Posts
It's winter now - I'm knocked up by memories, surrounded by frost and cobwebs...didn't use any protection, so here I am again, rummaging around in the credenza of my soul. The Starlings, les étourneaux, are on the ascendant.
Worn Out Gloves
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| Koszmarne Gąszczu Kołysanki from Deviant Art |
Life in Suspension - La Vie Suspendue
"Let me introduce myself.
I'm the Memory Collector, your companion and spirit guide.
Let's unwind the clock, peel the past.
The reflections you give me, conjure, surrender from within,
I throw into the fire, the cauldron of resolutions.
They burn into embers and flickers that evolve into butterflies.
They flutter away, heal and free you of all chains
so they can revisit and invent who you are.
Let the dance begin..."
I'm the Memory Collector, your companion and spirit guide.
Let's unwind the clock, peel the past.
The reflections you give me, conjure, surrender from within,
I throw into the fire, the cauldron of resolutions.
They burn into embers and flickers that evolve into butterflies.
They flutter away, heal and free you of all chains
so they can revisit and invent who you are.
Let the dance begin..."
Helene Cardona
Excerpt from "Life in Suspension", Salmon Poetry - 2016
In Europe, I live on Air, and Prayer and Stone...
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| La Chapelle-Montbrandeix |
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| Pembrokeshire Coast - Wales |
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| Readings at Harmony Holistics |
"...Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult." - W.B. Yeats
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| Time, Transition, Spiraling, Expanding |
Life is simple and elemental in The Rooms of Time
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| La Chapelle Montbrandeix |
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| Orbs |
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| La Chapelle Montbrandeix |
The Joyful Mysteries
THE ANNUNCIATION
Cast from afar before the
stones were born
And rain had rinsed the
darkness of colour,
The words have waited
for the hunger in her
To become the silence
where they could form.
The day's last light frames
her by the window,
A young woman with
distance in her gaze,
She could never imagine
the surprise
That is hovering over her
life now.
The sentence awakens
like a raven,
Fluttering and dark,
opening her heart
To nest the voice that
first whispered the earth
from dream into wind,
stone, sky and ocean.
She offers to mother the
shadow's child;
Her untouched life becoming
wild inside.
John O'Donohue - Conamara Blues
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| Another Day, Another Portal - Tarot Readings at Harmony Holistics |
Memory for the Greeks was the mother of all the Muses: Mnemosyne mater Musarum
ZOU - La Hameau de la Brousse
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| The door to the invisible must be visible - Rene Daumal |
It's always now. The now is eternal. We always see with memory.
Laugh a lot, it clears the lungs.
David Hockney
My Chariot year proved true to its wheels; they never stopped turning.
What a wild ride I had! This elephant would have been more comfortable.
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| The Chariot, www.alexandraeldridge.com |
There is no chronology of events to follow here, especially when I'm thinkin' from my heart, but life don't clickety clack down a straight line track, it comes together and it comes apart. - Ferron, from Ain't Life a Brook. And the Cards exist outside of linear time; if I knew more about Quantum logic I could tell you more about that, but I don't!
They didn't sing it, but these Cats said it even better:
Time is the moving image of eternity - Plato
The mystery of dismemberment is life in time - Joseph Campbell
Time is a conception to measure eternity - Mahareshi Mahesh Yogi
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| Somewhere in Santa Fe, Chimayo, Silver City? |
I don't know what it's like for you but here's what
it's like for me... I wanted to turn beautiful and
serve Eternity and never follow money or love with
greasy hands, or move the earth and waters just to make
it fit my plans. My eyes would be the harbor, my words
the perfect place for a girl on a road.
Ferron
Have Cards - Will Travel
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| Stork - Malpertuis Leormand |
...and they did, May and June from Charras to Bordeaux, Fr., Amsterdam, San Francisco, Vallejo, Mill Valley, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Taos, Chimayo, Silver City and all the way back again. In August & September, Southeast France. Maps on my taps. I read for French students in the train station, in airports - after the flight from Amsterdam to Bordeaux was cancelled, I read for anxiety-pocked travelers at the "home on the road hotel". Guess what they wanted to know? I read for 20 women & one lovely man at a garden party in Ross with Hawaiian dancers & music. I read for dozens at the Good Earth in Mill Valley. After 200 Tarot readings, I stopped counting.
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| HOOP, Andrea Broyles, Santa Fe, N.M. |
This journey is best described by a concept borrowed from Plato, 'metaxu', being 'in between,' in between our earth...comprehensible, concrete, material surroundings, and transcendence, mystery...the situation of the human who is incurably 'en route.
In Defense of Ardor: Essays - Adam Zagajewski
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| Andreabroyles.net - Santa Fe, New Mexico |
The map is not the territory, so said Alfred Korzybski.
The body is the road. Edmond Jabès
This place where you are right now, God Circled on a map for you. Hafiz
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| Steps - Canyon Road, Santa Fe, N.M. |
Traveling was an opening to revelation, to the natural stories, cycles and powers outside of myself - enough tiptoeing to the windowsill! A pilgrimage of sorts, as poet, David Whyte, speaks about in "A Great Invitation"; escaping one's own confining story, through entering the stories of others, being found by the world.
"The Opening of Eyes"
"That day I saw beneath dark clouds
The passing light over the water,
And I heard the voice of the world speak out.
I knew then as I have before,
Life is no passing memory of what has been,
Nor the remaining pages of a great book
Waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things,
Seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years of secret conversing
Speaking out loud in the clear air.
It is Moses in the desert fallen to his knees
Before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
As if to enter heaven and finding himself astonished,
Opened at last,
Fallen in love
With Solid Ground."
~ David Whyte,
"That day I saw beneath dark clouds
The passing light over the water,
And I heard the voice of the world speak out.
I knew then as I have before,
Life is no passing memory of what has been,
Nor the remaining pages of a great book
Waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things,
Seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years of secret conversing
Speaking out loud in the clear air.
It is Moses in the desert fallen to his knees
Before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
As if to enter heaven and finding himself astonished,
Opened at last,
Fallen in love
With Solid Ground."
~ David Whyte,
"Songs for Coming Home"
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| Mural on wall of The Market - Tesuque, N.M. |
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| Dawn/Aurora - at the beginning |
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| Open to Revelation |
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| Walking the Labyrinth - Ojo Caliente, N.M. |
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| The Opening of Eyes |
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| Ojo Crow |
'What is Grace' I asked God.
And he said,
'All that happens.'
Love Poems from God: by Daniel Ladinsky
And he said,
'All that happens.'
Love Poems from God: by Daniel Ladinsky
So many Misbegotten Moons between The Desire of Stars and The Year of Mercy. I lost two blogs - words upon words written over weeks, days, hours, vanished. The first one went AWOL after I had written the last sentence, the ink wasn't even dry. Poof! went the Photo Phantasms. Blood, sweat and tears poured over the wireless keyboard. Went through the seven stages of grief; gave up piecing the blogs back together, started afresh, surfing the waves of consciousness by watching lots of Danish and Swedish crime shows, and a French detective series called Spiral. It seemed important to surround myself with narratives I couldn't completely understand.
I got so much sympathy, empathy from my friends (mostly all writers). It's true what Henry James said about the three things in life that are important: The first is to have sympathy; the second is to have sympathy; and the third is to have sympathy. I'll add a fourth: Back Up (though that is not possible with Blogger - what is lost is lost).
I realize we are in a different world now then when I wrote those words. Back then I was watching The Vikings (which coupled well with the interminable election), envisioning myself as the Shield Maiden, Lagertha, based on the flesh and blood Lagertha, who was married to THE real Ragnar Lothbrok.
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| Shieldmaiden Hervor dying after battle with the Huns - Painting Peter Nicolai Arbo |
DIGITAL EPHEMERA
Later, I learned about a malfunction in the
new wireless keyboard I got from Costco while I was in California.
However, I'm a huge believer in Fate & decided that Odin was angry. The blogs were
too long and self-indulgent; I was being punished.
Amor Fati
Qui rides? Mutato nomine et de te fabula narrator. Why do you laugh?
Change only the name and this story is about you. Horace
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| Meow Wolf - Santa Fe, New Mexico |
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on. Samuel Beckett, The Endgame
The greatest joy was to see old friends and old haunts with "new eyes" - to be a foreigner in the land of the familiar. And to be able to tell so many what they had meant to me, how they had changed me, touched my life, both here and there, then and now. Some traveled great distances, like Christine, who came all the way from Mineral Pt. Wisconsin on trains and buses to Santa Fe (good practice for her Camino Pilgrimage!), poet/artist Kim from Idaho, Jan from Italy Tarot Tour, Sherry on the Ferry, Laurie (my past/present/future girl!), and Jeannie, Donna & Victoria, Richard, Mikethustra, Denny & Greg from Malibu, my beloved brother Mark and poet Kathy Evans, and Liisa & Aurora, the Diamond Hearts at the center of my journey.
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| Niki de St. Phalle - Tuscany Sculpture Garden - Italy Tarot Tour |
And to all those who gave me shelter in their wonderful homes; Dawn in Vallejo, Judy in Mill Valley, Alexandra and Rick in Tesuque, Stewart Warren in Silver City, Pamela Williams in Santa Fe - Thank you! And for all the Cards and Confidences we shared. I was able to read for almost every last one, as well as the now grown up children of my friends, Sean, Michelle, Sadie and Liam.
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| Judy's in Mill Valley before Ross Tarot Event |
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| With my brother Mark at Dawn's in Vallejo |
I wrote all your names on the trees, in the sky, on the wind, stitched them onto my heart.
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| Shidoni Sculpture Garden - Tesuque, N.M. photo Pam Williams |
What Balzac said about friendship:
Ce qui rend les amitiés indissolubles et double leur charme, est un sentiment qui manque à l’amour, la certitude. What makes friendship in-dissolute, and what doubles its charms, is a feeling we find lacking in love: I mean certitude. -Balzac
I am sorry there were those whom I didn't get to see.
The hand opens to the word, opens to distance - Edmond Jabès
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| "I wish you were here" - www.alexandraeldridge.com |
Everywhere I roamed, a Congregation of Angels watched over me
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| Me & St. Michael |
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| Gila National Forest- New Mexico |
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| Museum of International Folk Art - Santa Fe, N.M. |
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| Nothing sweeter than old friends - with Christine & Jane |
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| Museum of International Folk Art |
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| I am an Angel, but tell no one - www.alexandraeldridge.com |
Reality is a single unbroken wholeness in
flowing movement - everything is connected
and everything is in dynamic flux. - David Bohm
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| Shidoni Sculpture Garden, Tesuque, N.M. |
Real Life Angels & Guardians
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| Aurora - Shield Maiden |
On this journey, you begin to see how the sides of your
heart that seemed awkward, contradictory & uneven are the places where the
treasure lies hidden…More naked now than ever, you begin to feel truly alive.
You begin to trust the music of your own soul; you have inherited treasure that
no one will ever be able to take from you. At the deepest level, this adventure
of growth is in fact a transfigurative conversation with your own death. And
when the time comes for you to leave, the view from your death bed will show a
life of growth that gladdens the heart and takes away all fear.
The Question Holds the Lantern - John O' Donohue
www.johnodonohue.com
www.johnodonohue.com
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| Liisa waiting patiently at Wu Wei Temple, Fairax, Ca. |
It was a "Wu-Wei" evening, introducing the Le Petit Lenormand cards, coupled with Tarot, into the Temple. Good things happened, natural action, in alignment with the flow of chocolate biscuits.
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| Reading Tarot at Wu Wei Temple - Fairfax, Ca. |
I was riding a magic carpet of "transformation" of my own, along with the destinies of those who came tiptoeing or storming in for readings. Together we shaped and co-created futures, rather than continually correcting the past.
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| The Emperor - Tesuque, N.M |
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| I Love You All! Overpriced Kava & Chocolate Biscuits |
I lived & worked in Fairfax for many happy years in a little treehouse on Bolinas Rd.
It was pretty as a painting up there.
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| Cows Grazing, Road to Bolinas - Thaddeus Welch, 1844 - 1919 |
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| Fairfax, CA |
And oh, so many years ago, I met Pamela Williams in Fairfax, where we would become fast friends; both dutiful, solid Midwestern gals, with a yearning for poetry and art and not always drawing inside the lines. Who could have predicted, a decade later, we'd be hiking the White Water Canyon in Gila National Forest, reading poems in Silver City, N.M. at a poetry reading put on for us by poet, writer, publisher, Stewart Warren, or that Pamela would come out with her first published book of poems, Hair on Fire, and that I would write a blurb for it, and Arnell Ando, our fairy Godmother and Italy Tarot Tour magician and guide would write the foreword?!!! There's a run on life sentence for you....or that,
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| Pamela Williams - Silver City |
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| Whitewater Canyon |
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| Available on Amazon! |
The great function of poetry is to give back to us the
situations of our dreams.
Gaston Bachelard, 19th c. philosopher from
"The Poetics of Space."
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| At Jennifer's, surrounded by the scent of Art and French cuisine |
... Pamela would introduce me to her dear friend, Jennifer, living in Mill Valley, and Jennifer would prepare us a 5 star french meal along with sharing her wonderful, eclectic art collection.
I
read this book about how some scientists tried to get primates to
paint. For 10 years they worked on it, and nothing happened. Then, one
of the monkeys suddenly began to paint, and what it painted were the
bars of its cage. So, in my writing, I believe I'm painting the bars of
my cage so that I can get out. This is something you have to get done
before you can meaningfully move on in any way. - Ferron
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| And the Days Turned Over - Pep Carrio |
I crossed the Continental Divide and the Birthday Meridian. Friends made it bearable with birthday cakes and a party put on by Aurora/Dawn, who toted ingredients, spices in her suitcase, all the way from Vallejo to Santa Fe, to make the most delicious concoctions. Canadian friends showed up (always welcome, Canadians!) a psychic and her sister.
And to my own wise dear seer & soul sister from our "convent" days: Canadian Astrologer, Dale Perigoe, who couldn't be there in the flesh; your Maggie Muggins wore the earrings, blessings and love you sent, with the knowledge we can both get off our knees now - in this lifetime. Wined and dined, I shan't dare whine about aging.
And to my own wise dear seer & soul sister from our "convent" days: Canadian Astrologer, Dale Perigoe, who couldn't be there in the flesh; your Maggie Muggins wore the earrings, blessings and love you sent, with the knowledge we can both get off our knees now - in this lifetime. Wined and dined, I shan't dare whine about aging.
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| A Devil and two Angels |
Alexandra sent a birthday cake! Ruffles (Jeanne Bennion), true Alchemist, Artist, Greek scholar, parfumeure and my conduit to the Gods and Goddesses, sent Hermes & the Lyre & Athena of the Trees, in a Butterfly Box of pure essential oils, with her exquisite artwork and writings. They infused my readings with juju!
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| Joyeux Anniversaire - Tesuque, N.M. |
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| Hermes and the Lyre - Jeanne Bennion |
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| Out of the Darkness - www.alexandraeldridge.com |
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| Papillon & Birthday Reading - June 6 |
We're all dancing on the Causal Plane together
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| Rodolphe Ernst - The Perfume Maker - likely 19th c. |
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage - Anais Nin
Princess of the Shining Flame
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| Princess of Wands - Hard Desire |
I didn't get to see my penpal & friend, Carmen Sorrenti, alchemist, painter, dreamer, astrologer, shape-shifter. She lives in Italy - she's Italian! She's a Princess of Wands like Niki de St. Phalle, both so brave, lion hearted. I wrote an entire section on her and Alchemy, but it vanished in the first wave of Blog Losses. Look for it in Part II, which at the rate I am writing, will be lucky to resurface by Valentine's Day. We share some mystical connections, like Alejandro Jodorowsky.
Psycho-Magique
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| Pholarchos Tarot - www.carmensorrenti.com |
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| Daily Alchemy - www.carmensorrenti.com |
Memory is a transcendental function.
Most readings I never forget, but some are forever recorded on my soul.
Memories are microscopic. Tiny particles that swarm together
and apart. Little people, Edison called them. Entities. He had a theory
about where they come from and that theory was outer space.
Department of Speculation
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| Stephanie H. Artist - Tesuque. N.M. |
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| Azima - Sufi, Taoist, Minister - Silver City, N.M. |
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| Agape - Stephanie Howard |
In 1897, a French doctor named Hippolyte Baraduc conducted a series of photographic experiments. He hoped to prove that the soul does indeed reside in the body and leaves it at the moment of death. He fastened a live pigeon to a board with its wings outstretched then placed a photographic plate on its chest and secured it tightly. As he'd hoped, when he cut the pigeon's throat the plate depicted something. The Soul leaving took the form of curling eddies, he said. Up until the 17th c., it was widely believed that magnets had souls. How else could an object attract or repel? - from Jenny Offill's Department of Speculation
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| Kathy Evans - Soul Card |
The Buddhists say there are 121 states of consciousness. Of these, only three involve misery or suffering. Most of us spend our time moving back and forth between these three.
Early mornings & evenings I would trek up and down the hill from Judy's house in Mill Valley, thru the custardy fog to do readings at the Good Earth. The fog & relentless thrum of traffic on the GG bridge was not at all like the "little cat's feet on silent haunches" of Sandburg's famous poem. I was happy to be sans car as I watched the commuters, Munchian fueled faces lined with angst & caffeine, crawl along Shoreline Hwy. The Price of Paradise.
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| Golden Gate Bridge |
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| Mill Valley, CA |
The Owl & the Pussycat & Kim
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| Mill Valley, CA |
When Kim arrived, we walked up and down the hills together...
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| Kim Mott with matching car |
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| We found some ducks |
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| A rare bird |
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| One of the last fishermen in Mill Valley |
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| Kim has a knack for finding useful information |
Kim's my Buddhist, poet, artist, sandpainting, yogameister, wine sommelier friend, who also lived in Fairfax for many years. She opened up and ran a stellar painting gallery there. She lives in McCall/Boise, ID. now, homesteading and conserving the land and the animals who inhabit it. No matter where we roam, we write to and for each other. We've been in an adhoc writing group together with Mikethustra for around 20+ years. I don't know why they let me in. I'm a dumb blonde. They're both much better writers than I am. Maybe because I have large breasts?! Having Kim for a friend is like having Aladdin's lamp; she makes your wishes come true. (That's how I got the large breasts) - just kidding.
Summer Sandals
These summer brown feet
imbrued by sun and field dirt
are stick-scratched and
scored by slender wild rye;
all the while grass-stained.
My favorite sandals
redolent of gardening sweat
are ragged, scuffed
and impressed in worn
umber toe prints.
My heels are smothered
by unwashable earth and
thick-calloused cracks
that have all just begun to
bleed a little.
This smallest havoc
always happens
at the end of summer.
Kim Mott
Kim Mott
With no expectations in our pockets we hiked down to the Mill Valley Memorial Day Parade
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| Parade Ready! Hats compliments of Mikethustra (I got the best one) |
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| Give Peace a Chance |
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| Ghandi |
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| Scottish Piper |
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| Gumby |
We were in a time warp - it was as though we had never left. Up in the hills, it was 2020, cyborgs and million dollar homes. Down in the flats, Ghandi held sway with Wavy Gravy, the rainbow & tie dye people, Gumby and Scottish Pipers. It was almost the "Summer of Love" that never was.
Praise the Mutilated World.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated
world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
—Adam Zagajewski
Oh, the ceaseless process of becoming..
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| www.alexandraeldridge.com |
Lending Library (Anam Cara Poem)
There are volumes and novels,
poetry sheafs, the coal black crow
wings out the window tagging
with the billowing wind, some sort of
‘you’re it’ thing. You leaned into
these gelasins and told me about a
boy who every night taped beans in his.
Arrived empty-handed with not much
more than a green suitcase;
I leave these dimples by day
to be borrowed from the library.
Little summer tan depressions on the shelf,
there is no sign out sheet for names,
time taken, or date stamp -
wear them to Eyeries or Mishkish
to dimple at the dabbed woolen sheep,
or to Clauskey’s pub to dent into stout pint,
or to the yellow hill church to cup prayer;
I care not. My only request is
to return them more smiled.
Kim Mott
Quelle Joie! I got to spend some rare time with Kathy Evans, Imagination Comes to Breakfast, my Waldo Pt. Harbor comrade; our docks within waving distance; we "surfed" the high and low tides of life together, kayaks and caroling, Hip-Hop in San Francisco, daffodil stalking with Wordsworth perched on our shoulders, & walking the desert, Burning Man, jazz till dawn. Kathy of Poets in the Schools, Juvie Hall, UCSF Benioff Children's Hospital. Graphic Recording, the Tingler, Oxygen bar, Cirque de Soleil in Vegas! And the job I almost took at The Grove. I would have seen you everyday Kathy. France has great cheese and wine, but no Kathy to age and mellow with.
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| Kathy Evans - Teacher, Poet, Word Doctor |
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| Reading for Kathy at the Good Earth |
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| Kathy Evans - Soul Card |
on this voyage
sea is voices
voices the waves
we float on
we drift near dreams
turning inward
under our eyelids
it is the depth
keeping us afloat
Sally Doyle
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| Kathy Evans - Soul Card |
WISHES
I wish my breathing tubes
could come alive,
climb the walls
of my hospital room and suck up
all the air on the walls.
Then the breathing tubes would
jump off off the walls
when they were done.
I wish I could change into a tiger
a T-Rex and a tiger shark, and
camoflage so I could pinch
people passing by on St. Patrick's Day
who weren't wearing green.
I wish I could go into
some movies like the monsters
in Universe City
and Jurassic Park where there are
a bunch of new dinosaurs.
I wish I could fly over the hospital
instead of being in bed inside.
I wish I were Superman,
the man of steel.
by Christian
from Floating Near a Dream
Poems by children at UCSF
Benioff Children's Hospital
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| My Soul, Where Are You? www.alexandraeldridge.com |
The Spirit got too close
1.
Policy documents were requested.
Nothing came that close. Nothing came out
The spirit wanted shoes to step from
lighthouse
to lighthouse
but shoes were impossible; the spirit
flew--
the Heron,
the Owl--
You've seen their wings fan out
through the trees
Birds are the intervention
between worlds
and music is in between
what is
between
the in between?
Is death a cycle
or circle
it begins when we begin
Death belongs to the circus of the living
the trapeze between
the two sides of air
Kathy Evans - excerpt
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| Mimbres Bowl with Wild Turkeys & Centipede - Silver City, N.M. |
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| Bird with a message - www.alexandraeldridge.com |
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| Reading for Jan Walker - Good Earth |
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| Good Earth with Victoria, Celtic Queen |
Vasu/Liisa showed up in her voiture de soleil, and we swanned around in a Blue Dream. She whisked me all over the place from the Dollar store in San Rafael to get some much needed readers, to Target, where I bought a bubble machine to bring back to France for some fantasy bubble blowing when I do readings at the French Expos and Markets, to a Medical Cannabis dispensary in Cotati to see what that landscape looks like now after the laws changed, to some of my favorite haunts in the woods, the beach, and Pt. Reyes, where I lived for around four years, riding horses and consorting with cowboys. (I had to give up the bubble machine to a more appropriately aged child, since it didn't fit into my suitcase).
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| Liisa/Vasu (Yes, her name has 2 i's) |
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| Beloved Limantour Beach, Pt. Reyes Station |
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| With the Sequoias in a Blue Dream |
Liisa and I go way back, so much history, but not so many parallels. We worked together for Shen Foundation, East Meets West, the best of Chinese and Western medicine, where Liisa was on the forefront of discovery; presenting workshops/seminars/research grants for alternative medicine, Shamanic Medicine and good old Traditional Medicine with a side dish of psychics and channels. Liisa brought the latest and greatest of cutting edge peeps thru the portals of Shen Foundation/Fairfax and beyond.
She had her bonafides after being a side kick to Ram Dass from the very earliest Indian ragas. But more than that, we both fervently believe we are the architects of our own reality. Once we camped at the foot of Mt. Shasta and fought off the bears together. Remember, Liisa? And sharing doobies in Gloucester with your Dad, Russell before he died? It was the last time we both saw him alive. We three went to the House of Seven Gables in Salem.
My respect for you went over the moon. I saw how you honored him; held the portal open for him as he stepped thru with dignity, and the grace accorded a Celtic Warrior. And the irony of the theme of Hawthorne's book, House of...the wrong-doing of one generation lives into the successive ones, and . . . becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief. Russell loved that. You're a mick off the old block, O'Maley.
And also good at all the things I'm not, like geography and organizing anything and everything. Even got our money back when we got sucked into that Airplane game donkeys years ago. I'm in Awe. Liisa's a psychic entitity. A Pisces born in a Leap Year - no wonder! Tickety boo - Thank you for everything Vasu!
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| Rick Stevens - Psychic Entity - Santa Fe, N.M. |
Enter, my beloved brother Mark - Scary smart, Sci-Fi, Fantasy writer, author of Palace and Eyes of God; poet, editor, scholar, funny & wise. He's my compass rose, my north star, my loyal champion, and he makes me laugh harder than anyone. We walked together to the sea, entered the Tennessee Valley Portal...said all the things we needed to say. We were the only ones on the beach that day except for one woman creating a labyrinth. That in itself was a miracle!
Life is a constant hallucination - Laurie Anderson
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| The House of Eternal Return - Meow Wolf, Santa Fe, N.M. |
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| Mark - Tennessee Valley |
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| Kelp - An endless source of fun |
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| Dreaming Way Lenormand |
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| Sponge Bob's favorite breakfast cereal |
I WANT TO LIVE
I want to live where the light is good and the
food is slow.
I want to live under warm rain and
I want to
walk when it is
cold out and
breath is
revealed.
I want to feel the
wind, strong and full of the joy of
whirling and whipping and whistling and
whining and rearranging the
world. I have no
wish for a mere
flirtation with the Earth's
turning.
I want to sing in the shower.
I want to caress marble.
I want to pick apples.
I want to whistle and be
wise.
I want you and your
will and your wit and your
want.
Mark Kreighbaum
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| Woman - Labyrinth, Tennessee Valley |
VIA NEGATIVA
Walking in Tennessee Valley
past algae filled ditches,
two boys plunging sticks into the muck
"killing frogs and spiders."
I ask them why they want to kill
the spiders and frogs
and they say "they have no purpose"
so I ask them what their purpose is?
and they just say: "we are people;
we are important."
Then I remember a story I read about
an arctic tribe that believes all things
on earth have a soul that exists in
miniature form of the body that holds it
like a deer with a tiny deer inside it,
so when the large being dies,
the tiny form lives on and can slide
into other forms like the belly
of a great feminine spirit
where it waits
until the moon can send it back to earth.
R.A. Martin
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| Tennessee Valley Road past algae filled ditches |
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| Deer - Tennessee Valley |
Belongings
When she died, we were mute, not
enemies, but images, and a few
faulty memories like a blurred
kaleidoscope.
I remember meat loaf and tuna noodle casserole
and Christmas ornaments, Johnny Cash and
Mickey Spillane. I remember
a spelling bee she helped me with.
I remember that she sometimes liked games.
Aggravation and Kings-in-the-Corner,
cribbage and Life.
I remember the stick shift Vega she taught me how to drive.
Also, Tom Collins and being beaten with a
belt for being stubborn, or stupid, or only a
child. And I remember no parents when I
graduated and not even wondering at that
absence.
And I remember Round Lake
frozen like the heart of my
mother.
And how I wished that I were a
changeling.
When she died, she left me no word or
image, no true memory, no
belongings, save her
love of squaring debts, and a lifelong
ledger, which I see in my mind as all in her hand
blue ink
and regret.
But she also left me a sister who loved me. And
therefore, all debts are
paid.
Mark Kreighbaum
