The Possibility of Art and Art of Possibilities

I have a friend who is an artist who recently suggested that I allow for possibilities. Both my writing and my day job are rather cerebral endeavors using words, so it was good to get an artist's take on things. Actually, he said a great deal more than that, but I'm going to really take a look at the one part for now. Now that I think on it, my expertise is in the area of process and his is in the area of possibilities. Together, we might rule the world. However, I just resigned from that position, so I don't think I'm going to be going back to it anytime soon, and frankly, I don't think he has any interest in it.

Visual artists are interesting people. I do art sometimes myself. For me, it's about taking what exists and making it into something else. Repurposing, re-envisioning, recycling, revealing the beauty of something. I never really thought much about how my initial endeavor in art is preceded by both allowing for and imagining the possibilities. That, of course, changes everything!

Art is a form of alchemy and magic, in my opinion, whether visual or being a wordsmith. The absence of both forms are a kind of death that don't lead to transformative process. The presence of either done well is amazing. Yet both start with the possibility of art and the necessity of being open to it.

So, how is it that we compartmentalize out art from our lives? We place it in buildings or admire it in art shows, or put it up around us and change it up again later when the whim to do so comes upon us. It never occurred to me that I'm equally guilty of doing this separation from art until he said something wickedly clever, as he is apt to do.

While art starts off in the imaginative arena of possibilities, it is most definitely a process as well. It's about putting in the patience, time and creative effort. Here I am with my expertise in process and it's the part of doing art I enjoy least! I view at times my life as a process without fully understanding it as being both the possibility of art and the art of possibilities.

If your life were art, how differently might you be approaching it?

Resistance Fighters I Have Known (or, What I Learned About Myself in 2010)

I recently met a lady who was a Warsaw Uprising Polish Resistance fighter who was thrown into a POW camp in WWII for throwing Molotov Cocktails at the Nazi's. Good for her! I was actually at the symphony with my son when we met her, and her story came to me through her daughter, after the woman gave my son her 50th year commemorative pin as a gift.

I'd taken my son there because they had the national folk dance troupe of Poland dancing there and I wanted to expose my son to more of one aspect of our multiple heritages. Little did I know that he'd be sitting next to a national living treasure of Poland and impress her so with his listening abilities that she'd gift him something that important.

Many of the people in attendance were Polish...like from Poland, or first generation here. All of them would ask my son "You Polish?" with a hopeful look in their eye and when he would say "Yes" in his American accent, they'd look to me and say "Ah, your mother, she's from Poland!" I'd explain that I'm 5th generation here and he's 6th generation here. I was actually quite proud of myself for remembering how to say "Thank you!" in Polish and knowing the towns we came from in Poland, thanks to my genealogy research.

The irony of me encountering possibly the only Resistance fighter in the crowd was not lost on me. On my Irish side, while we've got no claim to activism in Ireland, we still hold fast to the idea that Northern Ireland is still occupied by the invaders and still hope for freedom someday. My son still refers to himself as Cherokee and the invaders as "Americans." We've got something going on all sides of our heritages, it seems.

So I go to watch the beautiful dancing and listen to the songs, and get this really alluring visual of this dear, sweet elder lobbing off Molotov Cocktails in the general direction of some pretty nasty people. Rock on!

I don't think that I can discuss what I learned about myself this past year without referencing my heritage or ancestors. There's so much of us that lays dormant until a good storm comes to knock everything about and unearths the gifts of our lineage. That's what happened to me. I discovered some things about myself I might not have, were it not for the challenge presented by this year. I've learned that I'm like my father in regard to seeing something through no matter how painful the process. I'm like my mother in her ability to move forward without holding onto resentments or regrets.

I can't say how far many of our attributes go back. In watching the dancers, I saw the beautiful women and the fearless men and the ways in which they balanced and supported one another. Four generations after my family left Poland, my mother used the same template for success in a marriage that ultimately failed. I had a new insight into the decision making that led her down the path that it did. She was only following along with what the culture prescribed and in her case, it failed her. She was the ultimate in beauty for her day, and my father was the ultimate in fearlessness. Their dance became one that was toxic until it finally ended.

As for me, I think that I viewed whatever she did and tried to do the opposite in order to learn from her mistakes. Then, many years later, I see the dancers and think, how beautiful! How wonderful! And just when the metaphor for the ideal relationship might pull me in, voila, a Resistance Fighter pops up.

If nothing else, I've learned the value of being a modern day Resistance Fighter in my own life over this past year. I've learned the importance of knowing what you're fighting to maintain. In times of great abundance, we truly do not know what to value, we're so dazzled by it all. In times of great suffering, we know it all too well and we know what is worth fighting for.

Lord knows what a 16 year old girl was subjected to in a POW camp of the Nazi's. She told my son, "Whatever you do in life, ENJOY LIFE." I've learned in my own process of this year to take the blessings where and when they come. I've come to recognize the need to cull back the accumulation of what I thought was abundance but was really distraction. I've laughed harder and in a more authentic way this year than ever before. I've recognized that the greatest injustices we have done to us are those we would do to ourselves at times, for accepting the unacceptable, selling ourselves short, or even allowing for a moment someone else's negativity and attitude problem to define our experience.

Year's still got another month to go, so who all knows what else I'll discover, but you can be sure I'll enjoy life doing it.

Getting to Essentials

I've been reflecting on this past year and have been happily surprised about how positively focused I've felt about it. One of my friends said she thinks it's because I'm a pretty positive person. Be that as it may, when you are dealing with considerable life stressors, it's easy for even the most positive of people to fall prey to the negative thinking. So that leaves me with the question, why didn't I?

First and foremost, it's about enacting one's self-care. I really do a great deal of self-care on a consistent basis. That I would say is the foundation of it. It allowed me to stay focused on the here and now moment and in touch with myself and what I was feeling. Sometimes, it even made me feel better. However, there is more. I don't sit with how I'm feeling for great periods of time. It has limited shelf life value, in my opinion. Take for instance if I am feeling awful. I can sit with myself and focus on feeling awful and all of the reasons for it. This doesn't really get me anywhere, and I'm all about getting somewhere. When I say this, I sound uber-ambitious and that's not really it at all. I'm not particularly invested in getting somewhere society thinks I ought to be, or what looks good to other people. The place I'm all about getting to is being right with myself and my Creator. Taking my own path and not somebody elses. On my own time, not another's timeline.

So what I did was I found other like minded people to befriend. A funny thing happened when I did this. All hell broke loose in my other relationships. It was as if the universe was throwing a purging party on my behalf. I didn't really see it this way at the time, but I realize now that it was one of the best things that could have ever happened.

When I surrounded myself with people who boldly and courageously walk their own path and are invested in their own self-care, it helped me to see essential elements to who I am as a person. I'm very strong, have a great deal of tenacity, and am authentic. So why did I surround myself with people in the past who weren't, or were invested in staying with their one emotion to centralize around, or who just didn't have the courage to really live life as it's meant to be lived?

The next step was purging myself of the "whys" as they aren't essential. It really doesn't matter why what happened happened, or why I did what I did in the past. The "whys" are perennial rabbit trails, distracting from the path ahead.

After that, I just started taking steps. One step after another and I left myself open to all of the possibilities that they might offer along the way. In retrospect, a critical element that contributed to my success was that I detached from an anticipated outcome. Honestly, this is probably because I was exhausted from everything else that had come before. Some people say it's trust or faith that it will all work out that leads them to their detachment from an outcome. For me, there were elements of faith involved, but an active participation on my part in the process.

Amazing things began to happen! I'm beginning to like this and can't wait to see what happens next!

No Giving Up Hope!

It's almost 9 years later, and tonight I am remembering the two most powerful experiences I had in September 2001. The first was watching the terrorist attacks on television on 9/11 and the weeks after. The second occurred about a week later, when I discovered someone had put an apple and honey packets in my mailbox where I worked. I didn't understand why someone would do this or what it meant, until a Jewish friend explained it to me. The Jewish students on campus were gifting us with apples and honey as a part of Rosh Hashanah. I'd never eaten apples with honey before, but the sweetness of it and the act of the students was in stark contrast to the bitter taste left in my mouth of the terrorist acts of 9/11.

Where I did not understand the gift given, I most certainly understood why the act of terrorism occurred and what it meant. I'd spent 10 months working with political asylum seekers and torture survivors prior to 9/11, and I understood the mechanism and motives behind torture and terrorism.

I remember the mourning by myself and those around me and the sweet sight of candlelight vigils and flag waving unity that followed. People seemed to find comfort in this, but I did not. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before we'd go to war. In order to have unity around something, we've got this habit of going aggressively against something. It was only a matter of deciding what thing we were going to drop bombs on.

I knew it wouldn't be Saudi Arabia (despite the fact that many of the terrorists were from there) because they're an ally and we need our military bases there. Additionally, Saudi Arabia contains two holy cities of great spiritual significance to Muslims everywhere. It would start the Holy War to end all Holy Wars to bomb there. We'd show our unity by attacking something else that people didn't seem to care as much about, and so we selected Afghanistan.

I'm thinking about all of this tonight because two years ago, I became on online English practice teacher of a female refugee from Afghanistan who is living in Pakistan. She wants to learn English because her father believed in women receiving an education and she is doing this to honor his memory. I think she's been a refugee for these eight or nine years, shortly after 9/11 and when I discovered apples and honey. Tonight we were discussing what has been termed the "Ground Zero Mosque," future educational prospects for her and what it might be like to come to America being a conservative Pashtun female.

Apples and honey are eaten during Rosh Hashanah, I've learned, to symbolize our hopes for a "sweet" new year. I think that my student has never eaten apples and honey, and still waits for that sweet new year to happen, all these years after being displaced from her home. She's told me about the bombs at the bazaars in her town in Pakistan, of the girls getting kidnapped while riding a cab, of the threats of violence against women who try to attend school. Now they're faced with a wave of new displaced people owing to the floods in Pakistan.

As we were discussing the available options for obtaining an education elsewhere, I could slowly hear her losing hope. I kept saying and typing "No giving up hope!" It absolutely cannot be an option, for either of us to give up hope. I was saying it for my own benefit as much as for hers. When we give up hope, we've lost it all.

I have the great luxury of being able to write this without a fear of bombs going off, losing power, losing the Internet connection, or having retaliation for what I write. I have the liberty and luxury of being able to leave my house at any time, day or night. However, there is no great luxury for me in seeing the hatred emerging in its various forms across America.

The same people unified over candles and under flags, saying we are all Americans are fighting each other in nasty ways across political divides. The same people unified over candles and under flags are labelling a mosque in NYC the "Ground Zero Mosque" and saying that Americans can't have a mosque that close to ground zero. I'm reading reports of women harassed (by US government and law officials) here in the US for wearing the scarf.

I'm trying to explain to my student why there can be no option of her coming here as a visitor and then applying for a student visa, out of fear that if her status becomes illegal, wearing covering from head to toe in this current climate of animosity, she might become a target by people who do not understand her religion, cultural ways or values. I have no idea of how well the INS understands the importance of her wearing this, if she was found to be illegal here. It was difficult to explain this to her, painful, actually.

So we're done attacking other people and have turned on ourselves and those who need our help the most. In my mind, there's absolutely no justification for it. I would like to know someday that we are in a better place than we are right now - for my student in terms of physical location, and for our country in our mindset.

I am going to keep reminding myself, "No giving up hope!"

The Uncharted Course = Courageous Defiance

Today my son showed me art work he'd done and the most striking element of one piece was where he'd written "And you thought I was crazy!" surrounded by images and words of love. There was something very visceral about it, a kind of courageous defiance to it. I understood it on so many levels, but the level I understood it on the most was in my own experience of that same phenomenon.

His art work brought me back to a time when I was about his age and did my own meaning making through art. I used to draw phoenixes over and over again, making each more personally my own, and putting quotes around them that echoed my reaction to the world. I believed in (and still do) the power of transformation, which took the form of the metaphor of the phoenix, rising from its ashes.

At the time I did this, there was absolutely nothing in my environment that would have given rise to such an idea. There was no reason for it. What I saw around me was quite the opposite and my courageous defiance had to do with believing in something in the absence of proof. I believed that people could transform themselves and rise from the ashes. I didn't know how it would happen, or what it would require, but I knew it to be an absolute truth in my life.

A funny thing happened as I grew up. I began to live my values to the degree where my own transformative process has been an impetus for me to help others, and even to be an inspiration to others, oddly enough. I never really wanted to inspire others, I just wanted to live a life consistent with something that was an absolute. I still am.

I reflect on my son's artwork and his own evolving absolute value, and I can relate, from the perspective that everyone thought I was crazy, too. It's amazing what crazy faith in a core value can do for a life, though. In his case, his relates to love. I think he means romantic love of the steadfast and undying kind. He may not see it modeled in his current environment, but it's enough for me that he believes in such a love as an absolute value. If he can imagine it, he can manifest it in his own life. I suspect he'd like me to believe in it too, based upon his insistence I watch every romantic comedy in existence with him.

What strikes me as endearing is the recognition that he shares with me the common bond of a sort of courageous defiance of "what is," a kind of blind trust in something. I nodded in admiration of his work, and silently contemplated that the moment you allow the circumstances to define you, you've lost the game.

If in his life, he holds the belief in love in some fashion, I think he'll enjoy himself as much as I have in my path of transformation. I appreciate his defiance of what exists so long as he can contemplate what is yet to be in a positive way. I can model for him the power of transformation and he can model for me the steadfast belief in love as a commitment that does not end. The place where we converge in our thinking is kind of magical.

Deconstructing a Story/Reconstructing a Life

Why do we wait until someone does something wrong to do something right with our lives?

I haven't figured this phenomenon out yet, but I see it happening all the time. Does it take being wronged to motivate us to transform something in ourselves? Or is it that we become complacent with ourselves and feel that so long as no one's bothering us, we can continue along our merry course? To what end and what destination? When we charted the course, did we really have an idea of where it would lead? Along the way, did we replace satisfaction for a real and authentically lived life? Whose definition of a satisfying life were we relying upon and for what purpose?

A week into co-habitation of my body with a bat tattoo, I'm thinking on all of these things. Before I jettisoned my Jungian analyst in favor of a bankruptcy free life, we'd been working on this quirky concept called individuation and what archetype was emerging in my life. They say in the second half of life, you get a calling from an archetype you've otherwise judiciously avoided in the first half. If you don't take up the call and integrate it, you won't be successful in your individuation process. While I don't have to be successful in all things, I take this one rather seriously because the consequences are said to be fairly dramatic if you don't. Accidents can happen, or even death for failure to integrate that archetype.

In the first half of my life, I vacillated between being something of a healer and sage. Being unable to avoid looking at this bat looking back at me, I'm reminded that he was undoubtedly the hero of the Cherokee story "How the Bat Got His Wings."

I was telling a friend recently that it's a Main family trait that we can face off with things that other people can't. We have a reputation, if not for starting trouble, definitely for finishing it. There are a great many of the Mains I'd count in my mind as heroes, and I am not one of them. I tell myself it's not been a lack of courage on my part, but in truth, I can't be sure.

I think in the first half of my life, what drew me to the healer and sage path was the recognition of a need in others and ability within myself. Along the way, however, I grew complacent, in that I was satisfied with having reached what I thought was a sufficient amount of personal growth. I had enough skill, training and experience to do the job right, so I settled.

What's wonderful about the universe is that just when you think you got there, some major chaos comes in to shake you right on out of the complacency tree where you were lounging. The Creator has other plans for you, so you'd better get a move on and make up for lost time!

I hate these chaos moments, by the way. They make me question everything I thought I knew until ultimately, there's no question left. It's as if I'm hanging upside down and all the questioning coin has slipped right from my pockets to the ground below my reach. Their glitter beckons, and of course I could hang there upside down staring at them all day and engaging in the intellectual self-flagellation of the "whys?"

But I won't.

If nothing else, hanging upside down in relation to my own life, much like a bat in its cave, gives me the opportunity for a new perspective. It doesn't matter that I became complacent along the line and settled for a satisfying life by someone else's standards. Really, what matters now is what I intend to do about it.

The chaos and the challenges of a life turned upside down ultimately are a gift. In the first half of my life, I responded to every gift I received with profound gratitude. Of late, I've balked and been surly, juvenile in my grand defiance of a calling. However, I think in that first half of life, I took the gratitude too far. I took it to the place of being grateful to the wrong people for the wrong reasons. Time and experience illuminated that for me, and I had a choice of being hurt and bitter, or embracing this as all a part of a design no longer mine and one that I might just envision as an adventure. I opted for the latter and am intrigued by what this new uncharted course will bring...

The Iroquois Nationals

So, I'm on a bit of a personal mission here, to make sure that the news of what occurred with the Iroquois Nationals does not die. To sum it up, they were invited to the World Games to play Lacrosse, a game that they were the first players of, and England refused to recognize their sovereign right to travel under their own passports. The US stepped in and offered to provide supporting travel waivers, and England refused to accept this as well.

This is a really big issue. The team outlaid a great deal of time, money and effort in order to be at a game the world would not have without them. The closest approximation I can give to this for readers unfamiliar with First Nations, sovereignty issues, or failure to be recognized or acknowledged is this:

Consider that a woman gives birth to a child. That child is her gift to the world, among the many gifts that she has, but she shares this gift with the world. Now imagine that her child is loved by many across the world. Of course, she would take pride in this. Her child has grown and is now being celebrated in another country at a large event. The mother seeks to go to celebrate her child's influence in the world, but she is held back from attending her own child's big moment. Why would this happen? The host government refuses to recognize her passport. In doing so, they refuse to acknowledge her role at all in having brought forth such a wondrous child to be shared and loved so by so many across the world.

I am trying to do my small part to keep this matter on the radar, and support the team. There are many different ways we might help. Donations can be made direction to the team through their website:

www.iroquoisnationals.org

There are some fantastic team logo shirts and jackets currently for sale, and an auction for an official team jersey and shorts set.

The issue of recognition by England is another matter. I've decided to send an email to the Prime Minister of England and would encourage you to do so as well. Their link is:

https://email.number10.gov.uk/

Here is what I wrote:

"Your government's refusal to allow the Iroquois Nationals in to play at the Lacrosse games is highly offensive to many of us. They were the original players of it. I wish you to issue a formal apology to the team and their respective sovereign governments, and change your policies in the future. Their First Nations sovereign right to issue their own passports are unquestionable and your stance indefensible. I personally intend to boycott all products from England and refuse to do business with any corporation that has ties to your Nation, until said apology is formally issued and the policy of animosity toward sovereign First Nations people has changed. Thank you for your consideration."

Please consider forwarding this blog to your friends. They do not need to be First Nations people or Lacrosse fans in order to recognize an injustice. They need only to want to right it.

I'll post updates on the matter as I have them. Thanks all!

Oleander
The closet Lacrosse fan and totally out activist

Why Do More Than Your Share?

Lately, I've had a number of conversations with friends where they've pointed out to me that I do more for people than they do for me. Sometimes even more that their own family members would do. They say that I tend to give people a lot of credit, or invest more in others than would seem reasonable. One even gave herself as an example, of feeling that she received more in our relationship than she had given.

Perhaps they think it's a self-esteem thing, or that I get taken for a ride, or that I'm trying to prove something. In those conversations, I refer back to teachings I received and particular traditional values that I hold, or about my desire to prove the world wrong. My early experiences in life would have given me every reason never to trust anyone, ever, let alone go out of my way to help others in this world.

Tonight I was reflecting on how I ought to pay attention to this, given the number of times it's come up lately in my conversations with friends. The more I thought on it, the less it was about particular traditional values I was taught or trying to prove the world wrong. I have some pretty rock solid self-esteem, so that's not it, either. So, here's where my thought process took me:

The idea of "responsibility" can be seen as having the ability to respond. If I have the ability to respond to something, I do it, and if I don't, I don't. I'm pretty clear with folks about what I can and can't do. So why do more than your share in a friendship? Mainly, it's because I can. Beneathe that is a sentiment I don't share often, or even consciously do, but is a fairly strong undercurrent to all of this. It is that I was given amazing opportunities, chances, and gifts in this life.

I had very little in terms of prospects, and quite a lot going against me in my earlier years. The Creator saw fit to open these doors for me, give me these opportunities, and support me through all of it. I have been both humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude for this, and really, there's not a lot I can give the Creator that he doesn't already have, right? So I decided that when people need help and I might just be in a position to do something, just go ahead and do it.

I don't want folks to think this idea just sprung forth from me. I remember one summer, when I was working at the Mall putting myself through college, and having only a bike to get me anywhere, we got a terrible rainstorm. One of my friends, Gabrielle, also worked with me, and after work she took me to her house. Her mother was all changed for bed, ready to sleep, and she knew my house was a few miles away. She got up, changed clothes and drove me home that night. I was overwhelmed by her kindness, because I hadn't expected her to do that and hadn't asked. I felt ashamed to make her go out of her way for me, and that I'd caused her to change her evening plans. We talked about it, and she shared a story about people doing things for her, and that the best way to thank her would be that if someone ever needed my help someday, just go ahead and do it.

I've been thanking Mrs. Shemett ever since, on some level, for both her kindness and the wisdom she shared with me that night.

If we're given opportunities, gifts, and chances by the Creator, my thought is that if I can't return the gift properly to him, the least I can do is pay it forward.

Redemption

Hello World!

I fell asleep last night thinking about the word "redemption" so this morning, contemplated what it might mean for me.

As I am wont to do, I began doing searches for the origins and meaning of the word. Then it occurred to me that words have no power or meaning except those which we give to them. It is in the context of our lives and circumstances that certain words might raise themselves up to be given such power over, through and in us. Yet when most people hear the word "redemption" it is in the context of giving ourselves over to a power greater than ourselves in order to receive something.

When I looked up the word in Merriam-Webster, it said it means the act of redeeming. Redeeming serves to offset or compensate for a defect. One difficulty that I have with the commonly held meaning of redemption is its link to the idea of offsetting or compensating for a defect. I'd prefer to actively work on my defects, rather than to offset or compensate for them. I decided then to cast aside the commonly held meaning and work this morning on examining what I ascribe to it in order to give it power.

The word "redeem" has multiple meanings, according to Merriam-Webster:

Main Entry: re·deem
Pronunciation: \ri-ˈdēm\
Function: transitive verb
Etymology: Middle English redemen, from Anglo-French redemer, modification of Latin redimere, from re-, red- re- + emere to take, buy; akin to Lithuanian imti to take
Date: 15th century
1 a : to buy back : repurchase b : to get or win back
2 : to free from what distresses or harms: as a : to free from captivity by payment of ransom b : to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental c : to release from blame or debt : clear d : to free from the consequences of sin
3 : to change for the better : reform
4 : repair, restore
5 a : to free from a lien by payment of an amount secured thereby b (1) : to remove the obligation of by payment (2) : to exchange for something of value c : to make good : fulfill
6 a : to atone for : expiate b (1) : to offset the bad effect of (2) : to make worthwhile : retrieve

There appears in this to be an exchange of value that occurs in which something positive is claimed as the end result. I began to understand it as the possible outcome of imminent justice.

Of late, I've had a lot of discussion with friends about unjust situations. Invariably, there is a desire to cast blame, claim injustice by another person or group, and otherwise elevate oneself or ones position through the vilification of another. I suppose that's one possible way to handle it. Excepting that the moment that we do this, we give power over to that other person or group without even realizing it. Consider, what if our anger, self-righteous indignation, fears, superiority and hurt are all forms of energy? In claiming and holding onto those, we give them value over other things. They take up a lot of our time and energy.

For a situation to be redeemed, (or, as it relates to me, for me to receive redemption as I so define it) an exchange needs to occur in which we give over what we formerly gave such value and power in our lives in order for something positive to occur. That, my friends, is POWERFUL.

That exchange opens the doors for imminent justice to occur and for balance to be restored, and for my concept of redemption of manifest itself in my life. This has been happening with me, which is why I've felt the sense that something good is coming my way.

What good is coming yours?

Ogoun on Michigan Avenue

Hello Readers,

I'm contemplating the sequel to "The Summer of Pomba Gira" (SOPG) which will be "Ogoun on Michigan Avenue." It's set in Chicago again, several years in the future from the end of SOPG.

This is going to be an edgier book. Ogoun is an Afro-Caribbean Condomble deity who comes to Chicago looking for one of the characters from SOPG. Somebody is causing trouble for all of the world, and he's sent to set things straight.

This book will be addressing racism head on. In SOPG, I worked on themes of internalized racism and internalized sexism. In the sequel, we see it through the eyes of Ogoun as he's on his search to find one of the characters. We'll see the evolution of Evaline, Jonah, Maria and Thomas.

In the beginning of SOPG, I share a short snippet of a Cherokee story of the contest set forth by the Creator, one that results in unique gifts given to the mountain lion and the owl. In SOPG we're introduced to the mountain lion. In the sequel, it will be the owl that comes.

I've got half the storyline firmly planted in my head, insofar as it relates to Evaline and her mother. As was the case with the first book, I find myself struggling with Jonah's plotline. I think this is because I most closely relate to Jonah's character and therefore I'm as clueless about what he'd be likely to do as I am about what I myself might do at times. However, I trust myself and my characters to lead me to exactly where we need to be.

So I'll be busy writing, as I'd like to get the first draft done by the end of the year.

Wish me luck!

Oleander

Bomb-proof Anchors

I am thinking tonight of the view from the cabin my sister and I had in Utah, and the talks that we had on the porch.

I'd shared with her that there were some essential elements I'd experienced up where she's from at LCO, and how I wanted to be able to retain those when I'd left there, and over time, I did. The lessons and growth I'd experienced back in those days I was able to bring into my personal life. I'd shared with her that I wanted to be able to do the same with aspects of our Utah trip together.

For our trip, I'd set a course and made a plan. As we were driving up to where we were staying, my sister said something to the effect of: "Boy, when you say you want to get away, you REALLY get away." I think it's safe to say we saw more mule deers than people up in the La Sal mountains. I'd never been there before and wasn't sure what to expect. But sitting there on the porch late at night, watching the stars watch us, I felt somehow this was worth bringing into my heart, mind and experiences. In other words, something to bring inside and take home with me.

What I'm talking about aren't just trip memories. I've got a lot of memories of LCO, and now Utah. Those are fine, but this is something more. I felt a sense of wonder, amazement and security.

In climbing, there's something called bomb-proof anchors. My instructor on real rock walked me through setting up some basic ones. I'm not as well versed on this aspect of climbing as I'd like to be, but bomb-proof anchors are critical to top rope climbing. Some features they have are setting them with the gates opposite each other in order to ensure maximum strength. They have redundancy to them, if they're going to be solid and secure. They are reliable and secure, which enables the climber to take the risk of climbing itself with relative safety.

I am thinking about bomb-proof anchors because of the similarities of my experiences at LCO and Utah in that I grew a lot from both and want to bring that growth back with me. I think in both cases, I trusted my instincts about people and let the Creator provide the experience.

Maybe the Creator's my bomb-proof anchor. The gates set in opposition are the balance of both the positive and negative experiences that create for me the opportunity to develop awareness, learn and grow. Perhaps it was never a matter of bringing back from LCO or Utah some essential element of an experience. Rather, it was bringing the awareness of my bomb-proof anchor to my daily life, trusting it and allowing the experience to flow.

I had to get away pretty far to recognize what's always with me.

Lessons in Trust and Anchors

So I'm back from my Utah trip now, still processing the things I learned on it. I'd done the rock climbing in Moab as a metaphor for trust in relationships. Coming off a metaphoric big fall, I needed to know I could climb again and see what that would be like.

Just in case I forgot what the whole climbing trip was about, I was reminded by a colossal blow to my trust in relationships right before the trip. I was like, "Okay already, I get it!" So, I went into the trip with that experience in mind as well.

What I learned from my climb is that I can trust in all forms of relationships, and that I can be in the here and now with the experience. But what I need - nope, need is not strong enough a word for this - what I require in the journey are some anchors to know what it is I can expect to count on and what it is I intend to reach.

In climbing, there are physical anchors that keep you safe. I like those, but this isn't about those. When I climb, I know my skills and abilities and where I'm generally going and what my limits are. I rely on the visual anchors to know what I'm reaching for. And that's where I came to the "ah ha" moment of processing my climbing trip.

You see, I realize that up until recently, I was climbing blind in relationships. There is such a thing in actual climbing as climbing blind - it's a technique used to hone your skills. There are even some excellent visually impaired and blind climbers that I know of. However, in my relationships, I was trusting the process on all accounts and climbing blind, without seeing what I was headed for.

I'm not entirely sure why I would do this in relationships, but the thing I came out of the trip thinking is that I need to know my anchors that keep me safe, and I also need to see some visual anchors from other people. In my climb, and most areas of my life, the anchor that keeps me safe is the Creator's quirky desire to keep me whole. Time and time again, bad stuff has happened, and the Creator always steps in and makes the way for me through it. So, that part is good.

But in terms of relationships with other people, there are visual anchors I require going forward. Reciprocal respect and intention, shared passion and focus toward common goals of human dignity and decency.

I need to see it manifested in your actions toward myself and others.

If you're not doing it, you won't come within 3 yards of me, no matter how slick or entertaining you think you might be. Simply put, I refuse to climb blind in my relationships any longer. The air of mystery about what to expect and drama and excitement of not knowing where I stand with people has lost its appeal, if it ever had any to begin with. Because, as I said in the post on lessons from my Utah trip (Balanced Rock) I know where I stand.

I'm around and a part of multiple Indian communities and people, and often they'll talk about "Indian wannabees." Some mistake me for one because of how I look and treat me accordingly. I let it roll, because it's really nothing worth getting worked up over. But insofar as the concept of "wannabees" relates to relationships I'll be in going forward, human wannabees are not cool in my book and have no place in my life. Either you're one of the real people, or you're not. And it doesn't really matter to me what race, ethnicity, religion, sexuality you happen to come in is. I don't need posers acting like real people in my life going forward.

So, I am happy to realize I'd been climbing blind, because I was really beginning to doubt my instincts about folks, and I realize it's not my instincts that have been faulty. It's been my steadfast refusal to require visual anchors that would indicate the above that has.

My instincts led me to some amazing and positive encounters when I stopped climbing blind on this trip, even off rock and into human relationships. I met some wonderful people who reminded me that the world likely has many more of them.

Choices, Chance or Luck?

I'm thinking of my youth tonight, a place I don't go to very much. It's kind of like a dark alley for me, with memories threatening to jump out from the shadows. I was writing something about the drug culture in my neighborhood where I grew up, and it made me think back.

I have two good friends from high school that I stay in touch with and am close to even today. But I'm thinking of the other one tonight, one I lost touch with many years ago.

We both grew up in the same neighborhood, with the same broken up, messed up crazy families. We both went to the same high school. She was a year older than me, a beautiful, spiritual and artistic girl. Her spirit was just so full of love.

She had to have a surgery that kept her out of school for a few months, and she fell behind with her coursework. There was a high school drop out guy who had some time on his hands who started to hang around. He didn't treat her like the piece of meat to be ridiculed and gossiped about later like the other guys she encountered did. No, instead he showed her a whole new way to make the pain go away.

Drugs.

I don't really know, I think she was grateful for the attention and bored, stuck at home with the hideous life I also had a few blocks away. Eventually, she became pregnant, and decided to drop out of school, too. Told me it wasn't so bad, she'd be a mom, they'd maybe get married. We started drifting out of each other's lives. Pretty soon, another baby was on the way, and she came by, asking for money to help. She looked haggard and sounded surly most times.

The last I heard of her, she was selling heroin out of a van on the streets, living in it.

I thought I saw her once. I was on my way to some fancy dinner party downtown, and we drove past someone that looked like her. "I wanted to scream and shout, stop the damned car!" and run over to her. Except the people I was with didn't know about me. All polished up and pretty, educated and shiny, hair coiffed and makeup on, they had no idea of where I came from, nor would they have understood it if I'd tried to explain. And what would I say to her?

I've tried to find her since, but she's nowhere to be found. We were very much the same, and came from the same environment, but we took very different paths.

I think I strive to avoid the dark alleys of my memories. Yet every time I've found someone who reminds me of her, I work that much harder. I don't want to see beautiful, spiritual, wonderful people having that kind of life. There are those who say, we're exactly where we're meant to be for a reason and that there are lessons we learn in life from our experience. We can't take those away from people,. Still, I'd have liked to have seen something better happen for her.

I'm not really sure why I didn't end up going down that path. Was it choice, chance, luck or some combination? I think the thing I had with me during those years was a desire to get out of the environment I was in, the neighborhood that I was in. I had a belief that there had to be something out there that was better than what I was living with. I'm not really certain what I based that on, since I hadn't experienced anything different at that time, except to say that I had an active imagination, or ability to speculate on the possibilities that something, maybe, could be different.

Maybe, on some implicit level, I realized that while I couldn't change my environment or the people in it, I had the power to create something new and different for myself.

And I still do.

Do you?

Balanced Rock

I've returned from my Utah trip, and I'm thinking about the things that came out of it for me. The above is a picture of me by Balanced Rock in Arches National Park in Utah.

I'm thinking of how to be Balanced Rock myself in these days. How did this formation weather the centuries and environmental realities in order to maintain its beauty and formation integrity?

I think the rock must know what it's made of, essentially. I heard an amazing orator speak this week, and he happens to come by it honestly, in that as he spoke, I imagined how his ancestors must have spoken, and how he carries who he is forth to the present day and weathers today's environmental realities.

I got to know some wonderful Maori people for a brief period of time, and they explained their perspective, of how our ancestors can be with us. It seemed to me that they maintain the balance through a steadfast commitment to the integrity of their teachings and core central view.

As you can tell, I met some amazing Balanced Rocks even outside of Arches National Park!

In my own family, we've lost much of the oral traditions that would have sustained us. A cousin and I are the main proponents of examining the genealogy and extending back our family tree. A generation before, someone had begun the work for us, and perhaps a generation after, it will continue. Still, I do feel that there are qualities and attributes we carry forward into today's environment that are a product of our shared ancestors, perhaps without fully even realizing it.

I'm ever vigilant for signs that direct the course that give me indicators of a
course of action that may not seem to make much sense to others. I sit back, watch, listen, before swooping in taking action, but by the time I've taken the action, I've already got a bead on something. I don't expend unnecessary energy in my hunt, so I'm very efficient in my use of what some might consider power. I do this, but it never occurred to me until I heard the orator speak, that perhaps this is a gift of my lineage.

I discovered my playful humor on this trip, and experienced in in quite a new way. It was genuine, bubbling forth like water from a stream, dancing across rocks. I found myself out from the shadows of whatever portals of hell had opened above me, and into the sunlight in order to flow. That resiliency is a part of the Balanced Rock that is me.

Perhaps I embraced the death to all of the things I held dear, and just went with "what is" rather than what I wanted it to be. Even in doing so, there's the knowledge and awareness of choices made by others beyond both my comprehension and control, on areas that directly impact me. But I feel at peace with it and myself, because like Balanced Rock in Arches National Park, I know where I stand.

Really, that's all that matters, is knowing that and being all right with it.

Father

Today is father's day and I'm thinking of my dad, who passed on many years ago. How I remember him is his silent groundedness. He could converse with people and was quite adept at it, but I could tell even as a child, it wasn't his preference. We could sit in a car for hours on end, just he and I, without saying much of anything at all, because really, there was no need. We both knew we loved the other, and that was enough, just to spend time together.

There is one story I've heard that comes to mind this Father's Day. Another couple was staying with my parents, and it might have been around the time when my mother was pregnant with me. The woman got her period during their stay and someone needed to go to the store to get feminine napkins for her. My mother, in her advanced stage, wasn't going. The woman herself wasn't going. So it was left to the two men. The woman's husband pitched a fit about it, because this was the 1960's when "real men" didn't go to the grocery store to buy ladies products. It bothered him to no end to have to do this, and he made sure that they all knew how wrong this whole idea was.

There's a thing about my father's silence. I understand it because I do have that same thing myself at times. People mistake it for a lack of intelligence, passivity or disinterest. Really, what it is is that we're thinking...

My father said that he'd go with him, so he wouldn't be alone in this venture into shame and masculine downfall, and together they went into the store. The man was so nervous, he wouldn't take the box off the shelf, and didn't want to go to the counter with it. My father, being the ever-supportive friend, told him not to worry, he'd take care of everything.

They walked to the check out and my father handed the woman the box. She looked up at him in surprise as he handed her the money.

"Oh, they're not for me," he explained, motioning to his friend. "They're for him. Hemorrhoids."

Yes, my father took care of everything, all right.

And Devious Thoughts Shall Accompany Me...

While my sister packs her wide angle lens to get a good shot of my butt as I haul said butt up the vertical plane, I've had my own encounter with planning ahead for a good time. Suffice to say, the world ought to keep somebody like me VERY BUSY, since a little time on my hands can go a long way.

What happened was that a fellow bucker of the rules inspired me in a recent conversation. He pointed out that Dirt Barbie ought not to be reserved merely for rock, camping and outdoors activities. And how right he is! It's definitely a transferable skill, this ability to throw caution to the wind and be my bad ass self.

The thing that makes Dirt Barbie work is the idea that nothing really influences you much so long as you know your skills and have the right equipment. I have a veritable windfall of skills insofar as being devious is concerned. And baby, you've got to know I've got the right equipment to do the job right!

So wish me well in Utah, because some amazing things are going to be happening while I'm there!

I Remember

Tonight I am remembering this one particular moment. I was up at Lac Courte Orielle and we needed to gather cedar. It was in the middle of winter, and cold as all get out, so I had my Army coat on. It was a WWII heavy wool coat that went all the way down to my feet, and I didn't care that I looked a bit odd, because it was really warm. So Maryellen says we're going out for cedar, and it's just her and me. I'm expecting that we'll be deep in woods looking for it, but no. She pulls into a residential area and talks with the property owner, who agrees to allow us to gather cedar. The only trouble is, the only cedar to be had was about 9 feet up, next to a rez car with no wheels, only some boxes.

We made a plan together, that I'd need to get up there on that engine block and gather the cedar and hand it down to her. Just before I climbed up, she takes a look at me and says:

"You know, people are going to be staring out their windows, looking at you."

I did believe she was entirely right. It's not often somebody wearing a WWII trench coat is climbing up on an engine block and gathering cedar in the middle of a residential area.

I remember thinking about it, and saying:

"Well, if they're looking at me, it'll remind me of just how special I am."

Other memories come flowing through. How I loved the north woods so much, gathering cedar where we did deeper in the woods. I decided if I got lost there and died, I'd be content because I was where something mattered.

Sometimes we've got to go where something matters.

And yet...

There are essential elements of life and living it in a good way, that transcend where ever you go, and make things matter.

I've been blessed by knowing a lot of strong, good traditional people throughout my life who've taught me a lot. They taught me a lot more than just what to do with medicines or how to do things a particular way.

A lot of it was about how to live a good life.

Heading West

Portals of Hell still raging over my head. Better there than in my heart.

I was talking with one of my elders this week, and he told me, "You've got to have the right tools, if you're going to do the job." He was referring to my upcoming trip to real rock, but really, it applies to most situations.

There's one thing that nobody knows about me. That is that I've got a lot more tools at my disposal than I actually let on. I've got tools that haven't seen the light of day for years, and only come out when it's important. Every one of them comes with teachings I've received over the years on my own journey. It's not that I've forgotten them, or what they're for. I just reserve them for when it counts. Because, I agree with my elder, that you've got to have the right tools if you're going to do the job.

Possibly the reason nobody knows what they are or that I have them stems from the fact that I'm usually alone when these situations find their way to my door. Or, in this case, above my head. I envision a day in the future when it will not be this way, and I will be with another to share that aspect of my life. I've determined it's not happened because there's not yet one strong enough to face off with what I am willing to join into battle.

People will turn away from the challenge, turn their backs on their fellow man and a blind eye to injustice. It occurs most frequently when they feel powerless, and in an effort not to allow something to overtake them, they'll run from it, motivated purely on the adrenaline of fear. That's when that which they fear becoming most creeps into their hearts, and therein Hell resides.

I don't much believe in Hell, or even think that it exists. Hell is the choices we make, and no other place. Every day the Creator hands us an opportunity to recognize our blessings and gifts, and we make the choice of whether or not to recognize that.

So I'm heading West soon, see you when that journey is complete.

Inshallah

My student from Afghanistan often says "Inshallah" meaning "God Willing." I've been thinking a lot tonight about what God's willing to do for me. He's done so much already, I feel bad asking for anything else.

A very wise woman once said that the Creator sends you what you need. You ask for what you want, but you're given what you need. We think we need what it is we want, and that's where the trouble starts.

So I'm trying to take it from the Creator's perspective. Does He feel I need some added loss and suffering in my life? And, do I? No, I think that's not it. I don't think of my Creator as being that way. Maybe He feels I need to cry more. I don't really do it much, except recently. Maybe He's sick of watching me stoically and cynically glide through life. There's a certain irreverence that comes in the package deal of me, and perhaps that's been grating on his last nerve, too.

In my storyline for Ogoun on Michigan Avenue (SPOILER WARNING) I follow up on a line in The Summer of Pomba Gira. It's where Jonah and Evaline are talking and she gives him a gift but asks him not to open it while she's there, because whole worlds fall apart when she cries, she tells him. I'm not looking at the book as I write this, but that's the gist of it. In the sequel, we discover that in fact, it's true.

The thought came to me, because often that's how I feel when I cry, that my world is falling apart. So I just don't give into it, because I'm a firm believer in keeping my world together.

Lately, however, many of my worlds have fallen apart. Some so irrepairably, that it's beyond my comprehension how it could have happened. I've gotten so shocked and numbed by it, that tears are the only release, and the peace they bring after.

An Owl once told me, get ready, be prepared, you're going to find yourself crying all the time soon! Really, he's a man who's an owl, but I try not to hold that against him.

I think I'm mourning my former ability to co-create goodness in this world. Somehow, I seem to have lost that gift. I'm pretty sure I didn't misplace it. The thing about co-creating goodness in the world is that I've relied on other people to maintain their relationship with me, and work toward the same vision. At this point, I think it's just me and the Creator left in my crashed apart worlds.

I'm not quite sure if He wants me to pick some pieces up and rebuild, or just walk away and start over completely. I'm not sure I understand all of it, or any of it.

Oh, don't get me wrong, the contest is still happening. It's about the choices I make. Hold devestation in my heart, or embrace love? This is why I know that the Creator selected a champion for the cause based on attributes and experience for this particular contest. He knows more than anyone the devestation I've seen. He knows that I gravitate toward the good, toward the positive. Takes me some time, but eventually I get there.

Meanwhile, there's the question of what to do in the here and now? I'm kind of shocked and numb by the sheer collateral damage around me. Like, what just happened? I didn't expect to be here. But I must be here for a reason. There are at least three reasons for everything that happens, and I don't have to know what the reasons are. But I certainly didn't expect to be here, in my present here and now.

So I'm thinking that the Creator has a plan. I don't have a clue as to what it is, but I'm signing up for the ride. Maybe all of this collateral damage around me isn't necessarily about me and what I need to learn on my journey. Maybe it's about other folks journeys and what they need to learn. But it hurts so damned much, even if it's not about my journey, when mine is intertwined with theirs. Really, it's the untwining that gets me every time.

The loss and letting go, and that's what I mourn for as well. I don't think I'd go to the place of asking the Creator why this is happening, because I don't ask the question unless I really want to know the answer. But I find myself asking these days, if all is beyond me, and all is beyond repair, and it's just you and me, Creator, standing amidst the rubble, can you tell me why it's always the ones I love the most that are taken from me in the cruelest of ways? So that in my mourning, I am always, invariably alone, just me and the Creator? Any why, while I'm asking, is it that I'm always so busy that I have little time to be able to mourn the loss?

I am willing to be your champion, Creator, to go to battle as you wish, but inshallah, can you provide for me just one person along for the ride this time round? One that has suffered and is growth oriented, and sees the battle as an adventure?

All will be provided in due time.

Job Goes to the Desert

If you have a morbid fascination with disaster, dear blog readers, read on!

So lately, Job from the bible comes to my mind. He was a good guy, really. Just that he was needed to prove a point in a contest. Happens all the time, only most of us aren't fully aware of it.

I was put on a medication that makes my head spin, as if the pace of my the events of my life these days simply wasn't enough. Even on it, I can see the signs when a contest is afoot, so that's something. If I believed in "shoulds" I should have seen it coming when I opened the bible one day not long ago to a passage from Job. Put me in a hotel room with not much else to do, and you'll find I'll open up the most extraordinary things. The passage was Job 29:25:

"I chose the way for them and sat as their chief; I dwelt as a king among his troops; I was like one who comforts mourners."

It seemed important enough at the time to write it down, and so I did. It's often hard to understand the meaning of things when they're taken out of context. However, I believe the whole of holy books, each word a word of the Creator. So, perhaps there's a meaning for me. We'll get to that later.

So, in the span of a week, a lot has awakened me to the fact that a contest is at hand. I've lost people dear to me. As if that wasn't quite enough, I was served with rebuttal papers shortly before this Job heads off into the desert.

Then, this morning, I discover that my bid for freedom is causing me to hemorrhage $1000.00 per month, much higher than expected. I'm guessing that a cocaine habit or Maserati payment would cost about as much. Either of those, I imagine, would provide a bit of a good time, in comparison to what my bid for freedom is providing me. Still and all, one can't overlook the small joys in life of paying someone to be able to swear around them as much as one needs to. Frankly, if I have to sell my own blood at a blood bank to pay for the cost of my freedom, I'll do it.

As if the medication side effects, loss of family, and cost of my freedom wasn't enough to buy me a clue as to what's going on, a spiritual lady told me yesterday that I've got something bad coming after me. I think my visualization based on what she described was that the gates of Hell had opened up directly over me. She certainly wasn't talking about anything pleasant.

It was probably a bad idea for me to challenge it, thinking:

"Yeah, you and what army?"

Because shortly after that, my son looked up to the skies and said "It looks like an army's building up."

And this is when the words of yet another friend who isn't talking to me these days ring through my head. He'd said something about that God's won the war, and we're just soldiers in the battle. Man knows what he's talking about, I think.

Of course, this all comes shortly before I go west, to the arid regions of Utah. There's a thing about going west, I recall. That the old Cherokee traditionalists didn't want to be removed west during the Trail Where They Cried, because the west was associated with where we go when we die, the Darkening Land.

I don't fear death. For those who've read my take on fears in the last post, they all stem from things that have happened to you in the past and that you don't want a repeat of in your present. And I don't fear the gates of Hell opening up over me either, with the army of Mignon's chasing after my sorry self, if that's got to come to pass, too. The spiritual lady said if there's someone that I trust completely with spiritual stuff, I ought to call that person. I sat there and thought on it, laughed to myself. Yep, you guessed it, that person isn't talking to me either these days.

The thing I didn't have the heart to tell that spiritual lady was that this isn't the first time stuff like this has happened, and it probably won't be the last. I told someone once that I'm like a lightening rod for extremely random potentially dangerous experiences. I wasn't quite thinking of this scenario when I said it, but I'll cut myself some slack for overlooking it on my top 10 list.

Today was a fasting day for me, so I had a lot of time to think on it, and still don't have a plan, but I'm good with it. The two thoughts that came to mind were that may help. One is that I'm descended from some really strong people, and their blood runs through my veins. The other is that when a contest is at hand, you've just got to be clear on what side you're on, and let the Creator take care of the rest.

During my fast, I made a lot of jokes with the Creator about what was going on, many of which have found their way into this blog. I know the Creator's got a great sense of humor, otherwise I'd be living in Hell instead of just having the gates of its portal opening up over my head. We all would, for that matter.

I don't think a lot of people realize what a great sense of humor the Creator has. They miss it as much as they miss the small blessings in their lives, overlooked by the dark clouds that loom over their heads. I don't miss the humor, and I don't miss the blessings, just because an army's after me. They'd have to distract me from the reason I'm here at all, and that's because the Creator made me. They'd have to get me to fear, or to hope, and neither one of those is happening because I've reoriented to the here and now. Best place to be, really, when you're in a battle.

There's an association people have to the Creator, or God, and that God is hope. So when they hear me dismissing hope out of turn, they assume I've turned from God. This is not the case. In my mind, hope is an illusion and the Creator is a fact. If we believed the authenticity of the Creator in all things as fact, a lot of the animosity in the world would simply cease to be. A lot of hearts would be turned from the coldness of their ways.

I don't think I am nearly as good a person as Job was, but what I lack in those areas, I make up in others. The Creator knows this, otherwise this battle wouldn't be going into play.

So I'm off to the deserts of the west and we'll see where this goes next.