The Fabulous Blog Award

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.