Illusions of Birth

An acquaintance of mine broke up with a girlfriend a few years ago. He re-united with her this Spring. It was a very strange event. He has a very active life and travels a lot, however the energy around them seems to be one based on illusions of love, rather than actually being in love. He is a lonely man, a solitary artist, and seems to be seeking someone who can block his need for loneliness,rather than someone he wants to be with who is passionately in love.


Now, he is running around telling everyone he wants to have a baby with her. He wants to make a statement about creation with his sperm, rather than making a statement about who he truly is and owning it.


I can think of nothing more sad than a man who desires a child in order to prove he is powerful, can you? It seems he is in floating in a bowl of oblivion and now has found that making a woman pregnant will endear him to humanity. The pregnancy is a statement about his manhood, rather than an act of love for a child, and I fear they will not stay together, once a child is conceived and born.

She is also rotating in his dream state and for her to connect with this man is a way to capture him from the world and other women. She will be bowed to as she was the one who was finally able to rope him in, as he is what is termed in today’s lingo, a “catch”.
I, and others, feel sorry for him. He is a well-respected creator in his field of work, however, now looking back on some of his actions and productions, seems to be even more so, a dreamer.
True, we all are dreamers in our ways. A child though is flesh and blood, a mind and heart that enters the world, and to bring a child in without true intention, is a travesty for all concerned.

This man now seems to be a bit of a Peter Pan in his life’s actions. He seems to be productive in work, however in his personal life, he is not seeing the reality now, and probably fearful of being alone, and a braggart also.

I am sorry for the child to come, as I imagine it living in a one-parent household in the not to distant future. It will have all the luxuries money can afford, however, true love between the parents does not exist now, and I imagine, that will be so in the future.

There is always a chance they stay together for the child, or because of the worldly status of the father. It will not be happy, though, and it will affect the child eventually.

How many times have you known a friend or acquaintance who went ahead with an idea, to fulfill a dream that societal pressure applauded, only to pick up the pieces when they realized a mistake had been made because the decision was out of fear, not true heart’s desire?

There is nothing I can do about it, since we are not that close, however I wish there was something I could say to stop the fantasy about becoming a father, with a woman who also twirls in his fantasy, in order to save a child from being born that eventually will have to spend summers with one parent, and then return in the Fall to live with the other?

The energy around the world now is based on a lot of fear created by economic, political and natural events which bring with them great destructive power of everything previously thought of as safe and secure, for many of us. The overall energy from these challenging events affects you 24 hours a day. Many people are making decisions based on this fear level, rather than listening to their hearts and following their souls’ true path.

I am glad this blog was written, as I cannot imagine a sadder time, for me, then when I ignore my intuitive insights, and suppress the urge  to discuss them, here. One day, when they are no longer together, I hope to remember this writing, and will re-read it. The only thing that will be of sadness on that day is the knowledge that a little child was born into the world, of 2 parents who lived in a trance about reality, which was developed because their lives were so lonely and guided by ego, rather than wisdom and true love.

Technorati Tags: birth,soul,wisdom,love

Vision Quest for 21 days

Who am I? What is my soul's purpose? What are my goals? What in my life must I change?

Since 1 July, a Vision Quest have I been on. To those of you who sought me out, on the blog or in emails, over the past 21 days, I appreciate your concern, and am a bit amazed you actually read and enjoy my diminutive attempts juggling the Written Word. I have returned to the world of electronics, having un-plugged from all such devices for the past 21 days, in order to bring balance to my wired brain, and sought to find the peace and sustenance of walking meditations, quieting mind, breaking through personal fears, new anxieties about earth changes, and disturbances in my soul which needed to be revealed from the depths of Self, understood, healed, challenged and written about in prose and poetry.

I did not realize, until this Vision Quest became a reality in late June, that it was exactly what was needed, in order to balance my energy and renew my spirit, in order to continue on my path of creating art, writing novels and recognizing my consummate abilities as an artist, a writer, musician, lover, sister, daughter, aunt and a woman. A sexy woman,at that, I've decided,too ! ;)

Unplugging from all normal activities was difficult the first 3 days, and then a peace arose in the place I was, the paths that I walked, the beaches I strolled, mountains I climbed which cunningly brought understanding to me, of the wisdom, in taking time for a Vision Quest. Not many have the luxury of so engaging, however, I understand now the critical importance of taking time to find the new wisdom inside me. These revelations about self could not be found plugged into cell phones, laptops, radios, movies, newspapers and televisions.It was a huge download of cosmic information, and a big upload of crap from me which was time to be drug out, swept away and released to the universe, grateful for the understanding of the gifts the past challenges had brought me, which led to the new understanding of what I need now, what I can do now, and that it is all coming to me, as it was always intended to come throughout eternity. It is mine.

What arose for me during this time was a treasured understanding of myself, and neglected pieces of my fragile, human puzzle which, as I uncovered them, completed entire pictures, for me, of life situations from the past, and the power to act in current life, with efficacy and grace. These fragmented parts of my soul came together in a way you would only understand as AH-HA moments, over the days and nights of the past 3 weeks. Many such moments, thrust me into long and fast sprints on the beach at night, or winding into the depth of the ancient forests, at dawn, to lay on the primordial ferns gazing through 200 ft. high branches to a surreal, breathtaking, eternal vista.

There were moments when the painful recognition of truth hurt so deeply all that could come forth was tears, or a female wolf howl, and then the dervish swirls of my body, dancing around in circles until the laughter arose again in my 5th chakra, the throat, where communication resides. I had to usurp all electronic and human interactions, from me, in order to become more humane for you. The closest thing I can relate this experience to would be a death, yet unlike death, feeling the depths of despair, the joys of revelations, the desires of my heart and soul as a mystery revealed, and a personal euphoria, which brought my Self into balance, in order to heal the past and birth a wiser, joyful Self.

Schlesinger, once said, that everything that matters in our intellectual and moral life begins with an individual confronting his own mind and conscience in a room by himself.

That is what I did, in my own way. I had felt for a few weeks, before un-yoking from the Internet and IPod,  that something was trying to reveal itself to me. Everywhere I went, I had this sense that there was something inside of me that I did not understand, yet it was holding itself quietly, and persistently inside my being, and every issue I thought it could relate to, never caused it to cease its inner whisperings, causing tension and anxiety.

I knew that an amorphous conclusion, pregnant with unimaginable benedictions was beating against my soul awaiting a time to chant its refrains. The only way it could reveal itself was for me to listen to its murmurs and harmonies, without any foreign discordances or dissonant tones, that could affect its ability to reveal itself to me. Hence, the unplugging. So, a vision quest it became. Just me, my soul and higher self over these 21 days. 

Many things changed for me and many people I know. One thing that came to full force is this incredible ability I have to write and am trying now to transcribe 5 yellow legal pads of journal entries. I love writing with my Pierre Balmain pen. I collect pens, did I ever reveal this passion of mine? Nothing thrills me more than holding that perfectly balanced pen, of esquisite craftsmanship. That Balmain I bought in Arles, France, a few years ago, and I only use it for special things. It pops up,once in a while when I need it.

I taught myself how to write with my left hand, when I was in grade school, so I could balance my energy, when writing, thereby I have the ability to write, and allow the energy to flow from both sides of my charka system. I realized that the writing I do with my left hand, and sometimes I write backwards, so that I have to hold it up to a mirror, in order to read it, is a much different soulful, expressive discourse.

Since the right side of the body relates to the female, emotional, creative energy, I bet that not many people have had the understanding that to write with the left hand releases emotional/spiritual energies(right-brain becomes balanced)  versus right hand writing, which emanates from the didactic aspect of practical nature (left-brain): Informative, cognitive informational vs. emotional, psychic, spiritual become one flow, like a yin-yang, feng shui of creative energies.

I figured it out when I was living in Argentina and beginning to understand more deeply spiritual and psychic powers, meeting healers and shamans. Once I began training myself to use the left side of body, to write with, I felt as if I had discovered one of the secrets of the universe, as my writing took a deeper dive into psyche. It is still an amazing experience, each time I switch hands. Big difference in that writing with my left hand, I am completely taken over by free flow information from the depths of Self, that seems to have an unending, revelatory nature, which sometimes rolls on for hours.

My discovery is a chapter of my new book which delves deeper into the importance of using creative power, at this point of time, in order to bring balance to everything you or your families are doing. The entire shifting energy of the planet is requiring attendance to your work, your impeccable actions, and being able to observe and interpret what the truth is for yourself. No more excuses: you know when you are acting from fear rather than compassion.

You know when you need love, out of fear or because it is easier to return to an old love because that is the known, rather than go after that which excites your soul and is where you are most alive. I see many people returning to old loves because they are lonely, afraid of the uncharted waters of passion, because they do not feel worthy of true, ecstatic love, or simply because they do not want to give up their old lists of what they require in a relationship. For instance, one of my old rules was that I would never have ANOTHER LONG DISTANCE relationship.

Well that got thrown out these past weeks. Why not? Miss the love of my life because he is a thousand miles away? Ten thousand miles away? It is not the time to be weak and afraid. The universe is an amazing place and anything is possible now. I no longer need to worry about how things are going to unfold. I just have to recognize they are put in my path for me to deal with, hold on to, appreciate and trust. No, I am not with a man, yet, however I have a sense we are moving in each other's orbits, doing what we need to do creatively and day-to-day. Anyway, I was talking about my passion for fountain pens. My passion for life and how much my Vision Quest brought treasures and release to my soul. Hope you are well. What happened to you the past 21 days?

My new picture was taken within a few hours of plugging back in. Do I look different? Feel different. Vibrating out of my old shell now, and jumping to find out what the next indicated thing is.

 

GULFGATE OBSCURES CONGRESS VOTE

I really have to applaud Congress, again, for pulling the wool over our eyes these past 3 weeks. While the rest of you were running down to the Gulf, to sing and walk and demonstrate about oil balls floating in the water, and riding around in planes and cars from one end of Louisiana to the other, USING UP MORE GAS AND LINING THE POCKETS OF OIL COMPANIES, strumming guitars and singing about "Giving Green a Chance", using the old John Lennon tune, of Give Peace a Chance (could you not come up with something original?), the House of Representatives and the Senate managed to walk away from their plush Capital Hill offices today, head out via private jets and limos to luxurious homes and foreign shores, leaving 2,000,000+ Americans without any funds to buy hot dogs, gas or even a bus ticket. Gotcha!

All the screaming about the GULFGATE Oil Disaster, helped to create the illusion, which Congress needed, to deflect mass media viewing of the Senate leaving DC, refusing to vote on the Extended Benefits provision, to millions of Americans, until they return from vacation.

So,today, right now, there are over 2,000,000 unemployed people, along with their families (another 3-5 million (wives/children/husbands who live with the unemployed) who will have ZERO funds from Unemployment for at least a month, or more, or until Congress returns on the 12th of July and then makes a big political stance, to show off what they learned in debating classes, for a few more weeks, while Americans starve. Oh, and they are planning on not giving any more extended benefits when they return to those still without work. By the way, when they go off Unemployment, they are no longer counted in the national statistics or state statistics monthly reports. There are estimates of 35% of the US being out of work now, even though states are still claiming less than 10% on the books, because once you stop receiving checks you are no longer counted in the numbers.

Oh, I said my peace about GULFGATE, in previous blogs. It is disgusting to be 75 days out and there are still no BP officials in jail, and Obama is going to allow offshore drilling with no restrictions, which is what his deal is with the oil cartels who run their fingers through the World Bank and had such a huge influence in the White House for the last 5 administrations--it's money and politics, as usual.

However, for the Senate, led by Democrat VP Biden,  to walk away from voting on extending benefits to those still on unemployment, after the House voted to extend benefits to those who need them, until July 12, for their vacation, reminds me of why Rome fell. Lack of interest, but plenty of interest for money, power and control. 

Do you realize that there may be nothing they can do to stop the oil from flowing into the Gulf? It may go on forever, until billions of gallons are shot out of the earth, and the entire Gulf is destroyed? Because that is what is happening now. So what do you do? Which do you choose to voice your displeasure over to Congress? Both. Your neighbors and their families are going to be destitute in a few days, maybe weeks, for those who have some help. But not all.

I have watched the Famous head down to the Gulf, on their jets and super luxurious RV's, to sing songs and walk around cities playing their guitars. If they had any sense, they should have been in DC, standing in the Capital, knocking on the doors of their Senators and Reps, putting some real pressure on them. The last thing any Senator wants is famous stars and musicians bringing along the media, to their Senate Building doors.

A friend of mine in New Orleans went to one of the demonstrations and was disgusted with the fact that a lot of people who showed up were only interested in seeing the famous actors and musicians. It was a media blitz for the famous and did little, other than a minute blitz on the news stations, to bring attention to the fact that most of the people who should of gone because they are so devastated that their source of income is gone now due to the oil spill, cannot afford to buy gas to put in their cars to go to a rally, since they have to buy food.

If anything, Congress should have stayed and voted for an increase in unemployment benefits, extended the deadlines out, because there are going to be a lot more people on the roles in the states affected by the spill, now. I blame Joe Biden for this since he is the head of the Senate and he could of kept them all there, in their seats, making them vote tonight. Senators' vacations are more important than your neighbors getting another check Friday, to put hot dogs and soda on the table for the 4th of July. Well, I think, the US Congress' new slogan should be taken from the lips of Marie Antoinette, as Rosseau remembers.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau's 12-volume autobiographical work Confessions, was written in 1770. In Book 6, which was written around 1767, he recalls:

At length I recollected the thoughtless saying of a great princess, who, on being informed that the country people had no bread, replied, "Then let them eat pastry!"

Antediluvian Realities

"The slave is doomed to worship time and fate and death, because they are greater than anything he finds in himself, and because all his thoughts are of things which they devour."

Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

"Men would rather be starving and free than fed in bonds."

Pearl S. Buck (1892-1973)

I was reminded today about a trip to Calcutta, where time was spent with some people whose mission was to get children and women, who were sex slaves, out of the brothels, and rehabilitate them, so they could have a new life, or return to their families.

It was not an experience that many people would enjoy, however, it is something which snapped me into awareness by connecting me to a reality, which is unknown to many of us, that of child sex slavery and human trafficking,

I was heading to another part of India, at the time, and met some people, in Calcutta, who had spent a lot of time in Nepal and India learning about the vagaries of child sex slave operations and the businessmen and women who control the industry.

I joined them for a few days, as it appealed to the urban sociologist and social activist part of my heart, so well influenced, in the hallowed classrooms and student activism at UC Berkeley.

Slavery is a growth industry, generating about 13 Billion US, in sales, a year. It is a growth industry because world population continues to grow, and so more slaves are needed to do the things the rest of us get paid for, usually. Profits soar when business owners do not have to pay employees. Depressing, it is, from the standpoint of the huge numbers of children and women, either sold into slavery by their families, or simply kidnapped, by the slave traders, which are huge conglomerates, trafficking across international boundaries, or just between states, in many countries, like the US and Mexico, do now.

Many times, the families, in Nepal or India, cannot afford to take care of their children, and the traders offer them 5-15 US dollars for a child, promising the children will receive education and care with a "host" family, which ends up being a brothel, a factory, or a farm using children as slaves.

Most of the children never return home,since they are in bondage for life, or die from AIDS or other sexually transmitted diseases, if working in the brothels, like in Calcutta. All are raped, and many times the older children, boys and girls around 4-5 years old, have multiple, sexual encounters daily.

Many children die from malnourishment or illnesses transmitted by clients, or beatings, at the hands of the brothel owners or customers performing sex which causes traumatic injuries to their young bodies, especially when objects are forced into bodily cavities during these encounters. A lot of the children, bleed to death, after these encounters..

The "high-end" brothels, some of which are located in tourist hotels, on certain floors, are known to local concierges and travelers from other countries.  I watched Americans, Europeans and Asians enter the brothels, paying as little as $1 to $5 for the girls or boys of 12-14 years old. The high prices, in the brothels, are normally paid for virgins. Boys and girls, who are sometimes as young as 4 years old, are considered special commodities in the brothels, if they are virgins.

The living conditions are horrible and many times they are tied to beds, or kept in locked, crowded rooms, with other children, no sanitation, water or food, for long hours, in 100 degree+ weather (like when I was there). I was able to look through peepholes, into some of these rooms, and most of the children are zombie-like, listless, lifeless.

The bedrooms they are led to, with the customers, are just as decrepit, with sexual devices available, for the customers' use, on the children, depending on their sexual deviant behavior: whips, leather harnesses, belts, manacles.

One of the brothel owners, told us, that she waits until a child or woman gets sick, and then she sells them, or their family can buy them back (however, most families will never take a girl back, and sometimes they are killed by their families, if they try to return) since the money the brothel owner gets, for a girl, is usually around 100.00 US, which allows her company (her entire family is involved in slave trade) to buy as many as 10 new children.

During the time I was in Calcutta,  there was never a night when I did not shed a tear or two, over the children or women, I had seen earlier in the day.

The sheer magnitude of the sex slave trade is unimaginable, and the conditions it operates under are the most inhumane and ghastly, for a 21st century world.  Especially, when you consider that India, like Ghana, or the US, tout themselves as icons of Democracy, in their part of the world.

The estimate is there are 28 Million slaves in the world now, however, I think that to be a conservative number. My estimate is 50,000,000 world slaves, since most of the slaves have unrecorded birth events (no birth certificates) or are, many times, sold and bought before birth, or abducted and never included in statistical analyses. Many women in Africa, South America and Asia, earn money for their family by selling the child, in-vitro, especially if the family cannot afford another child. 

A few years ago, there was a furor raised when some San Francisco travel agencies began arranging trips, for vacationers to Thailand, in order to visit brothels to have sex with boys, set up in 3 and 4 star hotels. There was some arrests made in San Francisco over the issue, however, it is something that continues, as a vacation destination commodity.

The child prostitution and sex trade flourishes, at much higher prices, within all levels of society and economic strata. The children, men, and women who are slaves, conscripted to their owners, have no way out, unless someone saves them, rehabilitates them, and educates them so they can take care of themselves, financially. There is no other way.

Until you begin to understand the amount of monies involved in this industry, and see some of these practices, up close and personal, you may never understand that if one person on earth is a slave, none of us are free, until that last one is freed.

You see a lot of stories, in the media, about children, men, women just disappearing and sometimes they are taken places and are sold as slaves to support the sex, farming, mining, fishing, and manufacturing industries. You have probably purchased items made by child slaves in Viet Nam, African nations, China, India, Bangladesh, Mexico, and the US. You just do not know, sometimes.

The Slave Trade is still in operation around the globe. The only two countries where, supposedly, it does not exist in are Greenland and Iceland. Out of 195 countries around the world, there are only 2 countries that have taken an active stand against allowing slavery, in any form to operate?

We aren't doing enough to rid it from the US, and certainly, not speaking out about it enough, to eradicate it from the rest of the world. We close our eyes, for too long, and we don't have to see it; and, we condone it with closed lips and un-typed commentaries and emails, to those groups which need to know their efforts are supported, and politicians who are trying to end it, in their districts, states, and countries now. You don't have to send money; you can write to a newspaper, senator, and say you support efforts to end slavery.

Is this something everyone, not involved in the slave/sex trade, can agree on? Or am I on some Pollyanna, Psychedelic journey, through social media, talking to myself? Please tell me I am not alone in this one. This is abominable, this world of slave traders,  to me, living as a humane, evolutionary, 21st century woman. Has consciousness in the 21st century become so polluted from an over-abundance of "causes" , that the issue of slavery is over-shadowed, on this planet?

Such a wonderful summer day, it was in my little village on the Puget Sound, today. I had lunch with a friend, at a great Irish pub, and walked through town, enjoying a green tea latte. The flowers and gardens are blooming and the fragrances over-whelming. 

Then, I came home and was transported back to India, remembering those times in Calcutta. The memories arose, after reading about a man's journey, to Ghana, and his experiences with trying to save a boy, this week, who is a slave, there now.

The boy's family is trying to get him back, once they realized he is now a slave. This man and the group he is traveling with, could not rescue the boy, as he was locked away in a building. The villagers were afraid if they left the boy out, the slave traders would harm the village.

I know that feeling of helplessness, when you are on the other side of the gate, staring into the eyes of a child, or a woman, who is a slave, and will remain one, for the time being. Anguish was my emotion, at the time; and, action on the part of others, to free them, is what had to happen, because their owners would not let them go. So, how long before the child is free? How long does he have to be a slave before the rest of the free world comes to his rescue?

"Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally."

Abraham Lincoln

 

Kevin Bales: How to combat modern slavery

2 Different Realities

Yesterday, I went to see Sex In The City 2 (SITC2), with a friend who is a therapist. This was the 2nd time, for me, because there was something disturbing about the movie, the first time I viewed it. The disturbing part had to do with the way the crowd responded to it and my unsettled feelings. Rarely, do I see a movie twice. I did see Star Wars 5 times, however, who didn’t?

I know that some of you are rolling your eyes about SITC2, however, bear with me for a few paragraphs.

This is a movie that came out a few weeks after the BP Gulf Oil disaster. The movie is set in the United Arab Republic. The incredible wealth earned from oil sales is so overwhelmingly ostentatious, as shown, by the 4 MayBach’s (409,000K average price) with one for each woman; 4 butlers, a $22,000 per night hotel suite; a sheik's personal airline with private, onboard suites for guests with a bar lounge, private TV and computer screens, on desks in the suites; the gold, bejeweled, hotel lobbies and, of course, the clothes, jewels, nanny's and NY Penthouse closets, most American women will never have access to in their lifetime. The juxtapositions, in the movie, bump up against today’s economic and social issues, for the US and most world populations, do not end with the above.

The movie also addresses gay marriage, homophobia, infidelity, marriage breakdown, Muslim laws controlling women, public affection, sexual intercourse, and classification of vitamins/minerals, for menopausal balancing, as illegal drugs, in Arab countries; many women's  attempts to be the perfect mother, based on pressure from unrealistic, societal standards; and, Muslim women’s furtive attempts to challenge current laws regarding their freedom. Men's attempts to understand it all.

The movie juxtaposes all these issues in New York and Abu Dhabi, modern, power-wealth based mega-centers, against modern and ancient views of marriage and of women. The male paradigm in current business structure ,in treatment of women, as “less than”, is also addressed in SITC2. It is directed in such as way, however, that the viewer can ignore the social issues being addressed and solely focus on the 4 women, without any thought to the subtle and obvious serious issues ,which are directed, with great aplomb and diplomacy, by the director, Michael Patrick King, a gay man who had a great interview with Jon Stewart, last week.

You can tell me I am making too much of it, yet, the unsettled feelings you will experience in viewing it, will still be there.

My 20 year old niece went to see it and did not like it. At first, I thought it was because she had not understood the sub-context issues being addressed, however, after seeing the movie for the 2nd time, it was that she did get it at a very subtle level.

Men, may not like it since they are shown in an amazing way, as the husbands, bosses, lovers, ex-boyfriends, gay couple, Arabic males, and 2nd class, male foreign workers, who are placed in scenarios which show their vulnerabilities, fears, outmoded control issues, and modern day male issues, which are sometimes misinterpreted by the media and their partners.

Women may not like it, because it unsettles the personal images we have about ourselves, as it develops subtle messages about how we treat men, misinterpreting their actions because of our less-than-healthy attitudes about relationships, and it shows a group of women who are forced to wear veils, can be imprisoned for kissing in public, or can almost be stoned for attempting to have safe sex, or be denied the use vitamins and minerals to get through menopause.

Over the decades, many women have had the ability to speak their minds, act from a place of equality with men, in the western developed nations. We know that there are still women who are forced to wear masks and veils, we have read books written by many of those women who have death threats directed at them for their bravery in fighting for rights, in their countries, and many can never return. Slavery in any form is anathema to development of truth and freedom.

As we sit here, at day 53 of the Gulf disaster, and listen to news and excuses from president’s of oil companies, countries and heads of government agencies, still trying to point fingers away from themselves, is it any wonder why this movie has to hide the issues under bon mots and humor? I guess, all I can say, is go see the movie, even if you feel that some of the actresses involved are not to your liking. It reveals issues which we are still grappling with now, in 21st century consciousness, and it will also make you laugh in some ways, as we get a look at realities that may need some thinking about and maybe, if you have the energy, some action.

Steven Seagal's Ending Speech from "On Deadly Ground"

Forgetting

There are times when you run into people you have not seen in a long time, and you cannot remember where you met them. That happened this morning, when I was breakfasting with a friend, and our waitress recognized my friend, and my friend pulled a blank. She did say something very clever, which I hope to remember when I find myself in a similar situation. "The face and eyes I recognize, however I cannot place the geographic location."

Now that is a great way to acknowledge someone, and give yourself credit, for at least remembering a face, but not the location where you met. In this case, they had been next door neighbors for years, and years passed since the last time they looked across the fence, at one another. Hair color, body shape had changed in both. Smile, still the same.

Wish my memory about people were as good as some. Voices seem to be the most memorable for me. Face recognition is about 50%.  People remember my face and usually where we met. Names are trouble for me, especially at large events, when meeting 20-30 people in a clip.

A few weeks ago, a call came from a man, who played with me for a few minutes, in helping me to remember a familiar voice. Aah, no, it was not a boyfriend from the past.An old friend, who was calling me for some insight as to why his marriage was falling apart.

We had not seen one another in about 5 years, yet, I had created a bond with him somehow, since he believed me to be a touchstone on the matter. The baseline disagreement is about having children. He wanted them, she wanted to adopt.

Now, the thing about Dick and Jill is they were the original, environmental activists. Rabid eco-saviors, argumentative recyclers, and in-your-face conservationists, the like of which would have most guests running to the shredder, to repent their eco-failures.

The rule at their estate (yes, it is an estate) is no more than 2 (two) 30 gallon bags of refuse can be delivered to the recycle pit, a month. Their BMW could only rack up a total of 100 miles per month. There is no plastic in the house; guests are allowed only glass containers to transport food, for parties; and, all water is recycled. All water, including toilet water is processed by a magnetic filter, for use in gardens,sheds and toilets. Off the grid with solar/wind energy.

They spoke at many enviro-events, and usually rode their bikes, or caught a ride with someone. Wealthy? Very. No one who spent time with them left without learning a new way to conserve, and everyone respected the proficient use of materials in the house, and all furniture was dual-purpose, recycled wood.

Now, the crux of the separation and possible divorce. He wanted to procreate, from his own sperm; she, having learned well the logistics of world-overpopulation from UN and WHO meetings they attended together, said adoption was the only, eco-friendly way to go. He taught her well, much to his dismay, now.

Jill came from Cardiff-By-The-Sea, CA., the land of the lotus-eaters, and met Dick, at the Top of the Mark bar, one balmy, summer night in SF, when her champagne cork, flew across tables and, landed in his Mark Hopkins Hotel, SF Seafood Chowder. A match made in heaven.

Why he was calling me about this issue, came down to the fact that, he thought, I would understand his need to procreate, from his own sperm, and could sway her into understanding that this was an important, duty for all men, over 30, on the planet.

I do understand it is important that the blood-lines continue for men, as it is imbedded into their Neanderthal, limbic brain memory. In order to continue the species, it is their duty to re-create. However, with 150,00,000 million orphans in the world today, enough orphans to wind around the equator 3 times, and 40% of all children in the US living in single, parent households, the brain needs to re-assess the limbic requirement set in place about 130,000 years ago.

I recommended he check out some famous orphans, List of Orphans, and mentioned Babe Ruth, Louis Armstrong and, oh, yes, Steve Jobs.

The unfortunate issue for Dick is that he did not take his eco-minded ministrations all the way to source, which is the reason the world is such a garbage heap and environmental disaster magnet. Most environmentalists do not, or will not look down, at their own seed staff, which is one of the main causes of Gaia's screams, as she tries to lift up from the garbage, oil spills and bad air smothering her now. It is the amount of people on earth, it will not change with the numbers growing. Teaching and preaching conservation has to begin with your own sperm and egg control. It is just plain fact.

When Dick got down to answering my questions, which revolved around why now this father-desire, and not years ago? Why all the birth control and planning not to have a baby for so long, and now that he is turning 35, he needs to reproduce Dick2, he gave me an answer that was surprising for such a wealthy, independent thinking man.

His mother, father and grandparents were coming in with the heavy guns, His siblings had all reproduced and he loved his nieces and nephews. He was enjoying children. We all enjoy children, however raising them is where you learn to love them. I have raised 9 nieces and nephews and told him if I was with a man, I would adopt in a minute.It is a couple's life together that grows the child, and the love that child experiences with the couple, is all that matters.The child would have his last name. He said his mother would be upset and his father, too. His fear made me sad.

I convinced him that life, without Jill, would not be the same, and he could father a child, but he would be without the love of his life. Why raise a child without the person you know you should be with? The woman who delights you every time she walks in a room with a dish of vanilla ice cream for you? 

Talking with Jill, I can see her point too and it all comes down to seeing a man becoming afraid, that he ceases to exist into eternity,  unless a child, from his loins is conceived. And knowing a woman who believes there are so many children, in the world, that need the love she knows Dick and she can produce together, as a family.

Today, Dick called to tell me that they are going to begin visiting orphanages. They are going to look around; he is going to test his beliefs, handed down through the ages, and see if there is a child that can fulfill this need he has to be a father, without his wife giving birth.

I think he can, and I reminded him about his discussion, with me  years ago, that I was a lovely woman who could make a man happy, even though I could no longer have children, because of a health challenge. In the end, there are many ways to be with the one who loves you.

Sometimes, you just have to forget what you once believed to be true, about what it means to be a real man, or a real woman. Sometimes you have to believe that a new way is possible as you fly through the clouds, seeing new possibilities, fulfilling dreams in unimaginable ways. And sometimes, the love of a child is possible, with someone you love, not of your loins, or from your belly, but from 2 hearts dreaming the same dream.

So, I am turning on Mr. Jagger and listening to one of my favorite tunes, because sometimes you can't always get what you want but you do get what you really, and truly need. Love seems to be it.

 

YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT
(M. Jagger/K. Richards)

Choir:
I saw her today at a reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man

No, you can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
And if you try sometime you find
You get what you need

I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was, footloose man

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need
Oh yea-ay (hey-hey-hey, oooh)

And I went down to the demonstration
To get my fair share of abuse
Singin', 'We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't, we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse'
Sing it to me, now
(You can't always get what you want)
(You can't always get what you want)
(You can't always get what you want)
But if you try sometimes, well you just might find
You get what you need
Ooh baby, yeah, ooh

I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standin' in line with Mr. Jimmy
A-man, did he look pretty ill
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was 'dead'
I said to him

(You can't always get what you want) well no!
(You can't always get what you want) tell ya baby
(You can't always get what you want) no
But if you try sometimes, you just might find, mmm!
Mmm! you get what you need
Ooh yes! Woo!
(Instrumental & choir) Ooow-ooh!
You get what you need
Yeah!
Ooow, babe!
Ooh, yeah

I saw her today at the reception
In her glass was a bleeding man
She was practiced at the art of deception
Well, I could tell by her blood-stained hands
Say it!

(You can't always get what you want) yeah!
(You can't always get a-what you want) ooo-yeah, baby!
(You can't always get a-what you want)
But if you try sometime, you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need
Ooh, yeah!
Ooh, baby!
Woo!

Ah, you can't always get a-what you want
No, no baby
You can't always get a-what you want

Tellin' you right now
You can't always get what you want, mmm!
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find, that ya
Get what you need
Oooh, yeah!
I'm tellin' the truth, babe

Hopi Elder, Radford Quamahongnewa (PT 1 of 3)

1001 Places to Clean

How do we accumulate so much stuff? When I look at all the stuff that is in my home, I wonder what will become of it when I die, or even worse, what will I do with it when I move. At some point, I will be moving and, like all other moves, there will be a moment when the realization hits that much of it must go.

My secondary, imaginary life's work should be that of a stationary store owner. Pens, paper, tablets, notebooks, diaries are stacked in shelves or held in strong, plastic containers. It is time to take them out, hold them closely and kiss them good by.

Art and books are everywhere, too. Some of it in boxes, waiting for the house with more walls and more bookshelves. Yet, the art must stay and books can be catalogued and, then, sold or recycled to stores and people who love to read. A "Free" box is going in the front yard, when the sun starts shining again, here in the Northwest.

Although not many pass by the house in cars, there are a lot of walkers and bike riders who might need another dictionary or a Nepalese phrase book. What people read interests me.

What grabs their imagination is a good measuring stick, as to who they are as creative, intelligent beings.

Although, when you look at my library, you might have a hard time figuring out something about me, since it is so eclectic. One of my favorite things to do, when younger, was reading encyclopedias and dictionaries. Lost in Roget's Thesaurus, summer afternoons would whittle away, as new words replaced the simpler ones of the mind.

One week was spent memorizing, the longest word in the world, in a dictionary, which has 45 letters, PNEUMONO­ULTRA­MICRO­SCOPIC­SILICO­VOLCANO­CONIOSIS. It is still the longest, in a dictionary, however, the longest word in the world has 189 letters and is commonly referred to as Titin, also known as Connectin, which is a protein that connects muscles. You may never see it in Webster's, though.

One thing that always intrigued me was Proust's claim to fame in that he sought to use words precisely, and spent much time seeking the literal, exact word. He had a lot of time to do that as, unlike many writers, he was financially secure his entire life and never had to work.

Is that reason enough, though? Even with time to write, as I do have now, choosing a word can always lead to a spiral of creative exposition which may lead no where, and may never get me to the next paragraph. Choices are always so unpredictable, aren't they?

However, they can be very exciting and gratifying, also. Some of my most interesting and terrifying moments were commenced with a single word. Yes, No, Never, Go, Stay, Come, Stop. The power of words and actions not realized, until you move into them and use them.

Latin has always been my favorite, precise languages. Basis for so many languages, we currently use, in the world. When in Italy or France, the enjoyment I take in reading the Latin words on monuments or plaques, never wanes. There is an incredible pleasure while translating a plaque, posted on the door of a Medici mistresses' suite, in the garden of a Florentine, Franciscan church's patio.

I wonder what the mistress stored away, in her beautiful suite? What do we hold onto, even though we may never use them again? What freezes you from letting them go, recycling them, sharing them? Could it be some simple memory, long forgotten, that arises, as you remember who gave it to you, how it came to be sitting there in that box?

There are about 500 cassettes, sitting in a storage bin, in my mud room. The plan has been to buy a Cassette-To-CD converter and enjoy them. Will I listen to 500 cassettes? Do I have the life time to do that? I have no idea, however, moving them to another house or city is not something that is in my plans. So, I guess the equipment will be bought, and a few weeks of my life shall be spent listening to music, once enjoyed, that still moves me,  and taped shows of Coast to Coast with Art Bell, that will always be incredible discussions, never to be heard again.

That should be a step back, into the past, for sure. Connections to the past is why we store things. Many, of them, we never have again, but need to touch, every so often, something from those moments and memories. I am grateful to have all this technology, so music and pictures and voices can be saved in megabits, on a thumb drive. What wondrous times we love and live in.

So, my promise, to you, unknown reader, is at some point, this summer, before I go to LA in August, the 500 cassettes will be gone. The DVD's containing the songs and conversations shall be sitting on the library shelf, taking up maybe an inch of space.

And, as is often said, in Florence, to beautiful, American women: 
 Amicule, deliciae, num is sum qui mentiar tibi?

"Baby, sweetheart, would I lie to you?"

"I Thought That I Heard You Laughing"

I know that the fight for equality for partners is on the docket , in the next election, in many states. You should know, I am voting to make sure, we all have equality under the law, to choose partners, no matter preference. Freedom cannot exist, until all have equal rights and protection under the laws, that we can change now. 

I was married to a homophobic man, a lifetime ago, and because of his hatred of gays, learned I could not abide intolerance, in any form, toward another human. So, I must thank him for allowing me to see the insanity of his mind. One thing, that bothers me, is he probably still has that tattoo that says: Death before Dishonor. To dishonor the life choices ,of another human being, which is causing no harm to you ,or the planet, shows a disdain of allowing others freedom to love and live as you do.

I was living in San Francisco as AIDS was destroying bodies and lives, as it does to this day. The general effect was that there was no one walking down Castro Street, for a few weeks, hiding in homes, many afraid to catch something from a spoon, or spit or even a hand. The horror of the illness and the rumors and fears it caused, brought the city to a standstill. At that time, I lived on Russian Hill, with a man who was cheating on me, as I came to find out a few weeks, after the first round of media blitz about AIDS, hit the world. He was involved in relationships with two women, in Sausalito, and decided to reveal all, one, beautiful afternoon, when we were picnicking in Muir Woods. (Thanks, a lot, Fred).

I decided to move to Santa Barbara, and found myself one afternoon, before my migration, walking along Union Ave., half-dead from the exhaustion of the anger and craziness, of getting rid of things, so I could drive down with one car full of "stuff". I ran into my friend, Ralphie, who moved to SF from Virginia, where we had met in D.C., and become good friends. He was gay and Virginia was not a gay-friendly state, and still isn't from what I hear. He moved to SF a few months before, I did, and luckily, for me, that day, he was still alive. He was one of the gay men to die from AIDS in SF, and his death and the horrors it wracked his body with, will always stay with me. 

That day on Union, he realized I was not myself, and dragged me into a Martini Bar, after I told him about what Fred had done. He was more upset, about the fact, that I had not gone to my doctor for sexual disease testing, and told me that we were going the next day. I had not even thought about it, still wrapped up in the bottom-less feelings, in my body, caused  from exhaustion of crying and not eating, as humans tend to do when in shock.

He went with me to my doctor's and insisted I get tested for AIDS. I did, and, thank god, had no sexually transmitted diseases. I could have, might never have found out, and could of died from it, if he had not suggested it. He, in a way, saved a life. I will always be grateful to him for his wisdom and that he asked my doctor to give me that AIDS test. 


He loved me, as a friend. He didn't care that I was a wild, red-head who loved to go out dancing late at night, and made some bad and good choices, about the men I dated. He didn't care that I was Yankee, born and bred, nor that I came from a upper class family, who were into politics, which he didn't agree with; and, religions, that he did not believe in. 


A few weeks, before he died in a San Francisco hospice, I drove up to see him, to say my goodbye's, as I knew he would be passing soon. His body could no longer tolerate the destruction and pain. Before I left S.B., his nurse called and said that Ralphie wanted to hear a song, and would I bring it with me, so he could listen to it before he died. Ralphie knew what was happening as he had stood by many friends, watching them die, from the deadly disease, and knew the signs. The tremors, the boils, the bleeding, all the horrors he had seen, and the funerals he had attended were now part of his life, and soon his death. 


The reason I am writing about a political right denied to the gay community for decades, today, is that song just played on the radio, a little while ago, and I remembered that day with Ralphie. 

Sitting next to his bed, he had lost the sight in one eye, his emaciated body could hardly handle the next breath, and the sun coming in the window was the only bright light, in a blue room, with a man under a Celtic Green bedspread with the Celtic symbol of Eternal Love on it. Ralphie had his Ph.D in English Literature and could recite Yeats, Shakespeare and both Brownings, by heart. He knew Ode to a Grecian Urn and would delight friends, on balmy afternoons, when we would go sailing on San Francisco Bay, reciting Shakespeare's sonnets to the dolphins.
A cultured man, a kind man and a man who died because of the need for understanding and love. 



So here are the words, to that song, and I hope you can understand that all people deserve the right to make the choice of who to love and who to marry. Because in the end, it is all about how you loved and who loved you. 
 

R.E.M.-Losing My Religion

Oh, life is bigger

It's bigger than you

And you are not me

The lengths that I will go to

The distance in your eyes

Oh no, I've said too much

I set it up

(chorus)

That's me in the corner

That's me in the spotlight, I'm

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

And I don't know if I can do it

Oh no, I've said too much

I haven't said enough

I thought that I heard you laughing

I thought that I heard you sing

I think I thought I saw you try

Every whisper

Of every waking hour I'm

Choosing my confessions

Trying to keep an eye on you

Like a hurt lost and blinded fool, fool

Oh no, I've said too much

I set it up

Consider this

Consider this

The hint of the century

Consider this

The slip that brought me

To my knees failed

What if all these fantasies

Come flailing around

Now I've said too much

I thought that I heard you laughing

I thought that I heard you sing

I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream

That was just a dream

(chorus)

That's me in the corner

That's me in the spotlight, I'm

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

But that was just a dream

Try, cry, why try?

That was just a dream

Just a dream, just a dream

Dream

Feeling Sparkly, Today

What a day! Organic strawberries and bananas along with the magic green shake and a hike down to the beach in the rain. Feeling sparkly! Cannot imagine what my body would be like now if I had not begun the dietary changes, I did a few years ago. Looks like the weight is still coming off and there is another 40 to lose, however, looking back to 10 years ago, I am an amazing machine now. Every once in a while, I run across an old photo of myself and wince, then I realize the soul has changed and the experience, of all that weight, was for good reason. I now know what it is that makes people do, the things they do to their bodies, and how hard it is to make the changes. 

I used to hike mountains before the head-on car accident. I could hike along trails for hours, at end, and sit inside a tree stump, in snow, on sunny afternoons, sucking in vistas of unimaginable beauty. If there was a mountain or a hill, I needed to get to the top of it. Promised myself, that one day, I would be back there and someday I shall, however, for now, to be able to walk 3 miles and not feel pain in my hips, is a really fine day for me. I am heading up Mt. Rainier on the 27th, and hopefully, will be able to get up to around 9,000 feet or at least close to the John Muir cabin. The ice field will still be in place, however, I shall spend 6 hours walking and taking photos, along the way.

Swimming has helped a lot and,in my next house, there will be a pool or a swimming lane, since I think the amount of water placed into a pool is an exorbitant waste of natural resources. Swimming lanes save about 60% of the water used inside a pool, and yes, it will be solar heated, even if I am in California, Santa Fe or Hawaii.  I love to swim at night, under the moon.

I love swings, too. I love to swing. That feeling in my stomach, as I hit the high place, in the air, and stop, for that moment, before rushing back toward the earth, and up the other side of the sky, still shoots butterfly and laughter through me. I am going to have a perfect swing at the next place, suspended from some monstrous, strong tree, just for me. One thing that is going to happen, in the next year, is a trip to Costa Rica, so I can get into the tree tops and take that ride across the jungle tree tops. That would be a hoot, for sure. 

Today is a great day for me. I feel so good and grateful for the experiences I have had in my life. Everyone of them, whether a lesson or a magical development, was all mine and worth the ride.

Yes, I know we all have those events or do those things that make us shudder, as we look back, however from this vantage point, this moment, they were all worthy of the great lessons which brought me to an understanding, of myself and life, in all its manifestations. 

Some people live with regret and get no further, never reaching the joy. Awareness of mind and heart is the point to all experience, and I chose mine. To live in regret, denying my actions and keeping my eyes closed to the realities and reverberations of those actions, stops me from understanding the great joy of the wisdom they presented to me. I can say, without tremors, there are no regrets in my life. Accepting all of my actions and words, across my lifetime ,may not seem right, to some, especially those I wounded, however, the lesson is learned and hopefully, never to be repeated. 

To lie on my deathbed, and at the moment of transition, to have a thought arise of regret, is not the way I wish to go out. So, in my human way, I try to do my best with what I know now. That is all I can do because that is all I have now. More wisdom will come, as I share my heart, and walk into situations of which I am fearful of, knowing that if I do not walk through them, I run from my life.

There is a book, A Still Forest Pool, which lays out the meditations of Achaan Chan, the monk who founded Wat Ba Pong, in Northeast Thailand. He once said: "You will reach a point where the heart tells itself what to do." I think I am heading toward that point, and for all I know, may have already reached it. In any case, treat yourself well today. Go out for a walk, look into eyes of strangers and smile, and create something to share with others, then give it away. 

 

Want some new music? Listen to this!

Cumbia Beat Volume 1 by Various Artists

Trying to Find A Way

Well, it is almost 5 a.m now and I am still up, after spending the wee hours researching RV rentals from Reno to Burning Man' My friend, who was one of the main instigators of the Festival, out in the Black Rock Desert, wants to go, too. I was going to fly into Reno and pick up an RV and she was meeting me from SF. Once I started looking into the prices for the RV rentals which are now in special prices brackets for the Festival, I realized that it would run around 2,000 for fees, admission, flight, hotels, etc. Most of them are already booked.  Yikes! 2 of the RV rental places would not rent new RVs for the desert festival and one of them had a "lazy" air conditioning system. Salesman said, they had learned from the past, not to rent new RVs to Burning Man festival goers, as too much damage is done to the new vehicles, sometimes. 

One of the places had their RV torched when some idiot fired a gel fire ball under the RV, one evening, and luckily the fire extinguisher worked before the RV gas tanks blew. Now, that would have been a spectacular event for everyone in camp, and probably would have ended in song and dance from viewers and ex-RV occupants alike. 

So what to do? Pondering all the ways to get there is part of the fun. I know when I get my mind set on a travel destination, it usually comes to fruition. I think it would be a spectacular way to begin my birthday week celebration, culminating on the 9th. It may be that we will have to find separate ways to head there, and meet up in the Cafe on the Playa, which was founded by her. 

She ran the first cafe, for a few years before heading off for her Master's in Psychology. She still gets a free ticket every year. I want to go. How is it going to happen? 

Was looking forward to the music and heading to the dance tents at night, to dance the night away. The 40mph winds and The Ancients (mini cyclones) would also lend an air of mystery, something like in my Arabian Nights dreams, of big moon desert glow, eerie shadows and the drums, guitars and voices drifting across the desert to sooth my wild mind. 

The music for the road trip was in the planning stages and shall continue to be ripped, since one never knows when a little miracle will happen to get one to the next freeway.The Hawaiian dresses and the Indian silk sari's were about to be washed. Am looking forward to the new bathing suit and debating if I would strip off my clothes, when the water trucks came by, as they do on the playa, squirting swathes of water for those who need a cleansing from the desert sands. A trip to the Army Surplus store for desert boots is also in the plans, since you cannot wear anything that would melt on a 130 degree, desert floor. Forget the flip-flops, the bottom of them will turn to paste and your feet will burn off. 

An extreme event like Burning Man requires a lot of planning and also a willingness to let it all loose. A bit of common sense required as the desert is a stern taskmaster and preparation for all eventualities is an impossibility. How well do you sleep in 110 degree weather, no showers, if not in an RV, and you have to pack all your trash and take it with you, when you leave? 10,000 vehicles trying to exit on Monday and Tuesday along a 2 lane highway, which may have a few broken down cars and RVs along its edges? Oh, what fun and adventure. 

I have a love/hate relationship with the desert. Hate the heat and love the way my mind slows to 18 ohms per second/beat mimicking the earth's pulse. The sound of the earth rises and the body slows from modern pace to natural flow. I can hear my heart beat pumping away as I walk across the sand. Do some of my most remarkable writing upon awakening, in the early morning glow, as the sun pumps its heat to the receiving crystalline structures beneath me. As the sweat pores out of my body, my skin begins to glow as the impurities release as gallons of water pour in to keep hydrated. 

Spending time in some of the world's deserts has always been both a trial and a blessing. There's reasons why great sadhus and mystics go there. The desert strips away all your preconceived futuristic plans for your life and cleans the entire mind out of anything unlike your true self. All that is left in the scorching heat, wafting winds of higher temperatures, which may burn your nostrils, is your self. Like an ocean, the desert purifies you and cleanses anything old, from your system. That is why there is a medical tent at Blackrock with Psychologists as many people, during Burning Man, freak out. Drug induced freaking, sure, a lot, however the real issues are people who begin to let go of everything inside themselves forced upon them by nature, and are left without anything to connect to in their minds. 

It is a rich experience. You learn quickly about those who travel with you and about yourself. The desert has that power and she is a wild, extreme, dangerous and beautiful mistress. Few have spent 6 or 7 days in that type of extreme environment. It is not Las Vegas. 

So will I be there? I don't know, as it may be I will have to depend on the help of friends or strangers. Well, it is 5:55 am, now in the Northwest, and it's to be a rainy day. Guess it is time to make some Mate, and think about the 4 days I spent in a tent, out in the Patagonian desert, alone, praying for my train to come. If I do not find a way to be there, this year, then I will have to buy a ticket to see John Mayer & Keith Urban, out at The Gorge. Gotta love the earth choices! Vaya con Dios!

Interlude at John Wayne Airport

A few weeks ago I was flying home to Seattle, from John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana, CA.,  after spending a weekend in Venice, CA. While I was waiting for my departure, I found myself sitting next to a woman who had the most delightful smile. As strangers do, we started chatting about what our trips were about. She was 80 and had just spent the weekend in Rancho Santa Fe, visiting her son, celebrating his 50th birthday. As people do, after time, impersonal conversation morphs into more personal, as you begin to sense a similarity in energies. A companionable trust builds and you begin asking questions and discussing things of a more personal nature. 

I have been thinking about that conversation for 2 weeks now and as much as I do not want to write about it, I must or else something inside will keep eating away at me, as it has for a number of years now. It is time to release the poison.

Until our discussion, the realization that it was still there was not apparent as the years, relationships,personal growth and wisdom developed. It lay buried among memories and realizations. I think she was an angel sent me that day, so I could lay to rest this anguish. 

The question she asked me was if I had any children. Answer: "No". She asked me why not? Answer:"Never met a man I wanted to raise a child with." She looked at me sharply and said, "But you are such a beautiful, charming woman, what man would not want to have children with you?" Response: "Thank you, however I never met that man." She asked, "could it be that they were never meant to be the one you would spend the rest of your life with?".  Pause, Answer:"Oh, God, you're right!". She leaned closer to me and said, "Don't worry about it, my dear, someone is here for you. God always sends us a mate, just as he does for the geese." 

We laughed and I thanked her. 

She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled to show me a picture of 4 people. Her children, all adopted. 4 months after they married, her husband was involved in a car accident and lost the ability to have children. He asked her a few months afterwards, if she wanted a divorce. She said, she was devasted that he would think, she would leave him because they could not have children. He was her love. She told him that she could not imagine being in the world without him and said they would be parents of children who had lost theirs. They would adopt. Each of their children were orphaned because the parents had been killed in car accidents. 

Sometimes you cannot get the seat on the plane you want. I like the aisle seat, however that afternoon a window seat was mine. It was perfect for what I had to process. Thinking about her bravery and love, for her husband, and the last thing she said to me, before we parted, brought tears to my eyes. She asked me if I believed in love. I told her I did. 

She said, when you find that one person to love and he finds you,  that is the first surrendering, in a relationship. It is the "playground" for the adventures you will have together. She said you never know what type of day it will be on the playground, you never know who will be out there with you, but you are there with your dearest, and that is all that matters. The second surrendering occurs when God throws you a curve ball, as it did them with her husband's accident. They could have divorced, however, because they had played so well together, everything that happened in their lives since then, stemmed from the first surrender to love. Their love for one another was the basis from which love grew into their lives.

That is wisdom at its finest, isn't it? Glad I could not get a good flight into LAX, that weekend, otherwise we would have missed one another. 

The anguish in me is gone now. It took a week or so. 

 It was the fear I had surpressed for so long, because of mammary ductile carcinoma which visited my body about 10 years ago.  My life was saved by a wise surgeon who was able to remove the bright light, as it appears in a nuclear x-ray and had only to perform a lumpectomy. He saved my life and "the ladies" as he called them.  

Because of it,however, I am unable to have children. This happens sometimes to women with certain types of carcinomas. Doctors may not mention the risk, however mine did,  and, so, it came to be. I was happy to be alive and well, and the secondary effect did not bother me, until I began dating a man, about two years after the operation. We had a few dinner dates, some kissing and hand holding. Then one afternoon, we got into one of those more personal, "fishing-for-similar-goals" discussions, we all have when dating someone new. 

He was a nice guy, good teeth, knew how to hoist a sail, and actually had a career he was good at and he could dance. Oh, ya! Well, the short story is when he found out I could not have children, he stopped calling. I could see it upset him as he could not hide the STOP sign, when it appeared in his eyes. He was kind enough to tell me that it was a "major" goal of his to have children (from his own seed, I gathered), so I deleted his phone number from the address book, that night. (No, we did not have sex.)

Why am I telling you this? Because, there are a lot of people out there who cannot have children because of things like this, and probably have the same worries I did. Guys, is it your blood line that needs to continue? Will it cause you to walk away from maybe the love of your life?

Is it that important or is it the raising of a child, who carries your name, with someone you love,  important?Are you going to require your bloodline continue and walk away from the love of your life? It happens, as it is true  for women who want to experience the physical wonder of birth, and would have walked away from a husband, in a car accident, who could not produce semen.

Just trying to get it out there, that love is all around and anything is possible, as was for that lovely woman and her husband. It all worked out because they loved-- Nothing else mattered.

Being a "beautiful and charming woman", my worry since that health challenge was that a man would come along who loved me, who wanted children. How could I tell him it was impossible, after the sailor boy quit calling incident? To not give someone I love, the one thing they desire, would be a sorrowful travesty for me. Evidently, as she reminded me, sailor man  wasn't The One ;). Her story made me realize that I had to trust in love, and the First Surrender. 

From that love, all else would flow.

Time to Write

A lot of people have been asking me about my book writing project. It is time to tell you about the hell this writer goes through, some days, as I scrawl out the next 60,000 words or so. For the love of Mike, don't do it to yourself unless you are sure you can handle your own insanity for about 5 months. The cut off date for delivery, of my new love, is August 3 (this year). 

So what is it like? 

It is always in my head. The next chapter, the correct format for the bibliography, or what I am missing down at the beach when it was 70 degrees today, in my little village on the Puget Sound. It rolls around inside the cranium, like incessant jabberwocky. The ability to be lured away from the laptop is slapped away, like a mosquito, since I also have a netbook, so any forays down to the beach, or for a walk along the Chambers Creek Trail, will include a backpack with the netbook , water bottle and a pound of organic red grapes. 

Technology encompasses all that I do and there is little escape from The Book. When I am driving, I think about it, and since the digital tape recorder was invented, my car feels like the one that Deep Throat drove around D.C. in, recording his memories of the White House antics of that president, from the past. Nixon? Remember him?

Friends call asking what I am doing, beginning around 7 PM. They know what is going on here and after a while the conversations, may get boring for them, since I do not discuss what I have written, with anyone, until it is done. Then it gets handed over to an editor, and the real work begins, for me. Which is watching bits and pieces, of the tome, being thrown into the Recycle bin, and creating new paragraphs and chapter re-arrangements for your reading pleasure. A most painful process, which can be compared to that moment you see your spouse or lover, move the final piece of clothing out of the closet, once the love affair ends. 

A writer's life is a weird one. I work alone with no one telling me what to do or how to do it. It is a flash of inspiration, an ability to pull out the superlative expression which ties together noun and verb, creating an intimacy between writer's mind and reader's heart which goads me into submission, of this love of writing. 

Where do the words come from and when do the lovers know the right moment to allow their souls to touch one another? That, I cannot answer for you. Only that it does happen without preconceived expectations and absolute faith, in the moment of movement, or the words arrive to create perfect harmony. 

Writer's lives are very simple ones, when they are writing. Quiet, sometimes, and other times I need to have The Stones, or Lady Antebellum or Andre Bocelli singing, Je vis pour elle, with  Helena Segara. Depends on the mood and the mind. Food and drink are secondary thoughts, when preceded by intense concentration. Many times, that intensity expands into another page, or another, before I withdraw from the keyboard. Other times, I slam the top down, grab the Ipod and run out the door, heading along the dirt road, and into the forest, next to the house. 

Sometimes, just to jump into the woods and sit down against an old fir tree, that looks like it has been around for a couple hundred centuries, is all I need to relieve the intensity, or to celebrate an incredible few pages that were gifts from the cosmos.  Just to breath and release the tension from the heart, which benevolently bestowed another 5 or 6 pages of words, without me knowing how they got there is all that I need to whisper a prayer of gratitude.

A book takes on an energy of its own, unlike, any other book written. 

The topics and the seminal seed for the book begins to grow with each sentence and, like a new lover, you never know where you will end up, as you dance into the relationship. Sometimes, the excitement from seeing the number of words written to date, can destroy a relationship with the new manuscript. No longer do I get excited as the numbers grow from 1000 to 5000 to 20,000, in my toolbar. I will pay the dues, for my false pride, once the editing begins. 

I have thousands of words on paper, in boxes, and on thumb drives, that will never see the light of day, in a published manuscript. There are probably 4 good books of poetry sitting there, that have aged over time, which may never be printed, bound and sold on Amazon.com. 

A writer, like any artist or musician, practices for years. Writes, edits, creates crap, creates a work of pure genius, and yet none of those things may ever be known to anyone else but to their creator. Many of us put those works in boxes, or on hard drives, and look at them once in a while, or pull the oil paintings, out of boxes, and gaze at them, then smile or wince. 

I keep mine, like you may keep yours, not because they are abysmal or admirable but because they are authentic. Me, at a time and place in my life, when the authentic self emerged and wrote a story or a poem about something pivotal, emerging from my soul's consciousness. That is all they were then. Whispers of memories which moved me silently along life's path.

Hours? How many hours do I write a day? A lot and sometimes none. Research takes up a good bit of any book and I do not care what you are writing. There are times when I am writing poetry, where I can spin off into a thesaurus for an hour, forgetting the original word I was looking up, as the love of a new word, the way it winds around my lips and enters the world, lunges into the room as spoken word. The promise to self and goal is 35 pages a week, which is facile for me.

Put me on a plane about 100 times a year, or a train or bus and let me stay in hotel rooms around the planet, and two books a year would be easy to produce. For some reason, unplugging from a home base and throwing myself into the planetary, uncharted paradigm, releases the visionary, fecundity imagination inside. The great thing about it is that anyone could be in that hotel room, with me, with the stereo or a meeting going on, and my tunnel vision kicks in and the writing just flows. Writers are not anti-social. We have ears, even though we are typing or hold pens in hand.

So, the life of this writer is variable and rich. If I stilled live in a big city, I would be hitting the streets around 10pm to eat dinner and go listen to music somewhere. Now, the stereo gets flipped on, when I am done, and I dance around for a half hour or so to re-energize and shake all the words out of my head. 

It is a writer's life and although self-indulgent, it is rich and varied and filled with lovely friends and family, who understand there are actions and desires which can be fulfilled, if you are on your life's path, doing what you love, and diving into its depth, without taking a breath. The breath comes at the end, when the creation is complete and through the creation, I learn a little more about myself and humanity. 

The impulse to write comes from my soul, of course. How can one not follow their soul when it consistently bellows one word: write, paint or sing? Am I a good writer? I no longer visit that presumptive question since who art appeals to is a big crap shoot. You never know who will like what you offer the world, all you know is it has to come out and is sometimes shared. I stopped worrying about it, when I read one of Van Gogh's letters, when I was in Arles, France. I sat at a table, in the same square where he painted Cafe Terrace at Night. The Cafe terrace is still the same now, as it was when he painted it. 

In the letters, Van Gogh writes: "My only anxiety is what can I do...could I not be of use and good for something?

And in a picture, I wish to say something that would 

console as music does...The world only concerns me

in so far as I feel a certain debt and duty towards it and 

out of gratitude want to leave some souvenir in the shape of drawings or pictures, not made to please a certain tendency in art, but to express sincere human feeling." 

So, tonight the writer writes, the wind blows across the Sound, and someone is sitting in Arles, in the same chair I sat in, a few years ago.

I look at the pages written today. Reach for my copy of, The Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins, and slip in John Cruz's, Acoustic Soul CD. Time to write.