The Cat Box

The Dreams of Hammond Schuster

2011-07-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

They lived in the shadows and fed on dreams of light seekers. From behind concrete boxes they watched and whittled, watched and whittled, until they had crafted a manuscript out of the cumulous dreams that billowed into thunderheads from humid brain clouds. And people bought and read the pilfered dreams, never realizing they were stolen from their very thoughts.

An entire society of shadow creatures formed, thrived even, and laughed raucously together over late night martinis while wallowing in tidbits from their swipings. They began to believe in the dreams they had stolen, as if they were original thoughts rather than lifted from the collective virga. With each martini, they anchored the belief that they were above the spidery truth of their existences.

All except one.

60269 rolled out of the bar at 1pm and covered his face with his hands while his eyes adjusted to the mid-day shine. The fog in his head was thick pea soup. All the dreams he had ever taken were swirling in a vortex and he was certain a vicious tornado was going to blow the top right off his head.

At the corner a few yards down a man with a giant bottle of helium was blowing up balloons. 60269 walked over to the man and gave him a buck for a balloon. A swirling vortex moved with the force of a hurricane as every dream he had ever stolen blew right out of his head, through the rubber and directly into the balloon. He felt something he had never, ever known in all the years of thievery — absolute emptiness. 60269 took a pen from his pocket and scribbled some words onto the balloon, released it, then stepped off the curb directly into the path of the 41 Union Express.
___

Hammond Schuster knew something was off. He sensed the lack of memory. How do you put your finger on something missing when you can’t remember that something is missing? He couldn’t, and yet it bugged him — it ached, the not there/there thing. He began to search the rooms of his home for some kind of clue, something that would point him to beyond the empty cloud that had meaning with no meaning. All he found within his house were blank walls and minimal furniture. There was nothing that could give a clue to anything beyond the mundane and grey that was his life.

As he walked through the empty halls, an orange object outside the glass wall that enclosed his living room caught his attention. Given that Hammond lived some 100 miles from civilization or neighbors, it was odd to see a foreign object in the yard. He stepped outside onto the cool grass and picked up what appeared to be a deflated balloon with the words “I can’t deal with it. 4Realz” written on the rubber. As he picked it up by the attached string he began to feel a flood of memories returning. Pianos, music, voices, poetry, dreams — so many dreams — he dropped the string in a shock of knowing.

Emptiness… he couldn’t remember what he had just remembered, he just felt so horrendously empty.

Again he picked up the string, again the memories began, but they were formless, clues without a strand. He needed a map to the there place in the stratus fractus of his mind. He brought the balloon into the house and set it down on the table.

Again, empty, and wondering how a balloon got onto the table, and why it said what it said.

He shrugged and went to lie down on the sofa, deciding that he would read rather than deal with this mystery that he had no hope of solving. Besides, his brain was thickening to a greenish fog, he couldn’t even remember his name.

The book on the coffee table had no title. Hammond picked it up and rifled through the empty pages, then resting the book on his chest, he fell asleep and began to dream — a canvas appeared in front of him...he picked up a brush and began painting... from out of a fog of strokes the piano he played as a boy began to play itself and he saw himself sitting on the bench struggling through the years of lessons, choirs of voices grew to a crescendo of glory then melted away and a poet appeared with a pen and poetry began to flow and the words were sumptuous and full of passion, metaphors which faded into fractured sense as garden after garden filled the canvas — so much color — the entire world was in front of him, so many strokes...each stroke was a lifetime of dreams... a wife, or was it two... children, friends, explorations, passions and desire... oh... and the women, and the choices, he could do anything he wanted to on the canvas of his dreams — and so Hammond Schuster never woke up.

The cops found him in a sea of flies with an open book on his chest. The bright orange words on the cover read The Dreams of Hammond Schuster by 60269.
Note: The balloon really did appear on my lawn the other day so it seemed appropriate to give a story to its possible circumstance.

Finding a Focus — A Creative Midlife Crisis

2011-07-25T06:15:00.000-07:00

(Ed note: I reposted this because somehow it got tweaked in Google and was not possible to click to.)

The Glass Vortex — one of my favorite curiosities.

Something I’ve been thinking about a whole lot lately is the idea of narrowing down my creative pursuits and really mastering just one thing. I apologize in advance if this post feels like a selfish digression into my confused state of mind, please feel free to stop reading here if that bugs you, I don't mind.

I’ve been accused of being somewhat of a dilettante — burdened with some kind of creative A.D.D. is more like it. I am at the point where the many things I like to do are all demanding that I give more to them if I’m ever going to improve and master them. I’ve already retreated greatly from my creative writing, and part of the reason for that is that my job at the paper requires my efforts in editorial feature writing. Since that writing is my main source of income and often the place where I feel the frustrated pressure of meeting deadlines and being a slave to my computer, I don’t seem to have any desire left for creative writing. Obviously my blog here suffers from this neglect.

I feel a bit of a heartache that the writers and writing circle that were fostered from blogging efforts of a couple of years ago (as a friend said recently, during the “…glory days of blogging”) have continued pursuing their finally focused efforts to improve and build upon their writing skills and I am not a part of it. I don’t know how to explain this heartache, it is most certainly my choice not to be focusing there…but it brings to light part of a point that I feel whenever I fall back from a craft. I feel like I’m missing out on something important. My friendships with fellow bloggers have also fallen into a kind of limbo and I miss those relationships. So there’s heartache there.

And yet that time of glory days of blogging was also a very lonely time for me. At the time of posting daily and spending hours a day reading and commenting on everyone else’s blogs, in the offline world I was a stranger in a strange land. I knew very few people in the community outside my front door. Now the opposite is true — partially due to my work at the paper, I socialize with a large number of people right here in the hood of my small town. It’s a trade though…and a harsh reality, but I can’t be online and offline at the same time and do friendship well. I don’t believe anyone can.

A complete digression — I think it will be interesting to watch what happens to society with this online computer addiction thing. Will society completely fall apart as everyone becomes so engaged with their computers, tricking them into believing they have a social life, tricking them into believing they are making a difference politically, tricking them into believing they are getting their work out there?

Who knows? I often wonder if computers are numbing people horribly and causing them to be useless as citizens and participants in the greater culture. Whatever the greater culture is, the computer is surely harming it, despite its very obvious good points.

But back to the track here. I have to align myself with Parsifal wandering through the mists seeking the Chalice. Sometimes I think about what it must look like online, my claims to be a photographer, painter, musician, writer, bla bla bla. And I feel like it must seem like a real ego trip. That’s not it at all, believe me. I do all those things but not necessarily all of them very well. Creative A.D.D. — I seem to travel in circles, not taking any one thing all the way to the top. I know this is a part of my personality — somewhat butterflyish, seeking the various nectars that each craft has to offer — yet truthfully, perhaps delineating a deep lack of self-esteem. I know and willingly admit that I’m left in these mists with a real lack of satisfaction and a general feeling of depression for what seems like no reason.

So here I am trying to brush away the mist for a minute, realizing that I need to find the stick-to-it-tude to take a thing from hobby to an income.

Here in my offline life, I used to focus on music as a source of income. My degree is in music, I was once a real life Diva and made a nice supplemental income singing for churches, events and California Wineries. Since moving here to North Carolina, music has become my outlet. I’m playing old-timey and bluegrass music with a bunch of other music hobbyists and with no expectation of an income, I really enjoy the fun of it. Although I might teach it at some point, just for the cash — and it is so satisfying to be a part of someone else's learning, to see them get a thing.

I no longer have of the luxury of just playing around, I truly have to make whatever I choose to focus on make money for my existence. That certainly does lift the mist a little bit and give the kick in the ass a girl needs to get in gear.

So… I’ve been dabbling in painting over the last couple of years, and I’ve invented a technique for texturing and colorizing that is unique. I’m accepted at a couple of juried art shows and one of those two has expressed a keen interest in what I’m doing. These shows are my last hurrah in painting, either they will be successful and I’ll sell stuff and I’ll continue or they won’t and I’ll quit. Or at least it will be relegated to hobby status and I’ll make them for my friends since my walls have no more room. And I like to paint, it’s relaxing…Although will I be happy painting the same kind of thing all the time simply because they are popular? We’ll see… It scares me that if I do make it sell, the painting will go the route of the writing, it will be what I do for money but not for expression anymore.

Sigh…

Can I digress again for a minute? Expression is part of why I started painting (and creative writing, and music). For me, art was therapy. I painted really weird stuff and it made me feel so good to paint, a true release. But that kind of painting doesn’t sell so well. Who wants to look at dark twisted art hanging above their sofa?

And yet dark and twisted art makes me jump for joy to paint. It’s hard to explain. Yet I do enjoy the peace of painting these textured paintings, and I love to play with light. So if it does make money, I can see doing it repeatedly and that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Sigh…

And all my life I’ve dabbled in photography and I do mean dabbled. I have not learned much about this craft, and as I look online into the window of possibility, I see that in order to really get good at this lifetime passion of mine, I’m going to have to go to school. I do have a good eye, of this I’m sure, and I have a lot of fun experimenting with options, but I’m lacking the basic understanding that I need to take it to the top…

The other day a friend of mine challenged me with a choice, that if he could wave a magic wand and give me glory, fame, income all of that with just one of my hobbies, which one would it be — at the moment of asking I had to choose photography. And I certainly have been investing in this option lately, getting set up to be able to offer portrait taking.

But will it be the Chalice? I tire of Creative A.D.D. Yet the rebel in me cringes at the thought of choosing any one thing.

Sigh…

On another note, a more positive note, another highly creative friend, Stephen Parrish — who knows his focus well — wrote this book which has just reached number one in mystery sales at Amazon.com. He’s a major inspiration and a fabulous writer so go buy his book and read it because it’s awesome. (And Steve, thanks for the introspectiscope. ;-)

Where did all the words go?

2011-06-29T05:32:00.000-07:00

It’s not that my brain went silent

Seems the opposite is true

It’s not that I don’t have opinions

I have many, yet don’t have a clue.

I tire of ultra soapboxing rants

Get mired in shoulds and woulds and can’ts

What’s real flies by without a glance

As I watch the world dig itself blue.

If I turn it all off and imagine

I could wipe it all down with a glove

And surround the world in white lights

With my magical powers of love,

I’d submerge the pain of seeing

Obliterating being

Essentially fleeing

Into soft pink clouds above.

Perhaps I should take a small pill

A dose that would give me a smile

So I’d laugh off the drama around me

And pretend that I don’t taste the bile,

But then I wouldn’t see trees

That bring me to my knees

And so I’m praying, please…

Help us move beyond denial.

But praying involves belief

In what? I do not know

And hoping is a fairy tale

As rusted stories show.

What else to do but stop

Like fish from water, flop

Take sponge and then a mop

And let the water flow.

A flood, perhaps is needed

To purge the grime involved

To clean the slate and start again

Zipped up now, problem solved.

Ha, not my jurisdiction

My job’s to feel the friction

I have no inner witch-dom

To make this world evolve.

And so I’ve become silent

I watch as words go by

And feel my heart that’s breaking

While tears gone numb, run dry.

I take me to my tasks

Put on a loving mask

And hope this will not last

While clinging to the lie.

You Never Returned

2011-06-08T04:40:00.001-07:00

It's been a long time since I posted in this blog...however, I'll be returning to the place that inspired this prose-poem next week, the land of the Cherokee, the rivers of the Tuckaseegee and Natahala. It made me think of this prose poem I wrote a couple of years ago and so I thought I'd bring it up to the top.

It was there in the misty mountains where my life began and ended. You left me at dawn, promising return by nightfall. I waited for years in the meadow of songs where we had built our love on pledges of golden sun and milky starlight.

You never returned.

Only the music of the storm was my solace. Shattered by the force of time and weather, I became blind. On my knees and with fingers numb from cold, I tried to find the path before me and stumbled into the dark echoes of the woods to seek shelter. Finding comfort on a bed of hemlock, I slept next to the gray wolf who consoled me as I wailed, holding me in his paws and licking my brow.

You never returned.

Only the laughing crows and battle cries of raptors could be heard in the forest. Songbirds fled to sing their cheerful melodies in less mournful places. My tears became the creek that flowed from the great mountains into the Tuckaseegee. Beyond an eternity of hope, shards of my crystalline heart can still be found.

You never returned.

__

Dedicated to those left behind on the Trail of Tears.

Cat of Arc on Power

2011-04-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

Hi, Cat of Arc here.

Here's the thing, there's no point in harping on things that everyone knows already. As an entity from another dimension, it is clear to me that everyone actually does know the truth, they just look the other way. So why go into a big long discussion about nuclear power and how horrible it is in every way conceivable? This is obvious. The bottom line is all the plants need to be shut down now, and all nuclear things need to be disbanded and safely disposed of. (Good luck with that).

There is not a single being on Earth that doesn't know this at a cellular level. The issue of why it still occurs is the bigger nebulosity. That's due to another kind of power altogether, but I didn't come here to talk about that either, because you already know that.

No, I came to discuss another kind of power. The kind of power that you use to activate your muscles, go out into your yard and plant food and the kind of power that gives you. But see, I don't even need to tell you that because from my all knowing perspective, it is clear to me that you already know that too.

I can already hear those voices in your head complaining that it is not possible in your particular circumstance for one reason or another. Well here's my answer for that — know who your local farmers are and be their friend. Support their CSA, yes if you read my earlier posts, you'd have noticed this isn't the first time I've mentioned those letters while extolling the virtues of Community Sustained Agriculture.

Or help out at the local community garden. Find a way to be involved in the sustainable, organic and locally grown food chain. That is true power, and you know that I am right. Because I'm an entity from another dimension and can go anywhere at any time and inhabit any body— animal, bird, sealife or human, even plants, rocks and the interior of a supernova — I am always right. But I really don't care whether I'm right usually, I just want to see you evolve to know the possibilities of your potential. In my quests through time I see different possibilities, many look quite bleak. I hate to be so dire but what can I say?

Cukes, not nukes!

Cat of Arc, signing out.

PS, you really gotta get a new government, and I'm not talking about the other party. You guys are toast with your lack of ability to sway the decisions toward a pro-geosophic and human evolutionary possibility. Yeah, Earth will be here for a long long, time, that is true in all the possibilities I've seen, but you? Not in very many...but it's still your choice, for now...

Cat of Arc on Enlightenment

2011-03-28T04:49:00.000-07:00

     Ok, here’s the thing…maybe some of you remember me, I’ve been here before — I’m an entity from another dimension and I have possessed the body of the owner of this blog in order to speak. Usually she doesn’t know what happened until the article is posted and then she might remember vaguely that she was used for my purposes, but in this case I don’t think she’ll mind.
     In fact, she has barely been using this blog at all so she shouldn’t mind. The truth is she hasn’t had anything to write about lately, nothing is personally troubling or upsetting to her which is usually what inspires her poems, her various relationships are all pretty much in good standing and life’s pretty good, so she hasn’t had anything to complain about. She writes for the paper, and she has her Facebook presence for her artwork, and she keeps busy doing other things like gardening and playing music so her blog suffers. Not that a blog has feelings, it doesn’t, it really doesn’t care whether it gets posted to. All this to say that I don’t think it matters that I am now usurping it in order to do my entity thing and tell you all the truth as I see it.
     And I see the truth from a different perspective than humans — because I am an entity I have the ability to go anywhere without the burden of the time concept and I can be in many dimensions simultaneously, all of them actually. This doesn’t mean I think I’m better then a human, it’s just that I remember what you forgot…in fact a day will come when you will all realize that you have this talent as well, but for now I know I have it and I’m going to share it with you. Essentially so you have the opportunity to evolve because currently, it’s not looking good on the evolution front for the humans. Or for many of their animal companions and fellow wild creatures and other living things on Earth, which is itself living and will continue to live, but quite possibly without you.
     See, the humans are still living in the dark. And because of this they have an insatiable need for light. Humans are capable of projecting their desires onto things that look like the real thing, but are actually a false thing.
     You’ll notice that most evolutionary rhetoric has to do with the word light:
“Seek enlightenment”
“Illuminate me”
“Love and Light”
“Come to the light”
“The darkest hour is before the dawn”
“Let there be light”
etc.
     And humans are all seeking that light, and looking for it so hard that they are completely blind by how bright it actually is all the time. And so, in their infinite capacity to look right past the obvious, they misplace what light actually is for something else. Something THEY created, a construct, a made up thing, they call it a Light Bulb, and in order to keep that thing shining, giving them the illusion of light, they created something else and they called it Power and they plugged into it and that’s pretty much when they completely forgot who they are. I say they because I hate to offend YOU in case you actually remember, but I do mean YOU.
     To the humans, power is a drug. I don’t think I need to explain exactly how you are all addicted. But you are so addicted that you have forgotten how to survive on the most basic of levels. Because the Earth is a garden you know, and gardens need tending, or at least basic understanding of what is food and what isn’t. And that’s important because when you become unplugged — and you will the time is coming for that, and soon — knowing about that tending will become far more important than any light bulb or plug in options.
     Yes, it’s ironic that I am usurping a plug in option right now in order to say what I have to say, laughably ironic, no doubt, but that’s the great thing, we entities can take what went wrong and use it for good, and all of you humans can do that too. You can use what you have now in order to prepare for what will be, and I strongly caution you to do that now, while you still can.
     I’ll leave you with those thoughts for now, but I will be back. Back to talk about specifics, I realize this article was a tad general and perhaps vague, but rather than bombard you with my opinion on how things should and shouldn’t be, I wanted to give you an opportunity to think about your own addictions, and why the humans have fallen to a level of complete complacency about this very dire situation. And what are you going to do about it? Think about it…I’ll be back.
Signing off,
Cat of Arc

Wedding Day

2011-02-13T07:35:00.000-08:00

Self Portrait - Wedding Day Valentine's Day 1980

A nervous smile paints her face

Her hand grabs the folds

Of satin and lace

Dreams

Of unicorns and white steeds

How much you thought you knew

Once upon a time

Dusted, rusted and yellowed

A photo in a box

Claire Claire Claire de lune

Riddle

2011-01-31T05:33:00.000-08:00

Deep in the cave

In the hollow empty places

Stagnant air caresses the skin,

A thousand velvet tongues.

How long have …

It doesn’t matter, can’t remember.

Hands mingle with a shape

A box … a secret … rusted shut,

A key … washed away

Sometime long, long ago

In a tide of floods passed?

There is a path, a way out

But once this room is abandoned,

The secret may be lost forever

Is it worth it to stay

When tongues turn to flame?

Listen

2010-12-14T06:03:00.000-08:00

Oh Listen to the cold wind howl

Through canyons of your shredded heart

Where branches rip the tangled soul

And lay you naked, bare

As wolves devour you whole inside

Just listen to the echoes there

(She’s gone, … gone) through canyons, wide

Submerged in silent grief

Where kindness kisses drip like tears

lift frozen wings on tufts of air

through inner walls that hold up mirrors

Tears flow from you to me

Yes wings, as Virgil’s guiding hand

Will keep you on the path through hell

Where labyrinths are sinking sands

And eyes, averted, blind you

But there, where tears and soul combine

The maze's path reveals a light

As river flows join ocean wine

You stand upon the edge

Oh listen to the ebb and tide

As ever passing winds subside

You watch the tears beside your guide

Where grief flows to the sea

Oh, be the tide, and be the wind

The blind, the guide, the tears, the slain,

Yes, be the kindness and the sin

On melted wings, fly free.

Wachet Auf

2010-11-18T04:48:00.000-08:00

Breathe with me now and then awaken

(...)

Repeat:

There are no gods, there are only metaphors

(There are no gods, there are only metaphors)

Stories of adventures of gods on earth are metaphors

(Stories of adventures of gods on earth are metaphors)

Fairy Tales are metaphors

(Fairy Tales are metaphors)

There are no soul mates, there are only compatible or incompatible significant others

(There are no soul mates, there are only compatible or incompatible significant others)

The soul mate idea is a Fairy Tale

(The soul mate idea is a Fairy Tale)

True love is an earned state after a long period of trial and interaction

(True love is an earned state after a long period of trial and interaction)

Riding off into the sunset is a Fairy Tale

(Riding off into the sunset is a Fairy Tale)

No one will save you except you

(No one will save me except me)

Compassion and kindness are human qualities to nurture

(Compassion and kindness are human qualities to nurture)

Established personal boundaries are to be respected

(Established personal boundaries are to be respected)

Listen and observe rather than push forward an agenda

(Listen and observe rather than push forward an agenda)

It is not kind or compassionate to disrespect established personal boundaries

(But…)

No buts, you simply can not force love, friendship, religion or belief upon anyone

(But then I’ll be spiritually bereft and will have nothing to hang on to)

Belief in Fairy Tales and Illusions tends to end badly

(But it’s all I have to sustain me!)

Try this, fall in love with Earth, seasons, the mystery of coincidence, earn romantic love with another through long periods of trial and interactions, listen, connect face to face with neighbors, witness whatever you can witness and without judgement, all this is happening now with no illusions, breathe and tap into that, reality is enough, now breathe and awaken.

(…)

Stalkers and Why They Suck

2010-11-14T08:21:00.000-08:00

Since this is my resurrected writing blog and I haven’t really advertised it yet, that I’m doing this, I’d like to discuss something that makes me very uncomfortable; stalking.Yes folks, it’s a rant. I’m writing this up for two reasons, one, for the record, and two, I’m curious how you would deal with such an annoying and unwelcome situation. My desperate stalker has resurfaced and refuses to stop making attempts via email to communicate with me and to continue to suggest that “we be friends”. Some background, I dated him in the late 90s for a few months until it was evident that he was not someone I wanted to be dating, and so I stopped. That was when the stalking started. He wrote to me many times a day at first, so I had his email blocked. That’s when he started writing from different email addresses. Every time I’d block one, he’d make a new one. And then I changed my email, but he did a ‘whois’ search and discovered my new one. Every email uses my name as the subject heading. One day after deciding that I wasn’t reading his letters, since I wasn’t responding to them, he sent some 60 odd emails with the letter typed into the subject headings. At this point I contacted the police, and an officer came over and gave him a call and asked him not to bug me anymore, that I didn’t want further contact with him. The officer told me that without some kind of threat of violence in the emails, there was nothing that could really be done. It was just an annoyance and I’d have to learn to deal with it unless I got a restraining order. The officer also warned that restraining orders can have untoward effects by potentially causing him to become enraged and violent, so advised I be very careful before I decided to go that route. (Once when being interviewed as a juror for a stalking case, I was chided by a judge for not getting that restraining order. I didn’t get selected due to obvious bias against stalking…).

The officer’s call had no effect on his behavior, he continued to pursue me via email. When I got back together with a former boyfriend a few months down the line, my very alpha boyfriend wrote to him and tried to use common sense and reasoning (intermingled with a ‘she’s mine’ attitude) to get him to stop bugging me. That worked for a while, I think it helped that stalker-dude knew I was with someone else and no longer available. However, that only lasted for a year or so and after that, I have continued to get letters from him a couple of times a year every year since, and it is now 11 years. It tapered off for a while, but after I started keeping a blog, he started writing again, speaking on points he'd read about in my blog. He wrote to me last year, pleading for friendship, saying how much he missed me, etc. and you may recall that I called him out on my blog and clearly restated my boundaries in public for all the world to see. Many of you spoke to him via the comment section, and I thank you for supporting me there. He saw it, wrote me a letter saying my post was ‘creepy’ and ‘goodbye’. Since then, he wrote again a few months ago, again pleading for friendship and speaking idealistically. I didn’t answer that one.

He wrote to me again last week, again pleading for friendship. I wrote him back this time, again restating my boundaries. He again wrote back and called me an asshole. He also stated, ‘I know more about you than you would feel comfortable discussing.’ I wrote him again and stated that since our interactions — when I choose to interact — always end up in him calling me names, why can’t he just have mercy on both of us and leave me alone forever! He wrote back and said he didn’t read my email. I left it at that, and now I’m writing this on my blog. I’ve saved all the emails since 2007 as evidence should it come to that.

The thing is, if you Google how to handle cyberstalkers, you will get a long list of how to get your information offline from every possible place. The problem is, if you have a website, your information is public via a ‘whois’ search. He knows this trick well, I learned that 11 years ago. I have a very public online persona, and I simply can’t afford to be offline as a businesswoman. The internet is a powerful marketing tool, and I want people who are interested in my art or writing to be able to find me, which means the stalker can find me, and that is really a problem. The laws about what to do about the stalkers themselves, those are horribly out of date. This Internet universe is still relatively new, and it takes a long long time for laws to be made and enforced. Especially laws that cross state lines. But no one should have to put up with this kind of harassment from anyone! And yet this kind of harassment exists, and it leaves the victims feeling helpless, violated, and a very unpleasant shroud of fear to interact normally with people. That fear extends beyond the internet, as I gotta tell you from experience folks. Although I do think I handle it pretty well, I notice the tendrils of mistrust that worm their way into my life as a result of this harasser’s very unwelcome attempts to communicate. There is the option of a civil suit, but frankly I don’t have time or money to engage in a civil suit. Nor do I want the ‘opportunity’ to have to be anywhere at all near this guy. All I really want is for the whole thing to just go away. There are reasons for good clear boundaries, and anyone who violates a clear boundary that you have made, the circle of protection that you have placed around yourself, is essentially committing a crime of the spirit.

Catvibe's Writing Place Resurrected With New Name

2010-11-09T13:04:00.000-08:00

Well friends, I am resurrecting this blog as a place to dump all my word combinations. It just wasn't working for me to write freely as I wanted to over at the other place, so I made that other site strictly an art site, and this is where I'll write stuff. Capeesh? I don't have anything to write at the moment, but at least I have the home. Those who have been here in the past may have noticed I changed the name of the blog. The last name was created in anticipation of my travels in 2007, and that's just not happening these days. This name is inspired by a T-shirt I have which is a cat sitting in front of his catbox, with his little piles of poo all neatly arranged and the sand perfectly raked into little hills. The cation is 'zencat'. It's just, just so...well you know, perfect.

See you soon with something better than this to read. I promise.

A New Blog for a Different Time

2009-11-30T16:18:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends, this is my last post at Witnessing a World of People and Places. This blog has been a rich and amazing experience, and although I set it up initially to keep my family and friends informed of my travels, it has become something far richer. However, I'm not traveling much these days, in fact I'm lucky if I make it out of my house, so the title doesn't really fit anymore. Now, I've begun a new business as an artist, and I wanted to make my blog fit my life as it is now, so I've moved. Please come to my new house, I can't wait to see you and serve you up some eye candy for the soul! I will be updating all of your links onto my page in the next couple of days. Yes, I know Sarah's blog is on there now. She's been giving me the visual A-OK! Nothing like having a little help from your friends!

Please update your links to www.catvibe.net/blog.

Love to all,
Cat

Headless Buddha gets selected for show!

2009-11-06T06:33:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends, I am very excited to announced that my Headless Buddha with Blue Moon and Orchid was selected by a juror to be in a very intimate and competitive art show at Grace Community Church in Mills River, NC. It's the first time my art has ever been in a show, and I'm so excited and honored to have my work selected. The opening is Saturday night from 7:30 to 9:30 and is open to the public.

I am taking a blogging haitus for the remainder of November. I'm writing a novel as a participant in the NaNoWriMo.org annual writer's contest. The only way to win is to get to 50,000 words by the end of the month. I'm a few days in and at 9300 words, so I'm plodding along.

In addition, I'm also taking a class and learning how to use Wordpress software to have an online store for my prints. I intend to have this up and running by the beginning of December. I am taking pre-orders for the above Headless Buddha prints. If you are interested in ordering one or more of these prints, which look beautiful when printed on textured fine art paper, please email me at cat@catvibe.com. I will also be offering others, but I haven't tested the printability of all of them yet. Do let me know if you have interest in any other images on my blog, and I will test and see how well they print. For instance, the Headless Buddha and New Moon doesn't print so well. Calibration is key! I'm working out the kinks.

In any case, I am so grateful for all of your ongoing support. You must know how much each and every one of you mean to me. I cyberhug you now. Did you feel it?

Three Graces hold an Autumn Ball

2009-10-28T12:40:00.001-07:00

Three Graces hold an Autumn Ball
Oil on Canvas

Wear your finest gold
Winter is tomorrow's game
Today, we shall dance!

Three Graces Under a Zebra Sky

2009-10-23T05:20:00.001-07:00

Three Graces Under a Zebra Sky
Watercolor

Yes friends, there is more to life than Headless Buddhas. A person can't stare at stillness forever! I have been a very busy bee lately. In addition to taking classes in InDesign and Wordpress and Dreamweaver, etc. I've also embarked on a process to learn the business of becoming a professional artist. I can't tell you how happy I am to sit down to paint with the knowledge that I am doing my job! So, I thank you again for your patience, my blogging friends are getting short shrifted as my schedule fills up, but I want you to know that you all have been SUCH an inspiration. Your support over this last year has been what has gotten me through a very difficult and introspective journey allowing me to come to this point. You people are just awesome and it is a blessing to know you.

The above painting is my view across the street. Those who have been following my blog for a while may remember The Three Graces, my beloved trees.

Gaze of Fire Woman

2009-10-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Gaze of Fire Woman
From Headless Buddha Series
Digitally Altered Watercolor

She stares at the stillness as her dreams fall away into the clouds of desert sand and pools of darkness somehow connect the colors of its countries rendering death and forever into a complex tapestry that she lives purging all perceived self definitions into the fire of wholly sacrificing every scrap from past destinations and stepping off the cliffs of nothing into love invisible and omnipresent reality.

Note: Nod to ee cummings; 'the colors of its countries rendering death and forever' borrowed from Somewhere I have Never Traveled

Fall Away

2009-10-13T06:52:00.001-07:00

Headless Buddha with Birthday Orchid
Digitally altered watercolor

If only I were a statue
I would sit all day and watch the clouds
Until my head fell away.
Then, still, I would sit
With my hand in my lap
Knowing it is not me
That makes the orchid grow.
The water flows so perfectly
While I am still.

A Moonlight Sonnet

2009-10-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

Moonlight on River
Oil on Canvas

If we could have a moment spent alone

Where I could whisper soft into your ear

Of forces that it seems we both have known

And yet can never speak of these, for fear

That speaking thus will cause the river’s edge

To overflow with secrets best submerged

The voicing of such thoughts would cause a wedge

A confluence of unity diverged

The loves we’ve wed would shatter with my voice

As if my whisper were to be a shout

And they would be the victims of our choice

The pain of this we can not bring about.

Oh waters, wash me clean of this despair

Let me not, of you, presume to care.

A note: This is not autobiographical, but is dedicated to a friend. Also, I apologize again for not being out there blogging so much. I'm really trying to focus on painting, and I can't paint and be on the computer at the same time. I have to admit that painting has kind of taken over my life, and I'm really grateful for the consumption!

Beauty from the Dust

2009-09-29T14:51:00.001-07:00

We crumble, we can not help this
Our dreams, thoughts and loves will all fade in time,
As beauty grows from the dust.

Blue Moon with Buddha and Orchid
From Headless Buddha series
Digitally altered watercolor collage

Reality

2009-09-24T06:13:00.001-07:00

Reality
From Headless Buddha series
Watercolor on paper

Dear friends, I will turn 49 on Saturday. That's 7 squared, somehow that seems important for some esoteric reason of which I am clueless. For my birthday, please gift me with a short poem in the comment section that describes how this image relates to reality in your mind.

I am so very grateful for the many connections I've made over the last year via blogging and Facebook. It's a strange place, this internet, but it has truly been amazing. I look forward to another year!

(Added 9/26)Thank you for these poems my dear friends. They are wonderful, and you are all precious.

Emergent

Emergent be your heart and soul
The splendor of each moment's toll
The knowing grace of love now known
In joyous beauty ever shown
Your gift of life, a birth sublime
Celebrated now in your year 49.
--Rose Marie Raccioppi

Above It All

The effervescence of our life unfolds in loving attitudes
We witness blessings far and near
amid a world of war torn strife
Our love for nature carries us to places high above the sky
Peace carries us amid the clouds we're lifted up, away we fly.
--Kathryn A. Curry

broken in the hole I dug for you
yellow on black
yellow for roots
but I will not sprinkle the dirt
or stomp down mud
reeking between my toes
take the little piece of sun
a fish for maize
I know my place
in the shade
--Jason Evans

Timeless echos near and far..
reaching out to stir the quiet unrest, becoming light and leaning
before our eager minds.

Only a concept that is time
Count the lifetime.. 49
--Mark

IMAGES OF REALITY

Lightening breaks the define
between the blue black seas
and the sun opening sky.
Witnessing with
attached detachment
of all that sails
within the sight
unseen with mere eyes.

I am yet bound by sight
to know the color
that forms the shapes
the shapes the images
the images the idea
and the idea the reason.
--The Walking Man

Sweet age dissolves the mind,
awareness
flows forth from the cerebral cave of inexperience and youth,
connecting through the ethereal,
assembled with the whole, experiencing
the self beyond physical form.
Peace in that there can never be death as we are confident in our legacy,
admit our imperfections
and grow with our thoughts in others.
For this is life, where chronology, at first a foe,
becomes friend. May the journey
be longer, much longer,
and when time beckons us to rest, so it shall be.
--Minister of the Masochistic Truth

Diverted into dreams
of naked illusions
floating in fragile bubbles
of golden stardust
bathing in sugar-coated
cotton candy sweetness
until reality strikes back
with it's icy hand
demanding it's rightful presence
in our headless minds
--Margaret

I'm not sure how
the bones fit together
so seamlessly along my spine
that year, rising and falling
like the swells in the Pacific.

But age did not determine
the...experience my ligaments
entertained holding me together
--Jill Zimmerman

Head in the clouds
Mind blown
Call it what you will
I call it reality
--Claudia Larson

Anger does not stick
to purple ashes rained on
and silent, sepia bones
drained of all lightning

Reality is a static song
filled with seconds
that cannot sustain themselves
and structures that fall
like hearts once did

Despair it
Or not

It does not care
--Sarah Hina

The egg split, transient
as a golden bubble blown
by a downy--headed child
with a wand and tube
of birthday soap.

The egg split, and out
came the sky, birthed
new and gleaming,
dreaming
of a chaos of feathered
wings and the patter
of triumphant storm.

--Rachel Westfall

Reality

Sun lights window on the heart
Etches a gold leaf on the breast

Bruised butterfly wings splay open
A thumb pokes upward behind a painted foot

A lazy alligator smiles, gazing contentedly
As the shadow of a unicorn softly shifts shape

Among blue crystals that
Fracture and float free

Act of violence carves rivulets of pain, prompting
The soul’s flight across a sky of islands aloft with grace

--A very dear friend who wishes to remain anonymous

Reality comes, goes.
Is coloured, is colourless.

There is dark
there is light

there is you
there is me

there is Buddha
in all his glory...

it's all a gift
the pain and the beauty

and you are Beauty!

-- Calli

a piece of her here
a piece of her there
love oh love she does
both one and the other
blinded by grace
to hurt no one
how long will her heart
be torn thus
one way
and the other
when will she find joy
in greaving one
and loving the other

-- Jorc

I wish I had wished you,
If not before, then just in time.
I wish I had written for you
The sweetest of rhymes.

But reality can suck,
And I cant turn back time
Though if I could, I'd write a few lines
To thank you, praise you and bring you a smile

You have been a great inspiration
And such a sweet friend
Even close to the naughty fifty
You set the latest trends.

You've gifted us with many
Haiku, sonnets and proses
Also, your with the brush,
Beats anyday, a bunch of roses.

So forgive me, my friend
for I am late to thank
I cross my heart and swear
I've been totally frank

You most certainly are
You are a treasured one
Looking forward to your next 50
And hell loads of fun!

--Aniket

somehow this year
i forgot to think
about all the quiet
violets that crush
under my stinging tears
and forgot to see all
the shapeless birds
building nests of words
in trees of hope in
branches of faith
in a darkness that
bleeds to purple

-- K. Lawson Gilbert

Bounded by flesh
Yet not limited
Not even by the stars
Your soul soars

-- Vesper

This abstract of reality
Speaks volume from a space empty
in shades of yellow and blue
depict life's black and white hue
the lightening, awaken the truth
bringing wisdom with age to earth
know that you are blessed with age
as you see life's truth like a sage!

Swapnap

There are some more sweet sentiments in the comments, but they felt more personally directed so I left them in the comments. I thank you all for your lovely sentiments, and I am floored by all the wonderful interpretations on the painting. They mean more to me than you can know! Thank you so much for participating!

Duality

2009-09-20T11:28:00.001-07:00

She wore two faces
Her hair, spun in liquid gold
Tangled in dream threads

Duality

Digitally altered watercolor

Buddha in the Blue

2009-09-18T08:59:00.001-07:00

Buddha and New Moon
Watercolor and Digital Collage

This image is a collage of two watercolor paintings that I altered and combined. The Buddha was inspired by the countless headless Buddhas that I saw while traveling in Thailand. Asian relics such as heads have been pillaged illegally throughout the last few hundred years in order to serve the desires of collectors and so on. I'm starting a painting series of headless Buddhas.

I greatly apologize not coming to your blog recently. I've been a little headless myself as of late. I'm feeling kind of overwhelmed by this health care fight, and am putting so much emotion into it that it is starting to make me crazy. What a vortex of insanity. Painting has been a wonderful way to escape news, computers, reality, whatever. Anyway, I will be around to your blogs very soon and I thank you for your continued visits to mine.

Oh, I can't seem to think of a poem to go with the image, so please feel free to create one yourself in the comments!

An Angel for Annie

2009-09-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

On her wedding day
Annie sat with the angels,
Her toe dipped in tears.

In memory of Annie Le, a Yale Student who was to be married on Sunday September 13th. Instead of a wedding on that day, Annie's senseless murder was confirmed. With deepest condolences to her family, fiance and friends, your pool of tears is felt by the world.

An Angel for Annie
Digitally Altered Watercolor

Faeries, Facebook and Health Care

2009-09-06T08:57:00.001-07:00

When the night descends
And faeries light their fires
Magic springs aglow

Glowing Stream
Digitally altered photo

Horse and Llama
Digitally altered photo

"What do you think that meant?"

"I don't know, probably something political."

"Oh yeah, most likely."

"Have you seen the woman lately?"

"No, not sure where she is these days."

"Probably on Facebook."

"Either that or painting."

"I heard she's pissing her blogger friends off because she hasn't been blogging much lately."

"Whatever. She came over here the other day when you were off at the barn and started talking to me about health care."

"Really? But you're a llama!"

"And you're a horse, what's your problem? Anyway, we llamas are often sought out by the humans. You know, for our legendary wisdom."

"That's kind of ridiculous."

"Thanks, thanks a lot. Anyway, she was telling me about this status update that went viral on Facebook the other day. She was kind of excited about it because everyone was posting it. She said it even spread to Twitter."

"What did it say?"

"No one should die because they cannot afford health care, and nobody should go broke because they get sick. If you agree, please post this as your status for the rest of the day."

"And it actually went viral?"

"Totally. First time that ever happened according to her. I'm surprised there isn't more news about it. But you know the media. If there's no yelling and screaming it likely won't get much press."

"Maybe humans really do care!"

"Well, being a llama, I told her to keep calling and writing her representatives in Washington to demand a public option. I mean, let's be real here!"

Shards of Moon

2009-08-29T07:35:00.000-07:00

Where shards of moon spill
Over night dreams gone astray,
Echoes sing your name.
____

Full Moon on Night Pond

Oil on canvas (3' x 5')

Dedicated to the memory of Senator Teddy Kennedy
"Health Care is a right, not a privilege"

Art and Organisms:Cat of Arc in the kitchen

2009-08-23T07:24:00.001-07:00

Hello everyone, this is Cat of Arc. Yes, I'm still here and very much in possession of Cat's blog and her body. She really doesn't like to give up her blog for me, but I'm the one with the swords.

On the health care thing? Oh, yes, I am still very much working in this dimension to talk to people about what is going on out there, and the general consensus is that everyone is extremely confused and very pissed off. People on all sides of the coin have gone completely bonkers and the vision that is supposed to stand as the fulcrum is being tested with a force stronger than a Cat 5 storm. I can still see the vision however, and plead with you not to give up hope, and to keep talking to people from all sides. Listen to each other! Calling each other names is simply not going to leave room for open communication! And please folks, leave your guns at home, will ya? You may claim that your gun is your second amendment right and that's why you're carrying that semiautomatic weapon on your belt at the town hall meeting. However, you and I both know that you are just trying to intimidate and bully. A gun at a meeting about health care is, simply put, off topic.

Alright now, please take a deep breath and cool down for a bit while we look at some images:

Morning On the Dream Field
Digitally Altered Photo

The Llama's Refuge
Oil on Canvas

Ok, break over. Here's the thing, one of the big concerns I have over the health care system, is how completely inadequate it is to help people learn to actually keep themselves healthy. People don't do it, they just eat what they want to eat even if it will kill them. On NPR there was a radio program on Talk of the Nation a few days ago, on the subject of health care. There was a call in guy who claimed to be a Libertarian. He was strongly of the opinion that before people depend on a government system for their health care, they need to take care of themselves. People need to claim personal responsibility. Although I DO think we need a government health care option (that is a choice and not forced upon one) I actually agree with him about health. I think people should stay healthy, and frankly, I think we've forgotten how because we made the silly mistake of letting the 'free market' determine how we eat. The industry panders to the lazy in us. I also think people should eat local produce because it makes sense to eat food that is grown down the road. However, that makes eating vegetables a very difficult thing to do in the winter when food isn't to be found growing down the road that is covered in 4 feet of snow.

That is, unless you managed to save some of that summer bounty somehow.

Before I moved here to Asheville, I was visiting a friend and we went to see a traveling puppet show that was coming through town. The show had some anti-government messages, one of which I found to be truly delightful, "The Government won't set you free. Chores will set you free!" Now, about having the choice between government health care and private insurance, you bet I want that choice. And I'll sign right up for the public option, and then try hard as heck not to ever use it. To that end, I have taken on the chore of preserving my locally grown organic veggies, grown by my friends at a local CSA (Community Supported Ag), by lactic acid fermention. A process using salt and water, which not only preserves the qualities of the raw vegetables, but it turns out the organisms that congregate as a result of the process are gonna save your life! They eat all the bad stuff inside you and leave you only with good stuff. That way you won't have to be a burden on that government health care system that we are asking for, no, demanding. So in this way, you could say I am 'pro-life', or 'pro-microbe life' otherwise known as 'pro-biotics'. I'm sure you've heard the term? Preserving vegetables in this way, means you don't have to take pro-biotic supplements.

So I came up with the motto "No Vegetable Left Behind", (which I happen to think is terribly original), and now I have got several months worth of dinner breeding in my basement. It was hard work (only because of the sheer amount of veggies), but think how much is saved in money and time down the line! It's an investment in your very near term future! I'm not going to tell you how to do the brining process itself, but will recommend two books at the bottom of this post if you want to learn how to do this incredibly simple and safe and healthy way to preserve raw food, using practices that go way back to Genghis Kahn. Think Sauerkraut, think KimChi. Think easy, healthy, sustainable, and delicious.

And now it's time for some more images. The first one below is a picture of a fermenting jar, that I played with in Photoshop, keeping the vegetables as my inspiration. The second is the counter where the magic took place. Cat may get some time to play on her blog soon. I'm just wondering who is going to be the big cheese that will take it upon themselves to organize an 'All Organisms Deserve Health Care' march on Washington? (Said in jest, meant with all my heart.)

March to the Fermenting Pot
Digitally Altered Photo

Fermentation Station
Digitally Altered Photo

Books on fermentation:
Wild Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz

Making Sauerkraut by Klaus Kaufmann.

The Vision of Cat of Arc

2009-08-11T05:26:00.001-07:00

Announcement: The person who normally writes on this blog has had her body possessed by an entity known as Cat of Arc. Usually this entity resides in some other dimension, but occasionally is activated when lies and distortions in the world become so outrageous that something must be said. Cat of Arc is a crusader who has visions and very very lofty ideals. Cat the poet/photographer/artist et al, tried unsuccessfully to keep her off this blog, preferring not to make her blog political, but the entity has usurped it in order to communicate her vision in the broadest way possible.

Without any further ado, meet Cat of Arc, the digitial crusader:

Hello to you all. I thank you for allowing this momentary intrusion unto the sanctity of this sacred space. I promise to state my case, and then to return Cat and her blog to their rightful place in the world of the arts.

At the moment, in this country of the USA, there is a war brewing on the subject of Health Care. You may remember a few posts back, Cat the poet had a dream and posted it in the form of a poem. I gave her that dream, and I am here to translate that dream for you now.

The Bridge

By Catherine Vibert

Translation

By Cat of Arc

I stood at the sea,

Looking skyward at bridges,

Unfinished, empty

Translation: The bridges are the attempts made for the last century to initiate universal health care in this country.

No permit issued

To put supports in the sand,

They rusted away

Translation: All attempts made in the past failed.

Sand backfilled the holes,

Somehow this is a good thing,

A new day, fresh start

Translation: Sand is unstable, the fact that it has filled in the places where support once was is good because it shows the world that support is needed. The un-stability of the free market is not fulfilling the needs of the masses. Is there a critical mass to prove the need for support? It may be so…

Strung above me now

An engineering wonder

Has started anew

Translation: A new attempt which includes our capitalist system AND a public option, something that has never been tried. An attempt is being made to include everybody and offer the people choices.

How far must I dig

Beneath the unstable sands

To find bedrock?

Translation: The will to get this done is the bedrock. The lies and distortions are the unstable sands. At the current moment of writing this, I am seeing stronger currents of un-stability, and the bedrock feels farther down than I can sense.

How strong are the strands?

Cars might fall into the sea!

Paralyzing fears

Translation: These are the fears of the masses. They are fears that are being preyed upon by the same capitalist powers that have stopped all the attempts in the past. There is no goodness in what these powers are doing. They are distorting truth and saying outright lies to activate and manipulate the masses that would be fooled into fighting for their cause of greed. It is the purest form of evil and many people are being pulled into this vortex of falsehood.

Before I build it

I kneel down and pray to You,

Help me find the rock!

Translation: YOU, that’s right, YOU, the one whose eyes are passing by these words. I pray to you in the name of all that is good to take this month to become an active thorn in the side of your congress representatives and senators. One crazy visionary can’t do it alone. She needs an army of righteousness by her side.

I see the city

Shining there across the sea,

And now I must build.

Translation: Health Care Reform with a strong public option. Call your representative and your senators and go to your local town hall meeting to declare your support. We can get this done!

Go forth my fellow crusaders, and fight for what is right and good.

See these websites to arm yourselves with the actual facts:

www.whitehouse.gov/realitycheck/

and a purportedly unbiased site:

www.factcheck.org

I appreciate you allowing me this forum to communicate my vision. I will now return this blog to its rightful owner.

----

(Logo design and artwork by Arthur Vibert)

(Cat the poet/photographer, etc etc, will return soon to resume her normal programming.)

You Never Returned

2009-07-31T06:40:00.001-07:00

A Hummingbird Moth on a Phloxy Day

2009-07-25T07:33:00.000-07:00

The Hummingbird Moth considers its plan of action.

Sticking its long tongue into a phlox flower, it discovers a pleasant nectar and slurps it up.

"This is tasty," said the moth. "I like it, I want some more."

The moth flies over the flowers and with eagle eye vision, looks for the mother lode.

Ah...sweet satisfaction is found in the smallest of things.

Dinner

2009-07-24T07:46:00.001-07:00

Trying to grow legs?
Perhaps you thought you could leave...
Silly Relleno

Things Upon My Altar

2009-07-16T06:55:00.001-07:00

Trinkets from my former days
Collected through the years
Remind me of the friends I’ve known
The laughter and the tears

Elephants for wisdom
My wise grandma gave to me
Silver relics from Tibet
Remind of tyranny

Kwan Yin for compassion
Yin and Yang are hard to be
Somehow balance comes askew
When life’s in front of me

Orchids then for Beauty’s grace
Around me every day
In every single thing I see
Her magic light will play

The cloth once wrapped the head of she
Who made the thing by hand
Dyed and blocked in fruits she grew
In India’s native land

The whole thing sits upon a frame
An instrument to play
The harpsichord my father built
In distant younger days

I’ve many altars through the house
I pass throughout the day
My heart and soul, my family
For whom I love and pray

And I, romantic soul I am
With reminiscent mind
Am wrapped in love from all of them
Who treated me so kind

***

Hi folks, I'm still on a break because my kids are visiting and I'm still deeply steeped in Jason's contest. I hope you enjoy this sentimental tribute to my family and friends. It's not quite the dark and mysterious poetry I usually write, and I'm not apologizing by any means! But I'm just feeling the love and wanted to share. I hope you are all enjoying summer.

Joan's Debut at The Met

2009-07-09T12:52:00.001-07:00

I am taking a break from blogging for most of July, except to participate in Jason Evan's flash fiction contest over at Clarity of Night: In Vino Veritas, (Truth in Wine). For your enjoyment, here is my entry:

Joan's Debut at The Met

“Sing it again,” the master instructed. “Control your vibrato.”

Joan put her hand on the Steinway and tightened the muscles in her back.

“Ah ah ah ah aaaah,” her voice rang up the scale. Sustaining the high note, the tone vibrated her head.

A crack chimed. Her goblet shattered. Wine spilled into the silver tray beneath.

“You are ready for the stage, Diva,” the master grinned.

Joan glowed.

*

Walking toward the subway, Joan dreamed an aria as she passed the Lincoln Center.

“Brava!” the Chagalls applauded from behind the glass, luminous in the empty night.

Joan curtsied to the murals. Raising her head, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Your money and your jewelry,” the thief demanded.

Her heart pounded. She tried to scream but no sound came.

The thief rammed the gun into Joan’s ribs. Her back muscles tightened. She opened her mouth, emitting a high note. The thief stepped back in surprise. The note grew stronger, Joan’s body vibrating with the pitch. The thief dropped his gun and fell to his knees, clawing his head. Her voice rose to a crescendo. Windows shattered throughout the center, shards dropping to the courtyard below. She gasped abruptly. Alarms sounded. The thief lay unconscious. Blood dripped from his ears.

Joan’s muscles were taut piano strings. Hearing footsteps approach, she whirled toward the sound. A policeman. Her shoulders dropped in relief.

“Are you alright ma’am?” the officer inquired.

“I could use a glass of wine,” she whispered.

The Messenger

2009-07-01T09:20:00.001-07:00

Often I find myself wondering, damn, why can't we talk to them, why can't we make them listen! There is something wrong with the way things are; the way the rain falls all at once, the urgent feel of the wind, the pounding heat from the sun.

Something about that woman across the road is different. I think maybe she can hear me. I'm just going to sit here staring at her day after day, for weeks, even months, until she gets the message. I have to make her understand that only because she has speech and is not confined to the field, she has the power to change things.

What I wouldn't give for power like that...

Liturgy

2009-06-29T07:27:00.001-07:00

In the wind they heard
The three graces chanting soft
A summer None song

Times 4

2009-06-26T11:46:00.000-07:00

Vesper tagged me and so I'll cooperate, but in order not to perpetuate this any further than it already has to be, I'm not tagging you! But feel free to just do it if you want to. No strings attached.

Four Movies You Can See Over and Over

Zefferelli's Romeo and Juliet
The Wizard of Oz
Jesus Christ Superstar (please stop laughing, it was imprinted on me when I was 12, I can't help it!)
Passion in the Desert (it's about a man and a leopard and their cross species love)

Four Places You Have Lived

San Francisco Bay Area, CA
Greater San Diego, CA
Santa Cruz, CA
Asheville, NC

Four TV Shows You Love(d) to Watch

American Idol
Ugly Betty
Gray's Anatomy
Six Feet Under

Four Places You Have Been on a Vacation

Europe
Thailand
India
Nepal

Four of your favorite foods

Berries off the vine
Peas in the pod, off the vine
Grilled salmon
Maple syrup

Four Websites You Visit Daily

Facebook
Google
Amazon
As many blogs as I can

Four Places You Would Rather Be
(Sorry Vesper, for ripping you off here, but these top three are also true for me)

The seaside
Manhattan
At home, writing
Swimming in a fresh clear lake

Four Things You Hope to Do Before You Die

Successfully write and publish a novel
Live abroad
Have a wonderful love affair that works well and nourishes us both
See the USA successfully adopt a compassionate system of National Health Care

Four Novels You Wish You Were Reading for the First Time

My own yet to be written novel
My blogging friends' soon to be released novels
Anything not read yet, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht (due out in 2010, the short story in The New Yorker a few weeks ago was awesome, yes, once again it relates to cats).

A Bridge

2009-06-22T06:36:00.001-07:00

I stood at the sea,
Looking skyward at bridges,
Unfinished, empty

No permit issued
To put supports in the sand,
They rusted away

Sand backfilled the holes,
Somehow this is a good thing,
A new day, fresh start

Strung above me now
An engineering wonder
Has started anew

How far must I dig
Beneath the unstable sands
To find bedrock?

How strong are the strands?
Cars might fall into the sea!
Paralyzing fears

Before I build it
I kneel down and pray to You,
Help me find the rock!

I see the city
Shining there across the sea,
And now I must build.

This Senryu cycle was inspired by a dream I had last night.

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T07:44:00.001-07:00

One day I argued
Culture isn't dead at home!
Then you showed me this.

Happy Father's day Pappy du bois

Paper Candy

2009-06-16T06:33:00.001-07:00

Spring rolls into summer
On thunderheads that wear your face

You appear,
Wrapped in paper candy,
A ray of opiate dreams in distant lands

I long,
To touch your skin

I cry,
Torrents, as the rain cries,
Washing a promise of you
Into yesterday

A War of Thoughts

2009-06-12T04:12:00.001-07:00

On the battlefield
Neutron explosions
Of planted mines
In neuron tunnels
Leave gaping holes
Where roses and lilies
Once grew, and thrived.
Alas, even icy waters
Of a glacier stream
Will not cool the fire.

A Song from the Sea

2009-06-08T04:54:00.001-07:00

On the shore,
I stared, facing west
As you erased the sand
Away from under my heals
And I lost my balance
Falling backwards
To the ground

I jumped rope
With seaweed grass
You spat out to dry upon
The shore, and yelled, yee hah!
Whipping and whirling the strand
Snapping in the air, it wrapped
My ankle, black and blue
Bruised, I fell, laughing,
Your mouth cooled

For an eternity
You came and went
Raging against the rocks
Sending your frothing spittle
High into the air, mist covering
My face, I smiled as the sun
Burned colors in clouds
Pink, orange, golden
Sunk away now

I’d take you
Willingly watch your
Rages, comings and goings
If you’d soften my hard edges
Make me forget the ground
Winds caressing once
Rocks now sand
I’d take you

Summer Dreams

2009-06-05T06:07:00.001-07:00

Lazy Summer dreams,
Pillow tufted heads of pink
Ice cream licked slowly

Crystal candy tongue
You stand and salute me
Liquid languid lilt

Goodbye Grasshopper

2009-06-04T11:25:00.000-07:00

Grasshopper is dead.

It’s funny, the people I’ve been in love with in my life. For those of you who read my response to Jason’s post of last Sunday, you know that I can get a little, um, obsessive. It started a long long time ago actually. As a Myers Briggs INFP, apparently it’s normal for me to do this. And I’m glad to say that I don’t buy into the fantasies anymore; there is a little wisdom that comes with age. (Although it really hasn’t been THAT long.) In the past, I have whipped up dream lovers who are perfect in every way. No one can compete, really, with my perfect fantasy lovers. (No one, that is, except Marlow, my cat. He is truly a perfect companion.)

This made me into a groupie at one time, this tendency to obsess. My first true love was Paul McCartney. I had our wedding all planned out, I was devasted when he left me and married Linda. I think I was 10 at the time, and I had already been in love with Paul for many years. So, I left him for Donny Osmond. He was too teeny bop to keep my interest however, so I had to ditch him for Elton John. I had a lot of company in my adoration of Elton when I was a freshman in high school. Me, Janice B., and Diane M. formed the core Elton John fan base in freshman glee club, and I’m sure we drove poor Mr. Faulk up the wall with our glasses and constant singing. Elton even taught me how to sing! In fact, Ted H. could play Elton like nobody’s business, and so I’d come into the choir room at lunch time when Ted was banging away on the piano and I'd wail away at the top of my lungs (Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me, Burn Down the Mission, Love Lies Bleeding, etc, were all among our lunchtime repertoire.) In 10th grade, I dated an Elton look alike, but he was clearly not the real thing, so I dumped him too. (My first REAL boyfriend Mark, reminded me about that the other day, and the sparring that went on between them over me. Mark won that little battle. ;-)

That’s when I met and fell in love with Kwai Chang Caine, the gentle Shaolin warrior who fought evil racist bastards in the 19th century American west. As an Idealist, he was the perfect idol for my young forming self. Not only was he beautiful in a kind of Asian way (which he wasn’t BTW, he was totally Caucasian), he had wisdom, and strength. I never had TV before those years, because my mother didn’t believe in it, but right around 1975, when I was 15, my mother allowed my aunt to give me her old black and white TV and I got to have it in my room. By this time, Kung Fu was already old news, but for me, it was new and I soaked it up like water. I watched every episode several times in reruns. I craved each new ‘teaching’, and was thrilled by the flashback scenes when Caine would be receiving a lesson from the wise Shaolin priest (who happened to be blind, and yet could see better than most).

Grasshopper, as he was called by the priest, became a name that I used time and again when imparting wisdom to my children, although they probably were clueless as to the origin of the name, or why I was using it as I gave advice with my pseudo Chinese accent. (Which was clearly pseudo to them, being half Chinese and having many real Chinese accents around them constantly.) But to me, although in jest when I used it, there was something about the wisdom in those TV teachings that always stayed with me, and perhaps helped to mold me into who I am today. Perhaps it influenced my interest in Asian cultures, and maybe even in Asian men, since I married one. Not sure about any of that, and I don’t really want to speculate too much. (Although my ex did become a double blackbelted Kung Fu master, and, by the way, just successfully summited Mt. Everest, and though we’ve had our differences, some of them disastrous, he is still my friend and the father of my kids and I’m very proud of him and glad he is home safe.)

I never did outgrow Kwai Chang Caine, and perhaps it is for that reason that I shed a tear today when I found out that David Carradine purportedly hung himself in a Bangkok hotel room closet. Maybe we will never know why, or even if David Carradine killed himself, but I, for one, am sorry to see him go. Goodbye Grasshopper. I hope you find peace.

Sambhali!

2009-05-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

This documentary is about the Sambhali Trust project empowering Dalit 'untouchable' women in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India and in the nearby village of Setrawa, India. The movie highlights the benefits of the project in the life of the women, and also shows the progress made in the new school project. My friend Govind Rathore started this project, and I became involved when I went to stay at his guesthouse in Jodhpur. Some of you may remember the Rajasthani Jagrata audio slideshow I posted a few months back? That was about Govind's family and our trip to Setrawa for his young son's haircutting ceremony. I went back to India a second time with a video camera and this documentary is borne from that. The documentary also includes footage shot later by volunteers after Govind asked us to make a short film. He will be presenting this film at an upcoming conference in Austria. I want to thank my brother Arthur for all of his labor, all the volunteers who helped provide additional stills and video, Corinne, and Govind for running around to gather things up and shipping it all up to The States so we could work on it, to Griselda for the Setrawa tour, Amanda and Sophie for their excellent teaching and for allowing me to interview them. And to anyone else I didn't mention, thanks for everything done to make this possible.

Note: Be patient please, it seems to want to take a minute to load before starting. Thanks. :-)

The Sound of Tears

2009-05-27T05:18:00.001-07:00

All is quiet now
Nothing but the sound of tears
Falling on the grass

Shanti stared at the sky from the bed near the window. The rain pelted the window pane. A small rivulet of water trailed from a crack in the glass down to a pool on the sill. Shanti put her finger on the water and changed its course. She could feel Ann watching her. She could feel her concern. She let out a deep breath and turned over, locking eyes with Ann.

“I wish I could see Adam again,” Shanti said.

Ann’s face started to contort, a deep furrow worked its way into her brow. “Why didn’t we do something?”

Ann started to sob and Shanti could not hold back her own tears. The two of them embraced each other and sobbed together as the rain turned to hail, beating against the window. The sound was deafening on the roof of the old clapboard dormitory hall. The silvery crack in the glass grew.

The hail subsided a few minutes later. Shanti got up and looked out the window at the grass field between the buildings. A mound of flowers, balloons, pictures and notes rose among the fallen leaves and hailstones. A small group of students were gathered around the flowers, holding umbrellas.

“I always thought he was a little edgy, but aren’t we all?”

“Yeah, but he seemed like he was happy most of the time. He was always joking around!”

“Except when he drank. Did you ever see him do that? Flip out and start crying?” Shanti said, then paused. “Wait. Was that a clue? Should we have worried then?”

Ann shrugged, “Did you ever notice him complaining?”

“Not really. He always seemed upbeat."

“You don't believe it?”

“Sometimes I got the sense he was ... haunted.”

Shanti put her forehead to the window and watched the crowd gathering. Adam’s girlfriend had just arrived with a wreath. She fell to her knees sobbing as she added the wreath to the mound. Other students helped her stand up. They formed a circle, locked arms, and started to sing "In The Arms Of An Angel.”

As the music drifted up to Shanti’s ears, the rain stopped and the clouds broke. A single ray of sun fell over the crowd. Drops of rain on the flowers glistened like diamonds. The crowd grew silent.

“Come on,” Shanti said quietly, “Let’s go down there.” She clutched Ann’s hand and they made their way out to the circle. They joined arms with their friends.

The rain began to fall again, mixing gently with their many rivers of tears.

About Yesterday, notes from a former drama queen

2009-05-26T05:42:00.000-07:00

Here’s the thing, until the Yesterday series, I have never before ever written anything so completely fiction that the made up characters became alive and real and started dictating their story to me. I’ve written ‘fiction’ based on autobiographical information, but not the completely unreal kind. And I have to tell you, it gave me a writing buzz not yet experienced by moi, and I liked it. I mean, I really liked it. I want more.

When I was younger, it seemed as if there was always some kind of major drama happening in my life. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while know some of the things of which I speak, but I think I’ve often written from the point of view of being a victim of circumstance, and not so much a creator of drama.

It’s not that I ever wanted to be a drama queen, believe me. It is not the kind of attention one really is seeking! And yet, it seems there are certain personality types that can whoop up drama in their lives like nobody’s business. Have you ever noticed that? I’m that kind. I AM the dreamweaver. That’s what makes drama. You weave fantasies in your head, and then try to force people to play your characters. Sometimes it works and the thrill is amazing! A drug. An addiction. Sadly, like any drug, most of the time it doesn’t work and you find yourself whooping up even more drama to get the satisfaction you are seeking.

I’m happy to say that it’s been nearly a decade since I left the queen in hysterics along with the bipolar boyfriend she had. And I have gotten quite used to the calm around here. I actually avoid whooped up drama like the plague now, in myself and in others. I have developed a revulsion towards it. At the same time, I really understand it.

It is my contention that it is the same stuff that feeds good fiction writing. I have theorized that before, but now that I’ve actually written something completely fictional (albeit using other people's words), I am more than ever convinced that it is a gift, not a curse, to dream, but only if you use the dreamweaving as a gift. Because like any gift, it must be used wisely.

Now whether I can write GOOD fiction or not remains to be seen. Baby steps… There is so much skill and inspiration to gain from reading all of your stories. I would love to know any secrets you can tell me about your process; at what point do the characters become alive in your mind, and do you find catharsis in creating them, animating them, and perhaps even killing them? Why do you write fiction?

Just kinda curious.

Yesterday, Pt 4, The End

2009-05-23T04:24:00.000-07:00

This is the final episode in a four part series using song lyrics from the 60's and 70's to explore a rekindled friendship from the past. To go back to part 1, scroll back, they are posted in order. Or, click on 'Yesterday' in the labels section of this post and they will all come up. (Hint: Don't read the last part first or you'll ruin the surprise ending!)

Tuesday afternoon-
Baker Street, Boston.

“It’s been such a long time, maybe I’m amazed! You are so beautiful. I can’t get enough of your love!”

“I wish.”

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“I’m a psycho killer, que’ce que c’est? A killer queen. Tonight’s the night.”

“Oye como va, peligro!”

“Right, you’re bloody well right.”

“How long to the point of no return?”

“25 or 6 to 4:00.”

“Who, who, who, who?”

“Aqualung, my friend. A horse with no name.”

“Rebel rebel!”

“I think I should be going. Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

“Hey, hey, my my…”

“I’ve got to fly like an eagle. Life in the fast lane! You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

(slam)

Macarthur’s Park is melting in the dark. Sitting on a park bench…

“Aqualung, don’t you see it’s only me? Walk this way.”

“Back stabber!”

“Are you reeling in the years, le freak, you’re just another brick in the wall.”

“I don’t want to die!”

“Now it’s all over Danny Bailey, the harvest is in. You don’t have to live like a refugee.”
(bang bang, shoot shoot)

Way down the street there’s a light in his place, you open the door, he asks you where you’ve been, you tell him who you’ve seen and…

“God save the queen! Tell me something good!”

“Smiling faces tell lies. Help me! I think I’m falling.”

“What a fool believes!”

“One way or another…”

“Why do we never get an answer when we’re walking out the door?”

“Because the truth is hard to swallow. This is the end my only friend, the end.”
(bang bang, shoot shoot)

"One is the loneliest number, I can't live if living is without you...happiness is a warm gun."
(bang bang, shoot shoot)

(the sound of silence)

Yesterday, Pt. 3

2009-05-22T05:36:00.000-07:00

This is the third episode in a four part series using song lyrics from the 60's and 70's to explore a rekindled friendship from the past.

From: layla@70s.song
Subject: Ruby Tuesday
Date: May 22, 2009 8:02:00 AM EDT
To: BBLeroy@70s.song
Reply-To: layla@70s.song

Leroy Brown, Let me go crazy on you, you’re a magic man. I’m leaving on a jet plane, ruby Tuesday.

I hope today will be a lighter highway,
L.

____________

From: BBLeroy@70s.song
Subject: Re: Ruby Tuesday
Date: May 22, 2009 8:03:00 AM EDT
To: Layla@70s.song
Reply-To: BBLeroy@70s.song

Layla, Ruby Tuesday, out on runway number 9…wild horses couldn’t drag me away.

I’ll be there, you got me on my knees,
Leroy

Yesterday, Pt. 2

2009-05-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

This is the second episode in a four part series using song lyrics from the 60's and 70's to explore a rekindled friendship from the past.

Black Magic Woman,

The first time ever I saw your face, blue eyes, golden hair, what a tale my thoughts could tell. Fire!! We learned to find love in the back of my van, nights in white satin, beyond Silverlake. I could drink a case of you, I’m a lucky man, still, you turn me on! I think I’m going to love you for a long, long time. (Breathe deep, the gathering gloom…)

Four and twenty years ago, on the 25th day of September, me and Bobby McGee hitchhiked all the way to New Orleans. I took a walk on the wild side, bad company, smoking in the boys room, cocaine running all around my brain, rock and roll all day and party every night. Everybody must get stoned! Then I found myself on my knees, when the lights go down in the city, say a prayer for the pretender.

Day by day…truckin' like the doodah man...

At last I've found you, don’t you know you’ve got a friend? Take a look at my life, I’m a lot like you are; you can't hide your lyin' eyes.

Oh dreamweaver, dream on. Imagine, into this world we’re thrown, we’ll do the roundabout. Have you never been mellow? Mellow yellow, a lighter shade of pale, I honestly love you. It’s alright if you love me, it’s alright if you don’t, try not to get worried, everything’s alright, yes everything’s fine. Don’t fear the reaper, we have got to get ourselves back to the garden, become comfortably numb. We are family, I’m so tired of being alone.

Miss you, please come to Boston,
Piano Man

Yesterday Pt. 1

2009-05-18T05:23:00.001-07:00

This is the first episode in a four part series using song lyrics from the 60's and 70's to explore a rekindled friendship from the past.

Hello its me,

Welcome to the machine, it’s been a long time running, it appears to be a long time gone. I’m tasting the smell of toast as the butter runs, here, there and everywhere. I’d love to change the world, climb a stairway to heaven, find myself knockin on heaven’s door, but I don’t know what to do. I learned the truth at 17, that I was born to run, born to be wild; that’s the way I always heard it should be! But now I’ve gone and blown it all away, running with the devil, don’t take a slice of my pie the landslide will bring it down.

(It’s a little bit funny…yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away now I feel like makin’ love. I’m a gypsy acid queen, feel me, touch me, I’m hot blooded, touch it and see!)

You’ve got me hanging on the telephone…we are the champions, looks like muskrat love! Don’t go breaking my heart, we’ve only just begun to live. Baby, I’ve been learnin’, you need schoolin’ you got me in a spotlight, dancing in the moonlight. Darlin’ can’t you hear me SOS? My aim is true. I’m so lonely, sometimes I feel like I’m dyin’, but I’m as free as a bird now, I am woman hear me roar.

I feel love, I need a hero, I want you to show me the way. Won’t you take me to funky town? Burn down the mission if you want to stay alive. We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl.

Wish you were here,
Your song

A Jewel in the Rubble

2009-05-15T06:58:00.000-07:00

This marks my 100th post.

Yesterday my friend Daniel Martini posted his latest round of photos on his blog DMartini's Photoblog. Daniel shoots in black and white film, an art that is almost lost to this world. Since I first started visiting his blogs last October, I have been touched deeply by his ability to capture the light and soul of his subjects. He is currently living and working near Mumbai, India. I highly recommend a thorough viewing of the photoblog, and also of his other blog, Faces, Lives, where he writes in depth stories about his amazing experiences and the people he has had the fortune to connect with. The following photo really affected me, and Daniel has graciously allowed me to repost it here, along with this poem:

Run, child, run
Run into your life,
Your playground
Is the stuff of yesterday’s dreams
Now crumbled and turned to dust
In the heat of a melting earth.
You will dance to the music
Banged on tin cans left
In rotting heaps,
You will find the jewels
On the mounds of forgotten hope,
In the smile of a mother’s love
You will dance into tomorrow.

I and I and Me and Me

2009-05-12T05:46:00.000-07:00

In the interest of transparency, and because of Aniket's extreme interest in my 15 year old photo in the last post, and because it was time to get the hell off the last post, I decided to show you all a little more of me in pictures. Here's a little retrospective:

When I was two, my dad worked for the San Francisco Chronicle. It was during the time when the sugar cubes that contained the polio vaccine were being doled out. I guess he must have known the photographer because I got to have all my fame out of the way before I even knew what was happening.

A bad photo, overexposed, but I like the context. At 16, I was in the graveyard of my Scottish ancestors in Struan, Scotland. I have roots in the Robertson clan. The pants are Dittos (Mark, remember Dittos?) I can't believe how corny they look.

This was during the summer that my dad took me to Europe for two months while my brother was living in London. This is my brother and me in Paris. You'll notice I had on the same clothes as in the earlier picture. That's because I only brought two shirts and one pair of pants. I was trying to travel light. I did buy an amazing dress when I was in Italy. Wouldn't you?

At 19, I had a friend who was a photographer hobbiest. He wanted to practice and asked me to model for him one day. This is at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.

By the age of 29, I had two kids. Here I am with James at his music recital, and you can see Chris behind me sitting on his dad's lap.

By the age of 34, I was divorced and going to college at Sonoma State. Here I am with my kids at the beach on the Sonoma County coast in sunny California.

At 36 I finally graduated from college with a degree in music (ahem, Summa cum Laude and 'with distinction'). Moi with a brain? Who knew?

Here I am singing with some really quite awesome musicians in my friend Gatmo's basement studio. Two of the men are playing Waterphones. The man to the left of me (in the picture its left, but actually its my right), Richard Waters, invented that instrument. I miss playing with them, :-( . Have not yet found a waterphone consortium since moving to North Carolina.

With Marlow and Oli a couple of years ago in front of my old house in California. I had just returned from my cantor gig at the local Catholic church.

I was going to post a picture with me and my kids in North Carolina in front of the Biltmore house, but gosh darned if that picture was taken with James' camera, not mine, so I don't have it.

So Aniket, how was that?

Breathe

2009-05-10T06:11:00.001-07:00

Breathe, breathe in the air,
Don’t be afraid to care,
Leave, don’t leave me,
Look around,
Choose your own ground.
--Pink Floyd

______

“I’m bored.”

“Huh?”

“I want to break up.”

If she was a wall of glass, he had just shattered it. It felt as if he had just hit her over the head with a brick. Her mouth went dry, as the tsunami that was about to come took all her water. Her throat seized up into a tiny o, barely enough room for air, surely not enough air to expand the knot that was forming in her stomach.

“But why?” She managed to push the words out through the narrowing tube.

“No reason, just bored. I have to get to class,” he got up and walked away.

She sat in the quad with the empty lunch tables and didn’t even try to walk to biology class. She stared in disbelief at the long flat topped building in front of her and hoped no one was looking as she put her head on the table and felt a wave of grief work its way up through the muscles of her body. It stopped in her throat. She stood up and walked into the building, past the long rows of lockers and in through the open door of the classroom.

She glanced at the teacher as she headed to her seat, and perhaps in that glance the teacher saw everything because he did not admonish her for her tardiness. She put a layer of plastic over her gaze and pretended to pay attention as thoughts of the last three months flooded her mind. She tried to figure out what she did wrong? Why was he bored?

She was 15, when she met him in sex education class. The format of the seating had half the seats on one side of the room for the girls, facing the other half of the seats, where the boys sat. She was seated across the room from him, and she wanted him, bad. There was something about him that was worldly for a 16 year old. He had an air that was way beyond his years, a confidence in his stride. She did everything she could think of short of asking him out, to get him to notice her. Her opportunity finally came with the Christmas season and a little piece of mistletoe.

“I have some mistletoe,” she gave him a flirty smile and her eyes twinkled up at him. She reached the mistletoe over his head and he leaned in to kiss her. They locked lips for what felt like forever.

A couple of weeks later, after an eternity of waiting, he called.

“What’s up?” he said. Her stomach fell through the floor as she heard his voice, and her blood got thick. They spoke for an hour or so, but it was not likely that she did much talking because she had a bad case of tongue paralysis.

“Do you want to go up to the snow?” he asked her out, and the next day he took his mother’s Volvo and grabbed his best friend, and the three of them drove up to the snow. She was glad his friend was there, because the two of them filled the conversation, and she didn’t have to think of things to say, which was good because the tongue paralysis had grown worse.

The next week, she started going home after school with him on the bus. He lived in a condo complex on the other side of town, with a pool and a rag-a-tag gang of friends. Being a natural alpha type, he was the leader of the gang, and they would all congregate by the pool and smoke bad Mexican pot from across the border. Occasionally his mother would let him provide the crew with Strawberry Daiquiris, and they would all get really drunk and stoned and stare off into space while listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

One day, they found themselves alone.

“Let’s go up here.” He showed her a ladder in the garage that went up to a loft that had a mattress. It was dark, and there were no windows. She followed him up the ladder and lay with him on the mattress. He began to kiss her, and her body responded in ways she had not known yet. It was as if someone had removed her blood and replaced it with fizzy honey. She throbbed in desire for him. How could she know then that the intensity of that feeling she was having, him rubbing his body against her, her throbbing desire, would never again be as strong with anyone else? Ever?

“I love you,” he sang along to the Wings song as he stared into her eyes and cupped her face with his hands. And then he said it again, “I love you.” She believed him with all of her heart. There was not an ounce of suspicion that he didn’t mean it.

“I love you so much!” Her body answered, as he lay on top of her, kissing her over and over again, as the words ‘Breathe, breathe in the air’ fell over her ears burning a memory into her brain that would last a lifetime.

“Spend the night with me,” he implored. She lied to her mother about where she was going, and she spent the night with him that very Friday.

“This is foreplay,” he said as he took off her clothes and tenderly touched her body, which at that point was more nervous than full of desire. At some point he put on a condom and pushed himself into her. Her eyes widened, she screamed in pain, he got out. “All that desire was for that?” She wondered how the human race could possibly exist if THAT was what sex felt like.

But the next morning, she wanted him again, and they tried again, and this time he stayed. During the next month, they spent every spare minute together, having sex at every possible opportunity.

“Look, they left a joint for you.” He discovered it on the mantle at the house where she was babysitting after the little girl was tucked into bed. They mixed a drink from the liquor cabinet, smoked the joint and had sex on the beanbag chair while the words, ‘Breathe, breathe in the air’ played over the stereo. The parents of the little girl didn’t ask her back after that night.

“Your cousins are asleep, they won’t notice,” he slipped into her while they were camping along the Colorado River one weekend. And that’s where they were when the condom broke.

“My period is late,” she explained one day a couple of weeks later. His eyes widened.

“Be sure to weigh yourself everyday, and not until after you shit,” he advised. Her period started a few days later. The next day, as usual they were hanging out with the gang having lunch in the quad. The bell rang and everyone got up to go to class. She leaned in for a kiss, but instead of kissing her he said,

“I’m bored.”

She was sitting in biology class when her chin started to quiver. She barely made it home before the tsunami, and when she got home, she threw herself on the bed, buried her head into her pillow and started to sob. She sobbed and sobbed for three days. What she didn’t know then was that a part of her died that day he broke up with her; an innocence that would never return.

Her heart ached as she spent the next two years watching him get with anything blond that moved.
___

30 years later, he sent her a letter and apologized for his lack of regard. “I was a shit back then,” he said, “A walking hard-on.” She reflected back and wondered why she never noticed before the imprint that he had left on her. Had she really been trying to repair the damage by getting with bad boys again and again? She reflected over the men: her domineering ex-husbands, the crazy men that needed fixing, the men with marriage trouble who chose her to ‘dally’. And finally, she wondered if he was a part of the reason she wasn’t really attracted to anyone who could not hold their own ground. After all, she had chosen her own ground, again and again, and could certainly no longer be accused of being boring.

“I’m sorry.” He said again as they chatted on the phone talking over old times. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you, you were a sweet girl and you didn’t deserve it.”

A tear formed in her heart, and it warmed the empty spaces that she had forgotten. The scars that she thought were sealed bled slightly, and though she had forgiven him already, 30 years before, his words kissed the bleeding wounds while he spoke them, and all she could think of was, Breathe…

____

For Mark...thank you.

Unraveling Dreams

2009-05-06T11:01:00.000-07:00

You painted my face
In shining beams
I dressed you in silks
of schemes and dreams,

(And not just any kind of dreams,
Forever, ever, always, dreams).

Unraveling now
In shades upon shades
Tendrils have ripped
The garden gates,
Facades have crumbled
The rain’s washed clean
You stand there, naked
(In a pile of dreams).

You disappear into the mist
A glance behind,
A silken kiss,
The single thread
Left in my grasp
Leaves shadows of
A wily Asp.

(It seems I’ve dreamed
This dream before
Must I dream it o’r?
And o’r and o’r?)

Hanging on by a Haiku

2009-05-04T06:40:00.001-07:00

In response to Karen's excellent poem about writer's block, The House of the Poet, I began to pine about my lack of anything beyond a haiku in recent weeks. I know I am busy doing other things, but nothing gets to the bottom of my soul like writing a poem does.

Maybe one reason is that I kind of decided to start writing and submitting poetry for publication, so I bought a Poet's Market book, which is sitting there looking nice in my living room, I did open it, once. But since buying the book, and deciding to write less poetry for the blog, I've been surviving on minuscule helpings of haiku. Haiku is tasty, it's kind of like dim sum, but I want more. I suppose I should begin psychoanalysis as to why I haven't started upon my self imposed task of submitting for publication, yes I could write it off to 'being busy' and that wouldn't be false, but it's not really the reason either. I also can tell you that it is completely within my personality type to say I just haven't felt like doing it yet. But really, it is the remains of paralyzing self doubt that I still haven't quite been able to kill dead despite being a world traveling superwoman, able to beat off masses of descending rickshaw wallahs with a single 'back off' glance. Yet, even though I've masqueraded as a brave conquering superwoman, the demons live. And thrive.

Recently, during the few attempts when I have set myself down to write a poem, words just presented themselves out of my mind in such a jumbled state of garbage that their fate is to remain as scrap piles in my journal, only to be surprised in 10 years when I go back and look to see who I was then.

GARDENING HEALS

These pictures are the before and after shots of the planting beds I just made in front of my house. The first picture, I had dug out about two feet of lawn already before I took the shot. The shots are not great shots, I'm only showing you for documentary purposes.

I don't know if it is that you have your hands on the ground and are playing with your pet earthworms, (trying to save them from the violent shovel instigated earth disasters that disrupt their little earthly abodes), or whether you are co-creating with the faeries when you are planting, or whether it's because you are working your lazy ass off for the first time all winter, but gardens heal. Body, mind and soul. And newly invigorated from the spa of hard work, I decided to TRY to write a poem, and here it is, with the help of the structure of the time honored sonnet.

Calliope Goes Off to Play

A simple sonnet, that is all I ask,
To place upon the stacks of empty shelves,
Now set down on the sofa with the task,
Enlisting help from literary elves.
If I can't write about the things I see,
Those things in grips of shadow hidden light,
I wonder then what night's befallen me,
What's crowded o'er the tendrils of my sight?
Calliope has fled into the fields,
I see her playing yonder with her friends,
While I, with shovel, dig for crops to yield,
The ground will fail if I don't make amends.
Perhaps she'll visit here for just this task
A simple sonnet, that is all I ask.

I thank you all for your abundant support, you have all inspired me hugely and vastly, and in gargantuan fashion.

Image Prompt: Angel in Pink

2009-05-02T03:10:00.001-07:00

In a shaft of light
An angel rose before me,
The Lady Slipper

Hi everyone. I've been out in the garden where I am finding great healing for my body. All that digging and shoveling seems to be just the perfect antidote for overuse of computer. I'm deeply regretful that I haven't been able to get around to everyone's blogs lately. I think I might have to invent some kind of implant so I can see your blogs whenever I want to from inside my head..., uh, no.... Even if that were the case, I'd still be too busy to read. That garden, you know? This is a CRAZY busy time of year OUT THERE. Anyway, please don't take it personally, you KNOW I love you.

I stopped laboring long enough to go for a walk in the forest with my camera the other day, on a wildflower hunt. You can't imagine my joy when I found this beauty, and her friends.

Your 5-7-5 haiku descriptions are welcome in the comment section. Have fun!

From Crocus to the Sea

2009-04-25T16:10:00.001-07:00

You might ask yourself what this painting and the crocuses that came before have in common. It turns out that this painting was also inspired by Jason's crocus photograph. I was trying to do a study, and so I painted lines of cerulean blue against lines of cadmium yellow touched with a hint of alizarin crimson, just to see how the colors would fare next to each other. Then I put this aside and painted the crocuses. After the crocuses were finished and all y'all were busy creating brilliant haiku gems to go with the little tykes, I was upstairs in my painting room staring at the orange and blue lines until suddenly they became an ocean scene in my mind. And that's when I started adding stuff. It kind of reminds me of somewhere near Little Girl Lost's fateful crab pond.

(Shhh...don't tell anyone that the birds were photoshopped in...;-)

Image Prompt: Cro-ku

2009-04-22T18:21:00.001-07:00

Please don't be afraid,
Won't you please come out and play?
The snow is all gone!

Your haiku creations are desired in the comment section. My only rule is 5-7-5 please. Have at it kids!

Orchid Invasion

2009-04-19T08:54:00.001-07:00

You came from the blue
Holding a tiny red pearl
Sun spots can't hide you

A Tapestry of Spring

2009-04-14T04:42:00.000-07:00

(Double click to see in full widescreen).

A Tapestry of Spring, an anthology
Narrated by Catherine Vibert
Voices of:
James A Murrell
Cindy Gruenwald
Catherine Vibert (pitch shifted!)
and special guest
Sarah Hina

Poems from the blog:

1) Little Girl by Amritorupa Kanjilal aka Little Girl Lost of Rivers I have known

2) All Fall Down by Rachel Westfall of The Waxing Moon

3) Jonquil Time by Karen Nowviskie of Keeping Secrets

4) Ides by Joaquin Carvel of Lyrics and Maladies

5) Promise by Aniket Thakkar of Melody of Dissonance

6) Resumption by K. Lawson Gilbert of Old Mossy Moon

7) Fly Little Bird by Steve Elsaesser of Another Sober Alcoholic

8) Eden by Sarah Hina of Murmurs

Blogger's Prerogative

2009-04-10T04:32:00.000-07:00

The great thing about not getting paid for blogging is that you can change the rules. I don't even need to explain why! But I will tell you the intimate details and then you will understand why I am postponing the posting of the multimedia extravaganza.

Deadline for poems was Monday night.

Tuesday night, one reader came to record your poems.

Wednesday was my dad's birthday so we spent the day making him happy.

Wednesday night another reader came to record your poems.

Thursday, up at 6:00 a.m., worked on audio until 7:00 p.m. with several stretching breaks.

Thursday night a glass of wine never tasted so good. Boring TV never was more of a comfort.

Friday morning (now), awoke in extreme pain, my entire right side is tight like a bow from all the computering yesterday. Still haven't done the visuals. And I have PLANS for the visuals, they are vital, they need time to place, exact and refine. And I need at least an hour for critical reflection, after all you can't just slap something together that is going to go all over the internet and have it be a big sloppy mess (did I mention I'm a perfectionist?).

You know what I'm saying? To heck with schedules Aine, I'll post it as soon as I can. It will be SOON. (As soon as I can without killing myself).

Thank you for your patience. I am THRILLED with the poetry, once again thank you all for your submissions. The caliber of your talents is fantastic.

Just Another Orchid

2009-04-07T02:25:00.000-07:00

Long legs unfurling
They descend, speckled tongues wag
Did I hear a laugh?

It's orchid season. See another beautiful orchid at Sarah's blog. Thanks to everyone who submitted poetry (especially to Sarah for the audio!) for this week's extravaganza which will be posted on Friday.

Update: Additional prompt ideas

2009-04-04T05:21:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to post an update for the current assignment (see previous post). At this moment (Saturday morning), I have received four entries. None of the entries has been an audio entry, so I want to give a poke to you audio enabled folks. Poke.

Ok, so if you're totally stumped and not in a bad mood at all and therefore can find no inspiration for gloomy things such as irony and doubt, please feel free to write something that absolutely defines Spring's glory.

For additional prompting ideas, think: Regeneration and Renewal. Think Eostre before it morphed into Easter. Think Easter and Passover, and where the heck did that bunny come from anyway? Go crazy folks!

And because I love you all and have realized this will be a holiday extravaganza, I'm extending the deadline to Monday night at midnight. I will post the result on Friday April 10th.

Thanks!

In regards to the photo above, that is the field across the street from whence I get the inspiration for most of my paintings. I often opt to leave out the human structures when I paint, but if you go back to this post I left a few in for good measure. The peacocks live just beyond the trees there.

Image Prompt: Rites of Spring

2009-04-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, A couple of bloggers mentioned in my last post that they really did feel the poem expressed was a song. I was able to have the difference between a song and a poem explained to me very clearly by Garrison Keillor, who discussed it on his Valentine's Day show. Since I don't have the transcript handy, I will paraphrase Keillor with apologies in advance to him if I got it at all wrong:

"Thanks to all those who submitted your Valentine's poems, and about them, um (long long pause), how shall I say this tactfully? Folks, a poem can't be about love, because a poem by its very nature contains irony, it contains doubt, uncertainty. If you want to write about love, what you need is a song. Because a song is certain, a song has no doubt, no irony, no confusion, it says what it means!"
(At this point the group breaks into a rousing rendition of "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight.")

Now for today's prompt, we are going to UP the ante. Here's what I would like:

1) If you have the capacity to do it, record yourself reading the poem (to get good acoustics, try taking your recording device to your bed and reading under a blanket (might be needing a headlamp for that). This sounds goofy but all the journalists in the world do it, when you are living for months on end in a concrete block hotel room, you learn how to create a mock recording studio rather quickly. If you can send it via .wav or .aif, that would be preferred, but if you only have the capacity to do mp3, than so be it. Please also send a written copy of the poem when you send the audio file.

2) If you want me to read it for you, then don't bother with the recording issue, just send it to me via E-MAIL (yes Aniket, that means you) at cat@catvibe.com. I will read it for you. I don't need a blanket, I have a recording studio-like place.

3) I am asking for a POEM (not a song!),it must contain the elements of irony, doubt, or hidden meaning. Humor is acceptable. (As is reference to oppression Ms. Jennifer).

4)Today's prompts:
a)Promise or
b)Rites of Spring (or if you want to marry them, both).

Please send your submissions via e-mail to cat@catvibe.com by Sunday, April 5th at midnight. I will likely be posting other things in the meantime and expect to have this posted early next week.

By submitting your work, you give me permission to use it in a multimedia presentation.

In regards to the photos displayed today, I don't have Jason's handy little macro lens, and I don't walk around with a magic tripod to whip out of my purse, but I do what I can with what I have to get sharp and close. And besides, I just wanted to show all you folks in the North that Spring really truly is coming. All these photos shot in the last two weeks. IT WILL COME!

Have fun, and don't be shy!

Springtime Song for The Graces

2009-03-31T17:19:00.000-07:00

T’was on the distant mountain
Past the gate of The Three Graces
Where the wild forsythia blooms,
An old crone sat
On a green mossy stone
Contemplating the phase of the moon.

“Tis the time”, thought the crone,
As she reached for her spade,
“I will turn the ground now to prepare.”
And she went to the field
Sprouting green with new grass
And dug three holes with great care.

“In the hole to the North,”
Said the crone with much glee,
“The seeds of Earth’s Joy I shall plant”,
And she sang and she danced
As she banged on her drum
Thus infusing the seeds with intent.

In the holes to the South
She put seedlings of Charm
And next to that Beauty, you see?
The seedlings would grow
To be great spreading trees
Guarding gates of creativity.

The Three Graces are they,
A siren’s song
Three ships on a bonnie green sea,
Dancing bare in the snow
Or on moonlit bright nights
Unbridled they swing, they are free.

I can hear the crone’s laugh
Whistling up the through the hills
By the light of the Beltane Moon,
As The Graces they dance
To the May breeze call
And the peacock's song echos the tune.

An Intimate Dance Party

2009-03-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Mr. Aniket steps out and sizes up the ladies on the floor. He fiddles with the ring in his pocket while eyeing Ms. Jennifer's creamy white skin and shock of red hair. Ms. Jennifer gives him an icy grin while taking his hand and pulls him onto the dance floor. Mr. Aniket's hopes for the evening come alive in a swirl of passion...

A twist and a turn and a flip of the toes
A spark of her touch and my heart, it glows
Her hips took a loop
Heart jumped through a hoop
Trip...clash,heart beats...eyes flash, when you feel it... it shows.
--Aniket

But Ms. Jennifer is mad. She knows Mr. Aniket is married, and that he is on the prowl. She has had enough of that kind of thing and is no longer going to stand by and watch people get hurt! And besides, Mrs. Aniket is her hair dresser! She has a plan to trap Mr. Aniket so that he can stop wreaking havoc on the lives of so many due to his lustful, sinful habits of the flesh...

You will forgive us
for paying back one conquest
with another
and making
your men fall
at the bare feet we have
planted to support hips
and bellies and breasts
that rotate
and undulate,
mimicking the dance of birth
(and what comes before).
Women less talented than I
have stolen your men
with the flick of a hip
a stretch of the neck
a burning turn of the womb.
I quiver so fast.
He shivers as
hard.
His eyes follow
a carnal radius
and your white skin
is forgotten.
--Jennifer

Mr. Aniket swirls Ms. Jennifer away as he tires of her ranting, and grabs the hand of a new partner, the shy and startled Ms. Sarah, hoping that maybe this time, he can use romance and love to his advantage in satisfying his carnal needs...

Moonlight, fate knocks,
Shy smiles emote,
They dance lip-locked.
--Aniket

Although it never worked out between them (due to the fact that he was married and she knew she could never be his for longer than a short tryst which was something that was strongly against her beliefs), Sarah thought about that dance with Mr. Aniket from time to time. One rainy day in March, just as Spring was about to burst into bloom, she pulled out the journal where she had poured out her heart that night 50 years ago, and laughed as she read aloud, the hairs raising on her forearms and stars twinkling in her eyes as if she were spinning madly once again, held safe in the arms of handsome Mr. Aniket.

Of our many pieces,
the shyest and freest
shall live on
in that land
where minutes
dance like
scarves
in the wind

and all the shapes in
the clouds
we see there
are the pieces
of you
of me
still partnered
with
a spinning earth
--Sarah

And now, I leave you with this little sentiment:

In the middle of the whirling swirling twirling spinning is a tiny speck of stillness. If I do not return to that speck I will spin off into a distant moon and cause comets to fly off their course. --Crazy Cat

Image Prompt: Dancing

2009-03-26T05:16:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,
It seems we had so much fun last week with the image prompt that I have decided to make it a regular weekly feature on my blog. I will post the image toward the end of the week (since I am INFP I am not allowed to actually 'schedule' it, so I will just give you an approximate time), and you will submit your entries which I will post toward the end of the weekend. Once I have posted it, I will not post any latecomers, but you may still post entries in the comment section if you so desire.

Here in North Carolina everybody is always doing some kind of dancing. Down at my local community center, they have a weekly Contradance with live music and it is a very happening event. Hundreds of folks of all ages show up every single week! And this is only one of many dancing events happening all over the county every week. This very Saturday I'm going to a Zen Trance Dance.

But to the task at hand, here is the prompt, have fun, be frenzied folks, this is DANCING we're talking about!! Send to me at cat@catvibe.com to add the element of surprise. I will accept until Sunday March 29th at 12:00 noon. (See Aine, it is possible to schedule something after all!)

Influences

2009-03-24T05:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends, it is now time to catch up on the blogging buzzes flying by my ears of late, and which I have avoided participating in until now so that I could have time to clear the hillside of brambles and burn them in a great fire. So that I could go off and dance the kitchen dance, the garden dance, the groceries dance, and the improvisational music dance with my lovely new dance partner (aka boyfriend, yes that's right), I avoided blogging. It's not that I have abandoned all of my wonderful invisible friends, it's just that I have now added one very important friend made of flesh and blood who I am suddenly spending a great deal of time with and have decided that it is actually MORE IMPORTANT THAN BLOGGING. But I digress. I will not abandon you, but I will try to confine my blogging and schedule it in, rather than schedule life around blogging. If I visit you less, I know you will understand.

So to the task at hand, let us get to our chores. Thank you K, for tagging me for my influences. I now have to admit that I am not much of a book reader. It is not that I don't enjoy reading, or that I don't read, but I never seem to have time for reading much. Also, I read very slowly it seems. For instance, my mom and sons went with me to Hawaii a few years ago, and it rained a lot so we were forced to stay in. My mom read six books in the time it took me to read one. It is pitiful. However, I have watched a thousand movies to her every one. So movie dialogue has influenced me. And as a singer of just about every genre, I have learned a whole lot of lyrics (most of which I have now forgotten to make room for more), so lyric poetry has influenced me. And there are a few writers that I swallow whole, and they have influenced me. So here we go, I'm now going to really break the rules. Are there rules? My 25 influences.

1) ee cummings-somewhere i have never traveled.
2) Bernie Taupin-Burn Down the Mission (Elton's cohort you know?)
3) Franco Zefferelli-Movie maker, Romeo and Juliet, Brother Sun Sister Moon, Jesus of Nazereth.
4) Rumi via Coleman Barks
5) Khalil Gibran
6) Gabriel Garcia Marquez (all of his books, especially 100 Years of Solitude)
7) The King James Bible
8) Joe Frank (Work in Progress radio series)
9) David Sedaris (This American Life writer)
10) Carl Jung
11) Joseph Campbell
12) Mary Stewart (The Arthurian series)
13) Joni Mitchell (the album called Blue)
14) Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Running with Wolves)
15) L. Frank Baum
16) C. S. Lewis
18) William Shakespeare
19) Petrarch
20) Dr. Suess!!
21) Anonymous (an amazing lyricist, I highly recommend him/her)
22) D.H. Lawrence
23) Mary Oliver
24) Dorothy Parker
25) and like Sarah Hina said, YOU! I have made great improvements as a writer by watching all of you great writers and entering into this friendly circle with you. Thank you all for the dance!

And-added late, I just realized that I TOTALLY FORGOT to put down one of the most important influences and I simply can't change out any of the ones already there so:
26) Hildegard of Bingen-Her entire life and body of works both written and musical and all of her poems which were, as she said 'Music from the spheres'. I'm pretty sure she was an INFP.

I now tag these three:
Jason Evans of The Clarity of Night (I know you are resisting, but now that I've broken the rules, I suggest you give it a try, it's fun!)
Linda Socha of Psyche Connections
Deb (aka Qualcosa di Bello) of Piacere and Write Away

All Things Being Equal, II

2009-03-21T14:55:00.000-07:00

Thanks everyone for your wonderful creations!

Haiku

Not alone anymore,
Winter bids goodbye,
Springtime of youth.
--Aniket

Life is a secret
no longer, now that you have
found its true essence.
--Christopher

The three muses dance
when your eyes are turned away
twists and turns for you
--Sarah Hina

light passes over
cyclic slide north of center
making all things new
--Qualcosa di Bello

Lines From Underground Streams

I stood
On your decimated ground
And touched
The twisted plants
Where your rivers of lava
Cooled
--Jason

As she drew her pain
emerged in jagged lines
roughly stabbing ‘round
into the naked air
and so the ground lay bruised
and bled its deep torment
beneath a winter sky
which wailed a slow lament
a keening, barren wind
forgetful of the dawn
--RachelW

They danced in
rings of apostasy
until their breath bled
and cut through crust
and mantle and core.
The earth sponged up
a sea of crimson truth,
stain set,
and granted a
weary asylum
in a barren valley
once called Kalam.
--Jennifer

All things being equal,
I'll take the spring,
leaving you the barren branches
and the melting into mud.
I'll take the verdant mountains
and the fleece of clouds above
and leave you with a winter
for your cold and wanting love.
--Karen

Sunset falls on the last day of winter’s calling
The blue belly of the earth rumbles
Calling the blood of Spring forth
To feed the hungry roots of trees.
Naked and decimated, yes
But as surely as night becomes day
They will feed again,
They will breathe with their lungs
And they will dance with their verdant tresses flowing.
Like a whirling dervish twirls,
They will dance again and again
In the circle of life's turning.
--Moi, your host.

And one final entry from my very own mother. It gave me a hearty laugh and she has allowed me to post it:

To the right the creeping, insidious, vegetative attack.
Beware oh leafless ones.
Our time has returned. If you don't re-leaf we will cut you down and burn you in a great May Day celebration! --Ruth Sander

Thanks Mom! You know I love you much much much.

All Things Being Equal

2009-03-20T07:26:00.000-07:00

Those of you who have followed my blog for a while know that sometimes I just have to stop everything and paint. Last week my body was hurting so bad that I started thinking of my computing habits as akin to a heroin addiction. My therapy is painting. Today, in honor of the vernal equinox, I offer you this most recent painting as an image prompt, and request of you a few lines from your creative coffers. Have at it folks, and Happy Joyeous Spring Tidings!

First Flush of Spring

2009-03-13T06:24:00.000-07:00

In the Spring when the weather warms
Kamela is wandering naked again
Amongst the tea plants
Grown on steep slopes
Under the shadow of Kanchenjuenga.
The sisters surround her
With bright red shawls
And together they inch down
The steep muddy goat trail
Past the broom reeds and cardamom shoots
Onto a small terrace
Where the rain collects
And a tethered goat
Stands guard on a rock
Bleating its hungered cry.

Kamela and the sisters
Enter a ramshackle hut
With no windows or doors
And three coughing babies
Tended by the oldest boy
Who will leave school at 10
If she can find him a job.
They look to see if Kamela
Brought a package of biscuits
To satiate the gnawing empty pit
“Not now my babies, maybe tomorrow.”
Her heart is filled with shame.

The sisters know they will be punished
And lose their daily wage
For half empty baskets
They must get back to the plants.
Quickly they help slip on
Kamela’s flower print skirt
Her apron
Her bright red sweater
They wrap the scarf around her head
Help her pull on rubber boots
Attach her basket to her back,
And together ascend the steep trail
Returning to the fields
To pick the first Darjeeling flush,
The finest cup in the world.

__

Plants groomed to perfect round,
Buds picked by crafty fingers
Thrown deftly over the shoulder
Into braided reed baskets
The throngs of giggling women
Pose in smiles for passing tourists
In Maruti vans. The smiles turn to curses
As the drive by shootings
Take the souls of the women
Leaving nothing to offer
To drip into empty coffers.
Kamela coughs and spits up blood
The fever is high today
But there will be no pay
If she goes home to rest.

Kamela is Brahmin, highest caste
Early the next morning,
She asks at the temple
What karma this?
As she takes the blessing,
At least I am not Adivasi, she thinks
Not dark skinned, like the sisters.
She smears red powder on her hair part
The sign of marriage,
Of a husband, yes, who can’t find work
He takes her meager wage
And drinks it away
Leaving bruises on her
Fair Brahmin skin
Now dark and leathered
From years in the sun.

She returns to the garden
To pick the first flush of Spring
One pound of which will bring from
Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly
Enough to pay Kamela
For the rest of her life.

The Dance

2009-03-09T06:22:00.000-07:00

Swirling, twirling
Thrumming, drumming
Thrusting, grinding
Skirts are flying
Beads of sweat
Are dripping, slipping
Down my neck
Shirt sticking, wicking
There you are across the room
Your eyes are closed,
You’re praying, swaying
Things that bind
Are fast unfurling
Opened eyes
Now calling, pulling
In my chest
Heart’s beating, heating
Singing, luring, weaving, laughing
Drawn from far across the space
We’re inching, stepping, leaping, flying
Finally we’re face to face and
Flowing, rocking, holding, falling
Trusting, catching, joy unmatching
Rolling, riding, fast unlatching
Locks that formed from rigid stance
Have found their keys inside the dance

Maddening Hearts exposed

2009-03-07T04:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Readers,

It seems obvious that my attempt to write this story as fiction is not going to fly with all you sharp folks. It is fiction, but based in a true story. Mine. I chose to write it on my blog because I was reading my journal and realized that it is a really interesting story, and might have broad appeal. However, I was hoping to explore it as a writing project, not as a therapy process. Now that it seems you've all figured out my master plan, I'm not going to bore you anymore with the details of one of the worst and devastating relationships I've ever known. Or to invite any therapizing on my process or choices.

Furthermore, I am frankly just not anywhere near there anymore, in my heart, and it was starting to feel like I was dredging up demons that really don't need to be aroused. What has been written already has served its purpose, and I value all of your feedback tremendously, and I thank you for it from the bottom of my heart.

Not a Bar Girl Anymore

2009-03-02T10:35:00.000-08:00

This photo has nothing to do with the story. And yet, in an abstract and metaphorical way, it really does. This week a dear friend from my first days of traveling the world two years ago found me on Facebook. I met her at the hotel bar where I was staying in Bangkok, she was a bar girl. aka-Thai hooker. We became close and she confided much in me. Although this poem is partially about her, it is also about many of the girls I met there, often sent by their parents into the city to do this work in order to feed their families. Many of them have children, but not husbands. You would never know this unless you asked. Instead you will sit and feel loved and pampered and caressed and cared for. You can pretend that it is all about you when you are in Bangkok, the land of smiles, because these girls and their massage shop counterparts will make you feel amazing. And yet, they are real, with real souls, and real needs. I am happy that my friend is now working as a secretary and is no longer a bar girl. One up, thousands more to go… In the interest of protecting her identity, I am not using her real name, nor her picture.

This is for you, my MIA. Thank you for your words today. You are right, we can’t change the past, so why dwell in it?

Daw walks down Soi 18
Skirting between the changing shifts
Of food cart and hill tribe vendors
A white bag of offerings in her hand.
Arriving at The Rain Hut
She offers two rolls and a flower
Placing them lovingly
Into the birdhouse temple
She bows her head and says a prayer
Then kisses the golden Buddha
Hanging from her neck
Tomorrow, she thinks, will be better
If not this life then next.

She sits with the other girls
Combing mascara onto
Long dark lashes. An hour spent
Adept as Toulouse-Lautrec, they
Transform into their reputation
From village farm girl, to city bar girl
Ready for the long Bangkok night.

The evening shadows grow
As the city starts to cool
The sun and sweat have burned
Holes in the souls of those
Who come and fill the seats.
It’s the 50 baht per Chiang price tag
The cheapest on the Soi
That gets the crowd.

“Sohee, get me a Chiang.”
She brings him a cold beer.
Daw has another treat in store
POP. She slams her hands together
Extracting a cold wet towel
From the plastic enclosure
She dabs it lovingly over
His smelly sweating neck.

“Chokee!” He said, raising his bottle to the sky.
“Chokee!” Said the crowd in response.
They tip back their heads
Draining their bottles
“Another Chiang!” They cry in unison
Sohee doles them out and turns on the stereo
Blasting Thai rap out into the Soi
The crowd starts to dance.

A leering man twirls his fingers
In Daw’s straight black hair.
“Sohee, short time with Daw."
Sohee puts the cup on the table
The man deposits 500 baht
Taking Daw by the arm
They walk through glass doors
Up the stairs, and into a room
Filled with the scent of mold
And screaming with the songs
Of Malaria and the Dengue Fever
He pushes her onto the bed
And lives his fantasies
For half an hour,
Pretending she is there.

Grasping the Buddha between
Long painted nails
Daw closes her eyes
And thinks about the future.

Hours away in a small village
A little girl looks into her
Grandmother’s eyes
And doesn’t question
Why she gets to eat tonight.

The Catalyst

2009-02-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

The catalyst’s eye
Forges a burning cleft
As the raptor feeds
On carrion lies

The crystalline gaze
Breaks placid serenity
Sinking through the battlegrounds
And blood stained festering scars

It falls

And falls

And falls

And lands

Smack into the middle of everything

The dam cannot keep the crows back

Rippling
From the center
Gentle waves become a tsunami
Forging rivers
In the long dried
Ancient cracks
That lie
Beneath the stone

Maddening Hearts in the Last Year of Innocence, pt 5

2009-02-26T07:45:00.000-08:00

A serial piece exploring a year in the life of a woman who loved a mad man, as told through her journal entries. You can view the entire series (in reverse order) here.

Sept 19
Media conference begins.
Not at the beach.
I have blisters on my feet because I had to wear shoes and forgot socks. Didn’t have a chance to buy more. Blisters on my heals.

Sound and vision blasting me from all the booths. It’s overwhelming. I make the rounds, hoarding freebies and stashing them in my free conference loot bag.

Looking for enchantment.
Find the magic,
Seize the moment

Cease the moment
Now sell, now buy
Beach memories
Beach longings
A black cloud over Joel’s head
Barefoot on the beach
Miss Joel, he’s gone
Body here, he’s in some other place
Surfing the perfect wave
Where am I?

The day ended, now I’m here at Bea’s, she is making a fabulous feast for her daughter. It is good to see family. I can’t remember the names of the kids. I quietly asked Silvie the baby’s name. She won’t care that I had forgotten. I come inside and pour a glass of wine.
Call Gavin. Good to talk to Gavin, good to hear him moan in response to my telling him my feelings of longing, of how good it is just to hang with him, how much I like him, just like him.

Bea thinks I’m nuts to want to be with Gavin. Maybe I am. I can’t believe what I’m feeling…Gavin, are you my soulmate? Are you? Are you missing me? Longing me?
I feel these things. Your smile, the twinkle in your eye, mmmm….

Blisters on my feet are the opposite of what sand feels like.

Want to be back at the beach!

9/21/00

Today was the equinox, and this is the first time I realized this…I wonder if it had anything to do with the funk we were all in today. Tired now, focused a lot on Joel today. Didn’t want to talk to Gavin for some reason, probably because I feel so cranky, but I called him anyway. He was UP tonight, had a good chat but felt slightly strained. Probably because I felt cranky, and I am now worried about Gavin too. Finally managed to discover that he was about to walk into a bar. Maybe part of why conversation was strained was his reluctance to part with that tidbit, juxtaposed with him wanting to tell me, not hold back. So I’m glad he told me, and I hope he behaves, and I’d be lying if I tried to cover up thoughts of Joel, not sexual though I do find him very attractive, when I think of sex, my thoughts float to Gavin, but I’m in love with Joel too. He is just wonderful, supportive, thoughtful, generous, but…he’s not Gavin, BUT it’s the equinox isn’t it?

9/23/00

I’m leaving early. The thought of going back with Joel and Larry, especially Larry was so unappealing I cried at the thought of it. Larry just looks at me and I know I have failed in his eyes. I just can’t be around that for two whole days. I’ll miss Joel tho. Something magic happened with Joel this week. I wonder what will happen with all my feelings when I return to Gavin. It’s almost as if the more time I spend with Joel, the more Gavin drifts further from my thoughts. I also know that when Gavin seems to be getting manic, I feel a wall on my feelings for him. Self protection I think, he’s not so nice when he goes UP.

So I’m sitting at the airport with Gia and Penny, waiting for the Southwest 90, 4:15 to San Francisco. Really anxious to see what happens to my heart when I’m with Gavin again…

A funny note: Last night Joel and I went dancing with the cuzzins. We had a blast and tore up the dance floor. Joel is a WILD dancer, all that hair flying every which way. Bea grabbed me in the bathroom and confided to me that Joel would be a much better choice, that I should be with him!

Joel and I decided to go have one more walk on the beach, and so around midnight we were down at Pacific Beach walking in the sand. He started talking about communication and how it was so good with ours. Then he asked me if I thought of him like one of the girls. I said, yeah, it was kind of like that. He said, well, I’m very much a guy, and you’re very attractive. My heart fell out of my chest and landed on the sand. He said he had just broken up with Susan and the timing was weird considering I JUST got with Gavin. I agreed with him, part wishing he would just throw me down on the sand right then and have me, although a bigger part of me was withholding those kinds of thoughts. Then he said that he thought that if we got together, I’d suck him dry and he’d become an emotional wasteland. Something about me just told him that.

What is it about me that makes men have that reaction? Do I have
'Femme Fatale' written all over my face?

I’m so tired I need sticks to keep my eyes open. Hopefully I can take a nap on the plane.

The Night of The Weird Thing

2009-02-23T07:59:00.001-08:00

Our Navajo guide was resting with his back against a tree while the students laughed and gossiped, exploring friendships and newly found low notes in their tents. Gathering a moment to myself I looked out over the plains from our high perch on the sacred mountain, and let my gaze lift up to the soft blue light still present on the western horizon and, what the heck is...

“Hey, Phil, what is that thing?” I pointed at the huge point of light hovering in the clear New Mexico sky. It was way too big to be a planet or a star.

“I’ve seen that before.” Phil knew what it was. Grabbing his binoculars from his knapsack he stepped out into the clearing and took a good long look.

“What is it?” I pleaded.

“Look,” He handed me the binoculars.

“Oh my God!” I stared for several minutes at what looked to me like a huge diamond shaped space station with bars of light that were moving in a line across its front section. It seemed to have much smaller objects flying around it but I could not tell if my eyes were playing tricks.

The kids came out of their tents and gathered to see. They passed the binoculars and as each one looked, a jaw would drop and the words, “Oh my God!” would emanate quietly from wonder filled lips. Wasted attempts to get a photograph were made and awe turned to laughter as the kids analyzed the possible meanings with jokes and giggles.

The weird thing stayed there, unmoving, for 45 minutes before retreating, turning red, and fading off into space.

_____

I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself.

Back at school a couple of weeks later we all met again and I asked the kids to draw what they remembered. The image at the top was the most detailed version.

Have you ever seen anything that can't be explained?

Maddening Hearts in the Last Year of Innocence, pt 4

2009-02-19T05:04:00.000-08:00

A serial piece exploring a year in the life of a woman who loved a mad man, as told through her journal entries. You can view the entire series (in reverse order) here.

9/17/00

Driving to the conference with Joel, his surfboard on the top of the car. We’re on the long and horrible highway 5 and just got back on the road after a bowl of split pea soup at Anderson’s. Joel picked me up from Gavin’s this morning and it was interesting seeing the two of them standing next to each other. Joel seems so bright, his eyes alight with fire and passion for life, and Gavin is like the dark horse, seeming calm but some kind of mischievous darkness lurking under the surface. I just wonder when it will explode.

I just love talking to Joel, it is so easy to communicate, there are no eggshells, the conversation just flows with no threatening overtones. I’m glad we decided to go to the beach, and I’m glad that Gavin doesn’t seem to be jealous and supports it. I doubt if I will be able to read this later, moving cars don’t make for legible writing, I guess I’ll stop.

9/18/00

A little sleepy today because of camping insomnia. We got to the beach last night and immediately dove into the water, soul refreshing! So good after an 8 hour ride in the grueling central valley sun. God, I didn’t realize how much I have missed the beach! Something about these Southern California waters that’s like coming home to the womb. It’s too bad I don’t like SoCal more than 20 yards inland. But the beach, oh such an aching longing to never leave the beach…

Joel and I stopped at VG's Donuts a few minutes ago and bought a huge bag full of heart attacks to munch on, and now we are down at Black’s Beach and Joel is surfing. He wants me to be his witness so I’ll make a feeble attempt at recording what I see as I see it:

Joel’s Witness:

Warm fog obscures the clarity
Sand plovers, pelicans
Misty cliffs in a U
Surround pounding waves
Joel paddles through the rough shore
Finds a calm patch beyond the surf
And waits
Like a string on a fine tuned instrument
He senses the coming of the wave
This is it!
His spirit flares as he turns and faces me
He raises his arms as if to say
“Totally Tubular!”
And turns back to the horizon
Other surfers all facing to the West
Heads bobbing up and down
What’s this?
Joel in a tube!
He dives off the board
Into the drink
He becomes a slinky dolphin
Rising up and out of the water
And in a split second, mounted
Facing the horizon
A true Pisces.
Fog thickens, he is a misty silhouette
In a golden white backdrop.
I watch
He waits
His inner strings vibrate
Again, he senses The One!
He begins to rise on the wave
Alas, not this one…
Back through the wave
He faces West again
And waits

Near me, small birds flock
Running across the sand
In little minute feet.
They stop to stick their pointy
Sharp beaks into sand crab palaces
And run off into the mist
To loot some other unsuspecting home.
The cliffs are shadowy figures
Sloughing off shrouds
As the glow through the fog
Shines to bright gold
And the sun makes its ascension
Over the Eastern hills.
The birds come running back
They are one in their motions
Until all leave and one is
Left behind, but
The three turn back
To collect the one that was left…

I catch a glimpse of Joel
He is riding a wave!
He rides for a long time
Then dives into the tunnel
He turns to me
“See? BITCHEN!”
I respond with my arm
“Totally Rad!”
A lone seagull walks by
Picking up a scrap of sandwich
Left yesterday on the beach
I drift off to sleep on the sandy bed.
Pleasant dreams of Gavin
Tingling sensations through my body
Warm and glowing from an inner
Warmth, tingling on my skin…
Awakening suddenly, I am chilled
Goosebumps on my arms and legs
The fog is lifting on the breeze
Things around me are vivid and clear
A road, a pier, the tops of the cliffs
I take a bite of my VG donut
Noticing the exponential growth
Of surfers facing West.
A seaweed covered form arrives on the shore
Dragging his board behind him.

___
Yeah, that’s Doggerel with a capital D but it was what I saw!

What an incredible day, beach beach and more beach. Fish tacos at Rubios, Gavin called, he sounds a little distant, I’m ignoring it, more beach, all day beach. Calling, calling…Me calling my soul back to life that is timeless.

Joel said he was happy to have a babe witnessing his joy from back on the shore. I am dreading the confines of the media conference tomorrow. I want to spend weeks and weeks of todays. I want to walk on the beach forever.

Gavin, you like the beach don’t you?

When Moons Fall Out of Orbit

2009-02-15T12:57:00.000-08:00

(Image of Eagle Nebula from Hubble Space Telescope)

Adrift
A moon in a nebulae sea

Cast off
From a thousand suns

Revolves
No more around dark matter forces

Pulled
To the black hole’s edge

Vacuumed
Into a field of opposing gravitations

Reduced
To elemental atoms

Ejected
Into vast ethers of undefined space

Carried
By the waves
Of a massive
Galactic radio
Jet
Far
Into
The

F
l
o
a
t
i
n
g

N
o
t
h
i
n
g

Fission
Ignition of a virgin
Protosun glows in soft brown
Eyes of an almost stranger
Vision of unseen magnetic
Forces captive a binary system
Of glowing singularities
In a random universe
That doesn’t know
What orbit
Is

Valentine's Special: When Muses Laughed, a poem cycle

2009-02-13T07:41:00.001-08:00

When Muses Laughed
A Cycle of Poems

1. Sonnet: The Invitation

What muse has touched the lash upon your eye?
What tender thoughts has she provoked within?
A deeper ocean there within resides,
Where muses bathe in waters warm as sin.
It’s there I saw a ghost of you swim by,
T’was just a glimpse, a play within a play,
I asked the muses then if they would lie?
And with a laugh, “Indeed we do!” said they.
With this, mistrusting everything alike,
As muses fraught with arrows leap and bound,
I’ll set the veil upon a pointy spike,
And utter hence to you in gentle sounds;
If whispered soft my pleas could warm your skin,
Let tender fingers touch where muses reign.

2. Limerick: The Answer

I sent a poor man a love sonnet
And let him set down there upon it.
He struggled for hours,
To say his not nowers,
For there on his head was a bonnet.

3. Senryu: The Resolve

Therein lies the cat,
Revealing the knead, a claw
Soft purring soothes heart

Notes on inspiration: a thank you to master sonnet writer Scott Ennis, (and let us not forget The Bard himself) for the tutelage on sonnet writing, to the memory of Dorothy Parker for the humor in cynical response, and to my cat, Marlow, with whom I am passionately in love.

Maddening Hearts in the Last Year of Innocence, pt 3

2009-02-11T08:08:00.000-08:00

A serial piece exploring a year in the life of a woman who loved a mad man, as told through her journal entries. You can view the entire series (in reverse order) here.

ee cummings-somewhere i have never traveled. Performance and slide show by Catherine Vibert.
____

9/8/00

Today I was listening to the ee cummings poem improvisation I made for you. I remember giving you that for Valentine’s Day a few years ago. I always had the feeling ee cummings was speaking of something spiritual when he wrote that poem, but when I made that rendition, I thought of you. The power of your eyes on me…like when you walked into class that day, and sat down next to me and just looked at me for what seemed like an eternity. My blood turned to treacle and I knew then that I was hooked on you, and completely powerless. It has been like that for so many years. That poem for me explains perfectly the effect you had on me then, and still have on me now. I don’t know if that is good or bad. I think I was angry at you at the moment I made it, something about it seems angry…

I watched you from the kitchen window as you focused on your work and puffed away on that silly clove cigarette… Just seeing a look of satisfaction in your face, what a funny juxtaposition against the ever-present wildness.

I wonder what it is about you (that closes and opens) that I am so very drawn to (whose texture compels me with the color of its countries) that brings out all the sweetness I’ve ever felt for anyone (rendering death and forever in each breathing) and multiplies it by thousands…

(Nobody, not even the rain has such small hands…)

9/9/00

Oh jesus, such romantic crap. I simply don’t understand why it is that whenever you look at me, still, I forgive whatever trouble you have caused in my life, and in the lives of all the other hundreds of women you have devastated with that stupid gaze of yours. Why do I do this? There must be something terribly wrong with me. Why did God pick me to be the whole world of second chances? I don’t get it.

A thin veil of glass
Sleep,
Sleep,
It will be gone when you wake,
Love knows no separation…

9/10/00

Joel called today to talk about our upcoming camping trip at the beach before the media conference. I get the feeling he and Susan broke up. Bad timing!

Awards Season in Blogsville

2009-02-10T03:50:00.000-08:00

These TWO!! awards have been bestowed upon my site by Vesper at Chick with a Quill Thank you Vesper, it is my great honor to know you! For those of you who may not know Vesper's work, it is high quality writing, and I highly recommend you to her site.

The Light in the Soul Award

I would like to pass it to (and I'm trying to avoid duplicating those who've received it, but if I fail in that attempt, so be it!), everyone who comes here deserves this award:

Jennifer at The Bride Wore Magenta
Scrawler at A Daughter's Diary
Khaled at Khaled Kem
AC at The Dusty Lens
Daniel at Faces, Lives...
Qualcosa di Bello at Piacere
Elle at Portrait of a Human Heart
Sameera at Sameera's Haven
Sawan at Colors of my Life
GeL at Emerald Eyes

The Superior Scribbler Award

Jennifer at The Bride Wore Magenta
Khaled at Khaled Kem
Sameera at Sameera's Haven
GeL at Emerald Eyes
Sarah at Murmurs
K. Lawson Gilbert at Old Mossy Moon
Scott at The Sonnets of Scott Ennis
Julie at The Buffaloe Pen
Jorc at Empty Garden
Rachel at The Waxing Moon

Congratulations, you all richly deserve these awards!

A Sonnet for The Three Graces

2009-02-09T08:02:00.001-08:00

I hear the murder calling as I paint
They’re mocking me from high upon their perch
Accusing me of my misguided fate
They warn me, “Watch, you haven’t got the merch!”
I tell you now to flee from my great trees
To fly and find some other place to chat
But leave the goldfinch here for me to see
And learn to paint as delicate as that.
Ah now, I keep The Graces in my gaze
The fog beyond with subtleties of breath
On softly shifting colors do I graze
My brush in varied hues of shadowed depth.
With patience then The Graces do appear
Soft paint on paper, wetted with a tear.

To K. and Sarah, It's crow season! Thanks for the inspiration!

A Sonnet of Gratitude

2009-02-07T04:33:00.000-08:00

Photo: 'The Witness'

For disembodied people that I love
Who wrap yourselves around me every day
That send yourselves upon the wings of doves
Into this magic place in which we play
You've catapulted me to higher spheres
To places I had no idea were there
Have challenged me in ways to face my fears
And look into the mirror if I dare
Your voices touching somber notes untrue
And softly coaxing honesty within
A transformation, seeing something new
New eyes and ears, a higher kind of yen.
My heart is open now in gratitude
For grace and beauty your hearts have imbued.

The Fabulous Blog Award

2009-02-06T10:18:00.001-08:00

The Fabulous Blog Award has been bestowed upon my site by Elle, from A Portrait of the Human Heart, thank you for this honor Elle! It seems this is award season in the blog world! I would like to pass it on to:

Vesper at Chick with a Quill
Laughingwolf at Paws and Reflect
Khaled at Khaled Kem
Geraldine My Poetic Path
Aine at Life is Beautiful
Jorc at Empty Garden
Riversoul at Silent Recollections
Scrawler at A Daughter's Diary
Karen at Keeping Secrets
Rachel at When the Dogs Bite

Maddening Hearts in the Last Year of Innocence, pt 2

2009-02-05T04:33:00.000-08:00

A serial piece exploring a year in the life of a woman who loved a mad man, as told through her journal entries. To read in sequence, click on "Maddening Hearts" in the labels section on the right side of this blog.

9/5/00

Gavin,
You played me a song, about walking on eggshells. I’m sure there was a lot more to the song, but that was the phrase that grabbed me. I wondered whether you felt as if you were walking on eggshells, or you were feeling like the eggshell, being walked over. In a sense, I did fall into feeling like I was doing that at the end of the weekend. I could feel the thin line you were walking, and my own fear of having my heart stomped on, and broken by you, again.

There is a level of comfort that I slip into with you that is beyond compare. A sort of feeling of fatalistic submission and a sense of freedom that goes along with that. Like what you might feel with a family member, someone who just doesn’t leave your heart. No matter who they are, no matter what their mood, you still love them. I feel that way about you, and at times I think maybe you feel that way about me too. There’s a kind of ‘sigh of relief’ feeling when we both relax into that knowing, and just feel that sense of security, knowing that we are truly loved…and gratitude that we have been given the grace to love that way.

And then the veil comes down on you. Or maybe the veil goes up off of you, and the shadows emerge into light.

I know those shadows. I’ve seen them in myself. It would not be good for us to give them too much attention. We’ve been there before, and that hurt us, and others…. You need someone who will stand and be bold and secure when you go into those shadows, not be afraid of them. It helps to remember that your moods are like gentle waves, sometimes soothing me, sometimes a little scary with some rocks to navigate.

God grant me the strength to be strong always, and to love you with confidence.

Opening to you Gavin, is profound beyond words. This is the kind of love that brings me to my knees. I offer up prayer that it fills our souls, and heals the holes in our hearts.

Love you,
Karina

(Note scribbled sideways on the same page, dated 9/7/00)
And what about when
I am weak and my own
shadows dance-
what will happen to us then?

A Forest Walk

2009-02-04T04:27:00.000-08:00

With steps of a bear
I enter
Arboreal gates open
I walk, honored
By mycelium carpets
Laid under my feet

You breathe in my darkness
Through fallen leaves and branches
I rise upon your breath
And emerge
On the wings of a bird

____

Note on the painting: I have been trying out different techniques to mask out the trees while I paint the background. On the last painting, I used tape, whereas in this painting I used masking fluid. The result is different, and I'm not yet sure which effect I like better.

Maddening Hearts in the Last Year of Innocence, pt 1

2009-02-02T09:38:00.000-08:00

A serial piece exploring a year in the life of a woman who loved a mad man, as told through her journal entries.

Labor Day 2000,

New journal purchased while puttering around with Gavin. It feels good after all these years of sneaking around, pretending not to care too much, to finally actually get to be with him. After the night he raped me back in '97, I was sure it was finished and I was through. I’m so glad I finally decided to contact him again. The fact that he found out that he is actually bipolar really explains a lot. He seems more self assured, and doesn’t seem to want to play games anymore. I guess the meds have helped him stay out of institutions. I’ve never really agreed with the idea of ‘meds’ but since I’ve known Gavin now for 6 years, and most of them an extreme roller coaster, I can see that they help him. He is calm now, and able to love.

A new era,
A new journal
New dimensions to explore,
Abundance,
A sense of grace…

A new journal picked
With Gavin by my side
Strange, but true
Gavin returns
My heart begins
To burn once more
Perchance, to heal?

Old wounds run deep
Will we kiss the deepest crevasses of them?
Will you stand tall
And face the dark shadows?

If I hold your hand
Will you face the shadows?
Will you help me face mine?
I love you…

For the love of blogging

2009-02-01T08:22:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I have to rebel from my blogging addiction because I start to get mouse arm. You know that one, right? My solution is to go and paint. You would think I wouldn't be able to paint since it is the same arm after all, but amazingly enough, I can! In fact all the aching from too much computer use seems to be transformed as my mind and body slip into 'painting mode' which is really like an altered state of consciousness altogether. Merging with the creative force is excellent meditation...

Note to self: Paint daily.

It probably also helped, of course, that the day before painting this, I went out into the woods and walked, thereby inspiring the painting. In fact, now that I think about it, the exercise also might of helped my arm. Hmmm...

Note to self: Exercise daily.

I will need to consider and be mindful of my time on the computer, and balance it out with other things. In fact, I was just staring out at the future vegetable garden of my back yard today, and thinking that soon I will be planting, maybe getting a few chickens...

Note to self: Get out of doors regularly and tend to the land.

In fact, I think I will go outside now and sow the poppy seeds so that Spring will call me out of the house when she comes...

Note to bloggers: Cat is outside and will return some time in the near future.

The Lemonade Award

2009-01-30T05:24:00.000-08:00

The Lemonade Award is for sites which show great attitude and/or Gratitude!
This award has been bestowed upon my site by Khaled Kem . Thank you Khaled! I am deeply honored.

Rules for the award:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs which show great Attitude and/or Gratitude!
3. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.
4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
5. Nominate your favorites and link to this post.

My nominees are in no particular order:

Great attitudes of honesty, clarity and strong opinion:
Jennifer of The Bride Wore Magenta
Judith of The Being Brand
Julie of The Buffaloe Pen

Great attitudes of community building:
Jason of The Clarity of Night for his fiction contests.
Nancy of Every Photo Tells A Story for for that blog, and her other blog, Breathing Poetry which highlights the poetry of excellent bloggers.

Great attitudes of encouragement:
K. Lawson Gilbert of Old Mossy Moon
Sarah Hina of Murmurs
A.C. of The Dusty Lens
Qualcosa di Bello of Piacere

Great attitudes of bringing difficult subjects to light in a humorous way:
J.R. of JRs Thumbprints for his posts on prison life.
Gledwood of Gledwood Vol 2 for his posts on fighting heroin addiction.

And The Trees Danced

2009-01-23T10:32:00.001-08:00

A bitter wind blew through the land
And screams of rage could be heard
From every corner of the sky,
Echoing throughout all of the Earth.

The ground was red from the battle, the long and endless battle,
Where neither one side, nor the other
Was heard to profess an element of understanding,
And pleas screamed would only break on ears of stone,
As each claimed that their god would reign victorious.

And there were those who loved and simply watched,
Who could see beyond the shades of skin,
And the acclamations of divine intent,
And would weep helplessly,
As they watched the ebb and flow of the bleeding tides,
Cursing the shades and pointing to the color that all beings shared,
Spilled relentlessly on fields of intolerance and greed.

And the reddened brown mud dried and cracked over the earth,
And the land was parched with flame and ash,
And the waters became putrid so no one could drink,
And the air thickened, and was brown with smoke and dust,
And the food would not grow because the rains would not fall,
And all of the Earth settled into a deep despair.

Then, just when all of the world agreed that the end was near,
And that nothing could be done to reverse the turn,
A man with skin the color of coffee and milk
Stepped out onto the battlefield,
And with his eyes, ears and heart open wide,

He listened.

And he heard the cries of the people,
And he spoke to them of Hope,
And the hearts of the many who heard his words
Chose him above all others to be their voice,
And to speak the truth for them.

A fuse was ignited and all around the world,
Tall columns built on worm ridden pedestals
Began to crumble and collapse,
As the age of plenty built on shards of illusion
And the backs of slaves
Could not stand tall,
And cowered in the brilliant light of Hope
And words of Truth.

And all of the people fighting
In all of the lands,
Increased their battles,
Reaching farther into the darkness,
Looting whatever remained of anything precious.
They waged on in their wars, in the names of their gods,
Utilizing women and children, in the crimes of their greed,
And causing a great wave of grief throughout the world.

Then on the eve of the day before the man was to become
The voice of the people,
A great cloud filled the heavens and settled over the land,
And a long and quiet snow fell throughout the night,
Covering the fields stained red in the blood of slaves and soldiers
With a soft blanket of redemption.

And in the morning light,
As the sun shown on the fields of ice and snow,
The man the color of coffee and milk
Stood in front of all the world,
And spoke of Peace and the Promise of Humanity.
And all of the people from all four corners of the earth,
Heard the words,
And wept,
For the broken hearts of the many,
That had finally been redeemed.

And the trees, that had stood guard in watch of their fields,
Who witnessed the toils of the pickers and planters,
Those unlucky, who as children
Had been stolen from the arms of their mothers
And sent in the bottoms of ships, in sickness and shackles
To toil in the fields,

The trees who watched helplessly,
Bearing silent witness to the rape of young girls,
Who thought the dream was a fool’s folly
As the weight of somebody’s child
Swung heavily from their branches,
Though try as they might,
They could not release them,

The very trees whose limbs hung heavy in frozen tears,
Suddenly stood tall and reaching their naked branches to the sky,
They danced with their shadows in the fields of snowy white.
Filled with the blood of the ages they sounded in words heard clearly
In the hearts of the crying spirits of mothers and children of Africa,

"Hallelujah!" They sang.
"Behold, a brand new day!"

A Rajasthani Jagrata

2009-01-19T06:50:00.000-08:00

Maybe it is the honor received for the photos, or the documentary production I mentioned in my last post, (in which production is now heating up with an ending in site), or perhaps it is the all the new friends from India I have found from the Clarity contest, I don't know, but it all points to one thing, I can't get beloved India out of my soul.

After my initiation into India by swindle, sickness and solitude, I finally landed at the Durag Niwas Guesthouse. This is the same wonderful family, that started the Sambhali Trust project which I highlighted in my last post with the picture of Monika. I was invited to attend this Jagrata and...well I'll let the slide show tell the story.

The woman in the orange sari is Govind's mother, and I'd like to ask for your healing thoughts for her. She has suffered a stroke recently, and although she is home now with the family, she has a long way to go for a full recovery.

Enjoy!

If you enjoyed the video, I have also written a longer version of this story. The celebration actually went into the next night and included a goat slaughter that went quite awry. It is quite a fun story, very different from the video, and I think you will enjoy reading it. You will find it on my website at www.catvibe.com.

Art with Heart

2009-01-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends, I am posting this with joy to announce that I have been chosen as a finalist in the Art with Heart Emerging Artist Competition in Charlotte, NC for my photography entries. The very well attended silent auction for this event will be held on February 7th, 2009. For more information about the event, go to the Art With Heart website. These entries from my Reflections of India series are posted for your enjoyment:

Monika Sweeps The Classroom: Monika is a girl I befriended at the Sambhali Trust, a school empowering untouchable girls in Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India. At the moment I am engaged with my brother the video editor, in producing a video from the documentary footage I shot while I was there a year ago. Our intention is to help in the development and support of this very worthwhile project. I have written extensively about the project here.

Bapu's Mother Making Chapattis: Bapu was the manager of The Shahi Palace, a hotel in Jaisalmer, a wonderful golden city in the Thar Desert of Rajasthan. Upon returning from a trip to drop off friends embarking on a camel expedition, I was invited to sit and have tea with Bapu's family who lived in a village in the vast desert that surrounds the city. I found the simplicity of life there to be very enticing, although in talking to folks, most would rather have our complicated lives, and the money that comes with it. It's a grass is always greener scenario. For further reading and photos from my experiences of that day, I've written about it extensively
here.

Family Time in Calcutta: Calcutta, or Kolkatta as it is now called, is one of those places where to have your camera out starts to feel a little voyeuristic and almost unethical. However, if I have found nothing else gratifying about the obscene poverty that pervades India, and is epitomized in Calcutta, I can say with absolute truth that the care that Indians take in even the worst of circumstances to implement the simplistic beauty of color and organization, shows in all aspects of personal life, from the richest grandeur, to the lowest castes and classes. I hope that that shows in this photograph.

Clarity of Night Short Fiction Contest

2009-01-07T04:46:00.001-08:00

Hello Everyone,

Jason Evans of The Clarity of Night ran a short fiction contest calling for entries of not more than 250 words based on the above photo. The contest results have been announced, and although my story did not win, I am pleased to announce that it has rated into the '40's Club', those that scored 40 or over for a possible 45 points. The most successful part of this contest however, is the community building that it inspired, and I am very pleased with all of the new blogging friends I have made as a result. Great job for all of the entries, and congratulations to the winners!

Son Games Mother
by Catherine Vibert

Tommy gave a long sigh as he stepped off the escalator and walked down the hall into the waiting room. He knew if he didn’t show up, she would take his computer.

“Come in Tommy.”

“This is stupid,” Tommy plopped onto the sofa and crossed his arms.

“We can sit here and talk about that if you like,” the therapist’s voice was calm, sterile, “Or, we can just sit here. Either way, it’s the same to me.”

Tommy stared at the floor most of the hour. When his time was up, he reached into his pocket for the co-pay check his mother had written, slipped it into the therapist’s hand, and bolted out of the room.

Later at dinner, he sat down with his mother to eat.

“How was your appointment?” she asked.

He gave his mother an angry stare.

“We determined I’m just lazy.”

“Did you talk about any resolutions?” she searched his face for any truth.

“I don’t care!” Tommy shouted, “I don’t want to go anymore!” He threw his chair back and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Listening from behind the door, she heard his computer power on.

“Tommy, please come out here and talk to me!” she pounded at the door, but he had returned to the game, there would be no talking tonight.

“Good night Tommy,” she walked away, defeated.

“You have an instant message”, her computer beckoned.

“I hate you”, said the words on the screen.

A New Year

2009-01-01T05:00:00.001-08:00

May The Waters Run Deep
To Fill your Coffers With Vision
May The Healing Begin On This Earth
Peace, Compassion, Understanding and Hope For All

I am looking forward to seeing all of your wonderful work in the New Year. Between the 3rd and the 10th, I will be offline celebrating a belated Christmas with my sons.

Cracks of Uncertainty

2008-12-31T06:07:00.001-08:00

I found a cracked uncertain place
And watered seedlings there, with grace
A forest grew, with flowers fair
Upon inspection, nothing there!

The crack since sealed, and now shuts tight
Tho forest tries with all its might
To grow in that unholy place
But without water, only waste.

And hear the forest creak and moan
With sigh and rustle, cry and groan
Where nothing but the wind seeps through
The vines that twist my heart askew.

I'll walk beyond that crack one day
And laugh upon that sordid play
But now it seems there is no chart
To bridge the cracks upon my heart.

The Separation Illusion

2008-12-29T05:42:00.000-08:00

From the bottom of the glass
The bubbles surround you in a sea of illusion,
And then you see the contents,
Joy! Connection!
And reach out to touch them.
But from within their world, there is only pain
And yet,
Hands push against the barrier,
And give you hope!
But the weave of the cloth is thick
And black,
It reeks of smoke and ash.
In fear, their hands retreat,
Only their eyes are visible now,
Empty and lost, they do not seek to find you.

Reflecting Pool

2008-12-24T07:18:00.000-08:00

Light springs from darkness
Deep in the reflecting pool
Beauty transpires

on Christmas Eve, 2008
Merry Christmas everyone!

A Solstice Offering: The Spirit of Unity

2008-12-19T14:50:00.000-08:00

Our love is the light
In our heart we hold the thread
That joins us as one

In the Boneyard

2008-12-16T03:58:00.000-08:00

Artwork "New Places" by Christopher Lem, www.jankywino.blogspot.com

In the Boneyard

Come dance with me in the boneyard,
On a wild and stormy night.
The wind will be our song
As we dance with the dead,
The trees will swirl,
The stars will twinkle,
And the full moon and passing clouds,
Will be our ball and strobe.

Come dance with me in the boneyard,
Where the world is stripped away
With your memory of flesh.
Take this boney hand, and follow,
Step into the yard with boney toe,
And with our boney faces we will laugh
As we sing with our fleshless throats,
Becoming the whistling wind.

Come dance with me in the boneyard
We’ll paint walls of shimmering light,
With a timeless portal into anywhere.
We’ll come and go as we please,
Zipping skin on as we leave,
And only we will know,
In our magical realm,
Where we dance,
and why.

This poem is dedicated to Bunni S, an even older friend than Face who just happened to pop into my life for the first time in 35 years, just a couple of days ago. Bunni is another friend who could create magical worlds with me in childhood. Divine timing?