89 year old Japanese Woman

Every so often my face gets hot, so hot that I can feel my face turning hyper color into a giant tomato. It’s a dead give away if I am embarrassed, or if I have a crush on anybody. My dad says it’s cute. I think it’s a fucking curse. But sometimes it gets the best of me, and turns out being pretty funny. Now, I talk to a lot of people day in, and day out. I got that from my mom. We literally talk to anybody we think could be remotely interesting. Variety is the spice of life! So I am having a conversation with an 89 year old Japanese woman, and boy did she get the best of me. Yet I am still single while there are homeless people who smell like hot garbage that have girlfriends and boyfriends. Even Charles Manson has women lined up at his cell door. My friend Anna says I am too picky. Okay fine. Anyhow, yet again, I digress. Here the story goes…

89 year old- Are you married?

Me- No ma’am.

89 year old- Ohhhhhhhhhh

Me- (laughing a little at her reaction)

89 year old- But you so pretty. I don’t get it. So sexxxxxy.

Me- You’re killing me! (laughing, I bury my head into my red hair trying to camouflage the red hot face) Thank you for the compliment. Your flattery is too much!

89 year old- (still perplexed) I have a son, but you are too pretty for him. Oh so pretty! So sexy! I don’t get it?

Me-  I don’t get it either.

Enters son… the 89 year old Japanese woman stops and changes the subject quickly.

 

-K.K. Powell

Two spiders and a honey bee

Yesterday I was sitting on my porch, and the sun was low in the sky. I noticed a honey bee flying low, and he slowly landed right into a spider’s web. Two spiders rushed in for the attack. I felt so bad for him watching him struggle, that I reached for a piece of bamboo to fish him out. The larger spider would not give up the fight. The honey bee caught in his web still was spinning round and round. I could hear him buzzing and buzzing in distress. I took my water, and doused both. They fell through the cracks of the deck into a deep dark dungeon to both likely meet their deaths. I felt really bad. Initially I was scared, and tried to help. Maybe sometimes you just have to let nature take its course?

Then today the same scenario hits again…but goes a little further. Serendipity, and/or a reason to sit here and ponder the meaning of life!?

Today I was listening to the Sword and Scale Podcast number 90. The Spider and the Fly. Here is the poem below…

The Spider and The Fly: A Fable

by Mary Howitt


“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “To ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon YOUR bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment dear, you shall behold yourself.”
I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning NOW, I’ll call ANOTHER day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her crested head – POOR FOOLISH THING! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Which makes me wonder… did the fly or honey bee want to meet his untimely death.  Did he want something the spider could give him? Was it the same for the honey bee?Was he like…screw this queen. I am OVER IT! I just really fuck up his whole idea??? Granted in the podcast they are speaking of a journalist (Claudia Rowe) searching her own soul via serial interviews with a serial killer (Kendall Francois) …BUT she and he are representative of the spider and the fly as she says.  They both had something to offer each other. The murderer got his company, and the journalist got her story. She actually could see where one can get really fucked up, and see how murdering or hurting people is thought to be “okay”. I met a man who counseled Charles Manson. He said that if Manson hadn’t had been a product of the juvenile detention system from a young age, and been surrounded by the perfect storm in the desert shortly thereafter that he likely wouldn’t have formed a mass murdering cult. Could be true? Mental illness could also play a large factor. Well it does in fact. But religion and occultism also played a part in this. Whole other can of worms. I digress.

Point is… maybe between yesterdays event, and the podcast today I learned something new.

Learning when to meddle can be a fine line. Sometimes you can makes things a lot worse, and sometimes you can come out golden with a full belly, rich with happiness. But when you think you are saving someone, are you really saving them?

That is the question…

-K.K. Powell

Witches, Wizards, and Devils

Myth stories. I mean really. I may come from lineage of two witches burned in the Salem witch trials, so this also happens to  peak my interest in the topic. But…these wood prints should remind us of a few things. 


Let us remember…Christianity comes in spear heading the world with it’s own myths. Strong smart women were labeled witches, and men who do things unconventionally are wizards. Unlike today where it is status quo popular to be a witch… just by saying you are. I digress… Let us remember the holiest dance and drink with the Devil too. We all do. 


Sometimes it is the most conformed and confined individuals that are the sickest. But to some degree… everyone dances and drinks with their demons. Shit, some probably live with them full time. It is times when we don’t handle our problems like we should. By escapism: drinking, sex, drugs, or whatever vice.  By not using all your self worth. By not always doing your best. By not being somebody, or doing something useful in this world. Not using your self for the greater good. 

But, we all need reprieve here and there. Sometimes to do your best one next day… you have to fall down in the days prior. You have to tear everything apart. Set it on fire. You have to literally fuck everything up. Destruct to construct. Without death, there is no renewal. Without the bad, there is no good. So spend a little time with your demons here and there. It may make you a better person….


To see the light, one must be open to seeing the dark. 

Never conform. 

Just do things the best way you see fit.  

Click on the link for the rest of the wood print series…  

Witches, Wizards, and Devils

To end with a quote from Oi Polloi 

“No, don’t burn the witch. Burn, burn the rich!” -Oi Polloi

-K.K. Powell

Grocery Grandeur

The wind howls in the cool wet darkness

The rains ease graciously

The heavy truck door is forced shut by the storm’s breeze

Only to be stopped from latching shut

 by my knee…

ACK!

Synapses

send sparks

and flames

to my brain

The knee burns

and throbs

Maybe it bleeds

Not enough to soak through my jeans

Hey, you got any cash??

I need a hotel room tonight, and I ain’t got no money. 

Sorry, man.

No cash here.

Fluorescent lights

Pupils constrict

Coffee beans

Organic

dark blend

Chocolate, Citris, Almonds.

White wine

Chardonnay

Vanilla, Oak, and Apples.

An overly talkative checker

You two find everything okay?

Oh wait, you aren’t together…

Well, that’s awkward…!!

Now is your chance….

You can crack open your breath mints before you talk to her if you want.

The poor twenty something froze.

His tennis shoes probably a gift from mom,

shortly before she became an empty nester.

All he wanted was his nutella snack,

and his ice breakers mints.

He fumbles to get through the line.

Still he does not turn back.

Back to the cool dank night

Dog kibble scattered on the ground.

Her pupils

pin point

dark to light

light to dark

pin

point.

Well, NOW can I have money.

Sores cover her pale face

Short hair knotted sporadically atop her head

No, you cannot have money.

I am not your ATM.

The dog eats her kibble

off the concrete.

A sense of entitlement

used by instability.

Drunk off the overindulgence of humanity.

-K. K. Powell

 

 

 

 

The end of the day

At the end of the day.

There is nothing more to say.

Be grateful for what came with ease.

Wash away any thoughts which brought you to your knees.

Because at the end of the day…

It is only the self which you really need to please.

-K.K. Powell

Heart of stone

Walking along at around 10,000 feet on Mount Shasta I attempted to find the perfect heart shaped stone. You see, I have found many of them on my travels into various geographical locations. Usually while in nature, on a hike or while practicing yoga.

I was given a heart of red stone by a Native American whom I met on a hike in Sedona, Arizona. After a long talk about philosophy, we gave each other a hug. I did some yoga on a rock nearby while he played his flute. A lizard stood by, and watched me. Click on the hyperlink below to view.

Lizard video link Sedona, AZ
In my frequent drives into the Rocky Mountains of Colorado I would spend hours hiking into the forests. One day finding a rose quartz heart there while on a hike with Lulu.


While living by the Russian River in Cloverdale, California I would meditate by the river often after my yoga practice. One day an otter was upstream laying on his back on the other side of the river. He would look over periodically, and continue about his business while I carried on with my own. That same day I found a two heart shaped river stones… One large, one small.

While walking at the 10,000 feet at Mt. Shasta it felt right. The day before while at Lake Siskiyou, I looked down to find a lizard holding refuge under my shirt laying on a rock. When I picked my shirt back up, I did it carefully as I didn’t want to harm my visitor. I snapped a little picture, made sure the dog didn’t have him for a snack, and we were on our way.


The next day there was a chipmunk standing nearby stuffing his chubby cheeks watching as I wobbled back in forth in the intermittent gusts of winds in tree pose. I was feeling at one with nature, and had a good feeling I may find another heart stone.

When I looked down…
I did see a heart.
While it was surrounded by dirt, it looked perfect.
When I picked it up, it was just another abstract rock.

Then I remembered…

There is no perfect heart.
No perfect heart shaped stones.
The most perfect hearts are molded that way.
…and sometime the hearts covered in dirt, cracked, and imperfect are actually the best hearts.

As I walked along further I found many stones to form a heart.


Then I remembered, to form a good heart sometimes it takes not just one… But many to make it the best heart.

Thanks for the reminder Mt. Shasta.

-K.K. Powell