canada. Complete with a customs packing slip. I was somewhat startled, and opened the package to discover, yep, my book. I'd ordered one as a paying customer in order to see how long it would take the average reader to receive a copy. I'd ordered it prior to the changes I made to the cover and interior, and it took 14 days, which is less than I imagined that it would. There it was, my order, from Canada.

I can only take this to mean that the Canadians have now taken over, having realized it's much simpler to ship a book through customs than to go through it themselves.

Meanwhile, in order to keep me on my toes, the Xlibris New Jersey folks who apparently survived the wrath of God sent me on the same day a review copy of the new issue of the book. The cover looks much better.

I am perplexed because the Xlibris site (presumably in Bloomington, IN) specifically says that they cannot do international orders on their website. I believe that they are experiencing some identity confusion, and I will be sure to give them the name of a good psychologist.

Good Karma Marketing and Success

2010-01-13T07:59:00.000-06:00

Hello,

Just thought I'd post an update on what I've been doing to promote the sale of the book for the fundraising.

1. Emailed organizations to whom I'll be sending the donations.
2. Emailed friends and family and select colleagues.
3. Posted a free press release.
4. Developed a Facebook page.
5. Contacted Geraldo Rivera at Fox News.
6. Contacted three major NDN Country newspapers.
7. Posted a listing of the book to another self-publishing site
8. Posted on relevant FB links, to anyone I thought might be interested.
9. Posted on Multiply to sites that might be interested in the book.

Additionally, I have traded a copy with another grassroots author who was kind enough to agree to it, and I have bought 4 boxes of girlscout cookies in trade for someone agreeing to buy my book.

In terms of the fundraising aspect, my goal would be to raise enough for these two organizations for it to be worthwhile having gone and done this at all. I could have just cut a check to each for the amount it cost me to self-publish and been done with it, not having published The Summer of Pomba Gira at all. But then, it would have been easier. Who likes easy? No, it would have been personally safer to hide behind a checkbook and sometimes we need a little adventure in our lives!

In terms of the readership, my goal would be to give them something to think about, some paradigm shifting, a different perspective. I've been told that I often put things out there that sit like ticking time bombs, that go "kaboom!" a few days later when they emerge in people's consciousness and they have an "ah ha" experience. I'd like this novel to do that for folks, but I didn't set out to do that. However, I don't generally set out to do that when it happens with folks I know, either. It actually did happen to me in relation to this book, after I read the review copy.

One pre-publication reader didn't like the ending of the book, and it was the first time I'd heard that. I respect her opinion, and would love for her to review the book on the review page, as I respect criticism as well and want readers to know all opinions. So when I was re-reading it at the review copy stage, I was mindful of this feedback.

I didn't change the ending, but I found myself reading it and wondering what it was about the ending that was challenging. As I read it, I went back to previous scenes and I realized that I'd done some foreshadowing at several points related to the paradigm shifting, and that I'd done it without consciously being aware of having done it. Tracking it back this way, I realized the importance of some key elements I included, and had several "ah ha" moment myself.

And this leads to the idea of success and how it's evolving for me. I'd feel the novel was successful if it raises money for these organizations, and if the readers can relate to some aspect. But it's also a success for me personally. Not because I self-published and gain acolades of my friends and family. It's because it conveyed some critical concepts to a viewing audience in a way that I haven't seen done before. I read a lot, and I admire the authors I read. I admire them because they say the things I'm thinking that I couldn't. I think I set the bar in terms of my own writing as being to make it to the base of the mountain that they've already climbed.

However, in reading the review copy, in some respects, I went beyond those mountain peaks and hadn't realized it. Not because I'm a great writer, but because I'm a bold one.

I had a situation that occurred a few years ago, where I went into an important meeting and needed to assist in a paradigm shift for something that influences a lot of people. No one there knew me, and I afterward, I felt very outrageous and bold. I called an activist friend of mine and processed it. I said I felt like Saul Alinsky had channeled through me, and that I'd made myself so extreme and radical in that meeting, that any message I might calmly convey afterward might actually seem reasonable.

He said to me that I kicked the door open so that others might walk through. I was really grateful he said this, and helped me to put what I'd done into perspective, because I felt organically radical and out there, doing what I'd done. And it feels this way, now.

So I've put a book out there to use as a fundraiser, that may not make me the most popular Sea Monkey in the brine. It's a major risk on many levels. Yet, if in writing what I have, if the very existence of it allows other authors or community members to walk through that door, then that's a monumental success.

So at least it exists now and it's out there.

Oleander Main Related to Field Mice

2010-01-11T21:55:00.000-06:00

Oleander Main is related to field mice, DNA reports confirm.

On the news this week they've been talking about a Supreme Court ruling that people who generate DNA forensic reports need to testify in court cases where their reports are presented. I've actually had several DNA tests done. I fondly refer to it as sending my spit to Utah, because that's where one analyzing facility is. I've also sent my spit to Florida. I can spit pretty far when I set my mind to it.

Actually what they call it isn't sending your spit, but a buccal cheek swab. Anyway, in the Main family, we've had this family story that we're really descended from hawks. They told me we used to fly around in circles back in the day. Of course, not everyone in the extended Main family believes this. So of course, I had to find out.

Sure enough, the results came back and through CODIS forensic profiling of the autosomal DNA testing, they determined that we are, in fact descended from hawks. However, it also indicated a field mice admixture that was particularly troublesome. I didn't know what to make of it, since hawks are birds of prey, and, regrettably, field mice are sometimes their dinner.

I pondered this for a spell, romantically imagining the bond that formed between my hawk and field mice ancestors. How did they go from "You're my lunch!" to forging a bond that would give me such a unique heritage? I imagined that they had to hide their love from one another, lest they be ridiculed or persecuted for their cross-species love.

Of course, I checked the census records, which do not say that any of my ancestors were either hawks or field mice. They record the Main family heritage as being strictly horse. Now, we do have a lot of horses in the family, and I look more horse than anything. I can't even begin to imagine how the horse fell in love with the hawk/field mouse ancestor. But stranger things have happened.

Now my father, he LOOKED very hawk like, and back in the day, farmers used to take out their guns whenever they found him flapping around their chicken coops. Or so I was told. As for me, I favor my maternal side in terms looks. They all look like horses. But I think I take after my father's hawk like personality. It particularly shows when I'm swooping in to make a kill. Startles the heck out of them, given that they don't expect horses to swoop.

But the field mice issue is another matter entirely. When I got the results, I was stunned. I talked to a field mouse I had just met when visiting NYC for a meeting, and told him I discovered I have field mouse in me.

Here's where it gets interesting. He said it made perfect sense to him. He told me that the first time I spoke, he was startled because instead of the neigh he customarily expects from a horse, he heard a squeak that somehow didn't fit. He said, "not to be offensive or anything, but your body shape is more field mouse. You're kind of egg shaped like field mouse females are."

Of course, I was startled by this news, never having given it any thought before. I mean, I like field mice same as the rest, but am I related to field mice? I've had field mice for friends all my life, we get along pretty well...

Then I told him of the confirmation of my hawk ancestry through the DNA testing. He had me get up and start flapping my arms, and had me turn my head in profile so he could get a really good view. Then he assessed, he could see it, clearly I have hawk in me.

Is it really how we look, or is it who we are? Would this new Supreme Court ruling effect me, should the hawk or field mice populace decide to take me to court? Will the people in Utah or Florida have to testify?

I don't really know what to make of it. I know the family stories, and with the DNA testing, I maintain that we are definitely hawks, and I'm going to learn more about that. But Google and the Internet just aren't the place to do it. To really understand my hawkness, I'm going to need to be around hawks, learn from hawks, and come to comprehend my hawk heritage. I also need to examine this field mice piece, and integrate that into my identity, too. It's sad that people are such haters and discredit field mice so.

It's a journey like any other. I've been raised a horse, look like a horse, and benefit from a horsist society. It's easier to pretend I don't know and just go along acting like a horse. But I won't, because there's a part of me that really loves my hawk and horse and field mouse ancestors. I wouldn't be here if they hadn't figured out a way to get along and love one another. I wish our society today was more like that.

Oh Canada! Discoveries made...

2010-01-11T20:51:00.000-06:00

Hurray! We had our first Canadian visitor to the website! Welcome, Canadian!

I just discovered that in 60-90 days, The Summer of Pomba Gira will be listed with Amazon and Barnes & Noble online. Didn't know that! I did know that sales through other booksellers result in only a 10% royalty, and I'm not entirely sure of if that's on the retail list price, or on the actual purchase price they buy it at, which is discounted to them. This means that the book MAY be available to international buyers through those venues. However, the overall contribution to the fundraiser will be significantly less than if purchased through Xlibris directly. Purchasing through the other sites won't result in a faster ship time, because it's Print-On-Demand(POD) and therefore when you order, they literally make the book for you.

What I suspect actually occurs between the time that you order the book and when you receive it is that the Xlibris folks arrange to have a Pomba Gira party for you. I've heard they know how to party in Bloomington, IN, so I imagine it's like Carnivale or Mardi Gras, every time a copy of The Summer of Pomba Gira is sold. At the current rate, they're probably having a party every day! Thanks to YOU! If this keeps up, we'll generate new business for Indiana rehab programs, thus keeping the American economy strong! Just doing our part, since Joe Biden said we should. He's probably having his own Pomba Gira party over at the White House right now.

All I can say is thank God I didn't publish a book entitled "Managing Your Proctology Exam."

After the party they host in your honor, they send your order off to NJ. Why NJ, you ask? Because they REALLY know how to party there. No, seriously, aside from the physical publishing facility being there, I'm not really sure. So I Googled it, (New Jersey Famous For) and discovered that all answers to mundane questions may be found on the Internet. Apparently someone is trying to avoid housework as much as I am, and posted answers. If I piece it together, the nearest I can come up with as a reason to send your order to New Jersey is that they have lightbulbs there. That's very interesting, because I always imagined they did in IN, too. It only goes to show you how a Chicago hometown girl can learn a thing or two.

After they crank up the generator, and turn on the lightbulbs, they print your book and read it, cover to cover. Then they quote the characters and act the whole thing out an outdoor drama. It entertains the New Jersey folks to no end, or at least, until the generator goes out.

Frankly, I've never been to NJ, but I'm looking forward to seeing them flapping their wings and climbing up trees someday, as one scene in the book has that. I'm envisioning new dialogue, where they nearly roll out of the tree from laughter, that you bought this book at all.

That's when lightening strikes and they have to get a whole new crew in from...you guessed it, Canada. They're not nearly as likely to fall out of trees as we Americans are. A whole new labor force recruited from Canada, where only one of them knows about the book.

This is what takes so freaking long in publishing your book: Homeland Security. America takes these things seriously and the TSA all have copies of "Managing Your Proctology Exam." Several weeks after the bomb sniffing dogs have had their way with their luggage, our new Canadian workforce rapidly works to mail off the book to you, so they can get back home to where the people are saner.

Several of you having ordered the book having:
1. Donated to some great NDN causes,
2. Gotten people in Indiana to rehab one step faster,
3. Brought the wrath of God down on New Jersey folks,

Have also,

4. Emailed me that you've purchased the book and wonder why I've not posted new sales figures here or on my Facebook page.

This is because they don't tell me until it's SHIPPED, rather than when it's ordered. I imagine it's due to national security interests. So they wait until the Canadians have gone past the border check and back into their own lovely country, and only then do I see that a book has been sold.

All of this being said, book buyers, just pat yourself on the back for having done some really amazing things with an internet connection and a valid credit card number. And don't be surprised if a Canadian punches you next time you say you bought a book through Xlibris.

Winter Wonderland

2010-01-10T13:31:00.000-06:00

It's freezing where I live and I haven't left the house in two days now. I've avoided housework, writing and typing up the manuscript that's done. Instead, I've discovered Facebook. It's a pretty neat place.

I've got some folks who read the book prior to publication who will be doing reviews on it at the other blog (see my profile) and we'll see if that helps the process. This is truly a grassroots endeavor. I put up the cost to publish this novel, and I'm happy to do that if it raises money for the two organizations, the Society of Indian Psychologists and the American Indian Center's Positive Pathways program. They're both doing great things in NDN country.

A friend sent me a posting from the UK of 6 women who self-published something together, and their startup costs were around $2400.00USD. Yikes! I wanted to have a nice finished product, but I didn't go crazy in any respect. My costs were a fourth of that. I liked the finished product and I hope the readers will, too.

My goal isn't to recoup my costs, because that's not what this project is about. I'm doing all of my marketing of it through word of mouth and free resources available to me. I've got my day job and alternative reality career to keep me in Starbucks and pay the bills.

I read somewhere once that from those give much, much is expected. I feel that way about my life. I wasn't raised with much and yet much has been given to me, and I feel blessed. I also hold a belief that when you do good acts, there's some good that naturally returns to you. It may not be in the form of money or acolades. Maybe for me it will be making new friends or just having this already great good life.

The Summer of Pomba Gira Now Available

2010-01-08T18:53:00.000-06:00

Hello again,

All edits and final reviews done, here it is:

https://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.aspx?bookid=73208

I ordered a copy of the novel through Xlibris myself, before final edits were complete, in order to see how long the actual process takes from the reader perspective. Since it's Print On Demand, I expect to wait about 3 weeks to receive a copy. However, if they get the cover right this time, it's going to be well worth the wait. In the meantime, there are many things you can do, should you find yourself waiting for the novel to arrive at your door, having ordered it. In three weeks, you could change your life! Or your life could change you, depending on your experience of it.

Here's what I've been doing in the first week since ordering a copy: Set up a Facebook account, updated my website, re-read the novel and submitted more edits, communicated with at least 100 people about it. Reconnected with old friends. Made new ones. Journalled and discovered some things about myself. Ah, but that's for another novel...

In fact, I've discovered in the first week waiting that I've easily avoided housework altogether! Don't fret, you can, too.

Go enjoy life. Oh, and buy my book. Thanks!

5 Copies Sold and Icelandic Visitors!

2010-01-07T20:44:00.001-06:00

We're up to five copies sold now, hurray! I also noticed that we had an Icelandic visitor to my website! Now, if only Xlibris sold internationally...

I've started a new blog for reviews of The Summer of Pomba Gira, entitled, cleverly enough The Summer of Pomba Gira. If you go to my profile, you'll find it.

Musical Decidedly Not in Pomba Gira's Future, Author Announces

2010-01-05T00:38:00.000-06:00

I heard that a friend has decided to write a musical, about what I am not sure, but good for her! I'm determined that The Summer of Pomba Gira should not be made a musical. They seem to make musicals about the craziest things, but this should not be one of them.

Xlibris is fixing the optical illusion on the cover, and for a few days, the book won't be listed there until that's done. That, and my FINAL final edits.

Several of the ladies at the Starbuck's I frequent had the opportunity to see the Review Copy. They duly noted that in my picture, I am holding a Starbuck's cup of coffee. Most warriors hold shields; mine's a Venti dark roast.

Two More Copies Sold and International Intrigue!

2010-01-03T13:47:00.001-06:00

I am happy to announce the confirmation of at least two more copies of The Summer of Pomba Gira sold. This means our fundraising is up to $15.00, or $7.50 per organization. Just enough to get 2 cups of coffee or a small bottle of Tylenol. We'll get there, though, because this is all about an act of faith, isn't it?

I received my Author's Copy of the novel from Xlibris yesterday. I'm to review it and see if there are any more edits I want to pay through the nose for. They did a fantastic job on the cover, with the exception of one quirky part. There is an unusual ghost image of the cover title, which makes it appear to be an optical illusion. That wasn't a part of the design, so I'm getting them to see if they can fix it. In the meantime, I'll consider it number 5 on the growing list of returns on your investment:

1. Artwork suitable for framing
2. Dartboard entertainment
3. Fireplace kindling
4. Helping out worthwhile NDN organizations
5. Optical illusions

Rush right out and order one today, as it might be fixed soon. This way, you can have the version that wasn't fixed and impress your friends. Did you know that in stamp collecting, an error on a stamp can enhance its long term value? Stamps, covers on novels, who knows, we could be starting a trend!

How it works as something of an optical illusion is that in regular lighting, you can clearly see the ghost image, but in low lighting situations, it disappears completely. This gave me an idea...and that's always a dangerous thing...

You're intellectual, stunningly handsome, and you want to impress a date with your literary repetoire. You take said date on a fancy, candle lit dinner. Do you bring roses? No, thats so passe. Besides, you bought my book and now you're broke. Rather, you bring the copy of The Summer of Pomba Gira to impress your date, and give it to your date as a gift. Killing two birds with one stone, in my opinion, as there's a rose on the cover that won't wither away. A veritable testament to your potential in the relationship. Said date will be impressed, no doubt, with your creativity and charm.

In the low lighting of the restaurant, the ghostly image will not be seen. Upon returning your date home, he or she will consider the relative merits of calling you again. In passing and in the cold light of day, the date will look at the cover, see the ghostly title image, and begin to wonder if he or she needs glasses. The spectre of a future with bifocals will emerge, and there will be an unsettling moment of fear. The date will remember how young he or she felt with you that night, how very much alive, and so not-in-need of bifocals at that time. A call to your auspicious phone number will surely follow.

I won't be able to count helping your love life on my list of reasons to get the book, not without some kind of data. So feel free to email me with your success stories. If you're a real player, buy 20 copies.

Now, onto other exciting news!

I finally updated my website. It's not particularly easy for me to do this, especially when I forget my passwords, which often happens. While I was there, I noticed that there are features where you can track where visitors who look at your website are from. No worries, it's not like I know who you are or where you live. Just a general tracker of what time zone you live in. Apparently, my website has been visited about 300 times since I started it in June, and one visitor to it is from England, and two visitors to it are from Spain.

I know who the visitor from England is, but the two from Spain I don't know. How terribly exciting! Welcome, Spaniards! I can honestly say, given the history of indigenous people on this continent, I never in a million years expected to be saying that. Ah, but times are changing. Seriously, welcome! Of course, I don't know if they went beyond the website to reading this blog, but one can but hope.

I am the Walrus...or perhaps just the Sea Monkey...

2010-01-01T18:27:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year, dearest blog followers, all four of you!

There's a song, by the Beatle's I believe, that has a line in it "I am the Walrus" and it's so random and way out there, I have no idea of what it means. It is, however, catchy enough that people occassionally burst forth singing just that line of the song spontaneously. At least, in my world, they do.

I was up until 3AM typing up a press release to be posted on a free site, where individuals who don't know me, Pomba Gira or American Indians might randomly read it. I thought it wouldn't hurt to try, because I really want the fundraising aspect of this to be a success and go down in history as the author who's face launched a thousand dartboards.

This emergence of mine into authorship has reminded me of those kits you get as a kid, usually around the holidays as a gift from someone who doesn't know what you might like. The adult version is typically the Chia Pet, although I prefer giving to my adult friends the ecologically sound gift of the Poo Pet, handmade by the Amish and a rare find indeed. No, the child version of the random "and what am I supposed to do with this?!" gift is usually the crystals that grow in water, or the ever fascinating Sea Monkey kit.

For those of you deprived of such a treat as a youth, the Sea Monkey kit allows a child to put eggs into a formula solution and hatch Sea Monkeys, which you can stare at all day and still not understand fully how they came to be named that. It's absolutely fantastic that something so bizarre could be sold, and make a profit, presumably. It gives me hope for the sale of The Summer of Pomba Gira, which in no way comes close to the intrigue of the Sea Monkeys, but still, raises money for two good causes.

Yes, I realized that this authorship thing has made me feel as if I'm a Sea Monkey myself. I've suddenly hatched out of some solution and am wriggling my way about the tank of the internet. Whereas only last year, Oleander Main did not exist in the ethernet existence, suddenly I've got a website, blog and now a press release floating my name out there. Me and Pomba Gira, motley crew that we are. It's a surreal virtual existence, to be sure.

My family isn't really known for doing things like self-publishing a book or staying up until 3AM to post anything, much less a press release, on the internet. When I got a tattoo, I was reminded by my brother that our father would have advised against it. It goes along the lines that tattoos aren't a good thing: It makes it easier for the police to identify you later. Better to stay incognito.

So when I tell my family what I've done, publishing this novel and posting like mad all over the internet, they look at me and become just a wee bit nervous. Undaunted, I persist until they agree to buy a copy, which they do. I suspect they fear that one of the characters in it might resemble them. A few brave souls actually ask what it's about and blink, the Sea Monkey attributes of my development becoming apparent before their very eyes. They are accustomed to the randomness of my existence, having transformed as a fashionista, noble scholar, mother. They are aware that what is most consistent about me is my randomness. But in light of this novel, they begin to wonder where we took an evolutionary wrong turn to becoming Sea Monkeys.

My friends, also familiar with my avant garde transformations, take it in stride and actually encourage it. This is where it occurs, when your friends encourage you. "Be a Sea Monkey! Go for it! I always knew you could!" I am sure I could make Poo Pets too, and while not being Amish, I think there are better than even odds that I could do so stylishly and with passion. So when in doubt, terrified families of authors, blame the friends.

My friends even now are cheering me on. "You go girl! I'm so proud! Congratulations, because even if nobody understands your Sea Monkeyness, it's what makes you UNIQUE! We've known it was in you all along, now THE WHOLE WORLD can see!" As I swim in the internet brine, I can only think, do not blame my bizarre humor on my friends, the blame should rest squarely on my family, the Main's. They would never admit it, but it is in our genetic makeup, our DNA.

However, humor has it's utility. Today as we were at the store, we encountered a vitrol example of humanity without a trace of any, who elected to confront each shopper and accuse them of blocking her car. Little did she know she'd accused a Sea Monkey who'd write about it later.

My son was perplexed and we got to talking about random negativity and it's meaning. I speculated that many post-holiday people have great expectations for a miracle to occur during the holiday seasons. Their families would be pleasant, they'd get the gifts they'd want, their problems would be solved. If you're one of those, read my book, it might help. I explained that post-holiday, they realized their expectations of a miracle had not been met and they're surly and mean due to it. My son thought of several examples of this he'd seen this holiday, other children whining "it's just not fair!" or adults being more onery than usual.

I explained that it's not our place to sit in judgment of that, but chart a course for ourselves through the brine. We could easily fall prey to this ourselves, waiting for some miracle to happen on a specified day, one that might never come through. In fact, it's one of the themes of the book. I shared with him that it's our obligation in life to make our own miracles happen, and that it's the passivity of sitting around waiting for someone to come with a magic wand and fix our lives that leads to such disappointments. So I was glad that the vitrol creature had danced her stuff out for all to see, if nothing else as a reminder of a course I don't want to take.

In thinking on it, that was the whole point of my 3AM press release posting. No one is going to wave a magic wand and sell my book for me, and raise this money for these organizations in this unique way. So it's got to fall to me to try, and that's pretty good for a Sea Monkey. Sleep is highly over-rated anyway.

First book has been sold!

2009-12-31T12:51:00.000-06:00

I wish to inform the general public that the first copy of The Summer of Pomba Gira has been sold! Hurray! For those of you wishing to purchase your very own copy, it may be found at www.Xlibris.com under their bookstore. Type in The Summer of Pomba Gira and you should find it.

Dear blog reader, should you not know what Pomba Gira means, and decide to google it, rest assured that it is not a book with any pornographic elements. Unless of course, that's your thing, in which case, forget what I wrote and go for it. For those wondering why Pomba Gira is in any way associated with American Indians, customarily she is not, it's just that there are two plots in the book, and she relates to one of these plotlines.

Should you purchase the book and dislike it, the cover art of the book may be cut out and retained, being suitable for framing. Should you decidedly hate it, the back cover photo of me may easily be mounted on the dart board of your choice for future entertainment. I believe that the interior pages may well be appropriate for fireplace kindling. Therefore, your investment of $20 should not go to waste. $5 of it (all author royalties) go to two American Indian organizations, and with the lovely photo, dartboard entertainment and fireplace kindling, I believe you will have ample return on your investment. Besides, recycling is the way to go.

If you purchase the book, read it and like it, all the better. Contact me and we can set up our own Pomba Gira party, I can give you ideas of how to invest back in communities and causes you love, or I can simply encourage you to complete the writing project you're working on.

Have a wonderful New Year!

How to Host a Pomba Gira Party

2009-12-30T03:36:00.000-06:00

Okay, now seriously, Pomba Gira wouldn't be someone to mock or take lightly, nor would I recommend actually petitioning her for help unless you became well versed in what that would entail. In no way do we want to go prancing around messing with a perfectly wonderful and culturally different spiritual practice. It just wouldn't be nice.

That being said, I think many times there are ways to honor the essence of something good from another's respective culture without making a mockery of it. Of course, as soon as I type this, there are a hundred great examples of where this is a slippery slope. I'll let you in on my thought process and where it went..."hmmm, US Constitution and government borrowing from the Iroquois Confederacy....no, no, that only works if they'd also afforded the Iroquois at the time of said borrowing/adoption the same rights under the law that they held themselves so dear....bad example....mhmmm...." Where have I heard this before, this idea of taking something without making a mockery of it? Oh yes, the inipi or sweatlodge ceremonies of the Lakota. Suddenly, people who weren't trained in it were running around putting up do-it-yourself sweats, and claiming to be honoring the essence of it...what might that be called? Cultural misappropriation.

I'm such a tease. It's all been a lead in to being able to discuss cultural misappropriation. It would be so much easier if we could just have a Pomba Gira party and be done with it! Cultural misappropriation is when something of another's culture, particularly the tools and practices associated with it, are taken out of context, stolen away with in the night, and claimed by others to have the right to do it or practice it. However, typically when this happens, it ends up being a one dimensional mockery of what was otherwise a deeply meaningful and essential part of the culture in which it originated.

Rather, perhaps throw a party in honor of all of your female friends. Invite them all over, pamper them and treat them right. Have some great music, some nice chocolate, some excellent coffee, or your beverage of choice, and make it a point to remind them that it's all right to hope, that their dreams are important, that they are valuable as people. Encourage them to begin to think this way themselves. Don't weigh them with your baggage, but each of you help one another lower that weight to the ground for just a little while. Let them encourage you to think this way yourself. Have an all out ball! Maybe bring flowers for each other, or write each other notes of gratitude, or together write notes of commitment to your dreams. Share in projects, crafts, create something together! Nothing formulaic is ever fun. Let it be an organic process, let the spirit move you. Be grateful for those that do.

Did I mention that chocolate fountains can be a serious uplifter to the world-weary female of today?

Like a pregnancy, only a little more macabre

2009-12-28T20:46:00.000-06:00

Each step I go along this journey to self-publish The Summer of Pomba Gira feels uneasily like the third trimester of a pregnancy. I feel heavy and wishing this phase was just over and done with. This is coupled by an uneasy feeling that my baby might emerge with three heads, two of which didn't show up on the ultrasound. I feel as ill-equipped for this authorship thing as I did for motherhood. Will I be ready? What will happen? Will it change my life forever? Will my readers like it, get it, or will they be hurtling tomatoes at me in the streets?

I'm reminded of this great episode of Northern Exposure, called Thanksgiving. In it, the local Native people have developed a tradition of throwing tomatoes at the white people. Joel, an outsider to the tradition, gets hit with a few and is indignant, wants to know why. They explain that tomatoes look like blood but don't hurt anybody, and it's better than tire irons.

On my better days, I imagine it will be a best-seller (ha!) and that I'll get calls to be interviewed by all of the major network news hounds. Of course, I will eschew them all, Oprah or Anderson Cooper, in favor of going on the Jerry Springer show so long as no one in the audience brings tomatoes. No, seriously, I'll give an exclusive interview to Geraldo Rivera, because he's not gotten to break a big expose story since the days when he was live on TV and he said he'd find the hidden treasure of the gangsters, but instead found an empty room. That's got to suck, so I'd give him the opportunity to break the great news story.

On the ultimate fantasy days (as if Geraldo just weren't enough!), somebody reads the book and decides it would make a great movie. They buy the movie rights and opening night is in Brazil (read it and you'll know why, read it especially if you're a movie maker) and I get to fly over to Brazil for the opening, where their tomatoes are much softer. In that version, when it opens in Hollywood, I get to make a request of who sits with me at dinner, and it would be Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie.

More fun than that, though, the whole thing takes over like wildfire, with women all over hosting Pomba Gira parties for each other! Maybe I'll post what you'll need to do your own Pomba Gira party someday. The major players will want advertising associated with the movie. Except I somehow don't imagine a Burger King glass set coming out of this book. I'd probably pay money to see that happen. The one great fortune of writing a book this way out there is that there is NO WAY Disney will ever touch it.

Like pregnancy, this feels much like exposure, and therefore vulnerability. I've got a semi-normal little life, or at least, I float that idea out there for the general viewing public. I have a career and a family and my own little quirky bubble of reality that's changed when you give birth to a three headed child. That sort of thing happens.

I think my mother was right, I should have been a casino dealer. That was her career aspiration for me, which she astutely cultivated right around the time I was old enough to write. It was her subtle hint, I expect. I completely dashed her hopes and went an entirely different career route, but ultimately, one safer than writing.

My not-nearly-so-good days customarily come after re-reading the story, after drilling it into my head, as it were. On those days, I consider the NDN community reaction and I think: silence. Most people wouldn't view silence as anything terrifying, but this kind of silence I know, and I know full well what it means. This isn't the silence of peace and solitude, but a deafening silence, veritable fjords of silence. This is the silence of "you are dead to us" because of breaking the unspoken taboo.

There's a Cherokee story of the Uktena I've been thinking about for the better part of two years. I suspect it's part of some mid-life crisis I'm encountering, dancing with my shadow and experientially re-creating Jung's individuation process. The Uktena was a serpent created of magic to kill the Sun, except that it failed in that duty and went on to terrorize the Cherokee people. It was said to have the body of a snake, except it was the diameter of a tree trunk. It had antlers on it's head, wings that enabled it to fly - since it couldn't be easily categorized, it belonged to the three worlds, above, this and below, and therefore was something to be avoided. That and to approach it could cause madness, as it would seep its thoughts deep into your head and convince you that your family had been destroyed.

So, there are many versions of the Uktena story, but the one I keep coming back to is where the Shawano medicine man is captured by the Cherokee people. They want to kill him, but he convinces them instead to let him go after the Uktena. He does this, and it's a really long story, so I won't get into it here- but he brings back from them a glowing crystal that was in the center of it's head, and he's allowed to live and stay among the Cherokee. The crystal is said to bring great prosperity to the people. The remainder of the story doesn't focus on the great prosperity of the people and what that looked like, and it's only recently, in this third trimester pregnancy of the book about to be birthed, that I thought about how odd that is.

The rest of the story goes on to talk about how the Shawano comes back with a small snake with glowing red eyes growing out of his head. It never sleeps, even when he does, it's awake even after he dies and they bury him. The people, upon seeing this snake growing out of dude's head when he returns, they kind of avoid him, keep a respectful distance, but are rightfully just a wee bit afraid of him. They say it came about because one drop of blood of the Uktena crossed the fire line and touched him on the head, and that the snake sprang forth from that.

As I said, for two years I've mulled this story over, and typically consider the whole snake growing out of the head thing as a cautionary tale, don't go up against some seriously wicked magic, because it's just not worth it. No good deed goes unpunished. However, it struck me as odd that the story focuses on this and not the prosperity of the Cherokee people that ensued after the Uktena was defeated. Granted now, that would stick out in people's memory, but it's a teaching story, isn't it? Or it could be.

Then it occurred to me today, that the reason the Shawano had a snake growing out of his head at all was because he faced off with something the people themselves wouldn't. He was touched by the blood of something, had a direct experience of something that was terrifying and awful, which he battled and overcame. Like all of our direct experiences, something like that makes its mark on us. The Cherokee of old would have known this, understood it perhaps better than we do today. So why fear it so greatly? I'll delve into the realm of speculation here - that glowing eyed snake growing out of his head served as a constant reminder to them of the battle they elected not to go into themselves that day.

Putting it back to my experience of writing and publishing this story, there's not a lot in it I haven't experienced myself, although the story concepts are metaphors for the experiences I've had. I've fought a lot of personal, internal demons or monsters - faced off with them and on some level, feel I've won, and if that leaves it's mark as a snake growing out of my head in the form of a novel called The Summer of Pomba Gira, then so be it. The only difference here is that no one asked me to go into that battle, I did it all on my own. However, some of the themes of it are relevant to more people than just me. So if the story is the snake growing out of my head, and people distance themselves from me for it out of distain or fear, it won't change the fact that the glowing red eyes will remain alert, when I sleep. It won't go away once I die, the slow death of community silence or otherwise. Perhaps that little snake in the original story was to serve as a reminder of the battles we elect not to face in our own lives. No one likes to see someone's fought a battle they've yet to fight, heard they've gone the places they've yet to go, and certainly, don't remind us of it with the snake growing out of your head presence!

This is no bragging rights moment here, I don't mean it in any holier-than-thou way. I mean it as a call to action. When I re-read and drill into my head the aspects of the story I imagine would be most likely to offend, hit a community nerve and cause drama in my staid little life, it's around really serious topics: Internalized racism, internalized sexism, substance abuse, trauma, cross cultural interaction and communication, what historical injustices we've had done to us, and what we've let it do to us, family conflict, letting our stories die, etc. If even one of those is your/our Uktena, go head to head with it and come out of it alive, little snake growing out of your head or not in the end. Don't let it terrorize you, and don't slam or silence to death those who've decided to go for the challenge.

2009-12-23T22:13:00.000-06:00

This is going to be the author's photo for the back cover of The Summer of Pomba Gira. Taken by DANI, photographer extraordinaire!

This is going to be the cover art image for The Summer of Pomba Gira. I took it at the Chicago Botanic Gardens over the summer.

News on The Summer of Pomba Gira

2009-12-23T20:38:00.000-06:00

I've submitted everything to Xlibris now for The Summer of Pomba Gira. I decided to donate all author royalties from the sale of the book to two American Indian organizations. Someone inspired me by his example, so I decided that's what I want to do. It's nice to be inspired by someone. I got word back that I didn't win the Esquire short story contest, and will they be kicking themselves when I'm a famous author - LOL.

Seriously, though, I'd like to see where this goes. I've never self-published before, and technically, it's really print-on-demand. Also known as vanity publishing. I'm unapologetic about it, because it wasn't really about the vanity aspect for me, as much as it was seeing something through from start to finish and feeling good with the process. I gave some thoughts and a few half-hearted attempts, to secure a literary agent, but what I write isn't what necessarily sells. I recognize that and respect it, and actually like that about myself. I didn't write it to be popular or liked or make money off of it. I just wrote things that interested me, and came to know myself a little better through the process of resolution and completion. Only to start it all over again with the sequel I'm writing now.

Updates on writing projects

2009-11-28T20:52:00.000-06:00

There's a neat new compilation coming out called "Dogs Have 10 Lives" that I've got a story in. I'm not quite sure when it's being published, but I'll be sure to let everyone know when I do. I've also set out to self-publish The Summer of Pomba Gira with Xlibris and hope to have it done before the summer of 2010. I've finished the draft of The Vigil, and will be seeking out a publisher for that one once I'm done with revisions. In the meantime, I've started work on a sequel to The Summer of Pomba Gira, called Ogoun on Michigan Avenue. I've been inspired recently by the work of Hermann Hesse, and I think it will influence the manner in which the character development flows. I'm still waiting to see if a submission I made to Esquire for a contest wins or not. I'm hoping it would, because I think it would move these writing projects along quite nicely if it did.

People might want to know what I'm reading lately. I've been reading A Warriors Life, which is the biography of Paulo Coelho, one of my favorite authors. I'm jumping between Demian and The Fairy Tales, both by Hermann Hesse. I've begun to re-read some Robert Conley novels. He's another of my favorite authors. I just finished reading Push Not the River by James Conroyd Martin. That was a very good novel that I'd recommend.

I'd say in terms of influence on my writing, Hesse and Coelho would be current influences. However, in the past I'd say it was Louise Erdrich's novels that were a strong influence. The thing about writing is, you can't rely upon following the style of another, otherwise you lose the creative process.

Almost done with first draft!

2009-09-17T18:28:00.000-05:00

I'm working on chapter 25 now of the 28 chapter book. It's been speeding right along, as far as first drafts go. I've been checking out options for once it's finalized in December and publication ready. One option is to try to find a literary agent, although some estimates I've found say it takes a year and a half from finding one to actual print. The primary trouble I have with this relates to publisher use of materials that aren't recycled. I could go with print on demand, but that's also an issue. I found a printer who uses 100 percent recycled materials if requested, and is powered by wind energy. As The Vigil is (in part) about climate change and the polar bears, it's important to me to be as consistent as possible and use materials that do not adversely impact the planet. So I may go that route when the time comes. Another option is to go the ebook route.

Writing

2009-09-05T13:13:00.000-05:00

I've been busy writing without really hitting any blocks, so I'm up to chapter 16 now! I'm writing at home, on the train, on the bus...if I could write while I sleep, I probably would. I think I'm on schedule for finishing this by Fall Equinox!!!

Short story submission

2009-08-29T15:48:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking I'll submit the original version of The Vigil for a short story contest. I'm enroute, as it were, to converting it over to a novel, but it can't hurt to try. Thus far I've submitted two inquiry letters to literary agents for The Summer of Pomba Gira, and received rejection emails. I've considered converting that story over to novella length and submitting it for a novella contest. It's easier to write something for a particular venue than to cut parts out of it once it's been written, I"m finding. I'd submitted a 600 word short for an NPR contest but didn't win it. It was a comedy piece to be read over the air (presuming one wins!) but writing humor isn't really my thing.

It will all happen eventually, it's just a matter of trying, refining the art, becoming accustomed to the medium from the reader's perspective, I think. I'm used to writing what interests me and I understand what interests me. I think that's problematic, because it assumes that the reader also knows what I'm talking about, which isn't always the case.

A-Writing-We-Shall-Go!

2009-08-29T01:20:00.000-05:00

I've written three new chapters now. Some I write on public transportation, others in the evenings. I've been handwriting it all and that's taken some adapting. On the one hand, I think and write quickly, but it's hard not to be able to do immediate cut and paste when an idea hits. I'm getting into it, though, and it's making my train ride go by at lightening speed! I'm contemplating this might be a book for a teen audience, although I originally began it for an adult audience. There are a number of deep themes in it, but I think that our youth are really smart and deep and would resonate with some of it.

Senses Assaulted by Sketchy Media When Home Sick

2009-08-21T23:49:00.000-05:00

I was home sick today and casually ping-ponged between Fox News and CNN, hoping to get up to date news. I don't know why I do this to myself. I was watching the story regarding the young woman who'd converted to Christianity and run away from home out of alleged fear that her parents would kill her, because they are devout Muslim. Fox News had it running most of the day. Almost nothing on CNN. The question at hand was if she was going to be returned immediately to her family in Ohio, or be allowed to remain in Florida. Yesterday, when I first heard of the case, I emailed the Governor of Florida, requesting that she be allowed to stay in Florida until the matter is fully investigated.

I should mention, it's not like I've got any personal connection to the Governor of Florida, I just found his email and wrote. This morning, I received an email back from his representatives stating that the matter had been brought to court, and that the ruling was in favor of allowing the girl to remain in Florida DCFS custody for awhile. I leave my home computer and that's when the surreal time warp occurs, between my computer and watching Fox News on TV. Apparently, they didn't get or ignored the email, so busy were they reporting that they were tracking it closely, hoping the girl would be allowed to remain in Florida, etc. They continued to report for four hours after the email that they were awaiting word from the trial.

They're certainly not alone in the time warp problem. CNN had a report today about an alligator found in the Chicago River. As I live in the area, it's always of interest to me what might be lurking in the river, even out of morbid curiosity. So I googled it and discovered it was yesterdays news.

So how did this Middle Eastern girl's story not rank sufficient airtime on CNN? I wondered about if they have some kind of quota or formula for percentage of stories in a period of time that focus on Muslims? I know they had the special on Generation Islam and another very recently related to Muslims. Naw, they probably were probably doing their civic duty, warning the unsuspecting public of the dangers of an alligator who was removed yesterday.

I should have gone to my doctor and gotten some meds, because the time warp converted to a fantastical color discrepancy on my very TV. Fox News then showed the protesters of the Bush era, to contrast it to the protesters of the Obama era, and in the images they selected, all of the protesters against Bush that they selected appeared to be black, and all of the protesters against Obama appeared to be white. Now, I could be wrong, but it seems to me that there are many different people in America to film protesting something one or the other did, so why select images from the archives that way? It's very misleading to the viewing public and likely to ignite some very strong feelings of racial division across political lines. Do they do this to try to incite the people?

I would have thought I was imagining things, until they were showing film from Obama's candidacy, speaking to all black audiences, as if the only people who supported him were black. That was ridiculous. I recall learning that to make some of his initial public speaking engagements seemingly more diverse for the cameras, his people set the front row people up at times in order to ensure that diversity was demonstrated in the supporters. So why is the media doing this, unless it's to create a division among people in order to generate news later? You know its bad when you walk away from the TV feeling sympathy for the presidents facing the media as it is today.

Diversity Czar?

2009-08-18T22:41:00.000-05:00

I've just discovered we've got Diversity Czar in the White House now. He thinks that cable channels and private radio stations ought to pay a penalty fee to be given to public channels and public radio stations if they don't meet his diversity criteria. If anyone knows what his diversity criteria is, can you let me know? Does it include religious, political, disability, ethnic, gender, or are we talking race?

I'm reminded lately of Ayn Rand's book "Atlas Shrugged." While not a big fan of her philosphy, she wrote many years ago, and the nonsense that is gong on in this country today almost parallels what she described in he novel.

Everyone is up in arms to blame someone lately. I was reading that the Obama-Joker picture that recently became famous generated a lot of controversy. People were saying it was "racist" and that someone "racist" must have done it. Interestingly, it was done by a Palestinian American young man in Chicago. He came out and said he did the art, but not the label "Socialism" under it. It takes courage to admit you did something like that, and I was really glad he did. It's also interesting to note that the media has latched onto that he is not white to dispel the idea that a "racist" did it.

In another media posting, closer to my heart, they talked about global warming. A professor came out with the idea that ancient man caused it, started it. That's well and good to blame people from thousands of years ago, except there were not a sufficient number of people on the planet to make as big an impact as we do now.

Working on the story and more on the world

2009-08-17T22:43:00.000-05:00

So I've got the chapter outlines and character development, it's now just a matter of writing the actual story. I'm going to be deep into the writing of it for 2-4 months. I've never written a story using an outline or knowing where it's going to go, so this ought to be interesting. I usually write in a stream of consciousness way. So when I need to cut loose and go there, I'll come here and post.

We seem to be in quite a state these days in America. A lot of energy around national healthcare issues. I was reading about the Canadian healthcare situation, and they were talking about how they want to fix their system to make it more efficient, and get doctors to communicate better and in a more centralized way. They also want it to go all electronic. I was reading this thinking, isn't this what we want, and we're looking to their system to obtain it? But they don't have it, either. Of course, it's never that simple.

Create your own short story and post it here!

2009-08-12T23:29:00.000-05:00

Take this image and create a short story, poem, whatever around it, blog it to me, could be fun! Be inspired! I hate those contests where they give you a title to work with - why not an image? So here it is. Go for it!

State of the world we are in

2009-08-12T23:11:00.000-05:00

I was reading that the American Psychological Association's division on global warming discovered that the people who do not believe it is happening have several characteristics. They have a certain level of denial, a lack of information, and a sense of powerlessness over the outcome. I am hoping that The Vigil will begin to address these in a positive and helpful way. I've written the outline of the story, now it's just a matter of writing the novel.

I get the sense that it's less of powerlessness and more of being tired and uninspired. Frustrated. When we get that way, it's really easy to feel disempowered. One challenge I'd put out for any reader is the political science idea that no one can have power over you unless you give them the authority to do so. While there are flaws in that statement, I'd suggest thinking about who authority was given to in your mind in an aspect of your life in which you feel disempowered. Just a thought.

It's August now and I'm giving myself a deadline to get the novel written by Fall Equinox. I'm great with making deadlines, and expect that this will be no exception. If we had deadlines related to when we would find answers for and address global warming, not just nationally, but across all humans, I think we'd be much further along than we are.

On a side note, I've been invited to submit writings for two upcoming compilations which will be published later this year. Very exciting! I intend to burn the midnight oil on these and the novel. In my case, it will be lime scented candles. I've got a thing for limes.

Dreams and Memories

2009-07-24T05:34:00.000-05:00

I woke at 4:30 in the morning today, with the dream of a friend who'd passed still fresh in my head. I'm going to the Library of Congress today, to register myself as a reseacher. Apparently I need to proclaim myself as this in order to view things that they have. A collection of memories in the form of the written word. I feel myself to be more curious than anything, and would prefer to register myself as something other than a researcher, but there's not that option. Very typical in the American government system, that they pre-emptively define the parameters for you, then let you choose to accept those parameters or not.

Travels

2009-07-21T21:50:00.000-05:00

I've been traveling and not writing, although the ideas are spinning through my head. Saw a fantastic exhibit at the National Museum of the American Indian, of an artist who really impressed me. It was not so much his style that did it, but his integrity. He was consistently who he was. Fritz Scholder. He allowed his art to flow from his life in the moment. That is what I'd like my writing to do, and often, it does. In one series of images, he made skull images with spilled Coke and his own blood, on hotel memo note paper. It's provocative, fleeting, and something I will never personally do. I'd be too afraid they'd figure out a way to use my DNA and re-create me at some moment in the future when wearing polyester would be mandatory.

In a way, though, I completely understand it. From what it said beside the art, his health was in decline and he was facing his own mortality. Every moment that we exhale, we ought to be contemplating our own mortality, but denial kicks in and we go blissfully in the direction of thinking about something mundane.

Submitted a story for a contest

2009-07-10T20:57:00.000-05:00

So I've gone and done it now. I submitted a story for an Esquire contest. Never done that before, but then, lately there have been a lot of things like that popping up.

I have a non-fiction piece that I wrote that doesn't fit a particular market - The whole idea of writing needing to fit a particular market is somewhat offensive. I consider writing a form of art. Art just is what it is, and on some level, the integrity of that needs to be respected.

I was talking with a friend the other day about the whirlwind of controversy one of my stories is likely to generate. I don't like controversy and don't write for that purpose. Yet I can see it coming on the horizon. She said to me that "Art is Controversy." Or maybe I imagined that she said it, because it's what I wanted to hear?

I used to write when I was a kid, because I enjoyed doing it. Then I stopped, because the more people told me I was good at it, the less of a challenge it became for me. Instead, I took a different path. It's been quite an adventure up to now, and I've grown and learned a lot along the way. I find myself having come full circle and writing again.

I enjoy writing for the sport of it, but I don't want it to become a contact sport. I'm all about the refinement of manifesting a concept into characterizations and dialogue. Perhaps my writing never had been art before, until it became controversial and stirred up folks emotions.

Today at my regular challenging job, someone was talking about The Secret and the idea of the Law of Attraction. A small group of us debated if we believed in that or not. I fully believe in it, but I don't feel that I like the way in which it was packaged for a market. If memory serves me from when I read the book, it talked about attracting to oneself power, success and money. Of course, it was marketed that way on some level, because what sells is the idea of people getting those things.

Maybe my anticipation of controversy is related to the Law of Attraction. So I could go hide myself in a fox hole or get on with the idea and face off with it like the great warrior I am.

The Summer of Pomba Gira

2009-07-09T19:33:00.000-05:00

I've written a novel about two Chicago families and I'm going to have it published this year. It's so off the beaten path that I can't fix it into a gendre so I may self-publish it and be done with it. The story is related to empowerment, substance abuse, teenagers, internalized sexism, internalized racism, spiritual intercessions and relationships. I think that I will dedicate this novel to the memory of my parents.