My Politically Incorrect Christmas

This is Christmas Eve in Christchurch, New Zealand, my adopted home for the past ten years.  Originally, I am from Oklahoma, ‘the place of the Red Man,’ and that is what we all are when we open ourselves up from the inside.  This is what writing is for me, an opening up of my conscious self for my family and friends.  And sitting before me as I write this are the symbolic representations of my past, present and future ghosts of Christmas…

This is the whole table, nothing is hidden or tidied, it is what it is…a red hand-painted tin can my grandmother was famous for recycling into usable objects.  This one I now use as a brush holder fifty years on.  Inside this tin can are a small collection of my grandmother’s, my father’s, my mother’s and my own brushes…a legacy of artistic tradition passed down through the generations….particularly at Christmas, when hand-made or hand-painted gifts use to be abundant, I reflect on the many objects embellished with these brushes over time, before my attention is attracted to the next object on the table…

                    

Here sits a plant renamed ‘Cylindrica’ by the person who lured my husband to purchase this for me.  It turns out that it is an appropriate symbolic representation of much of what he hears me talk about these days—the interweaving of our lives, separate, but connected—sporadic intermittent patterns sometimes dutifully controlled and cared for and sometimes touching and then darting off into seemingly chaotic directions…like the patterns I found myself drawing while reflecting on ‘cylindrica’…

I was thinking about how we communicate and create patterns that form our lives. Patterns that come in the form of creative actions and interactions sometimes by accident, sometimes by intention, often leaving us feeling the synchronistic or chaotic expressions that amplify these patterns.   We begin to see patterns if we live long enough, or consciously enough to see what our actions and reactions create into our experiences.  Caught in ‘cylindrica’ is where I long to remain, but alas, this is a utopian model to merely try to replicate.  These days, there are those trying to dissolve some replications that I inherited from my family that also sits on this table, like the enjoyment of a good cup of coffee and a cigarette…

 

…with my paints not far from reach.  I am not here to paint and promote my ‘vices’—but, to state that coffee and cigarettes are still a part of my daily rituals wherein I contemplate deeply whilst not drinking alcohol or making or supporting wars anywhere.   I have noticed that outlawing, ridiculing and banning is not actually the best choice we can make.  I often feel like a criminal in my own world…whilst watching others perform acceptable activities I abhor, there is no ‘cylindrica’ to that, but something more like the patterns I drew on my page…making me dislike connecting with those who shake their finger at me and comment each time ‘so, you are still smoking’ and I have yet to reply, ‘so, you still support war?’  LOL…you have to laugh, otherwise…

There is a bowl of chalk on my table I leave readily available for the grandkids, as well as my own consciousness.  Chalk is easy to wipe away and needs no hard rules from any audience.  My grandchildren are very young and need to write and experiment on different surfaces without intervention—I tend to think chalk is a more appropriate tool to create with in this rapidly changing universe we all have to share with our various vices that no one is exempt from.  Mine are just more obvious and better accounted for by the mediation that surrounds us, thereby alleviating some from having to think about their own.

So, what does any of this have to do with Christmas?  Well, it precedes my Christmas wish for all my family and friends at such a great distance…please write my faults with chalk and I shall do the same for you…and, leave the painting for our legacies of love…I love a good cup of coffee and a cigarette, but…I love you more and that will just have to be good enough for now as I am still learning how to draw…

 

 

 

Google

Post Apocalypse

I want to thank all my family and friends that allowed me to talk ‘earthquakes’ for over the past two years. It is only in the past few months that I could think, feel or experience life again without EARTHQUAKES being my median line. Phew! Glad that is over!!! And, maybe it’s not, but I do believe that even if the rocking and rolling starts again, my new median is simply LOVE and the motivation to seek and extend COMFORT.

It is hard to think in terms of another apocalypse, when you have been living one day in and day out for so long now, the flip side is…this girl has come out of her own hell, Facebook be damned and loved, because it takes away the social interaction I once was use to and puts me into a new one that needs to be mined for the COMFORT it alone can bring.

I can peek in on all of you no matter what time of day it is and no matter how far away you are. The nearly two months I went off FB left me feeling personally empowered, but wondering, what the heck are they all up to? And, coming back is easy now because I learned how to turn the damned thing off and THAT ALONE brought me the relief I was seeking. Yep, I can do it or not, and for now…I’m doing it instead of it doing me…lol. So, Facebook is better than earthquakes and that is a good enough comparison (or opening) for now.

So...

So, this is the dawning of what many have been pointing to during my life as some kind of hugely important date, December 21, 2012. Apparently, it marks the end of the Mayan calendar, and for some, the potential end of the world.

When I was a teenager, this date sounded so far away and the mention of it could bring about interesting conversations, to which, I have now been exposed to prolifically, ad nauseam, and whose conversational thread no longer holds me spellbound or quivering, ‘the end of the world?!’—well, for some things I certainly hope so, but for many things—well, it depends.

Perhaps this date has been one huge pacifier hanging over our collective heads—if you don’t like what’s going on in this world, well here is a date in the foreseeable future when it’s all going to change! No worries mate, we’re almost there now!

And, I now have children of my own who have lived with this promise all the more importantly because it is coming at a time in their lives when they have yet to live long enough to see the predictions of all societies and their religions, even the historically venerated ones like (fill in the blanks here with any society or religion you particularly resonate with)—that make predictions that don’t apply to anything or anyone. So, what will we all be doing on December 22, 2012? The day after one of the most pointed to dates of hysterical historical imaginatively anticipated culmination?

Well—hopefully… I will be here and you will be there and the world will still be rotating on its axis, or so they tell us, and the sun will still be appearing to come up even though we will be turning toward it, or so they tell us, and the time will be measured five hours ahead and a day behind some of my loved ones in other parts of the world, or so they tell us, and there will be no more and no less water on the planet, or so they tell us, and there will be rates of birth and rates of death, or so they tell us, disasters, or so they tell us, acts of heroism, or so they tell us, plagues, disparate acts by mankind and nature, or so they tell us… So, when will we stop listening, and start creating? Maybe on December 22, 2012, those of us still fortunate or unfortunate to still be here (as it is a subjective worldview for sure), maybe, we will become the new Mayans and create a calendar of our own which designates a time for thinking, and thereby creating how our own worlds (notice the plurality as this is paramount to this conversation with more than one of us) should carry on…instead of listening to ‘others’ about how it is already.

How? Well, if I am still here, I intend to turn off the radio, the television, the computer, the cell phone, the ‘noise’ and bask in the silence of my own mind and meditate on what it is that I can do, think about and focus on to help my world be one I would like to see continue. From that date forward I shall begin to write my own ‘ecosophy’ and take a ‘deep ecological look’ into my own interior space to see what might be lurking. I did not say I would think about what I ‘believe’…as belief is a seriously dangerous thing in an ever changing world and is especially detrimental if you are hoping to locate new possibilities that are paramount to creating anything new. So, to begin with, I will throw out all beliefs and simply start over and replace ‘I believe’ with ‘I think.’ Beliefs are almost always based on ‘what they tell us’ and seldom on what ‘we as creative actors’ might begin to ‘think about’ that can birth heretofore unseen (and, thereby a new) positive action in my world view. I am committed to this action. December 22, 2012 is a Saturday, which might be something of a new Sabbath to be one day out of seven when we devote our lives to ‘simply thinking’ and actively ‘not listening’ to the rest of the world…and, for those who can will it even further…go for it…when you reach seven out of seven…I do believe you will have achieved ENLIGHTENMENT and help bring about ‘the world’ everyone intuits might be a better place than this one. It’s inside all of us; we’ve just been distracted with ‘what they tell us.’ To ask the question my birth father always asked me, ‘Who are they, anyway?’ Okay, Pops, it’s time to think about it! Meanwhile,I don't believe I love you, I KNOW I do.

Two Weeks in America (Not Long Enough)

I have lived in New Zealand for nine years now. And, it helps to be specific and say, Christchurch, New Zealand, as now, I live in a place that feels continuously dangerous on many levels. Any level over ground level feels dangerous when you are plagued with the mountain building a country can do when it is having earthquakes and aftershocks nearly every day, many times a day, without any way to predict, and/or eradicate them.
So, two weeks in America was sounding good for a change, and I had important people in my life to catch up with.

Needful to say, I would be travelling back to my original home during two marked anniversaries. One year from the original earthquake in Christchurch and ten years on from 9/11. It has been a shocking decade for me; it has been a shocking decade for most people. I am here to tell you it makes no difference what you are afraid of; FEAR is a democratic e-motion that propels seemingly sane people into insane head spaces, fear is now our common enemy when we take off our shoes and empty our pockets to board every airplane anywhere in the world. All our spaces have become homogenized by fear.

And yet, what I found living at grass roots level all over the United States, where ever I went, was not fear at all, but the stuff that made me realize once again, America is a truly strong country, not because of anything more outstanding and important than its PEOPLE.

I have to tell you American PEOPLE, I was truly impressed with the lot of you. And, not just because you were already important to me, as you are and always will be, but because I had an opportunity to peek into your lives rather quickly and on the fly with not much opportunity for you to change any existing situation, altercation, lifestyle choice, or the colour of your walls, your walls all seemed the same in one profound way, they were all still standing and without one single exception, built with LOVE.

I was LOVED on by ex-husbands, ex-step children, friends I had not seen in a shocking decade and even longer, taxi drivers, waiters and waitresses, my own children and theirs, strangers on street corners and even those I had altercations with due to jet lag and the inability to wear my own shoes, other Americans offered me their shoes instead.

America, you are amazing and gifted with the profoundest capacity to spread the most powerful e-motion yet. Your rootstock e-motion is not one of fear, but of LOVE. This profound capacity is your major Major, which equips you with the arms to end all wars poured out onto your mediated heads. I stand in awe of you, now from a distance and reconcile why on earth I would ever live anywhere else, if but not for a chance, to spread the LOVE somewhere else.

And, I have no fear left in me that you might not always be the greatest nation on this planet as long as you remember to LOVE all others the way you loved on me for two weeks in America.

Thank you one and all, you KNOW who you are, and you KNOW what to do, and ‘y’all’ do it better than anywhere else I have ever been. It is in this way that Americans are truly EXCEPTIONAL. Keep living it, it is not a dream, it is your reality that makes all the difference and can be the best ‘wildfire’ of all.....xoxoxo, yours always!

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...

The Occupation of O

When O has you, you know it. There may be no words or reasonable explanation for the acceptable occupation, but you know it and it knows you, whether it is between you and another or other space, place or atmosphere, O has you like the air you breathe, without thinking, you are happy to be there, occupied by O.

O...I know just what you mean.

O...is enough, no matter what anyone else thinks.

O...I love you and know you love me

O...is an agreement from wherever it comes

O...is the perfect space, my parentheses enclosed

O...is me and the other as not another at all

O...is a circle of love

(for my muse)

PS...Brother John said he had only one thing to say to this, 'O shit!?'

Industrious Needs Its' Tummy Flap Lifted

Industriousness looks different to me now. I begin to watch for signs of it while I get up from bed every day and head straight for my desk where I might write down what comes to mind after being shut down and then restarted. (Two cities come to mind by comparison, Christchurch and Sendai, I live in one and consumed the other)


Today, I stood in front of the mirror naked...

...while lifting the flap of my tummy off the caesarean scar from giving birth to my second to last daughter, whose name appropriates all that I am ever contemplating as I go along in my own industrious ways. There is an underlying pattern I seek inside, not to classify, but to bring light to the darkness. Air under the tummy flap, to make things heal, is my destiny.

My daughter’s name is Destiny. Destiny Rose, in case Destiny is not enough. I never meant for it to be the flower, but the act of rising, like the energy that needs addressing, too long repressed, under oceans and inside hearts. I long for us all to be in touch with our destinies.

That destiny is to love no matter what, alongside our natural tendency to slaughter and be condemned to a death of some kind, which always follows birth by moments or many years, the difference is only important to the survivors, who cloud the issues of what life has left for any of us on the backside of too many earthquakes and one hell of a tsunami. All with feminine characteristics no doubt and very cranky tummy flaps.

With my own words I desire to make less of a mess of the space I occupy. I long for a landscape of peaceful composition fully rendered with potential approval by everyone. Ahhh, a dreamer you say, there is no way to do that. But nevertheless, how might I do that is what occupies my mind every minute of every hour, every day of every year, every year I have been here. Not because the ‘I of me’ needs it to be expressed by me for others, but because the ‘I of me’ requires that that one possible language to be strong enough inside myself to create an over-riding pattern of reality to offset the slaughter.

To deny my own sense of slaughter is insane and not very intelligent, for intelligence renders one thing to all, we know nothing, and we are more often merely responders than meaning makers, not one of us makes any lasting meaning for anyone besides ourselves to the point of intention that I seek inside myself, which is every one’s right that cannot be breached, except...some do try. I rub my finger across my scar and remember my own efforts to control anything, the futility smells upon my fingertips.

Then some are the collective parts of ourselves left to go fly into the universe without editing, like say the media...showing tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear explosions over and over again with the still pictures heaped with visual remnants of past industriousness torn asunder. What think ye of industry today my friend, Ben? I think he might agree with me on this...there is nothing to be gained by watching it over and over and everything to be gained by turning it off collectively and saying, excuse me, I need time to think this thing through, there is much to do here, but it needs to be from the part of the ‘I of me’ of all of us after we become intimate with our own destinies and lift up our tummy flaps and allow a little air in.

While many are performing rescue, I sit here and contemplate...what we do next certainly needs to be extremely different from what we have done before...and...

It occurs to me that the only reason we need armies is for the purpose of saving those who are lying in the rubble of Christchurch and Sendai, this is an army’s true destiny, to rise up their numbers for these acts of love and not those that contribute to the slaughter. An army has the force that could put love back on the map of our world, to counter balance what is the natural tendency of all organic matter, to slaughter, decompose and/or simply die.

Imaginary boundaries need to come down, property rights rethought, positions of power destabilized need rethinking in egalitarian ways utilizing all our natural and material resources collectively to bring love equal to slaughter. There is no one on this planet unaffected by these events now thanks to technology, it is our best friend and our worst nightmare and it has brought to every one’s table this reality:

We are all on this planet together, and this planet is undergoing a very strong pattern of repositioning itself, not because of some angry god, gods, or external mad-hatter, but simply because it can and does over and over, no matter what. We all need each other to collectively create a world where everyone can be as safe as possible, while always understanding that there is not anything we can build, plan for, or dictate, that cannot be pulled apart, drowned and destroyed in the blink of an eye, or nearly as quickly, and this pattern will never stop.

The only thing we as human animals can truly do is to be constantly industriously cultivating our abilities to love differently than the way we have in the past. We need to language things differently, rebuild differently and that will never be possible as long as we look at the mediated spaces for our language keys...turn the television sets off...and think what destiny might rise up inside the 'I of you' that is important for now, we need one another to all be doing just that...NOW, not later.