A little snapshot of a poem I wrote recently.
From the sacred
Mania and domination
History and habit
I have seen the unseen
The same blindfold
Fallen from grace
Mother Earth gives life to energy
Blindfolds falling off
I opened my heart
That my breath
Is my spirit
Journeying into transcendent realms
Into a distant heaven
Illusion is our blindfold
I was recently talking to a Bay Area native about music. Do you know how rare it is to meet a native of the Bay Area? Well, a native of anywhere? We are constantly all moving, and wandering the planet for one reason or another. Our talk? Music.
Now I can get down with most types of music. So open your ears, and open your eyes. Sometimes you may just find something that you’ll really like. His goal… turning me on to some Pat Metheny.
The man… silver hair pulled back into a braided pony tail. Apple cider vinegar a day type. His cousin learned guitar from Jerry Garcia. He protested with black panthers in Berkeley and Oakland. He lived through the crack epidemic brought on my you know who, and lives to tell about it.
The movie, “Soul” by Pixar brings up the recent Jazz topic too. Perhaps the newest hot button lately? Escaping your conscious into subconscious with jazz. Look at the painters who lose themselves in jazz while painting, or the writers who lose themselves in writing… with a beat rolling and jumping and flying and diving.
It is now that I really know what this guy is talking about. So… forget your typical sound baths with crystal bowls. Well, don’t forget about it, if you like it … then keep on keeping on. But the point I guess, is that you can get the same feeling from this that you can of that. Because sometimes it is nice to just escape to another planet of sound, and land back on earth soundly.
On Christmas Eve I treated myself to getting my nails done. I have been working hard lately, and taking on extra shifts. The ER can be stressful, but it’s what I choose to do for work. So until Colorado and Paris, only one day off at a time.
I asked the ladies in the nail shop out of curiosity how much time they get per week. She smiled, and replied with one day off per week. She looked tired, but her reality she seemed to be okay with. She was still smiling, and joking around at times! On Christmas Day, I asked the man from Yemen who owned the corner store (where I was buying wine from) how many days he gets off per week. He replied with none. No days off. One year on, one year off… sometimes. He went on to explain how Yemen is at war now. There are no hospitals, and no schools. This makes it so he cannot go home. It’s too dangerous. So for now, he works everyday.
If you are wondering how my Christmas was I will tell you. I will tell you that I was reminded that most of us in America have things very well. Most of us get two or more days off per week. We have schools. We have hospitals. Yes, our current president is an awful man… but he cannot he in office forever. Working hard to reach your goals pays off. Sometimes it is hard, but just remember that there is always someone who has things worse off than you… and sometimes that person is still smiling.
Reminds me of a doctor I used to work with in a teaching hospital. A resident would put their hand on the patients bed. He would snap at the resident to stand back. If he had a ruler he would have likely snapped it upon the residents wrist. Years later I saw this doctor with his wife outside of the hospital at the airport. Naturally I said hello. His wife smiled sweetly. I extended my hand, she accepted. He said smugly, “This is wife.”
Was he rude? Was he on the spectrum of autism? Was he socially awkward? Who knows? I was not fulfilled with this answer. I said, my name is Keri… I’m sorry I didn’t quite get your name? She replied… but now the name is lost in my memory.
This is wife.
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….
Just do things the best way you see fit.
Click on the link for the rest of the wood print series…
To end with a quote from Oi Polloi
“No, don’t burn the witch. Burn, burn the rich!” -Oi Polloi
Wild rat scurrying from one bush to the next. My dog salavates, wiggling herself out of her collar moving so fast that she turns to a flash of white lightning. I scream, “oh my god! No! No! No!!!” with an incomprehensible gibberish…the dog is not distracted. Her one thought, “Does it squeak?” Her head buried into the bushes searching frantically. Right, left, left, right. “It’s gotta be close!”… but her luck has flashed right before her compulsive little brown eyes. Wild cat sized rat is just fast enough, and safe. I laugh so hard at my great American wig out aka scream of fear of plague/rats safety, that I double over in laughter and let out a pigs snort. Attractive man behind me chuckles. Ah shit, save face! My face flushes hot turning red. “You should’ve seen the size of that rat?! It was the size of a fucking cat!” He tells me he would’ve been alarmed too laughing along with me. We part, going our separate ways. I utter to myself, “I’m a total mess.” Large rats jumping out of bushes are a scary thought. Perhaps less scary if my wild imagination wouldn’t fling me down the rabbit hole occasionally.
In the night before two cats scream, scratch, hiss, and attempt to end each other’s will to live. It was the talk of the neighbors as I arrive home with the cat sized rat chaser. The dog with pride jumps, and licks snorting away happily at the familiar faces. “Did you hear all that racket last night?”… the owner of my apartments eyes light up. I nod in agreement and state how bad it all sounded. “It was raccoons mating!!! I turned the light on them, and they stopped. Then five hours later they were still there. I wondered if they got stuck?!” Laughter flows, “You’ve got to be kidding me?” His eyebrows raised in amazement goes on to tell me that it’s the god foresaken truth. Good thing I told the dog to stay close to me that night while she ventured into the dark night to relieve herself. If she tried to get into that action, my heart would’ve likely stopped.
Definition of Hightail–
Definition: to move at full speed or rapidly often in making a retreat —usually used with it <hightailed it out of there>.
Origin of Hightail Word Origin and History for hightail
Yesterday I sat on my porch to watch the sun set. Across the street is a big white victorian house. The man who lives there kept throwing water unto the right side of his porch. Then with much haste he would slam the door. His orange tabby on the left side of the porch ran from his food dish to the sidewalk, later to return to enjoy his meal. The orange tabby looked perplexed. My dog growled from the safe distance of our porch. I still didn’t quite understand what was happening here. He threw another bucket of water unto the porch two more times. The orange tabby ran away to the sidewalk, and slowly crept up the three steps back to his dish of kibble. A few seconds had passed. The orange tabby paid no interest in anything but the fear of getting dowsed in water, and in enjoying his dinner. Just when it was safe, a skunk made a run for it. From the right side of the porch he ran down the three steps, and hightailed it out of there! Literally his tail as high as it could go, and his feet as fast as they could move.After seeing this skunk, I am do wonder if this tiny, cute, and sometimes stinky creature had a part in creating this word. They do not apparently always hightail it in fear, but also in play.
Here is a little baby skunk exploring his world.