Women Surrealists and the Politics of Eros from Manchester Art Gallery on Vimeo.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
A Messy Desk
Yesterday, I wrote for two hours and the dogs barked to make me let them in, I did, and when I came back, I accidently deleted everything I had been writing. Damned dogs, I am sick of them being my critics, and master over my every move. Today, I start again.
Sure, dogs can be better companions than some people, but very much like people, they interrupt the flow of trying to do what a writer does. Finding a quiet spot has been difficult for me.
Lately, I have had to write from the dining room table, as the room for my office had to be relinquished a few months back when natural disasters (and welcomed visitors) insisted I share that room with other people. So, I moved into a corner of the dining room. Yesterday, I decided to move my writing space into the garage. I am almost there, but for now, I am sitting here at my dining room table contemplating the books pulled for reference this week and the list is kind of telling:
The Spirit of Trees, by Fred Hageneder, Mother and Child Vibration Heart Exhibition, by Popx as a Creative New Zealand project, The Expressionists by Wolf-Dieter Dube, Van Gogh by Lara Vinca Masini, Art Book Kandinsky by Dorling Kindersley, Essence & Purpose of Yoga by Raphael, Woodstock 3 Days of Peace & Music by Richard Havers & Richard Evans and Conversations with God Book 3 by Neale Donald Walsch.
Looking at this selection I can remember my writing week.
I pulled The Spirit of Trees to reference a poem I wanted to write for a friend. She has a birch tree outside her window that she reflects upon every morning. Fred Hageneder does for “standing people” (Native American expression for trees) what prophets have always done for other people...provide inspiration. My friend cannot go outside to see her tree, nor can she stand, I wanted to bring the tree into her heart even further:
Birch Spells Love (for Diana)
Liberated mind,
connecting with a birch tree,
struck into reverence, grand, grander still...
...three hundred millions worth and counting by Hageneder,
whose friendly science combined with inspiration
intermingles and unites one ecosystem
between a mind and a tree, a birch tree for thee...
...uncaged emotionally, intuiting, rooting
electricity and magnetism, vitality, growth and maintenance
to be on schedule is prudent for perpetuating a species
through the ages and myths preceding the gaze...
of a birch tree, by thee...
responsive to the wind, brightening the dark solitude and heaviness of life
rarely reaching one hundred and twenty, like us, the birch lives
giving way to other trees
coming and going like the wind
leaving bark for boats, canoes, containers, and called
‘the tree of the beginning’, preparing the Earth as well as the soul
in ancient Ireland, the ‘mother of learning’,
presiding over the alphabet:
the first letter b (beth) represents the Birch
as the universal soul described in myth by many names—
Frigga, Demeter, Aphrodite, Venus—
divine mother and goddess of love.
(I can’t say I really wrote this poem, but simply extracted information out of Hageneder’s chapter on birch trees and put it together to convey some of the things I thought my friend might find interesting)
Oddly, the front cover of Mother and Child Vibration Heart Exhibition has a happy nude pregnant woman leaning against a massive tree. There are two of these books sitting on my table because my daughter and I were both in the exhibition that this book is about and she wanted me to write something in her book. I did this week. I simply wrote “You are already the best Mother—I know, Love Mom”. And, she is...she mothers everything and everyone with such a balanced vibration even though she is not physically a mother, internally she is spot on.
The Expressionists arrived in the mix because my daughter was studying these works and commenting on them this week. I stood amazed that she understood the language of Art so innately. However, I shouldn’t have been stunned, she comes from a family rooted in Art for generations...watching her interpret works makes me believe our DNA has a memory, but it does not dictate everything, just enough to show that The Expressionists always belongs in our family mix anyway.
Van Gogh is lying there because he has always been one of my favourite artists and because the book belongs to a friend and I must remember to give it back. This book has been trying to stay in my mix for too long now...I decided to keep it close to me until I could return it. This is the practise of writing something down to make it happen which I seldom see fail for me. Now, the return of Van Gogh is imminent.
The Art Book Kandinsky is a book that I have been reading on for years. I have collected many paintings by a man who calls himself Domingo (for Sunday, the day he was born) and posted a few on my blog. For years I have been trying to complete a book about Domingo’s work. Six years ago I showed a mock up of what my book would be like to a publisher and he said he was interested. I told him I would be back with him in a few weeks, that was SIX YEARS ago. So, what happened? Life, that’s what. I had six other people living with me for a long time, I am in recovery. So, why the Kandinsky book? Domingo says his only inspiration for his own paintings comes from Kandinsky alone, he claims, there are only two artists, Kandinsky and Domingo. How’s that for hubris?
The Essence and Purpose of Yoga is lying there to help me remember to go to Yoga classes each Sunday evening. There are two wonderful yoga instructors giving free (gold coin donation) classes once a week to Christchurch residents because of the earthquake stress. It is, without a doubt, the best thing I do for myself since the events that have unfolded which I am trying not to write about so much anymore, everything about my life at this moment, is defined by the ongoing events and the anticipation of more. After yoga class, I am like Rhet Butler, “And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” This is a good way to feel in view of the subject matter I am trying not to write about so much.
The Woodstock book was pulled to clarify for myself what I was writing wherein I proclaimed “I was scared shitless” by the earthquakes. The first time I heard this expression uttered publicly was through the Woodstock experience when Crosby, Stills, Nash, and yes, Young were on stage. I could not remember if Neil Young was with Crosby, Stills and Nash at that time, or what. My memory leaks a lot. Anyway, I found the answer, yes, and my article remains factual though unpublished. It is titled: “Tits and Nuts” and uses the famous expression compared with ‘e-mail forwards’ currently going around that threatens you if you do not reply. Perhaps I will post it one day when I become less afraid.
And finally, Conversations with God, Book 3, I pulled because a friend of mine had written to me about a relative that had committed suicide. I vaguely remembered reading the best take on suicide I had ever read inside this book, pulled it off the shelf and found it tabulated just so I could find what I needed. It is an amazing take on suicide and I typed up a few of the pages and sent them to my friend hoping it might alleviate some of her pain. I think it did, it sure helped me. We talk a lot about suicide in New Zealand; it has one of the highest suicide rates for young men compared to anywhere else in the world.
So, this is why my desk is messy at the moment. And, like every morning, I sit here and contemplate what it is that I need to say so much so that I arrive every morning like clockwork to sit and write, read, study and write some more. Painting use to take pride of place, but then, that was back when people bought what I painted. Now, I just paint for pleasure, but writing is akin to breathing. It is something I must do to stay alive.
This week I wrote about our relationship with nature, being a mother, Domingo, being scared shitless and suicide. I guess I can see better now why writing is so important. Even the dogs have not bothered me this morning, only the cat.
Sure, dogs can be better companions than some people, but very much like people, they interrupt the flow of trying to do what a writer does. Finding a quiet spot has been difficult for me.
Lately, I have had to write from the dining room table, as the room for my office had to be relinquished a few months back when natural disasters (and welcomed visitors) insisted I share that room with other people. So, I moved into a corner of the dining room. Yesterday, I decided to move my writing space into the garage. I am almost there, but for now, I am sitting here at my dining room table contemplating the books pulled for reference this week and the list is kind of telling:
The Spirit of Trees, by Fred Hageneder, Mother and Child Vibration Heart Exhibition, by Popx as a Creative New Zealand project, The Expressionists by Wolf-Dieter Dube, Van Gogh by Lara Vinca Masini, Art Book Kandinsky by Dorling Kindersley, Essence & Purpose of Yoga by Raphael, Woodstock 3 Days of Peace & Music by Richard Havers & Richard Evans and Conversations with God Book 3 by Neale Donald Walsch.
Looking at this selection I can remember my writing week.
I pulled The Spirit of Trees to reference a poem I wanted to write for a friend. She has a birch tree outside her window that she reflects upon every morning. Fred Hageneder does for “standing people” (Native American expression for trees) what prophets have always done for other people...provide inspiration. My friend cannot go outside to see her tree, nor can she stand, I wanted to bring the tree into her heart even further:
Birch Spells Love (for Diana)
Liberated mind,
connecting with a birch tree,
struck into reverence, grand, grander still...
...three hundred millions worth and counting by Hageneder,
whose friendly science combined with inspiration
intermingles and unites one ecosystem
between a mind and a tree, a birch tree for thee...
...uncaged emotionally, intuiting, rooting
electricity and magnetism, vitality, growth and maintenance
to be on schedule is prudent for perpetuating a species
through the ages and myths preceding the gaze...
of a birch tree, by thee...
responsive to the wind, brightening the dark solitude and heaviness of life
rarely reaching one hundred and twenty, like us, the birch lives
giving way to other trees
coming and going like the wind
leaving bark for boats, canoes, containers, and called
‘the tree of the beginning’, preparing the Earth as well as the soul
in ancient Ireland, the ‘mother of learning’,
presiding over the alphabet:
the first letter b (beth) represents the Birch
as the universal soul described in myth by many names—
Frigga, Demeter, Aphrodite, Venus—
divine mother and goddess of love.
(I can’t say I really wrote this poem, but simply extracted information out of Hageneder’s chapter on birch trees and put it together to convey some of the things I thought my friend might find interesting)
Oddly, the front cover of Mother and Child Vibration Heart Exhibition has a happy nude pregnant woman leaning against a massive tree. There are two of these books sitting on my table because my daughter and I were both in the exhibition that this book is about and she wanted me to write something in her book. I did this week. I simply wrote “You are already the best Mother—I know, Love Mom”. And, she is...she mothers everything and everyone with such a balanced vibration even though she is not physically a mother, internally she is spot on.
The Expressionists arrived in the mix because my daughter was studying these works and commenting on them this week. I stood amazed that she understood the language of Art so innately. However, I shouldn’t have been stunned, she comes from a family rooted in Art for generations...watching her interpret works makes me believe our DNA has a memory, but it does not dictate everything, just enough to show that The Expressionists always belongs in our family mix anyway.
Van Gogh is lying there because he has always been one of my favourite artists and because the book belongs to a friend and I must remember to give it back. This book has been trying to stay in my mix for too long now...I decided to keep it close to me until I could return it. This is the practise of writing something down to make it happen which I seldom see fail for me. Now, the return of Van Gogh is imminent.
The Art Book Kandinsky is a book that I have been reading on for years. I have collected many paintings by a man who calls himself Domingo (for Sunday, the day he was born) and posted a few on my blog. For years I have been trying to complete a book about Domingo’s work. Six years ago I showed a mock up of what my book would be like to a publisher and he said he was interested. I told him I would be back with him in a few weeks, that was SIX YEARS ago. So, what happened? Life, that’s what. I had six other people living with me for a long time, I am in recovery. So, why the Kandinsky book? Domingo says his only inspiration for his own paintings comes from Kandinsky alone, he claims, there are only two artists, Kandinsky and Domingo. How’s that for hubris?
The Essence and Purpose of Yoga is lying there to help me remember to go to Yoga classes each Sunday evening. There are two wonderful yoga instructors giving free (gold coin donation) classes once a week to Christchurch residents because of the earthquake stress. It is, without a doubt, the best thing I do for myself since the events that have unfolded which I am trying not to write about so much anymore, everything about my life at this moment, is defined by the ongoing events and the anticipation of more. After yoga class, I am like Rhet Butler, “And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” This is a good way to feel in view of the subject matter I am trying not to write about so much.
The Woodstock book was pulled to clarify for myself what I was writing wherein I proclaimed “I was scared shitless” by the earthquakes. The first time I heard this expression uttered publicly was through the Woodstock experience when Crosby, Stills, Nash, and yes, Young were on stage. I could not remember if Neil Young was with Crosby, Stills and Nash at that time, or what. My memory leaks a lot. Anyway, I found the answer, yes, and my article remains factual though unpublished. It is titled: “Tits and Nuts” and uses the famous expression compared with ‘e-mail forwards’ currently going around that threatens you if you do not reply. Perhaps I will post it one day when I become less afraid.
And finally, Conversations with God, Book 3, I pulled because a friend of mine had written to me about a relative that had committed suicide. I vaguely remembered reading the best take on suicide I had ever read inside this book, pulled it off the shelf and found it tabulated just so I could find what I needed. It is an amazing take on suicide and I typed up a few of the pages and sent them to my friend hoping it might alleviate some of her pain. I think it did, it sure helped me. We talk a lot about suicide in New Zealand; it has one of the highest suicide rates for young men compared to anywhere else in the world.
So, this is why my desk is messy at the moment. And, like every morning, I sit here and contemplate what it is that I need to say so much so that I arrive every morning like clockwork to sit and write, read, study and write some more. Painting use to take pride of place, but then, that was back when people bought what I painted. Now, I just paint for pleasure, but writing is akin to breathing. It is something I must do to stay alive.
This week I wrote about our relationship with nature, being a mother, Domingo, being scared shitless and suicide. I guess I can see better now why writing is so important. Even the dogs have not bothered me this morning, only the cat.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Time for a Chocolate Bar
This week the New Zealand government came forward and offered to pay out those living in the red zone the rateable value of their home, so that they might be capable of moving on. There are still areas to be assessed, but it is a beginning...and, I might say, a beginning that reminds me of why I think this country is such a unique place to live.
Yeah, I know, it has been nine months for some folks, but one must remember, this is not a static event, but one that keeps on going and going and well, we rock down here, literally. Anyway, I was much relieved, even though it did not affect me personally; it helps the general feeling of hope and goodwill for all of us who are capable of feeling appreciative that we are amongst the living, bottom line.
Now, I feel the government has ‘moved on’ as was necessary for a feeling of beginning anew...I know there are glitches, there always are...and, I know there will be some people who feel that it is too little, too late...there always are...but, I still stand amazed at what New Zealand does for its citizens in disastrous situations.
The waiting was tortuous. But, I feel a lot of pride for New Zealand at this moment and thought I should step up and say so.
It even affected how I was feeling about just leaving...at the moment, I am just standing around, staying put with a bit of an afterglow on.
The baby’s head has surfaced and the transitional stage we were stuck inside has begun to ease up...I am breathing more normally now...and thinking...what will it be?
As for now, I think I will commit to writing about something ‘other’ than earthquakes and recovery...while this new creature is being born, I think I might go back to thinking and writing about trees, birds, gardens, imaginary worlds, shorelines, morality boards, paintings, great books, education, Brother John (there are three months of stories there) and anything else except disaster.
Phew...anybody got a chocolate bar? I am ready to celebrate!
Yeah, I know, it has been nine months for some folks, but one must remember, this is not a static event, but one that keeps on going and going and well, we rock down here, literally. Anyway, I was much relieved, even though it did not affect me personally; it helps the general feeling of hope and goodwill for all of us who are capable of feeling appreciative that we are amongst the living, bottom line.
Now, I feel the government has ‘moved on’ as was necessary for a feeling of beginning anew...I know there are glitches, there always are...and, I know there will be some people who feel that it is too little, too late...there always are...but, I still stand amazed at what New Zealand does for its citizens in disastrous situations.
The waiting was tortuous. But, I feel a lot of pride for New Zealand at this moment and thought I should step up and say so.
It even affected how I was feeling about just leaving...at the moment, I am just standing around, staying put with a bit of an afterglow on.
The baby’s head has surfaced and the transitional stage we were stuck inside has begun to ease up...I am breathing more normally now...and thinking...what will it be?
As for now, I think I will commit to writing about something ‘other’ than earthquakes and recovery...while this new creature is being born, I think I might go back to thinking and writing about trees, birds, gardens, imaginary worlds, shorelines, morality boards, paintings, great books, education, Brother John (there are three months of stories there) and anything else except disaster.
Phew...anybody got a chocolate bar? I am ready to celebrate!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Some Things Never Change
Sitting here this morning and reflecting on why I get up and write every morning. I watched my grandmother do the same as I was growing up. Each new day started with a cup of coffee, a fag and a hand written letter to somebody.
I gave up the hand writing a few years ago for the word processor on my computer. It was not an easy thing until I saw how quickly I could ‘delete’ parts of what I had just said. Brilliant, I thought, and stuck with it. Unfortunately, I do not always ‘delete’ parts that infuriate others.
Now, when I have a mind to, I can even publish what I write to go all over the world instantaneously! I wonder what grandma would have made of this. Possibly, she would not be sure, just like I sit...
...wondering how all this will shape the way we communicate to and with one another and when someone will figure out how to put a postage stamp on our newfound freedom to vent...will our silly responses be stored and archived in some futuristic electronic library for the next generations to try and figure out what the heck we meant?
I discovered recently at University that many of the young students could not read long hand...you know, the kind my grandmother did, and I was taught, now, they can only read print. And, most will not bother to read any further than what can be conveyed in a ‘text’ language. I found myself writing poetry in ‘text’ just so I could be read.
Amazing to see how fast things are changing...some days it makes me exhilarated, some days it just makes me tired.
Today, I sit between the two options and wonder, what to do next...in order to be engaged with.
I find that even with the ability to reach out and write to people all over the world at a moment’s notice, I still mainly hold a conversation with myself.
Some things never change.
And, the figuring out what those things are...takes a lifetime...and at the end of it, or shall I say, more than half way through...you discover that there is only one of you out there anyway...
So, I find, I sit here and write to myself, for myself and that is good enough.
I gave up the hand writing a few years ago for the word processor on my computer. It was not an easy thing until I saw how quickly I could ‘delete’ parts of what I had just said. Brilliant, I thought, and stuck with it. Unfortunately, I do not always ‘delete’ parts that infuriate others.
Now, when I have a mind to, I can even publish what I write to go all over the world instantaneously! I wonder what grandma would have made of this. Possibly, she would not be sure, just like I sit...
...wondering how all this will shape the way we communicate to and with one another and when someone will figure out how to put a postage stamp on our newfound freedom to vent...will our silly responses be stored and archived in some futuristic electronic library for the next generations to try and figure out what the heck we meant?
I discovered recently at University that many of the young students could not read long hand...you know, the kind my grandmother did, and I was taught, now, they can only read print. And, most will not bother to read any further than what can be conveyed in a ‘text’ language. I found myself writing poetry in ‘text’ just so I could be read.
Amazing to see how fast things are changing...some days it makes me exhilarated, some days it just makes me tired.
Today, I sit between the two options and wonder, what to do next...in order to be engaged with.
I find that even with the ability to reach out and write to people all over the world at a moment’s notice, I still mainly hold a conversation with myself.
Some things never change.
And, the figuring out what those things are...takes a lifetime...and at the end of it, or shall I say, more than half way through...you discover that there is only one of you out there anyway...
So, I find, I sit here and write to myself, for myself and that is good enough.
Brother John's Last Night in Christchurch
I’ve lost track of the number of earthquakes and aftershocks (literally and figuratively) Brother John and I have experienced while he was visiting us in Christchurch form March 17 through June 22.
However, the most significant part was the fact that he and I were rebuilding, not only our outdoor kitchen as a testament to recycling the past in the present... but, our separate pasts that didn’t cross for far too many years.
Once upon a time, we lived on...
Cloud Nine together...when we were very young, and then 'stuff' happened not unlike earthquakes and aftershocks in real time Christchurch. You know, that ‘stuff’ that makes life so bloody interesting in hindsight, but at the time, it feels like we’ve gone to the dogs, and the only solution is to sleep right through it...
However, John and I stood together these past three months...
And neither of us lived to regret it, but learned how to wake the sleeping dog...
Or, at least Brother John did, I tended to hide behind the veil every now and then...
...while my friend Ora kept the laughter flowing from all directions, making us feel fuzzy and warm. Thank you, Ora!
And, youngest daughter, Kasey, fell madly in love with Brother John...
And , husband Clark, cooked flounder for him, and many other meals inside our kitchen that Brother John built.
It was a fish fry on the last night Brother John was here, and also, the first time we would be using our new kitchen exactly what it was built for, the nights the earthquakes put our lights out...
and, another earthquake did...this very night.
But, thanks to the industry of my family...
We had other lights to come back on with.
And, the neighbours all arrived to see Brother John off, and experience what the kitchen built in The Aftershock Gallery is really all about...
Creature comforts, no matter what.
And now, the day after the farewell at the airport, where we put Brother John on one of the only planes flying out of Christchurch because the rest were grounded by the volcanic ash in the air from Chile...
All we can say to Brother John is this...
Sincerely, we do...miss you already!
PS...who are we going to get to play Skipbo and roll the dice on all these sleepless nights?
PSS...at the writing of this I have just been informed that you (Brother John) are still in the air, your plane having been diverted around the volcanic ash over Australia, but, you are due home tomorrow at 1:15PM, back to Oklahoma where the wind ‘blows ash’ rather quickly...lol...be safe brother, be safe...and, I applaud your single slogan:
DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY! XOXO, Your Big Sister loves you, Kathy.
However, the most significant part was the fact that he and I were rebuilding, not only our outdoor kitchen as a testament to recycling the past in the present... but, our separate pasts that didn’t cross for far too many years.
Once upon a time, we lived on...
Cloud Nine together...when we were very young, and then 'stuff' happened not unlike earthquakes and aftershocks in real time Christchurch. You know, that ‘stuff’ that makes life so bloody interesting in hindsight, but at the time, it feels like we’ve gone to the dogs, and the only solution is to sleep right through it...
However, John and I stood together these past three months...
And neither of us lived to regret it, but learned how to wake the sleeping dog...
Or, at least Brother John did, I tended to hide behind the veil every now and then...
...while my friend Ora kept the laughter flowing from all directions, making us feel fuzzy and warm. Thank you, Ora!
And, youngest daughter, Kasey, fell madly in love with Brother John...
And , husband Clark, cooked flounder for him, and many other meals inside our kitchen that Brother John built.
It was a fish fry on the last night Brother John was here, and also, the first time we would be using our new kitchen exactly what it was built for, the nights the earthquakes put our lights out...
and, another earthquake did...this very night.
But, thanks to the industry of my family...
We had other lights to come back on with.
And, the neighbours all arrived to see Brother John off, and experience what the kitchen built in The Aftershock Gallery is really all about...
Creature comforts, no matter what.
And now, the day after the farewell at the airport, where we put Brother John on one of the only planes flying out of Christchurch because the rest were grounded by the volcanic ash in the air from Chile...
All we can say to Brother John is this...
Sincerely, we do...miss you already!
PS...who are we going to get to play Skipbo and roll the dice on all these sleepless nights?
PSS...at the writing of this I have just been informed that you (Brother John) are still in the air, your plane having been diverted around the volcanic ash over Australia, but, you are due home tomorrow at 1:15PM, back to Oklahoma where the wind ‘blows ash’ rather quickly...lol...be safe brother, be safe...and, I applaud your single slogan:
DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY! XOXO, Your Big Sister loves you, Kathy.
Monday, June 20, 2011
I Move On
Sitting down and talking to your youngest daughter about her options, post many earthquakes and aftershocks, the divisions between the two descriptive nouns is debatable, as is the difference between a recession and a full blown depression mainly dependent upon which activity is happening to you personally and which activity you are hearing about on the news, the internet or the radio stations. If it’s happening to you it is an earthquake and a full blown depression, if it is happening to another it is an aftershock and a recession, the dynamics are always strongest when in one’s home port.
We are all fxxxed who live in Christchurch in one sense of the word, but in another, we are the most privileged on earth. We get to decide whether to go or stay, and what that looks like solely dependent upon our attitude and not necessarily the environment or immediate opportunities. This is when the spiritual side of a person takes over, there is no external certainty, but internally, we all get to choose, am I happy or sad...do I believe there is more to life than what meets the eye or not?
Well, I do and always have. I have played around with trying to decide upon an absolute version for this and I gave it up for Lent without ever becoming a specific religious affiliation permanently, because there is nothing but impermanence in this world, it is the one major truth, just look at Christchurch, or Sendai, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. KA-BOOM, it all falls down or disintegrates whether it be a natural disaster or a human designed one.
I have to maintain my dignity and integrity if nothing else. What does that look like, and how do I convince those others surrounding me, depending upon me, that now is the time to strike out and start a life somewhere else? I cannot. I can only allow them to make choices of their own and I, myself, must make choices that others may not want to hear, but I shall do, no matter what, because I enjoy living, I really do.
I will not go down with the ship. That is not why I came here, I came here to live.
My options are two. I can go back to the USA where I was born, in the state of Oklahoma where I have many friends and family, or, I can stay somewhere else in New Zealand beside’s Christchurch where I might be able to make a simple living and continue to see the many friends and family I have here. Both options hold family and friend ties, none of which are any more important than any other, they all count. I do not need to be living close to anyone to call them my family and friends; they just are and always will be. I feel no over-riding pressure to move or not move based on family.
Safety is first. And, I definitely do not feel safe in Christchurch, some do, and they have their reasons for such, but me, I feel vulnerable every minute of every day now, not just when the earthquakes and aftershocks happen, but always. I have had enough and I know it, so it is time for me to move on. America or New Zealand?
To move back to America would cost us a lot of money, and, with no guarantee of jobs for either my 64 year old husband, or my 55 year old ‘feminine’ self. Perhaps you think it matters not if I am ‘feminine’, but according to many people all over the world, it counts as another strike against me. I am simply being realistic. I can no longer bat my eyes and wiggle my hips at the same time, I must pick separate days to do either and even then, there is always the possibility my hips have been loaned out to taking care of a grandchild, or two, there are parents gone missing all over this world. It is a reality, too. It definitely feels like a 7.4 when that happens, oh, and with an enormous ‘g’ force that has nothing to do with eroticism, in fact, that doesn’t exist post-traumatic events like earthquakes and full blown depressions, except in the movies.
My youngest daughter cannot think of leaving New Zealand, I honour that choice and I understand it. And, I know that this too may change.
I don’t go to movie theatres anymore, for nine months now, I avoid all contact with large building spaces wherein I might be flattened instantaneously, a thought I have every right to consider post earthquakes, but maybe not pre aftershocks. In other words, those of us here in Christchurch have a whole new way of thinking about everything, and we do, have every right to, just like everyone else all over the world dealing with their own unique collective problems that doesn’t seem to miss anyone. So, what is the trouble?
Nothing is new; it is just part of the process. But, we try to make it seem unprecedented, in order to make a statement. What might that statement be? Perhaps it is something like this:
Look here, I am having an earthquake and a full blown depression, I have to figure out what matters in my life and what doesn’t and consider my options and make decisions and write lists to see what it looks like on paper, in the air, on the sideboard, while I’m taking a bath, when I am relieving myself and when I am driving. Whew, I have to think about this everywhere and all the time as earthquakes and depressions demand that you do something providing you survive them, and I did, so what now? What do I do?
I move on...
We are all fxxxed who live in Christchurch in one sense of the word, but in another, we are the most privileged on earth. We get to decide whether to go or stay, and what that looks like solely dependent upon our attitude and not necessarily the environment or immediate opportunities. This is when the spiritual side of a person takes over, there is no external certainty, but internally, we all get to choose, am I happy or sad...do I believe there is more to life than what meets the eye or not?
Well, I do and always have. I have played around with trying to decide upon an absolute version for this and I gave it up for Lent without ever becoming a specific religious affiliation permanently, because there is nothing but impermanence in this world, it is the one major truth, just look at Christchurch, or Sendai, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. KA-BOOM, it all falls down or disintegrates whether it be a natural disaster or a human designed one.
I have to maintain my dignity and integrity if nothing else. What does that look like, and how do I convince those others surrounding me, depending upon me, that now is the time to strike out and start a life somewhere else? I cannot. I can only allow them to make choices of their own and I, myself, must make choices that others may not want to hear, but I shall do, no matter what, because I enjoy living, I really do.
I will not go down with the ship. That is not why I came here, I came here to live.
My options are two. I can go back to the USA where I was born, in the state of Oklahoma where I have many friends and family, or, I can stay somewhere else in New Zealand beside’s Christchurch where I might be able to make a simple living and continue to see the many friends and family I have here. Both options hold family and friend ties, none of which are any more important than any other, they all count. I do not need to be living close to anyone to call them my family and friends; they just are and always will be. I feel no over-riding pressure to move or not move based on family.
Safety is first. And, I definitely do not feel safe in Christchurch, some do, and they have their reasons for such, but me, I feel vulnerable every minute of every day now, not just when the earthquakes and aftershocks happen, but always. I have had enough and I know it, so it is time for me to move on. America or New Zealand?
To move back to America would cost us a lot of money, and, with no guarantee of jobs for either my 64 year old husband, or my 55 year old ‘feminine’ self. Perhaps you think it matters not if I am ‘feminine’, but according to many people all over the world, it counts as another strike against me. I am simply being realistic. I can no longer bat my eyes and wiggle my hips at the same time, I must pick separate days to do either and even then, there is always the possibility my hips have been loaned out to taking care of a grandchild, or two, there are parents gone missing all over this world. It is a reality, too. It definitely feels like a 7.4 when that happens, oh, and with an enormous ‘g’ force that has nothing to do with eroticism, in fact, that doesn’t exist post-traumatic events like earthquakes and full blown depressions, except in the movies.
My youngest daughter cannot think of leaving New Zealand, I honour that choice and I understand it. And, I know that this too may change.
I don’t go to movie theatres anymore, for nine months now, I avoid all contact with large building spaces wherein I might be flattened instantaneously, a thought I have every right to consider post earthquakes, but maybe not pre aftershocks. In other words, those of us here in Christchurch have a whole new way of thinking about everything, and we do, have every right to, just like everyone else all over the world dealing with their own unique collective problems that doesn’t seem to miss anyone. So, what is the trouble?
Nothing is new; it is just part of the process. But, we try to make it seem unprecedented, in order to make a statement. What might that statement be? Perhaps it is something like this:
Look here, I am having an earthquake and a full blown depression, I have to figure out what matters in my life and what doesn’t and consider my options and make decisions and write lists to see what it looks like on paper, in the air, on the sideboard, while I’m taking a bath, when I am relieving myself and when I am driving. Whew, I have to think about this everywhere and all the time as earthquakes and depressions demand that you do something providing you survive them, and I did, so what now? What do I do?
I move on...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Right Now
I have a friend who e-mails me and wants to know what is happening right now...each time Christchurch rocks and rolls again, and again. Usually, I fill up a page with all types of avoidance to what I am really feeling...which is hard to describe, there is almost no precedent for it.
Traumatized and invigorated, I switch between the two...traumatized as to each singular event, then riding some kind of energetic wave that seems to be excess energy going through me, reminding me, I am one of the fortunate ones...I still stand and so do my closest loved ones, as well as my home.
But, the suffering hangs in the air, and the experience is not unlike being caught in the act of childbirth, stuck in the transition stage, and the newborn refuses to come all the way out. This is the stage when women become blatant and often say things others would rather forget, it is like being ripped in two and the only thing one wants, is relief and a separation from what's going on inside them. This best describes how I feel right now.
After last Monday's 6.3 when my husband and I were in the car going up Papanui to his office in Merivale,I had the opportunity to see the horizon become an oceanic wave, trees swinging wildly recommending I leave, water rushing out of the ground, cars being tossed about and in that moment I finally decided, this is enough. It is time to distance ourselves from the ongoing pains of giving birth to a new Christchurch.
It has been almost nine months now, and we are coming to terms with how long we as individuals can endure the ongoing contractions amidst pregnant pauses full of morbid anticipation. Unlike some folks here, we do have some choices.
Like most, we are tired, psychologically traumatized, bewildered, short tempered, forgetful, disorganized in day to day matters but highly organized in our earthquake relief packs, incapable of going to certain places, unwilling to go to others, sleep deprived, over indulgent to our bad habits, capable of predicting the rhector scale, depth and direction of each event, but...
keenly aware that we are a people having undergone unprecedented events that have given us sensitivities when nourished, may bring more compassion into this world when we collectively get out of the ring of fire we are currently sweating in...
right now, I need some distance, and...that will be my focus for the next few weeks until I can achieve my goal to move my family further afield...not to forget Christchurch, but to help from enough distance to provide a safe place for my family and friends to come see me sensibly, notwithstanding that the whole world feels dangerous thanks to instant real time technology...
this is NOT the end of the world...
but, the world doing what it always has done, giving birth to new topography...hopefully, without my family in it.
Right now, I believe in leaving.
Traumatized and invigorated, I switch between the two...traumatized as to each singular event, then riding some kind of energetic wave that seems to be excess energy going through me, reminding me, I am one of the fortunate ones...I still stand and so do my closest loved ones, as well as my home.
But, the suffering hangs in the air, and the experience is not unlike being caught in the act of childbirth, stuck in the transition stage, and the newborn refuses to come all the way out. This is the stage when women become blatant and often say things others would rather forget, it is like being ripped in two and the only thing one wants, is relief and a separation from what's going on inside them. This best describes how I feel right now.
After last Monday's 6.3 when my husband and I were in the car going up Papanui to his office in Merivale,I had the opportunity to see the horizon become an oceanic wave, trees swinging wildly recommending I leave, water rushing out of the ground, cars being tossed about and in that moment I finally decided, this is enough. It is time to distance ourselves from the ongoing pains of giving birth to a new Christchurch.
It has been almost nine months now, and we are coming to terms with how long we as individuals can endure the ongoing contractions amidst pregnant pauses full of morbid anticipation. Unlike some folks here, we do have some choices.
Like most, we are tired, psychologically traumatized, bewildered, short tempered, forgetful, disorganized in day to day matters but highly organized in our earthquake relief packs, incapable of going to certain places, unwilling to go to others, sleep deprived, over indulgent to our bad habits, capable of predicting the rhector scale, depth and direction of each event, but...
keenly aware that we are a people having undergone unprecedented events that have given us sensitivities when nourished, may bring more compassion into this world when we collectively get out of the ring of fire we are currently sweating in...
right now, I need some distance, and...that will be my focus for the next few weeks until I can achieve my goal to move my family further afield...not to forget Christchurch, but to help from enough distance to provide a safe place for my family and friends to come see me sensibly, notwithstanding that the whole world feels dangerous thanks to instant real time technology...
this is NOT the end of the world...
but, the world doing what it always has done, giving birth to new topography...hopefully, without my family in it.
Right now, I believe in leaving.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Birthday Poem
ONE (Infinity’s Rule)
There is one
out there...
always
...and inside, too,
but, not...
TWO
There are twin reflections
out there...
always
...and inside, too,
but, there are two,
which makes
THREE
the number
of love
reproduced
by two
making
ONE.
And then,
it all starts over...
Happy Birthday!
From one to another, and another,
and another, that is Infinity’s
rule of love...
one, two, three, one...
one, two, three, one...
one, two, three...
ONE.
The adventure awakens....
‘We are’ ‘the ones’ we have been waiting for...
go ask Alice and see Domingo.
Random Thought and Other Matters (Including the Dalai Lama)
Today, on my youngest daughter’s nineteenth birthday, I reflect on many things.
For one, who are the people who matter most to me?
...and, like the Dalai Lama whom we just had the good fortune to see and listen to in real time, flesh and blood in Christchurch, New Zealand this past week, I would have to say...
all of them.
All people matter the most to me, whenever they present themselves, I am happy to allow them to matter and then decide later that they might not be agreeable to my day to day matters, but for the moment, that person, is very important to me, whoever they are.
Mostly, these days, that person is just me sitting across from myself on paper and reflecting my face back to clarify myself with anyway, I see no separation, but that’s another story...
and the reason I have so many stories is because I take notes, and I took notes while the Dalai was speaking (and when I first learned about Alice Walker), I listened to everything....
...anyway...I ramble so, in and out of my own home which is forever changing as we move physically and spiritually across the landscape of whatever town we live in, I do like most people, I do what I do until I don’t do it anymore, but the Dalai Lama (and Alice Walker) have a particular pattern that they adhere to for life lived with as much happiness as possible, this is what I see when I see their faces light up. And, their faces do, light up that is.
And the Dalai Lama was a leveller for me. He puts things simply, where everyone can understand, the only hard part is being able to hear everything he has to say because of the soft children noises overcoming the audio, the weeping men beside and in front of me and the noise my own handkerchief is making, which isn’t a handkerchief at all, it is a scarf I wear automatically when I feel good, it is turquoise, it is soft, it feels like New Zealand around my neck, a place I chose to come to and stay in for so many reasons it would take many lifetimes to express, just like any good feeling.
Happy Birthday My Beloveds! And, that means all of you who read this, CHEERS, and if you have any questions my girlfriends, I suggest you go ask Alice...
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