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So what's the difference between saying 'I have enough' and 'I have plenty'? I decided to explore those two words in relationship to a discussion I had yesterday about the poverty mentality that exists in so many of the new age communities. Enough carries with it the energy of adequate and just in saying the word I can feel that sense of righteous puritanical control. God forbid someone would want an abundance of something or an overflow or copious amounts yet evidence of that is all over nature. Is it somehow more spiritual to have 'enough'?
It is 10:30 at night and the neighbor's cat is out on the back deck, yeowling. Is there such a word? What a strange noise. Sometimes it is hard to have the houses so close together because their deck is higher than the level of the house I live in and my bedroom window faces their yard. I have to make choices between having the blinds up and the window open so it is not too hot in my bedroom or blinds down covering the open window for privacy but that doesn't work so well.
My dad used to tell stories of hot summer nights in Redding, California when he and his friends would sneak into the fields of local farmers and steal watermelons. The melons were so ripe they'd split open when barely dropped and then the thieving rascals would only eat the heart out of the melon and leave the rest. The heart was the only place without those black, shiny seeds and that was back in the day when the seedless watermelon wasn't available. Maybe it hadn't even been created then. I don't know for sure. Brightredwatermelonswithshinyblackseedsandlotsofjuiceandflavorasonly cancomefromgrowinginaplacewhereitstayshotallnight.
I met with Mary, a professor at PCC Sylvania campus today. We sat outside in a sheltered area and talked about the information that is coming through to both of us about the runes, the gods and the sagas of the Norse people, things that have been hidden for thousands of years and things that were available but encrypted or encoded. She was taking notes. I was taking notes. She is writing a book and creating a deck of cards. I am writing a book and creating a course based on the Norse Spirit Wheel.
A bit of a rant. I recently invited an older man I know to meet me at a local coffee shop for an art opening, music and eats. He asked me how I heard about it and I said I'd been invited by a young man at the market where I shop. He then proceeded with some snide remarks couched in seeming humor about me going after or being interested in young men. Later in conversation he started to tell me about a 70+ year old friend who has a 30 year old girlfriend in Thailand....
Yesterday's rant continued. This old man was showing pictures of how cute she is, blah, blah, to which I said: Did you make some snide, cutting remarks to your friend about going after girls young enough to be his granddaughters? Did you point out how ridiculous he looks, maybe even suggest the girl and her family actually talk about him behind his back? Well, my questioning hit a nerve; the man immediately got angry, actually started to swear at me about how cutting I was and at that moment I got up and walked away.
Somehow, on my way from the car to the bookshop, my brown sweater slipped out of my basket and fell to the sidewalk unnoticed. I didn't discover it until I had finished setting up my table in the room where I do intuitive readings. Strange. It was gone. I went downstairs and checked the small chair and table which I had set up. No luck. So I decided to retrace my steps back to the car to see if I could find it. About halfway down the block I spotted it on the sidewalk.
Back to the dropped sweater. I could see it. As I was walking toward it I could see a woman ahead of me also walking toward it. She slowed down just a bit, looked down at it and kept right on going. That made me wonder. What goes through a person's mind when they see something obviously lost or dropped along the path? What goes through my mind? At times I have picked something up off the ground and placed it higher up, sometimes with the thought that it might be more safe.
Most Tuesdays I spend with my daughter. We share food, drive around, eat frozen yogurt. Sometimes we come back to the house and color in coloring books like little kids. We drum, sometimes getting very sleepy. We have fun and enjoy the day that has no agenda. Today we drove to the land between the two rivers, an area of Portland called St. Johns. It is bordered by the Columbia on the north and the Williamette on the south. We drove down underneath the St. John's Bridge. It looks like a cathedral.
The land between the rivers. I remember my days of 'I know the Bible' smugness and superiority. Mesopotamia, the land between the two rivers. The Tigris. The Euphrates. The cradle of civilization. The place where the Garden of Eden was located. And yes, the vicinity of where the Ark came to rest in the mountains after the Flood. We had all this drilled into our heads and then we were grilled to make sure we knew it well enough to teach it to someone else. We just knew we had the TRUTH.
I met a couple of my rune class students out at Kruger Farms on Sauvie Island. We brought our baskets filled with magic. Drums, feathers, bones, stones, runes, pelts of Jacob's sheep, deer skin and leather, notebooks, sketch books, blue berries and fresh green beans just picked from the fields. We sat shaded and protected under a grand and glorious oak which grows up out of a central circular trunk and branches into 6 separate enormous trunks. We spread out our blanket and our treasures and we drummed to the tree and the almost full moon.
Over the course of several hours, as we drummed and talked, cast the runes and sketched designs for the booth we will have at the Harvest Faire in September in Eugene, children ran around us, climbing the tree, hiding from each other between the rows of blue berries and once in awhile, one of them would approach us and dare to ask what we were doing, or why were we drumming and even did we do this every day. One very respectful young boy was drawn to us. He came up close to the blanket's edge and listened.
Something seems amiss at the house next door. All night long their small white dog has been whining at the door and scratching the screen trying to get in. It then runs across the deck and down the steps to the gate into the front yard. It began to get worse around 4:00 am probably as the dog has become more and more stressed and frantic. I am exhausted. My roommate has left a message on the neighbor's cell phone but there's been no response. This is not the usual so we're concerned.
Summer day driving north on I-5 from Eugene to Portland. Road alligators from all the semi-trucks losing tire tread. Scores of vultures circling over fields of golden stubble. Motor homes, some pulling vehicles, like a traveling circus. Trucks, cars, SUVs pulling trailers. Motorcycles, some trikes, some pulling trailers, some with large loads tied down, some with Bungee cords. Traffic heading north. Traffic heading south. Some people are coming and some people are going. Truck stops with bad food. Rest stops with panhandlers and dirty toilets. American summer.
Almost full moon rising up from behind the trees, bright light in the night sky. Imagine how bright it must have been for our indigenous ancestors because it wasn't in competition with all the electric lights of the cities that never get turned off. We are tired as a people because it is never dark for us and because of that we don't get to benefit from the natural rhythm of dark moon and full moon. We are never able to rest. This contributes greatly to the imbalances so many women experience in their monthly cycles.
Working with some really fun ideas for my creative writing class. I am using the work of Joy Harjo, a native American poet, musician whose poems lend themselves really well to my Monday and Wednesday classes. Great descriptions of every day life. Readable. Understandable. And at the same time deeply profound and touching. I have watched several of her videos on line where she reads her poems and then plays the saxophone or drums or tambourine. Monday afternoon we worked with the poem called: The Woman Hanging From The 13th Floor Window. Powerful.
In tonight's class we worked with the same poem as the Monday group: The Woman Hanging From The 13th Floor Window. We also read the poem: She Had Some Horses. I had each person in the group choose an animal or creature that represented power, freedom, survival, strength to them and then we each wrote a poem, similar to Joy Harjo's but using our own creature. Some of the lines that were written were hilarious, so much so that we were all laughing and crying. Some were sad, sobering, thought-provoking and all true.
I took my car into the shop Wednesday at 8:00. It needed to have the timing belt replaced, along with several other things that just need to be or should be done on a car that is 12 years old and has seen almost 240,000 miles and a couple of fender benders. Well, the parts cost more than was expected and there were still problems so the fuel filter was changed but as I drove it home tonight, the problem seems to be the same. The mechanic says I need to replace the throttle sensor.
Throttle sensor. Knock sensor. These sound like strange, made up problems, things that don't even exist. How does a non-mechanic person know when the repair shop is speaking truth and when they are drumming up more business? When I first heard the word knock sensor I immediately thought of a prank my youngest son used to play on senior drivers. He'd tell them their blinker fluid was leaking and they needed to take the car to a shop right away. Now some of them really believed him. How many blinkerfluidleaks were fixed?
The amazing adaptability of osprey. Very loud chirping caught my attention in a parking lot on Hayden Island. I looked up and there, proudly positioned on top of an enormously-tall parking lot poll, (the kind with 4 gigantic bright lights that illuminate everything) was an osprey nest. One adult bird was there, feeding the young which is why there was such racket and commotion. Then tonight I saw, in the middle of the river, another nest that was perched on a poll with a blinking red light. Imagine growing up with constantly-blinking red lights.
Life moves slowly like a lazy river. Life rushes by quickly like a rain filed gully. My roommate called yesterday morning to say her mother who is in her late 80s had fallen and broken her neck. They are together up in Seattle visiting another one of her children. It doesn't look good. Of course. Usually it is broken hips or arms but not neck. I brings me back to the phone call I received from my sister almost 3 years ago. Dad has fallen. It doesn't look good. He died.
Last night I went to an open house celebration honoring the 1 year anniversary of my friend's art studio as well as her new business. It was a lovely summer evening, good food, interesting people and a garden lush with plants and flowers and water features. She pulled out her journal and reminded me that it was in my Artist's Way class in May 2009 she sketched an art studio she said she wanted to build. I made her set a by-when date to make it real. She wrote July 2010. She made it.
In the style of Joy Harjo: She had some bears. She had bears who rubbed their fur off up against the rough walls of the zoo cages. She had bears who ate their keepers. She had bears who made porridge when they were too tired to eat. She had bears who wore high heels and Wonder bras. She had bears who danced naked under the full moon. She had some bears. She had bears who broke all their teeth grinding them at night. She had bears who drove alone cross country.
Wednesday mornings are always noisy in this neighborhood. It's garbage day, and recycle day and yard debris day. Noisy trucks stopping starting dumping banging. It wakes me up way too early. I get annoyed. I wonder at that. I don't want to be disturbed by my own garbage or anyone else's for that matter. Rather like being a person who loves to fly to far away places and who lives near an airport but gets angry at the airplane noise. NIMBY. That's a real estate term. Disturb someone else.
I don't like hot weather. It makes me sluggish, miserable and cranky. I've often wondered whether people are more affected by the cold or the heat. Long, hot, humid summer nights on the East coast. Too hot to stay inside. People come out onto their porches or stoops to sit, hoping for even the slightest of a breeze. Too hot to sleep. And in the morning too tired to really get going and then it is another round of the same thing. Does the heat cause people to be more angry and aggressive?
I am putting together the pieces to submit a proposal to kickstarter.com, the organization that helps launch creative ideas: films, theater, books, inventions, music. It must be a creative project. It cannot be simply to buy yourself a new camera or some such thing. I cannot be for fund raising or disaster relief or something that involves profit sharing or return on an investment. It must simply be to fund a creative project that has a goal and an end in mind. So, I have the material, most of it already written.
Karen's mother fell last night. After successfully navigating to the bathroom, she must have decided to turn off the small fan in her bedroom. Neither Karen nor I are sure what she did. Karen heard her fall and rushed into the room to find Roz on the floor, bleeding rather profusely from a head wound. She was dazed, stunned and confused. While Karen called 911 I sat with her on the floor holding a cold rag against her head. She was leaning up against the bed but kept saying she wanted to lay down.
The first really good sleep I've had in a long time. It was cooler last night and a slight cross breeze coming in from the back yard. I have that slow, sluggish feeling of having truly relaxed but not been in bed long enough to have truly rested. Farmer's Market this morning here in the Woodstock neighborhood. Summer got such a late start this year the true abundance didn't start coming in until just these last few Sundays and soon it will be over. I wonder if it will be extended a couple of weeks.
Thoughts of the Norse sea gods, Ran and Aegir and there 9 daughters the Wave Maidens. Storm gods, turmoil, crashing waves as well as calm seas and life giving waters. In the wake of hurricanes on the east coast, how helpless we humans are in the face of storms and forces of nature. Give thanks to them for accepting the melting waters from the glaciers. As they fill and rise higher, some land disappears and some land reappears. It is the endless, timeless cycle of the earth. It is a wisdom beyond our understanding.
some days are easier than others
some days i can't sleep because of the pain
some days i have to get up anyway
some days i feel guilty i don't want to go visit my mother
some days i don't care
some days the crows squabble and fight over garbage left in the street
some days there is abundance, beauty, colors, shapes, smells and tastes at the farmer's market
some days i have no reception on my phone
some days i want to do nothing
some days i remember what it felt like to have lots of money
some days i remember being afraid
some days are harder than others
one day the doctor came out and said to me: 'she may not live'
one day i decided they had all lied
one day i knew my life was a lie
one day i crossed the border into communism
one day i had to be free
one day wasn't long enough for all the tears i knew i needed to cry
one day my heart opened and a vulture flew out
one day i couldn't see in the dark
one day i became my own light
one day i'll be brave enough to stop worrying
one day i will be satisfied with just one day
one day i will cease
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