I have a little time before school this morning, I want to spend it catching up, alleviate the stress I am feeling because of being so behind. I am also feeling another pull. A pull to be really transparent about what is going on for me, a pull to use this space as a way of creating some ease for myself and others around my choices, and acceptance of who I am . It is interesting that because I still am back logged by 6 entries at this point, that what I write today, will not be seen for a while yet, not until I have written and proof-read the entries which come before this one...geez I hope I don’t change my mind!
If I were to be with Michael today it would have been our 40th day together. We met on June 6th, and were in contact through phone and email. Then on July 2nd he came to Nelson to get me, take me to the coast and begin working together. Up until this point I have spoken of our work relationship, but I haven’t spoken about our personal relationship. Truth is I don’t really buy into the illusion of there being a separation between these two, and certainly with us this is the case. Michael is my partner, in many ways. We work together, we are friends, and we are also lovers.
I imagine for some of you reading that last line was shocking, others will likely be laughing and saying “Well it is about time!”. I imagine there are many more reactions, and I imagine a number of those involve sadness, fear and confusion. So let me speak about some of the logistics to hopefully minimize at least the confusion. Chris and I have had an open relationship for many years. There was a time when we were “in the closet” about this, there are so many misunderstandings about what this means, often it was easier to just not deal with them. The problem with this was, that it meant hiding. Hiding has a way of taking something and turning it into a dirty little secret. There is nothing “dirty” about the choices I have made when it comes to family, relationships and sexuality, I am actually quite proud of these choices. I am proud that I am willing to look at how us human beings relate to each other, with our friends, lovers, children, and partners and admit that there is much that is not acknowledged.
There is a name that has been coined for the choices we have made for living in our truth, it is called Polyamoury; loving more than one. Not really a radical idea. Most people love more than one person. What is radical in our culture is the idea that a man can be close to more than one womyn and this does not detract from his love for either, or that a womyn can be sexual with more than one person and that this is not “cheating” so long as everyone’s needs are being met. This idea tends to fly in the face of our cultural ideas of relationship based on monogamy. Generally it takes a very big paradigm shift for a person steeped in a monogamy based culture to see polyamoury without projecting a whole bunch of attributes that do not belong to it. The biggest one for me is that it somehow lacks in integrity. Before I address anything else THIS is what I need to explain. Polyamoury for me, and I feel confident to say this for Chris and Michael and Kelly as well, is all about living with integrity, being transparent, honest, and respectful of ALL people involved. It is not about “cheating”, “having affairs”, “or running around”. It is not related to polygamy or polyandry which both tend to polarize power and permission in the direction of one gender. It is not about being “promiscuous” or “slutty” or “a player”. Polyamoury addresses sexuality, sexuality is an integral part, but polyamoury is not about having sex with whoever you want, and for me is about relating to human beings on a deeply connected, spiritual level which most often does NOT involve sex.
Polyamoury is scary, mostly because it flies in the face of the foundation of what our culture was built upon, the nuclear family. A house, lot, car, and lawn mower for every man-womyn-children unit it our western world, and we have grown accustom to this. If you are comfortable with this configuration HOORAY! I am so happy for you that you are able to live in the way you choose. I personally am not happy with this way of doing things, I find it limiting. I want to live in community where there are many parents and many children who support each other. Often in communities such as this relations tend to deepen, boundaries blur. I see this as a positive thing. Again, if you don’t that is just fine, I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. What I am doing is coming out of the closet.
I am polyamorous, so is my husband, his partner Kelly and my partner Michael. I am asking for your compassion, understanding and acceptance. If you have any questions, PLEASE ASK, I will be happy to explain that our way of being a family is beautiful, and not something I want to hide anymore.
Thank you.
“What is the hardest thing you ever had to tell someone?” is the question in 12 days journal 122
And you know what? It really wasn’t that hard to tell this one, the idea of telling was a lot harder.
August 13, 2009
August 12, 2009
Day 4 Jus Dance- Overworked
I am sitting in downtown Oakland eating sushi. I have spent today travelling, saying good bye and catching up on this blog. I am WAY behind! While I write this here on day 4 of dancing I haven’t actually even updated the site yet to let you all know what I have committed to! YIKES! I am committed though to catching up before I come home...actually I am committed to catching up before Saturday...maybe even Friday. Geez, I just want to be caught up, this behind thing is stressful! Anyway I am off to the Sweet’s Ballroom to dance. If it weren’t for this commitment I would likely spend another 4 or 5 hours on this computer catching up, so HOORAY for the commitment to dance!
As I was sitting at the Oakland airport waiting for the rental car shuttle bus, “What do you feel has had the greatest influence on your life?” popped into my mind. I have no idea where it came from, but since it just condensed in my brain from nowhere I decided to trust it, and so this is the question in 12 days journal #121.
Ok off to dance. I promise you will read this by Saturday.
As I was sitting at the Oakland airport waiting for the rental car shuttle bus, “What do you feel has had the greatest influence on your life?” popped into my mind. I have no idea where it came from, but since it just condensed in my brain from nowhere I decided to trust it, and so this is the question in 12 days journal #121.
Ok off to dance. I promise you will read this by Saturday.
August 11, 2009
Day 3 Jus Dance- Small
“Dancing through life”.
I am not 100% sure what this metaphor means. I CAN tell you what it means to me; to elegantly navigate whatever happens, maintaining grace and integrity, taking the crunchy with the smooth, accepting them both as integral parts of this life's journey. I have been told I tend to read into things, and it is possible this is one of those cases, I am ok with that. I am going to continue to ascribe this meaning to the beautiful metaphor of “dancing through life”.
It is probably no secret that dance is among my most favourite joys. It has been my solace and celebration since I can remember. I dance through life as best I can, and I consider life to be a dance, one long delicious dance of many different forms.
I love big dancing; Legs and arms pumping, flying round the room, drawing a crowd.
I also love the small dance, the kind when I can feel my own muscle fibres sliding over each other, millimetre by millimetre. I danced tonight in a slow and delicate way, my partner and I were barely moving. If I had to give it a name I might call it contact dance. There was no flying or rolling around though, only our heads were used. We slowly rolled over and through each other, sensing skin, smell, texture, moving so slowly that others watching may have thought us still. The gentle rise and fall of my chest was the most monumental of my movements. This dance may not have looked like a dance from the outside, I can tell you though that it felt delicious on the inside, and to have shared it with another, another who was also tapping into the small dance, was intimate and sweet and connected us in a way that the big dance can’t touch.
“How do you dance through this life?“ is the question in the front cover of 12 page journal #120
I am not 100% sure what this metaphor means. I CAN tell you what it means to me; to elegantly navigate whatever happens, maintaining grace and integrity, taking the crunchy with the smooth, accepting them both as integral parts of this life's journey. I have been told I tend to read into things, and it is possible this is one of those cases, I am ok with that. I am going to continue to ascribe this meaning to the beautiful metaphor of “dancing through life”.
It is probably no secret that dance is among my most favourite joys. It has been my solace and celebration since I can remember. I dance through life as best I can, and I consider life to be a dance, one long delicious dance of many different forms.
I love big dancing; Legs and arms pumping, flying round the room, drawing a crowd.
I also love the small dance, the kind when I can feel my own muscle fibres sliding over each other, millimetre by millimetre. I danced tonight in a slow and delicate way, my partner and I were barely moving. If I had to give it a name I might call it contact dance. There was no flying or rolling around though, only our heads were used. We slowly rolled over and through each other, sensing skin, smell, texture, moving so slowly that others watching may have thought us still. The gentle rise and fall of my chest was the most monumental of my movements. This dance may not have looked like a dance from the outside, I can tell you though that it felt delicious on the inside, and to have shared it with another, another who was also tapping into the small dance, was intimate and sweet and connected us in a way that the big dance can’t touch.
“How do you dance through this life?“ is the question in the front cover of 12 page journal #120
August 10, 2009
Day 2 Jus Dance- Continued
As yesterday slipped into today, Michael and I spent hours in the chill tent, contact dancing, and climbing up, over, and round the exoskeleton of the geodesic structure. The limitless nature of Shamabala meant I could do this without asking for permission or being asked to stop. So I didn’t stop. I swung round like a monkey, using the climbable walls to move what Michael and I had created on the floor up into another plane. The lack of limits spurred creative play and movement that I had not tapped into before. I witnessed this same phenomena all over Shambala.
There were men who I saw arrive in the Alberta-esque uniform of a Volocom tee-shirt and board shorts, who by the end of the festival were dressed in pink tutu’s, huge afro wigs and very little else. The lack of limits led to unexpected possibilities to give and receive as well.
There were altars, and sacred spaces everywhere. People left offerings on the altars, other came and received offerings. I found some candy my daughter had caught in a parade a week earlier, I placed some it an altar. A few minutes later I saw a young man enjoying some with much gusto. I told him it had come from my 10 year old daughter, he expressed gratitude to us both, “You guys fucking rock!” he said, his tongue purple from the lollipop offering.
There were art tents to create whatever you could dream up, spaces filled with art and installations, water features and of course the ever-present boom boom boom of the music in every direction.
As the sun rose I danced at the beach stage with an amazing dj that I never got the name of. The pink morning sky filled the river with millions of brilliant sequins. There were many people sleeping on the beach, cuddled up under blankets. The light had a way of making the beauty in each face shine. It was a magical experience to celebrate the last day of Shambala by staying up all night to greet it. I saw a beauty in this intense electronic music festival that I could not have known without experiencing it for myself and in this way.
Just before we left the beach stage, a womyn who had been asleep began to convulse and vomit. She was experiencing a bad reaction, presumably because of some sort of drug she had taken. It was disturbing to me, to watch her go through something that I have never even come close to experiencing, a state that I have a deep fear of. I used the term “overdose” to describe it, Michael disagreed. I suppose that like me in the jungle gym, this womyn had decided to test her limits in a limitless culture. I ended up with a knee injury and a sore lower back. I don’t know what her lasting effects will be, probably I never will. We all make our choices about how and when we will decide what boundaries define our own personal experience.
“How do you test your limits?” is the question in 12 days journal #119
There were men who I saw arrive in the Alberta-esque uniform of a Volocom tee-shirt and board shorts, who by the end of the festival were dressed in pink tutu’s, huge afro wigs and very little else. The lack of limits led to unexpected possibilities to give and receive as well.
There were altars, and sacred spaces everywhere. People left offerings on the altars, other came and received offerings. I found some candy my daughter had caught in a parade a week earlier, I placed some it an altar. A few minutes later I saw a young man enjoying some with much gusto. I told him it had come from my 10 year old daughter, he expressed gratitude to us both, “You guys fucking rock!” he said, his tongue purple from the lollipop offering.
There were art tents to create whatever you could dream up, spaces filled with art and installations, water features and of course the ever-present boom boom boom of the music in every direction.
As the sun rose I danced at the beach stage with an amazing dj that I never got the name of. The pink morning sky filled the river with millions of brilliant sequins. There were many people sleeping on the beach, cuddled up under blankets. The light had a way of making the beauty in each face shine. It was a magical experience to celebrate the last day of Shambala by staying up all night to greet it. I saw a beauty in this intense electronic music festival that I could not have known without experiencing it for myself and in this way.
Just before we left the beach stage, a womyn who had been asleep began to convulse and vomit. She was experiencing a bad reaction, presumably because of some sort of drug she had taken. It was disturbing to me, to watch her go through something that I have never even come close to experiencing, a state that I have a deep fear of. I used the term “overdose” to describe it, Michael disagreed. I suppose that like me in the jungle gym, this womyn had decided to test her limits in a limitless culture. I ended up with a knee injury and a sore lower back. I don’t know what her lasting effects will be, probably I never will. We all make our choices about how and when we will decide what boundaries define our own personal experience.
“How do you test your limits?” is the question in 12 days journal #119
August 9, 2009
Day 1 Jus Dance- To be....
As some of you may have noticed, I got way behind on the blog. I have been spending a lot of time workshoping, doing some deep work, travelling and going to school. Today though I played!
Early is this morning we walked over to the chill dome, sketchbooks, pastels and altar in hand, to run another workshop. We were both tired, and agreed that if our names were not on the workshop sign that we would take the day off. Guess what...we were not! A sign from God to let everything go, just enjoy each others company, have fun. We danced all day, from stage to stage, stopping to visit with friends, eat, and spend time together talking about our future plans. It was lovely. At Shamabals there is a definite score. It is a place to explore without limitation. There are some of course, the law of the land still prevails, but then again maybe not. There was overt drug/medicine use everywhere. My sensible mom self, my public persona protecting self, wants to dumb this down here on the blog, gloss over the topic, not express my real feeling about drugs, substances, medicine, etc. I worry you will judge me for my views.
This is how I see it. Drugs are everywhere, they are a part of the human experience. TV is a drug, coffee is a drug, heroine is a drug, sex can be a drug, food can be a drug, or I suppose I should say addictive substance. I recently was in class and our instructor asked who in the class had a relationship with addiction. My hand shot up, I figured many would, but mine was the only one. Not fair! Everyone has addictions, everyone, no matter who you are I guarantee there is something in your life you have trouble controlling. So why all this talk of addiction? Well because it seems to me that there is a belief that drugs and addiction are synonymous. This is a oversimplification and simply not true. Some people are addicted to drugs, others use drugs and are not addicted to them. I can not have TV in my house, I am too susceptible to TV addiction to handle it, alcohol on the other hand I have no trouble handling, so I keep it in my house and drink it when I chose to. Addition is a huge issue, AND it is not the same as drug use. Drug use is a big part of Shambala, people use it for all sorts of reasons, some do damage to themselves, others open their minds and create wonderful ideas, art and events. Much of the beauty and ugliness at Shamabala comes from it’s acceptance of drugs as a part of our culture. I can not judge it, it simply is.
This day was magical, and continued to be magical as the day turned to night and eventually day again...to be continued on Day 2.
“How do yo feel about drugs and drug use?” is the question in 12 days journal #118
Early is this morning we walked over to the chill dome, sketchbooks, pastels and altar in hand, to run another workshop. We were both tired, and agreed that if our names were not on the workshop sign that we would take the day off. Guess what...we were not! A sign from God to let everything go, just enjoy each others company, have fun. We danced all day, from stage to stage, stopping to visit with friends, eat, and spend time together talking about our future plans. It was lovely. At Shamabals there is a definite score. It is a place to explore without limitation. There are some of course, the law of the land still prevails, but then again maybe not. There was overt drug/medicine use everywhere. My sensible mom self, my public persona protecting self, wants to dumb this down here on the blog, gloss over the topic, not express my real feeling about drugs, substances, medicine, etc. I worry you will judge me for my views.
This is how I see it. Drugs are everywhere, they are a part of the human experience. TV is a drug, coffee is a drug, heroine is a drug, sex can be a drug, food can be a drug, or I suppose I should say addictive substance. I recently was in class and our instructor asked who in the class had a relationship with addiction. My hand shot up, I figured many would, but mine was the only one. Not fair! Everyone has addictions, everyone, no matter who you are I guarantee there is something in your life you have trouble controlling. So why all this talk of addiction? Well because it seems to me that there is a belief that drugs and addiction are synonymous. This is a oversimplification and simply not true. Some people are addicted to drugs, others use drugs and are not addicted to them. I can not have TV in my house, I am too susceptible to TV addiction to handle it, alcohol on the other hand I have no trouble handling, so I keep it in my house and drink it when I chose to. Addition is a huge issue, AND it is not the same as drug use. Drug use is a big part of Shambala, people use it for all sorts of reasons, some do damage to themselves, others open their minds and create wonderful ideas, art and events. Much of the beauty and ugliness at Shamabala comes from it’s acceptance of drugs as a part of our culture. I can not judge it, it simply is.
This day was magical, and continued to be magical as the day turned to night and eventually day again...to be continued on Day 2.
“How do yo feel about drugs and drug use?” is the question in 12 days journal #118
Latest Commitment! Just Dancing!
I love to dance. I am sure most of you who follow this blog know this. It is a huge component of my life's work. I never managed to dance professionally, something that made my heart sad for a long while. Then I realized the short-sightedness of this idea of what “dancing professionally” meant. I have funnelled my love of dance away from the stage, and onto the dance floor, the therapy office, the group meditation, the pursuit of a career in Movement Based Expressive Arts Therapy.
Dancing is a key element in my chosen life’s work. Some of this work will pay off financially, this I trust. The other part of the work though, is the kind that pays in abundance, growth, and much gain which can not be tallied or accounted for with money. And so in honour of this I will dance everyday for the next 12 days.
I commit to dancing every day for 12 days. To noticing what it is I love about dancing, to be curious about where my mind goes while in movement, where the experience takes me, and using this experience to write the daily blog and question for the daily 12 days journal.
This one is going to be fun!
Dancing is a key element in my chosen life’s work. Some of this work will pay off financially, this I trust. The other part of the work though, is the kind that pays in abundance, growth, and much gain which can not be tallied or accounted for with money. And so in honour of this I will dance everyday for the next 12 days.
I commit to dancing every day for 12 days. To noticing what it is I love about dancing, to be curious about where my mind goes while in movement, where the experience takes me, and using this experience to write the daily blog and question for the daily 12 days journal.
This one is going to be fun!
August 8, 2009
Day 12 Creative Words- Fruit
Today Michael and I did our first workshop together, as Bernice and Michael. I feel like a 6 year old on the first day of school. There were many obstacles, perhaps we can call them hiccups. Samba bands, electricity outages, lack of walls, and yet it came off wonderfully. Lots of positive feedback, some tears, some expressions of desire to do more art as a result of the experience....HIP HIP HOORAY! We did it!
And so it begins
Part of my work at Tamalpa is to take an experience, and rather than write or talk about it, instead create a piece of art from it. I scribbled down this poem shortly after everyone left. This is a piece of expressive art born from the experience of facilitating expressive art, the fruits of my labour.
The river flows red.
It could easily make me fearful.
Imaginings of chaos, death, ravage.
Imaginings born of stories,
ideas of an unsafe world.
not my world.
MY flowing blood,
rivers of blood.
MY blood coursing through MY body,
carrying all that I need to feel this. THIS.
courage
pride
confidence
ease
wonder
contentment
love
amazement
joy
anticipation
Anticipation of the river as I conceal less,
expand more,
grow more.
Releasing the small muscle fibres of each blood vessel.
Allowing more space for expanded blood.
Blood super saturated with giant bubbles of all the things i need to be THIS womyn,
MY womyn.
Vibrant ,
brilliant,
Red.
I believe I have chosen my calling wisely, I love my work!
“How do you know when you have made the right decision?” is the question in 12 days journal #117
And so it begins
Part of my work at Tamalpa is to take an experience, and rather than write or talk about it, instead create a piece of art from it. I scribbled down this poem shortly after everyone left. This is a piece of expressive art born from the experience of facilitating expressive art, the fruits of my labour.
The river flows red.
It could easily make me fearful.
Imaginings of chaos, death, ravage.
Imaginings born of stories,
ideas of an unsafe world.
not my world.
MY flowing blood,
rivers of blood.
MY blood coursing through MY body,
carrying all that I need to feel this. THIS.
courage
pride
confidence
ease
wonder
contentment
love
amazement
joy
anticipation
Anticipation of the river as I conceal less,
expand more,
grow more.
Releasing the small muscle fibres of each blood vessel.
Allowing more space for expanded blood.
Blood super saturated with giant bubbles of all the things i need to be THIS womyn,
MY womyn.
Vibrant ,
brilliant,
Red.
I believe I have chosen my calling wisely, I love my work!
“How do you know when you have made the right decision?” is the question in 12 days journal #117
August 7, 2009
Day 11 Creative Words- Magic
Today was magical. Michael and I made our way over to the Labyrinth stage, with tea in hand. Our plan was to check in about our workshop timing, then go enjoy the beginning of the rest of the festival; this is not what happened. As we were standing chatting with Mira (the event co-ordinator) we were asked to be part of the opening ceremony for the Labyrinth stage. We were body painted, given a reading each to call in one of the 7 directions, and learned a circle dance which we were to then lead for a crowd of hundreds. It was such an honour to be part of this magical opening ceremony which focused on the sacred nature of our water; the water which makes up 75% of each of us, the same water which runs in our streams, and fills our oceans. The festival has only just begun and already I feel satiated, included and as though I have contributed. Love Love Love.
My afternoon was filled with Shambala wonder. This meandering poem speaks of bits and pieces of the happenings during the day. Don’t look for sense, in the state of mind I was in this wonderful day, there is none.
She holds the tiny promise of magic in her hand and decides to commit.
Time passes, the acrid taste slowly fades.
The frayed edges of two worlds begin to let go into one another.
Eyes glassy and telling,
salt water pools.
“I love her” he says.
The man he tells, blinks, nothing more, returns to mundane this and that.
The sand and rock make the feet slide in a new way.
Music.
She finds the rifts of import and wonder to move to.
What will come next?
What will inspire an old way, show it a new mind.
What will these two create together?
Magic.
Magic in my hand and a decision to commit.
There is a rabbit hole fear, what happens if I can’t get out?
I have to go in every time to remember that this answer only matters at ground level.
Through the night, hand in hand till,
the pull towards tingling skin is too much.
The hunger becomes all there is.
She slides hands over the same landscape time and time again,
every time finding heat and newness in old skin.
A “skin bag” she thinks, laughing.
We are all, each one of us, hidden inside our skin bag
With the same organization, give or take.
What separates us is the magic,
Some of our own creation,
Some the creation of the universe
and sometimes the promise held in a hand and committed to,
one which doesn’t change the colour,
only the hue.
“I love you“ he says.
”I know“ she says,
and strokes the landscape for the first time again.
Magic.
”Do you believe in magic?“ is the question in 12 day journal #116
My afternoon was filled with Shambala wonder. This meandering poem speaks of bits and pieces of the happenings during the day. Don’t look for sense, in the state of mind I was in this wonderful day, there is none.
She holds the tiny promise of magic in her hand and decides to commit.
Time passes, the acrid taste slowly fades.
The frayed edges of two worlds begin to let go into one another.
Eyes glassy and telling,
salt water pools.
“I love her” he says.
The man he tells, blinks, nothing more, returns to mundane this and that.
The sand and rock make the feet slide in a new way.
Music.
She finds the rifts of import and wonder to move to.
What will come next?
What will inspire an old way, show it a new mind.
What will these two create together?
Magic.
Magic in my hand and a decision to commit.
There is a rabbit hole fear, what happens if I can’t get out?
I have to go in every time to remember that this answer only matters at ground level.
Through the night, hand in hand till,
the pull towards tingling skin is too much.
The hunger becomes all there is.
She slides hands over the same landscape time and time again,
every time finding heat and newness in old skin.
A “skin bag” she thinks, laughing.
We are all, each one of us, hidden inside our skin bag
With the same organization, give or take.
What separates us is the magic,
Some of our own creation,
Some the creation of the universe
and sometimes the promise held in a hand and committed to,
one which doesn’t change the colour,
only the hue.
“I love you“ he says.
”I know“ she says,
and strokes the landscape for the first time again.
Magic.
”Do you believe in magic?“ is the question in 12 day journal #116
August 6, 2009
Day 10 Creative Words- Being
Michael and I set out this morning for Shambala to teach a workshop, and to have some fun.
Shambala is a electronic music festival which draws 10,000 people to a wooded fairyland site near Nelson, British Columbia, Canada every August. There are 5 Stages that pump out music 18 hours a day, from 12:00 noon until 6:00 am. Each stage is multi story, elaborately decorated and not something I could have even conceive of existing inside a forest setting until I saw them with my own eyes. There is a river which meanders through the festival grounds and provided much needed bathing for hot, sweaty festivals go-ers who dance and invibe until they leave exhausted, toxified and open in ways they likely would not have expected. There is much opportunity for creative expression, costumes, personal shtick, camp decoration are but a few ways to establish how you are going to contribute to the Shambala atmosphere.
The following piece of writing was put into Michael's hand by a tall man wearing a wizard get up, he had a long cape, a staff and a hat (I think). Michael read it aloud to me over the thumping music.
Being
I am inspired
Summoned to this moment
To stand and grant you
A piece of my soul
Yet you are Choice
Your reality is taking form
As each of these words
Fall upon your lips
For you have called to me
And I have answered
Manifested by your desire
You have chosen me
It has been said
We share more than you know
Love given is Love within
As you and I are One
Simply reflections
This Love is your Love
Accept me whenever
I am with you
-unknown wizard
Do you believe life is a manifestation of your own choices, thoughts and beliefs? is the question in 12 days journal #115
Shambala is a electronic music festival which draws 10,000 people to a wooded fairyland site near Nelson, British Columbia, Canada every August. There are 5 Stages that pump out music 18 hours a day, from 12:00 noon until 6:00 am. Each stage is multi story, elaborately decorated and not something I could have even conceive of existing inside a forest setting until I saw them with my own eyes. There is a river which meanders through the festival grounds and provided much needed bathing for hot, sweaty festivals go-ers who dance and invibe until they leave exhausted, toxified and open in ways they likely would not have expected. There is much opportunity for creative expression, costumes, personal shtick, camp decoration are but a few ways to establish how you are going to contribute to the Shambala atmosphere.
The following piece of writing was put into Michael's hand by a tall man wearing a wizard get up, he had a long cape, a staff and a hat (I think). Michael read it aloud to me over the thumping music.
Being
I am inspired
Summoned to this moment
To stand and grant you
A piece of my soul
Yet you are Choice
Your reality is taking form
As each of these words
Fall upon your lips
For you have called to me
And I have answered
Manifested by your desire
You have chosen me
It has been said
We share more than you know
Love given is Love within
As you and I are One
Simply reflections
This Love is your Love
Accept me whenever
I am with you
-unknown wizard
Do you believe life is a manifestation of your own choices, thoughts and beliefs? is the question in 12 days journal #115
August 5, 2009
Day 9 Creative Words- Hands, Arms and Shoulders
Today I had a fight with Chris. To tell the truth I don’t even know what it was about, it hardly matters, it seems that most arguments are not really about what I think they are about anyway. I remember once fighting with him when he decided to put his own wool hat in the dryer. I was livid at the time, convinced it was about him making poor choices, it was not. I actually was upset at feeling trapped in a life that I felt I had little control over. Some weeks later I wrote the following poem at Tamalpa. When I read it aloud in class one of my classmates was convinced I was going to divorce Chris. This was not what my poem was trying to say. I was again using the creative writing process to sort out the ickyness that was preventing me from keeping perspective. The hat was his to shrink, the life was of my choosing, and it is ok to feel trapped sometimes, but it is a feeling not a reality. Being aware of feeling trapped was the first step towards figuring out what my needs were, and then meeting those needs. Chris and I am still together nearly a year and a half later. I still feel trapped sometimes, I suspect he does too, but we make the decision to stay together and take care of our needs. We are taking care of those needs at the moment in a way that many in our community are struggling to understand, and that is ok, I am patient and committed and meeting my needs is worth a little scrutiny.
“He is wrapped around my finger.
This is necessary, necessary for my survival.
I felt safe in his arms at first. Their strength is what made me consider him,
they were big, bulging, rippled,
forcing veins through skin.
But it was their weeping willow ways that I submitted to.
Long lines of tension that draped with no expectation.
I allowed myself to move in slowly,
safely.
They did not grasp at me, but instead danced on my shoulders and neck, caressing my hair.
Tendrils caressing tendrils.
I rested here.
Now though,
now it is time to leave.
I am aware that they are not as they once were,
these arms.
They have grown rigour mortis like,
stuck in their task with torment and desperation.
They have become stalactites,
our every moment together the deposits that make my prison.
I kick, bite and punch, breaking what binds me.
Destroying what has taken years to create....for better or for worse.
Bernice Raabis
Spring 2008”
When this poem was written we were working with the hands, arms, and shoulders in class, combining metaphors in everyday languaging which relate to the hands, arms and shoulders, with movement which originates from them. The exercise resulted in a poem which was heavy in metaphors relating to these body parts. I am using a similar method to come up with today's question which is, “What weight do you carry on your shoulders?”. This question lives inside 12 days journal 114
“He is wrapped around my finger.
This is necessary, necessary for my survival.
I felt safe in his arms at first. Their strength is what made me consider him,
they were big, bulging, rippled,
forcing veins through skin.
But it was their weeping willow ways that I submitted to.
Long lines of tension that draped with no expectation.
I allowed myself to move in slowly,
safely.
They did not grasp at me, but instead danced on my shoulders and neck, caressing my hair.
Tendrils caressing tendrils.
I rested here.
Now though,
now it is time to leave.
I am aware that they are not as they once were,
these arms.
They have grown rigour mortis like,
stuck in their task with torment and desperation.
They have become stalactites,
our every moment together the deposits that make my prison.
I kick, bite and punch, breaking what binds me.
Destroying what has taken years to create....for better or for worse.
Bernice Raabis
Spring 2008”
When this poem was written we were working with the hands, arms, and shoulders in class, combining metaphors in everyday languaging which relate to the hands, arms and shoulders, with movement which originates from them. The exercise resulted in a poem which was heavy in metaphors relating to these body parts. I am using a similar method to come up with today's question which is, “What weight do you carry on your shoulders?”. This question lives inside 12 days journal 114
August 4, 2009
Day 8 Creative Words- Possibilities
My friend Dariel once asked me if I ever write anything happy. I DO, here on the blog you can read countless entries which are positive and “happy”. Poetry and prose for me though are about finding an outlet for the thoughts, ideas, and pain that I don’t seem to be able to fit into my plucky everyday positive attitude. So here is another twisted bit of writing, based on hurt feelings and the clustered firing of synapses which resulted in the following creation. This writing does not adequately explain how I truly feel about what precipitated the hurt feelings, but it IS a little dark package of ugly truth, where my mind can go in an instant when I am feeling hurt, when I want to lash out and protect myself. I lash out instead here, on the page. I will eventually gain clarity about the hurt feelings; maybe even go have a grown up discussion with the other person involved. That he will read this frightens me, that he may decide it is my all encompassing big kid truth is scary, but I will give him more credit than that. As the poem says “This is who I am”, I trust that this is enough; more than enough, it is glorious.
Endless possibilities exist in those first hours, days, weeks.
Slowly the side which is shown the light, the side which is tanned and coifed can no longer stand the spinal torque required to play these contrived antics.
The hips seize, the knees won’t track properly, as the forward walk into relational oblivion breaks into a run for the finish line.
Who can finish this first?
Who can walk away saving their face, a face which never really saw the light of day, but festered under the mask.
This is who I am! Fuck you if it is not good enough!
Who are you to judge me anyway?
You think you don’t have glaring holes? HUH!
Chest puffed out, hands on hips, seized hips.
I can feel the twisted flesh of this angry face, remember through countless generations the mask of hatred worn by so many womyn,
maidens, mothers, lovers, crones.
A mask I am told was forced upon me by men, men who are now here to say they are sorry, to save.
Well no thank you! I don’t buy your story, I am not a victim, and if I am then I chose this, I am NOT yours to save.
I got myself in, I can get myself out.
Don’t come to me wanting tender touch, open heart, open eyes, windows to my soul.
You can not live inside my soul if you will not cross the threshold.
You can’t have it, you can’t save it, you can’t own it, you can’t create life in it.
I will not allow you to be disappointed by me,
I will not be your “not enough”.
Look me in the eyes and tell me it is not true, that you were predicting this failure all along?
Because if it is me then it is not you,
Dear god don’t let it be you!
So ask about my dreams then tell me they are banal, and like the rest.
I will turn my head to the side, walk away.
and in this way we will begin to plant the seeds of silence together,
And they will grow into a mangrove of soiled possibilities and stinking rotten fruit,
hardly recognizable as descendants of the first hour, day, and week of possibility.
I am going to write one happy one before this commitment is over....I think.
“Do you have a positive outlet for your frustrations, sadness, anger and or pain?“ is the question in 12 days journal #113
Endless possibilities exist in those first hours, days, weeks.
Slowly the side which is shown the light, the side which is tanned and coifed can no longer stand the spinal torque required to play these contrived antics.
The hips seize, the knees won’t track properly, as the forward walk into relational oblivion breaks into a run for the finish line.
Who can finish this first?
Who can walk away saving their face, a face which never really saw the light of day, but festered under the mask.
This is who I am! Fuck you if it is not good enough!
Who are you to judge me anyway?
You think you don’t have glaring holes? HUH!
Chest puffed out, hands on hips, seized hips.
I can feel the twisted flesh of this angry face, remember through countless generations the mask of hatred worn by so many womyn,
maidens, mothers, lovers, crones.
A mask I am told was forced upon me by men, men who are now here to say they are sorry, to save.
Well no thank you! I don’t buy your story, I am not a victim, and if I am then I chose this, I am NOT yours to save.
I got myself in, I can get myself out.
Don’t come to me wanting tender touch, open heart, open eyes, windows to my soul.
You can not live inside my soul if you will not cross the threshold.
You can’t have it, you can’t save it, you can’t own it, you can’t create life in it.
I will not allow you to be disappointed by me,
I will not be your “not enough”.
Look me in the eyes and tell me it is not true, that you were predicting this failure all along?
Because if it is me then it is not you,
Dear god don’t let it be you!
So ask about my dreams then tell me they are banal, and like the rest.
I will turn my head to the side, walk away.
and in this way we will begin to plant the seeds of silence together,
And they will grow into a mangrove of soiled possibilities and stinking rotten fruit,
hardly recognizable as descendants of the first hour, day, and week of possibility.
I am going to write one happy one before this commitment is over....I think.
“Do you have a positive outlet for your frustrations, sadness, anger and or pain?“ is the question in 12 days journal #113
August 3, 2009
Day 7 Creative Words- Lexdycsic
“A thousand plastic flowers
Don’t make a desert bloom
A thousand empty faces
Don’t fill an empty room”
-Fritz Perls
I have been reading a lot of Fritz Perls lately....well ok that is not exactly true. I am SUPPOSE to be reading a lot of Fritz Perls, Gestalt Therapy Verbatim to be exact. I would tell you “it is not as dry as it sounds”, but I can’t because I have only made it to page 7, and Michael read me the first 4 pages....sigh.
Reading has never been easy for me, to even write that makes me feel embarrassed. I was diagnosed as having dyslexia when I was about 7, I don’t buy it. I was put into grade 1 when I was 5, was “taught” to read really young, too young. I don’t believe that I have trouble reading because I am dyslexic, I believe that I have trouble reading because I associate it with the stress of expectation. My 13 year old daughter can read twice as quickly as I can. This is the biggest leftover from the struggle I experienced with reading as a child; I am a slow reader. I also still struggle with reading for content, which again is related to stress, if I feel stressed while reading the information doesn’t stick, not surprising what is known about how stress effects memory. so my body was simply functioning in the way it was suppose to to a situation which was not age appropriate. So now as a 35 year old adult who has a required reading list a mile long for school, I struggle with the word “required”. It is a complete mind trip, if I were to have chosen the book for myself, I likely would have no problem with it, it is the fact that someone else has decided it for me that makes the reading a struggle. Again being 35 I KNOW ultimately I am choosing the reading by the nature of having chosen the course, but it is not a rational thing. My little 7 year old who had to skulk off to the “resource” room when reading time came round, still feels powerless, misunderstood and embarrassed. Perhaps once I read Gestalt Therapy Verbatim I will gain some knowledge about how to get over this. Until then here are a couple of jokes for ya:
Q: What do the letters D.N.A. stand for
A: National Dyslexic Association.
Didja hear about that new group DAM?
Mothers Against Dyslexia.
Didja hear about the dyslexic devil worshipper?
He ended up selling his soul to Santa.
ADDED LATER BECAUSE I FORGOT TO INCLUDE A QUESTION! The question in 12 days journal #112 is “Do you have a good story about something you forgot?“
Don’t make a desert bloom
A thousand empty faces
Don’t fill an empty room”
-Fritz Perls
I have been reading a lot of Fritz Perls lately....well ok that is not exactly true. I am SUPPOSE to be reading a lot of Fritz Perls, Gestalt Therapy Verbatim to be exact. I would tell you “it is not as dry as it sounds”, but I can’t because I have only made it to page 7, and Michael read me the first 4 pages....sigh.
Reading has never been easy for me, to even write that makes me feel embarrassed. I was diagnosed as having dyslexia when I was about 7, I don’t buy it. I was put into grade 1 when I was 5, was “taught” to read really young, too young. I don’t believe that I have trouble reading because I am dyslexic, I believe that I have trouble reading because I associate it with the stress of expectation. My 13 year old daughter can read twice as quickly as I can. This is the biggest leftover from the struggle I experienced with reading as a child; I am a slow reader. I also still struggle with reading for content, which again is related to stress, if I feel stressed while reading the information doesn’t stick, not surprising what is known about how stress effects memory. so my body was simply functioning in the way it was suppose to to a situation which was not age appropriate. So now as a 35 year old adult who has a required reading list a mile long for school, I struggle with the word “required”. It is a complete mind trip, if I were to have chosen the book for myself, I likely would have no problem with it, it is the fact that someone else has decided it for me that makes the reading a struggle. Again being 35 I KNOW ultimately I am choosing the reading by the nature of having chosen the course, but it is not a rational thing. My little 7 year old who had to skulk off to the “resource” room when reading time came round, still feels powerless, misunderstood and embarrassed. Perhaps once I read Gestalt Therapy Verbatim I will gain some knowledge about how to get over this. Until then here are a couple of jokes for ya:
Q: What do the letters D.N.A. stand for
A: National Dyslexic Association.
Didja hear about that new group DAM?
Mothers Against Dyslexia.
Didja hear about the dyslexic devil worshipper?
He ended up selling his soul to Santa.
ADDED LATER BECAUSE I FORGOT TO INCLUDE A QUESTION! The question in 12 days journal #112 is “Do you have a good story about something you forgot?“
August 2, 2009
Day 6 Creative Words- Struggle
Do as I do but not as I say ,
or is it say as I say, not the other way?
Can I have this? It is what I need.
I promise it’s not my ego I feed
I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,
course I’ll make my transparency benign
If you want my number
make sure your willing to dial.
I’ll be keeping a tally
be keeping it all on file.
Every fear divulged
every perceived lie
when I need to cover my ass
The accusations will fly.
Don’t hurt me baby, you’ll pay if you do
It’ll be veiled and contorted but definitely true.
Conditional love is the name of the game,
I may call it “non attachment“ but we know it’s the same.
A cynical look at the new age languaging popularly used in my circles, hot on the tail of the communication commitment. It is the way of things, anytime a new movement comes along, as people struggle to make it their own, make it authentic, there is struggle. I know I struggle with making my inside match my outside; this poem is about that struggle.
”What do you struggle with?“ is the question in 12 days journal #111
or is it say as I say, not the other way?
Can I have this? It is what I need.
I promise it’s not my ego I feed
I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,
course I’ll make my transparency benign
If you want my number
make sure your willing to dial.
I’ll be keeping a tally
be keeping it all on file.
Every fear divulged
every perceived lie
when I need to cover my ass
The accusations will fly.
Don’t hurt me baby, you’ll pay if you do
It’ll be veiled and contorted but definitely true.
Conditional love is the name of the game,
I may call it “non attachment“ but we know it’s the same.
A cynical look at the new age languaging popularly used in my circles, hot on the tail of the communication commitment. It is the way of things, anytime a new movement comes along, as people struggle to make it their own, make it authentic, there is struggle. I know I struggle with making my inside match my outside; this poem is about that struggle.
”What do you struggle with?“ is the question in 12 days journal #111
August 1, 2009
Day 5 Creative Words- Dud
This gal whose blog you do track
bought a new battery for her Mac.
The thing was a dud,
a real piece of crud,
and thus the latest entries do lack.
My brand new battery is not working. My computer won’t hold a charge. So typing while on the road has been a real challenge.
“What challenges do you face?“ in the question in 12 days journal #110
bought a new battery for her Mac.
The thing was a dud,
a real piece of crud,
and thus the latest entries do lack.
My brand new battery is not working. My computer won’t hold a charge. So typing while on the road has been a real challenge.
“What challenges do you face?“ in the question in 12 days journal #110
July 31, 2009
Day 4 Creative Words- In me
Scalloped edged ornate walls,
water on the floor.
I am sore.
Slight discomfort is comforting,
slight odour is comforting too.
Curious then that I try to wash it away.
Downy hairs on the inside of my thigh
bleached golden from summer sun.
As the calendar flips images of winter emerge,
images devoid of you.
You do not live in the snow.
You live in a life less boring.
Cloud shadows lie cross quilted scape
as we move towards relations.
Can the summer breeze exist anywhere but the fancy of summer?
Wind drives the turbines, the promise of power without impact
a way of erasing, or at least making amends.
Foolhardy perhaps, a horse after a cart,
and still the odour lingers.
Water and paper towel do nothing to hide
hopes, fears and little girl dreams
of a mark left, my impact.
A mark as plain to see as crab pincher bruises inside downy haired thighs.
Bruises which will fade by the time the snow flies
along with the odour
which I managed, at last, to wash away
And with it its comfort.
Clean, empty, the turbine now still
no breeze
Just a cold, still, grey winters day.
No impact, only amends to make to a heart with no courage.
A lovely perk of poetry is how it allows the writer to speak about things out in the open, express their angst, fear and rage, without having to actually tell the story. Cryptic self expression that makes for excellent art.
“Do you have a story which you are afraid to tell?” is the question in 12 days journal #109
“If I was all pure and shit where would my art come from?”
-Bernice Raabis to K.D.
water on the floor.
I am sore.
Slight discomfort is comforting,
slight odour is comforting too.
Curious then that I try to wash it away.
Downy hairs on the inside of my thigh
bleached golden from summer sun.
As the calendar flips images of winter emerge,
images devoid of you.
You do not live in the snow.
You live in a life less boring.
Cloud shadows lie cross quilted scape
as we move towards relations.
Can the summer breeze exist anywhere but the fancy of summer?
Wind drives the turbines, the promise of power without impact
a way of erasing, or at least making amends.
Foolhardy perhaps, a horse after a cart,
and still the odour lingers.
Water and paper towel do nothing to hide
hopes, fears and little girl dreams
of a mark left, my impact.
A mark as plain to see as crab pincher bruises inside downy haired thighs.
Bruises which will fade by the time the snow flies
along with the odour
which I managed, at last, to wash away
And with it its comfort.
Clean, empty, the turbine now still
no breeze
Just a cold, still, grey winters day.
No impact, only amends to make to a heart with no courage.
A lovely perk of poetry is how it allows the writer to speak about things out in the open, express their angst, fear and rage, without having to actually tell the story. Cryptic self expression that makes for excellent art.
“Do you have a story which you are afraid to tell?” is the question in 12 days journal #109
“If I was all pure and shit where would my art come from?”
-Bernice Raabis to K.D.
July 30, 2009
Day 3 Creative Words- Blessing
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
John O’Donohue
This is the poem Michael read in the first Journey I co-facilitates with the L.O.V.E Collective, my penultimate journey. I loved the way he spoke it, his voice so strong and reassuring. I want to remember the timber of his voice always, remember the way I felt when I heard him read this blessing for the first time. This was nearly a month ago. So much has changed since then.
“What do you see as the most significant change you have ever made in your life?” is the question in 12 days journal #108
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
Maya Angelou
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
John O’Donohue
This is the poem Michael read in the first Journey I co-facilitates with the L.O.V.E Collective, my penultimate journey. I loved the way he spoke it, his voice so strong and reassuring. I want to remember the timber of his voice always, remember the way I felt when I heard him read this blessing for the first time. This was nearly a month ago. So much has changed since then.
“What do you see as the most significant change you have ever made in your life?” is the question in 12 days journal #108
“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
Maya Angelou
July 29, 2009
Day 2 Creative Words- Mud Puddle
I wrote this when I was feeling bruised, when I was afraid of moving forward, when I wanted to run away rather than face my own feelings of not being enough. I am reminded today, as I reread this writing, that I have the choice to live in this fear, or to accept my imperfections, acknowledge my strengths and gifts, and remember that stumbling, not having all the answers, is what makes me human and therefore loving, loveable and loved.
This was written for a Valentines Day erotica poetry reading. It is a little racy, read no further if allusions to sexuality frighten, offend or disturb.
Mud Puddle
This was written for a Valentines Day erotica poetry reading. It is a little racy, read no further if allusions to sexuality frighten, offend or disturb.
Mud Puddle
This mess of skin and cravings, once so sweet, has found it's inevitable bitterness. Please let me go back, back before the personal mythologies of us both, made murky our once magical mud puddle. Do you remember my love? When the water of our lovemaking lay still, translucent, atop the soft velvet of undisturbed silt. Do you remember when I put my finger in? Plunged it deep, through the wetness, till I found its spongy bottom. With a gentle come hither motion I gathered the slippery concoction, an alchemy of mothers moisture and matter, and lifted its stickiness, not fully experiencing the wet passage, not knowing I should savour it. How could I have fathomed that i was feeling it for the last time? I held the gooey poultice on the tip of my finger, exposing it to the air. I don't know what I was thinking. I was a fool in love I suppose, hungry to show you what I believed to be the prize. I spread it across my face. I remember how it slid on, no resistance, as though it had been waiting there under the water for this purpose alone. My skin was changed, cold against warmth. I felt met, nourished. I closed my eyes, and in that moment all that existed was that swath of skin, wrapped in slippery filth, our combined essence. When I opened my eyes, you were watching me. I saw in your expression something I imagine to be contempt. My heart decided that you despised my silly romantic ways. This is when I felt it. The silt paste began to suck my sweet nectar through my pores. My skin tightened, became parched. I felt the first crack appear in the mask. I wanted to take it back, wash it away, yes, go back in time. But what would you think of me then? Admitting to my foolish notions of romantic love meant letting go of a dream. The dream of being love drunk, intoxicated by sweat, saliva, and musky fluids, not only during penetration but all the in-between times as well. I must have looked a fool, walking along the path, dirty with this spent lubrication smeared cross my cheeks. I pretended, forced conversation and smiles, but by then I knew it was done, that we were done. As we past by the puddle on our way back home, I tried not to look. Hated myself for being so brash, stirring up this murky cloud in water that might have stayed clear even a few precious moments longer. In clear water our bodies communed, slid into and over, salty sweat on flushed skin, cavities engulfing swollen flesh, endless possibilities. Things not possible once the particles of mistrust, self hatred and defence have been stirred up, saturating, leaving an aqueous solution so thick that movement becomes disjointed and contrived. As we continued walking, no longer holding hands, I stifled tears and consoled myself with the idea that I took control of the situation. Rationalized that I sped up what time would have taken care of anyway. Eventually our fluids would have evaporated, our muddy silt would have bore the humiliation of a slow painful dehydration. Who knows how long we might have endured this, better to end it when it was sweet and wet. There is I suppose the chance that the rain may have come, may have reconstituted our love, but hoping makes me feel desperate. I can abide tragedy, but never desperation. No... It is better this way.
12 days journal #107 has the question “What do you think about the idea of perfection?” in the front cover.
July 28, 2009
Day 1 Creative Words- Bracketed
This is what is called a “stream of consciousness poem”. A therapeutic tool which allows the writer (in this case ME) to not censor, a chance to be released from the responsibility of owning projections and crap. Something I have come to call a “shit brackets poem”. The key to reading this poem is not taking it literally, don’t analyse it, that won’t work. Just sit with what resonates, what it provokes and discard the rest. (Oh and there are swears in it, if you don’t like swear words stop here)
Where is my hair clip, my wallet, my keys?
Is this laundry dirty or clean?
When did I last shower? Oh god I am falling behind.
Clogged drain, another mess made, water all over the floor.
I close my eyes and imagine leaving the shower running into the night,
I wake up, fresh in the morning carried away by the water,
live off coconuts and sing to the stars,
no school meetings or bottle drives to attend.
You want honesty? Ok
I don’t go to school meetings or bottle drives,
I forget them, then cover my ass,
make up some bullshit to hide my forgetful ways.
I forget because I am full.
There in no room at my inn,
in my head,
no more in at the inn.
So go away Jesus, go away.
You may be all I dreamed of, what I believe in to save my soul.
I know I asked for you
but this is too hard,
too careful are the words, too measured,
too hard, too fucking hard,
Too too.
This won’t work, my me does not fit in with your you.
We may have learned to love from the same erotica,
speak in words the other understands,
both discard the bread, each for our own reasons,
mine maybe not quite so real as yours,
...but that is your pedestal to live on.
This pedestal that I have taken over the construction of,
wondering who built it before I come along?
Who designed this fucking thing?
I remember back when I attached that last board,
thwack thwack thwack
nails through your hands, fastening you to your crucifix
and wonder...
did I leave my keys there?
Thanks for reading.
“How do you use creative writing and/or poetry in your life?” is today’s question and will live inside the front cover of 12 days journal #106, as soon as I get organized, and actually make it.
“Art is the finest form of projection”
-Fritz Perls
Where is my hair clip, my wallet, my keys?
Is this laundry dirty or clean?
When did I last shower? Oh god I am falling behind.
Clogged drain, another mess made, water all over the floor.
I close my eyes and imagine leaving the shower running into the night,
I wake up, fresh in the morning carried away by the water,
live off coconuts and sing to the stars,
no school meetings or bottle drives to attend.
You want honesty? Ok
I don’t go to school meetings or bottle drives,
I forget them, then cover my ass,
make up some bullshit to hide my forgetful ways.
I forget because I am full.
There in no room at my inn,
in my head,
no more in at the inn.
So go away Jesus, go away.
You may be all I dreamed of, what I believe in to save my soul.
I know I asked for you
but this is too hard,
too careful are the words, too measured,
too hard, too fucking hard,
Too too.
This won’t work, my me does not fit in with your you.
We may have learned to love from the same erotica,
speak in words the other understands,
both discard the bread, each for our own reasons,
mine maybe not quite so real as yours,
...but that is your pedestal to live on.
This pedestal that I have taken over the construction of,
wondering who built it before I come along?
Who designed this fucking thing?
I remember back when I attached that last board,
thwack thwack thwack
nails through your hands, fastening you to your crucifix
and wonder...
did I leave my keys there?
Thanks for reading.
“How do you use creative writing and/or poetry in your life?” is today’s question and will live inside the front cover of 12 days journal #106, as soon as I get organized, and actually make it.
“Art is the finest form of projection”
-Fritz Perls
Latest Commitment! Creative Writing
I was going to do 12 days of organization, I felt I needed it. My life feels so very disorganized at the moment, my physical world, my emotional world, my mental world, all rooms piled high with so much stuff, very little of it in the “proper” place, if such a place exists. I decided instead to go the other route, rather than take a heady approach, I am going to use the expressive arts approach. Apply some of the knowledge I have gained at the Tamalpa Institute to my own life, make art from my life’s process.
I commit to using the next 12 days to showcase and explore my own creative writing and the creative writing of others. I will either write some poetry/prose, or post some of my existing work, or perhaps post the work of others. I will use these writings and the process of their creation or exploration to find clarity around my feelings of disorganization in both my internal and external world.
I commit to using the next 12 days to showcase and explore my own creative writing and the creative writing of others. I will either write some poetry/prose, or post some of my existing work, or perhaps post the work of others. I will use these writings and the process of their creation or exploration to find clarity around my feelings of disorganization in both my internal and external world.
July 27, 2009
Day 12 Communicate- Waiting
It seems fitting that today, the last day of the communication commitment, I should finally receive a reply to a question. A written reply, a 12 days journal filled with answers to the question, “What is your definition of family?”
12 days journal #83 came home...only it didn’t really because it was actually 12 days journal #87, I had mis-numbered it. How ironic is that? That the first one to come back was mis-numberd. Gee Whiz. To add to the “what are the odds?” factor, the actual 12 days journal # 83 was in the possession of someone in the room when I discovered the mix up, I got to confirm that it had been numbered correctly...phew. This mix up partially happened because of how disorganized I have been with the the journals and entries lately...more about this tomorrow when I unveil my next commitment.
I am struck today with just what a task it is going to be to let you all know what comes back in these precious journals. This journal is filled with pressed flowers, pictures, incense, clipped poetry, it is impossible to just transcribe what has be written, the full flavour of the work put into these journals would be lost. So 12 days journal #87 will go into a shoe box until I figure out how to tackle this issue of how to best showcase the journals. I will give you a taste though, this poem was inside 12 days journal # 87, a poem written by Timothy Shay, the man who filled the entire journal. Thank you Timothy for participating and for writing such inspirational and thought provoking word.
Searching for Old
searching for old grandma
as hidden as spore
for her tombstone
through island rain
in green with two daffodils
being careful as a priest
not stepping on a single grave
stooping in the granite garden
in focus for grandma under
asleep and motionless
as bones or sand
dancing among dewworms
smooth creatures of dust
the curly lawn stiff
in made up manicure
grandma is your name
engraved on tree root here
or carried
by conquistador wind
dandelion warrior
from this meadow
a yellow unbroken hillside
grandma our fleshy lives shatter
as dreams or fire baked granite
-Timothy Shay
The rest of the journal will come later, once I have to decide just how to do this. Todays question which lives in 12 days journal #105 is “What have you been waiting for?”
12 days journal #83 came home...only it didn’t really because it was actually 12 days journal #87, I had mis-numbered it. How ironic is that? That the first one to come back was mis-numberd. Gee Whiz. To add to the “what are the odds?” factor, the actual 12 days journal # 83 was in the possession of someone in the room when I discovered the mix up, I got to confirm that it had been numbered correctly...phew. This mix up partially happened because of how disorganized I have been with the the journals and entries lately...more about this tomorrow when I unveil my next commitment.
I am struck today with just what a task it is going to be to let you all know what comes back in these precious journals. This journal is filled with pressed flowers, pictures, incense, clipped poetry, it is impossible to just transcribe what has be written, the full flavour of the work put into these journals would be lost. So 12 days journal #87 will go into a shoe box until I figure out how to tackle this issue of how to best showcase the journals. I will give you a taste though, this poem was inside 12 days journal # 87, a poem written by Timothy Shay, the man who filled the entire journal. Thank you Timothy for participating and for writing such inspirational and thought provoking word.
Searching for Old
searching for old grandma
as hidden as spore
for her tombstone
through island rain
in green with two daffodils
being careful as a priest
not stepping on a single grave
stooping in the granite garden
in focus for grandma under
asleep and motionless
as bones or sand
dancing among dewworms
smooth creatures of dust
the curly lawn stiff
in made up manicure
grandma is your name
engraved on tree root here
or carried
by conquistador wind
dandelion warrior
from this meadow
a yellow unbroken hillside
grandma our fleshy lives shatter
as dreams or fire baked granite
-Timothy Shay
The rest of the journal will come later, once I have to decide just how to do this. Todays question which lives in 12 days journal #105 is “What have you been waiting for?”
July 26, 2009
Day 11 Communicate- What did you say?
Two conversations from this morning:
Bernice: “Were you doing yoga?”
Michael: ”Do I want a coconut?“
Michael in regards to Rosy’s pyjamas: ”Those look like little rabbits!“
Chris, shouts from the other room, believing he heard ”Raabis“ instead of ”rabbits“ : ”WHAT?“
Probably the most common break down in human communication is when someone says one thing while someone else hears another. These two examples from this morning are comical, they led to laughter. Often times though hearing something different than what is said causes pain, confusion and anger. Ever had a conversation like this?
Person 1: ”I don’t want to talk to you anymore, I am too angry!”
Person 2: “Ya well you make me angry too!”
Person 1 didn’t say person 2 ”made“ them angry, only that they were angry. Person 2 heard an accusation, a laying of blame, when it wasn’t spoken . It could very well be what person 1 does believe that person 2 ”made“ her angry, but this wasn’t what she said.
Saying what I really mean when I am angry can be difficult for me, hearing what another person really says when I am angry, can be even more so; I often hear things that were not said.
”When do you get angry?“ is the question in the front cover of 12 days journal #104
Bernice: “Were you doing yoga?”
Michael: ”Do I want a coconut?“
Michael in regards to Rosy’s pyjamas: ”Those look like little rabbits!“
Chris, shouts from the other room, believing he heard ”Raabis“ instead of ”rabbits“ : ”WHAT?“
Probably the most common break down in human communication is when someone says one thing while someone else hears another. These two examples from this morning are comical, they led to laughter. Often times though hearing something different than what is said causes pain, confusion and anger. Ever had a conversation like this?
Person 1: ”I don’t want to talk to you anymore, I am too angry!”
Person 2: “Ya well you make me angry too!”
Person 1 didn’t say person 2 ”made“ them angry, only that they were angry. Person 2 heard an accusation, a laying of blame, when it wasn’t spoken . It could very well be what person 1 does believe that person 2 ”made“ her angry, but this wasn’t what she said.
Saying what I really mean when I am angry can be difficult for me, hearing what another person really says when I am angry, can be even more so; I often hear things that were not said.
”When do you get angry?“ is the question in the front cover of 12 days journal #104
July 25, 2009
Day 10 Communicate- Big Love Crumbs
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly I like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
e.e.cummings
And then there is that blissful way of communicating without words. sigh
“What do you say with your body that you don’t say with words?” is the delicious question in 12 days journal #103
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly I like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
e.e.cummings
And then there is that blissful way of communicating without words. sigh
“What do you say with your body that you don’t say with words?” is the delicious question in 12 days journal #103
July 24, 2009
Day 9 Communicate- Habit
Ack....so much time communicating, in this commitment and the last, has meant falling behind on the blog. It is becoming a habit. A habitual pattern that I do not want to continue repeating yet I am. “What are your habits?” is the question in 12 days journal 102. I would like to write a great entry all about habits and patterns, how they get in the way of communication, but this habit of mine has translated into me sitting here with 2 more entries to write and a bunch of journals to make. My habit is getting in the way of me communicating with you the way I want to. Today’s entry is an example rather than an explanation. So from here on there will be no more insightful words, just the facts.
I have given away 6 journals today:
Jesse Lee got 12 days journal #95, “What are you addicted to?”. He told me had found another of my journals, he drew a picture in it, which is now his facebook profile pic.
Chris got another journal. 12 days journal #86, “How do you stay centred when life gets hectic?”
Kelly is a part of our family and so as I was passing out journals to love ones it was time I gave her one too. She got 12 days journal #80, “What special talent/light/gift do you share with the world, making it a richer place?”
My poet friend, Timothy, got 12 days journal #87, “What is your definition of family?“
Erin, the dancing goddess of commitment got 12 days journal# 98, “Who do you feel safe to share your deepest despair with? Why?”
And Finally I gave one to my dear dear love Richardo. Really I hardly know Richardo, we met in California, I recognized him, at Harbin Hot-springs, as the beyond gorgeous god of a man I would often drool over at Oso Negro back in Nelson. We spent an evening together, he introduced me to another friend, Tal, who had a profound effect on my life. Richardo and I see each other here in Nelson now and then, and although we only speak rarely, I love him, deeply, words are not always necessary. Richardo got 12 days journal #89, “How honest is/was your relationship with your parents?“ Ok this paragraph was a tiny bit insightful after all.
I have given away 6 journals today:
Jesse Lee got 12 days journal #95, “What are you addicted to?”. He told me had found another of my journals, he drew a picture in it, which is now his facebook profile pic.
Chris got another journal. 12 days journal #86, “How do you stay centred when life gets hectic?”
Kelly is a part of our family and so as I was passing out journals to love ones it was time I gave her one too. She got 12 days journal #80, “What special talent/light/gift do you share with the world, making it a richer place?”
My poet friend, Timothy, got 12 days journal #87, “What is your definition of family?“
Erin, the dancing goddess of commitment got 12 days journal# 98, “Who do you feel safe to share your deepest despair with? Why?”
And Finally I gave one to my dear dear love Richardo. Really I hardly know Richardo, we met in California, I recognized him, at Harbin Hot-springs, as the beyond gorgeous god of a man I would often drool over at Oso Negro back in Nelson. We spent an evening together, he introduced me to another friend, Tal, who had a profound effect on my life. Richardo and I see each other here in Nelson now and then, and although we only speak rarely, I love him, deeply, words are not always necessary. Richardo got 12 days journal #89, “How honest is/was your relationship with your parents?“ Ok this paragraph was a tiny bit insightful after all.
July 23, 2009
Day 8 Communicate- Out of the Way
Difficult conversations....ugh. Communication can be tough at the best of times, add a racing heart, triggered emotions, in not only myself but also in the people I am attempting to share with, and things can get intense! Today I let slip something that I didn’t mean to, something I had been asked to hold in trust. I misunderstood the progression of the conversation, thought the information had already been shared, and subsequently unveiled what was still being held close. This was the catalyst for a heated discussion which ended in tears in one, anger and accusations in the other, both left. I was left, as the dust settled, going over what had transpired, realizing my slip. Ugh.
So what now? Running away felt like a good option in the moment, but not a great long term strategy. I want these two to be my friends for a good long time, and have hopes that they will see their way back to friendship. How could I fix this?!
See, my thing is I often feel responsible for others feelings, I am addicted to caretaking. It is true; My name is Bernice, and I am a caretaker. I engaged in my habitual pattern of caretaking in deciding it was my responsibility to sort this whole debacle out; since I catalysed it, I had to un- catalyse. Problem is this does not give these two friends much credit that, as fully functional adults, THEY can sort out what happened between THEM. As it turns out, miracle of miracles, this is exactly what they did. Each owned their part, one that she was projecting “her shit”, the other that, bit by bit, she needs opportunities to speak her painful truth. My babysitting was not necessary. Sometimes the best way of communicating is simply staying out of the way. THIS is something I am working on.
“Was there a time when you involved yourself in something when it might have been better to leave it for others to sort out?“ is the long winded question in 12 days journal #101
So what now? Running away felt like a good option in the moment, but not a great long term strategy. I want these two to be my friends for a good long time, and have hopes that they will see their way back to friendship. How could I fix this?!
See, my thing is I often feel responsible for others feelings, I am addicted to caretaking. It is true; My name is Bernice, and I am a caretaker. I engaged in my habitual pattern of caretaking in deciding it was my responsibility to sort this whole debacle out; since I catalysed it, I had to un- catalyse. Problem is this does not give these two friends much credit that, as fully functional adults, THEY can sort out what happened between THEM. As it turns out, miracle of miracles, this is exactly what they did. Each owned their part, one that she was projecting “her shit”, the other that, bit by bit, she needs opportunities to speak her painful truth. My babysitting was not necessary. Sometimes the best way of communicating is simply staying out of the way. THIS is something I am working on.
“Was there a time when you involved yourself in something when it might have been better to leave it for others to sort out?“ is the long winded question in 12 days journal #101
July 22, 2009
Day 7 Communicate- Celebration
Today 12 days journal # 100 is going in to the world today. I think this calls for a celebration!
To celebrate clear open communication, I am going to use the tool of asking for what I want. What I want is a reduction in work load from this project, to get a break and to catch up. I am going to satisfy this want by taking the day off of blogging! A day off to celebrate 100 journals out there in the world!
“How do you like to celebrate?” is today’s question.
To celebrate clear open communication, I am going to use the tool of asking for what I want. What I want is a reduction in work load from this project, to get a break and to catch up. I am going to satisfy this want by taking the day off of blogging! A day off to celebrate 100 journals out there in the world!
“How do you like to celebrate?” is today’s question.
July 21, 2009
Day 6 Communicate- Needs
I woke up this morning to a Oregon State Trooper pulling up behind our parked vehicle. We spent the night sleeping at a rest stop, we do this often when on the road, my kids probably think rest stops are campgrounds. We were parked in an area where we were not suppose to, we did this because there was less light and noise over in this tucked away corner. I was wearing very little, we are driving through the desert, the nights have been hot and due to mosquitos we can’t crack the windows, by morning we are sleeping in a sauna! Despite having spent a lot of time around Police, there is still an element of fear that comes right to the surface when I am approached by an officer. I became instantly aware of how much skin I had showing, grabbed something that would cover more of me, and threw it on, then got out of the truck.
Officer McCool, said “Good morning” as I, still groggy from sleep, pulled nervously at my clothing. He then got straight to the point:
“Can I ask why you are parked over here and not over in the rest stop area?“
”It was just so noisy over there last night, with all those trucks running, so we moved over here.“
”Oh it was really noisy? Ok that makes sense. This is area where you are is not a good place to park, it prevents the trucks from being able to get out, this is the reason for the no parking signs.“
”Oh ok, I understand, we are going to leave right away.“
”OK, great, Thank you, Have a good day.“
”Thank you officer, you too.“
That was it. Smooth, trouble free, easy. Just two people working out an issue. I thought back over the conversation, and all the things that made it go this way. First, Officer McCool, said ”Good morning“ before proceeding to ASK why I had made the choice I had. He gave me an opportunity to explain, before launching into the rules and regulations. Then he acknowledged the validity of the reasons for my choice. Then it was my turn to be accommodating. Officer McCool has a job to do, if I can facilitate making this job easier without giving up something important to me, then there is nothing lost, and for us both some ease gained. The truth is the trucks were having no problem getting past us, I could have brought this up. It was likely one of the truckers who called our infraction in, someone else upset at the breaking of a rule which they felt was effecting them. It is officer McCools’s job to honour that someone else is taking issue with our choice to ignore this rule. Rather than begin an argument about whether or not the trucks could get through, I just accepted that this officer had a need to uphold the rules, I came up with a solution that worked for us both. This doesn’t mean I said ”I have done something terrible and should be punished.“ or on the flip side, ”That is bullshit the trucks can easily get through!“, all I had to acknowledge was that I understood where he was coming from, we were about to leave anyway, our day was not effected. The conversation ended with mutual good wishings, and was done.
I was originally afraid and understand my reaction. The police have a long history, much of which is scrutinized when they are perceived to have done the wrong thing. I do acknowledge that there is a power imbalance and therefore a fear reaction is somewhat warranted. But I wasn’t dealing with just the ”Police“ I was dealing with a man. Likely one with a family, who loves and desires many of the same things I do. He more than likely had no desire to power trip on me. He more than likely desires ease and harmony most of the time. We are just two human both with needs. He communicated well with me, I communicated well with him, an we both got our needs met. Imagine that.
”What are the common threads that unite us all as humans?“ is the question in 12 days journal #99
Officer McCool, said “Good morning” as I, still groggy from sleep, pulled nervously at my clothing. He then got straight to the point:
“Can I ask why you are parked over here and not over in the rest stop area?“
”It was just so noisy over there last night, with all those trucks running, so we moved over here.“
”Oh it was really noisy? Ok that makes sense. This is area where you are is not a good place to park, it prevents the trucks from being able to get out, this is the reason for the no parking signs.“
”Oh ok, I understand, we are going to leave right away.“
”OK, great, Thank you, Have a good day.“
”Thank you officer, you too.“
That was it. Smooth, trouble free, easy. Just two people working out an issue. I thought back over the conversation, and all the things that made it go this way. First, Officer McCool, said ”Good morning“ before proceeding to ASK why I had made the choice I had. He gave me an opportunity to explain, before launching into the rules and regulations. Then he acknowledged the validity of the reasons for my choice. Then it was my turn to be accommodating. Officer McCool has a job to do, if I can facilitate making this job easier without giving up something important to me, then there is nothing lost, and for us both some ease gained. The truth is the trucks were having no problem getting past us, I could have brought this up. It was likely one of the truckers who called our infraction in, someone else upset at the breaking of a rule which they felt was effecting them. It is officer McCools’s job to honour that someone else is taking issue with our choice to ignore this rule. Rather than begin an argument about whether or not the trucks could get through, I just accepted that this officer had a need to uphold the rules, I came up with a solution that worked for us both. This doesn’t mean I said ”I have done something terrible and should be punished.“ or on the flip side, ”That is bullshit the trucks can easily get through!“, all I had to acknowledge was that I understood where he was coming from, we were about to leave anyway, our day was not effected. The conversation ended with mutual good wishings, and was done.
I was originally afraid and understand my reaction. The police have a long history, much of which is scrutinized when they are perceived to have done the wrong thing. I do acknowledge that there is a power imbalance and therefore a fear reaction is somewhat warranted. But I wasn’t dealing with just the ”Police“ I was dealing with a man. Likely one with a family, who loves and desires many of the same things I do. He more than likely had no desire to power trip on me. He more than likely desires ease and harmony most of the time. We are just two human both with needs. He communicated well with me, I communicated well with him, an we both got our needs met. Imagine that.
”What are the common threads that unite us all as humans?“ is the question in 12 days journal #99
July 20, 2009
Day 5 Communicate- More Mary
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
- Mary Oliver
The line “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.” speaks of my experience today.
Michael and I are finally on our way home. I have spent exactly two days in my own home town since June 13th, it is time to re-root. As we drove for hours and hours, we talked about our lives. I remember hearing once that if you really want to know if you are compatible with someone, you should take a road trip together. Well today makes 18 days on the road, living, working and growing together, it would seem we are compatible. Getting to know each other has been like peeling layers from an onion. As we tell each other our stories, there is a definite order to things. The layers closest to our hearts and sometimes closest to our shame and despair are some of the last to be peeled.
My teacher Soto once said “Every humans deepest desire is to be seen, while every humans deepest fear is to be seen”. The despair that every one of us holds down in our core, stories of childhood, remorse, shame, deep trauma, abandonment, the list of the human condition, are often what we are afraid to share, and yet at the same time these are things that connect us, we all have these stories. The stories may differ in content, for one it may be being neglected as a child, for another being a loner at school, the core of both is abandonment, questions of worth, and anger at not having needs met. These deep layers that take time to reach, and courage to peel, are what allow us to overcome the fear of being truly seen, accept that we are not alone.
I encourage you to find a trusted friend, and be present and supportive for their peeling, and when you feel safe begin to peel some of your own. When shame and hurt see the light of day in a supportive environment, they have a way of transforming, sometimes even melting. This is called growth.
“Who do you feel safe to share your deepest despair with? Why?” is the question in 12 days journal #98
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
- Mary Oliver
The line “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on.” speaks of my experience today.
Michael and I are finally on our way home. I have spent exactly two days in my own home town since June 13th, it is time to re-root. As we drove for hours and hours, we talked about our lives. I remember hearing once that if you really want to know if you are compatible with someone, you should take a road trip together. Well today makes 18 days on the road, living, working and growing together, it would seem we are compatible. Getting to know each other has been like peeling layers from an onion. As we tell each other our stories, there is a definite order to things. The layers closest to our hearts and sometimes closest to our shame and despair are some of the last to be peeled.
My teacher Soto once said “Every humans deepest desire is to be seen, while every humans deepest fear is to be seen”. The despair that every one of us holds down in our core, stories of childhood, remorse, shame, deep trauma, abandonment, the list of the human condition, are often what we are afraid to share, and yet at the same time these are things that connect us, we all have these stories. The stories may differ in content, for one it may be being neglected as a child, for another being a loner at school, the core of both is abandonment, questions of worth, and anger at not having needs met. These deep layers that take time to reach, and courage to peel, are what allow us to overcome the fear of being truly seen, accept that we are not alone.
I encourage you to find a trusted friend, and be present and supportive for their peeling, and when you feel safe begin to peel some of your own. When shame and hurt see the light of day in a supportive environment, they have a way of transforming, sometimes even melting. This is called growth.
“Who do you feel safe to share your deepest despair with? Why?” is the question in 12 days journal #98
July 19, 2009
Day 4 Communicate- Unveiled
My friend KD enacted her self portrait performance yesterday at school, a dress rehearsal for a performance she will unveil at Kuli Mela. Her audience will be 1000 of her brothers and sisters. KD was raised within the Hari Krishna movement. She lived a good part of her life in segregated ashrams, away from her parents. Her community brothers and sisters were and are her family. Her self portrait performance is moving, raw, and blatantly truthful. Her intention is to stand in front of her community, and speak about her truth. A truth shared by many, one they have collectively and non- verbally agreed to not speak about; the opposite of clear, open and honest communication.
In her performance she removes her clothes, she exposes the use of drugs in her culture, the covert nature of forbidden sexuality; and will do so within a 15 minute spot on stage in L.A. next week; her entire community as her witness. Brave doesn’t even begin to describe my friend KD.
I am moved to think of myself, of my return home, of standing naked in my truth, in front of my community. It is time.
“How well does your community know you?” is the question in 12 days journal #97
In her performance she removes her clothes, she exposes the use of drugs in her culture, the covert nature of forbidden sexuality; and will do so within a 15 minute spot on stage in L.A. next week; her entire community as her witness. Brave doesn’t even begin to describe my friend KD.
I am moved to think of myself, of my return home, of standing naked in my truth, in front of my community. It is time.
“How well does your community know you?” is the question in 12 days journal #97
July 18, 2009
Day 3 Communicate- 3 level check
Talking to ones self is usually thought to be a sign of insanity. When a person walks in public muttering to their other self, people generally move to the other side of the street. Certainly verbal ranting to oneself in public is not usually healthy, but communication with ones self is imperative to being able to communicate with others.
I cannot effectively communicate with others in my life if I have no idea what is really going on for me. If I am feeling strained physically, tired, hungry or in pain, but am not conscious of it, it effects how I am relating. Have you ever had an experience where you were trying to explain something to someone, and were feeling irritated. Then decided this was because that other person was “being difficult”, only to realize that you have to pee? That it is actually your own irritation which you are picking up on, not theirs. I have done this many times. I have also experienced feeling something on an emotional level, frustrated, sad, angry, but was not conscious of it, then had a conversation with another and confused the existing emotion with a new one, one elicited from the present exchange. The other level is the mental, when I have a list of things to do, and a whole bunch of stories and ideas running round my mind, with no room for anything more, I will sometimes snap when asked a question, not dealing well because I am unaware that my brain has hit capacity.
At Tamalpa, where I go to school, I have learned a very simple tool for dealing with this. It is called a three level check in. A self care tool to check in with me, to ask myself where I am at physically, emotionally, and mentally.
The answers to the what am I noticing on a physical level involve physical sensations on the inside and out side of my body. I am feeling grittiness in my eyes, or a warmth in my stomach or a tickle in my throat are all good examples.
The answers to how I am feeling emotionally involve only the emotion, sad, content, excited. What is not included is the story behind that emotion, this is left for the mental check in, which is all about what thoughts and ideas are driving our physical and emotional feelings.
Try this sometime, perhaps right before a conversation with a friend. See what a difference is made in the communication when you have taken care of communicating with yourself first.
“How are you feeling physically and emotionally?” is the question in 12 days journal #96
I cannot effectively communicate with others in my life if I have no idea what is really going on for me. If I am feeling strained physically, tired, hungry or in pain, but am not conscious of it, it effects how I am relating. Have you ever had an experience where you were trying to explain something to someone, and were feeling irritated. Then decided this was because that other person was “being difficult”, only to realize that you have to pee? That it is actually your own irritation which you are picking up on, not theirs. I have done this many times. I have also experienced feeling something on an emotional level, frustrated, sad, angry, but was not conscious of it, then had a conversation with another and confused the existing emotion with a new one, one elicited from the present exchange. The other level is the mental, when I have a list of things to do, and a whole bunch of stories and ideas running round my mind, with no room for anything more, I will sometimes snap when asked a question, not dealing well because I am unaware that my brain has hit capacity.
At Tamalpa, where I go to school, I have learned a very simple tool for dealing with this. It is called a three level check in. A self care tool to check in with me, to ask myself where I am at physically, emotionally, and mentally.
The answers to the what am I noticing on a physical level involve physical sensations on the inside and out side of my body. I am feeling grittiness in my eyes, or a warmth in my stomach or a tickle in my throat are all good examples.
The answers to how I am feeling emotionally involve only the emotion, sad, content, excited. What is not included is the story behind that emotion, this is left for the mental check in, which is all about what thoughts and ideas are driving our physical and emotional feelings.
Try this sometime, perhaps right before a conversation with a friend. See what a difference is made in the communication when you have taken care of communicating with yourself first.
“How are you feeling physically and emotionally?” is the question in 12 days journal #96
July 17, 2009
Day 2 Communicate- Addiction
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.
~ Mary Oliver ~
What happens when communicating honestly and openly is not met with the same? What happens when stepping up is not met with stepping up, but sitting down, with resolve, and resignation, with accusations of resentment rather than admissions of personal responsibility?
Have you ever had to let go of something you loved because it was just not good for you anymore? “What are you addicted to?“ is the question in 12 days journal #95
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.
~ Mary Oliver ~
What happens when communicating honestly and openly is not met with the same? What happens when stepping up is not met with stepping up, but sitting down, with resolve, and resignation, with accusations of resentment rather than admissions of personal responsibility?
Have you ever had to let go of something you loved because it was just not good for you anymore? “What are you addicted to?“ is the question in 12 days journal #95
July 16, 2009
Day 1 Communicate- Non-Violence
Brief History of Non-Violent Communication
Growing up in an inner–city Detroit neighborhood Marshall Rosenberg was confronted daily with various forms of violence. Wanting to learn what he could about the causes of violence and what could be done to reduce violence he chose to study clinical psychology and received his Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology from the University of Wisconsin.
In addition to his studies in Clinical Psychology, he also studied comparative religions, the lives of peacemakers throughout history, and other research to identify what human learning contributes to violence and what human learning contributes to compassionate giving and receiving. From his research, he identified thinking, language, communication skills and means of influence that reduced violence and supported compassionate relationships. He integrated what he learned into a process he named Nonviolent Communication.
Offering Nonviolent Communication to others and seeing how it empowered people to create change nonviolently and its to contribute to compassionate ways of living, he founded the Center for Nonviolent Communication. Marshall and members of the Center for Nonviolent Communication organized and trained teams of people in the following countries to apply Nonviolent Communication where it can best support compassionate ways of resolving conflicts and fulfilling the needs of all.
The Center for Nonviolent Communication now has more than 200 people certified to offer the training in these countries. In addition to people developing the process with the help of certified trainers, thousands of people around the world receive it from friends and family members whose lives have been enriched by it fulfilling the adage, “Each one teach one.”
“How do you communicate?“ is the question in 12 days journal #94
I am going to communicate this very clearly and concisely. I NEED SLEEP! I am going to bed. Goodnight!
Latest Commitment! Communication Skills
I have spent the last 2 days in a car, talking. I have laughed, cried and everything in between. Michael and I share a passion for communication; we have both, in our own way, committed our lives to it.
I am committing to focusing on my communication model for the next 12 days, to renewing my commitment to clear languaging. To using existing models and tools; and to seeking out new ones. I am committing to looking inward, seeing where I can grow, and acknowledging my strengths. I commit to allowing what emerges from this inquiry into communication to formulate the questions for the daily journal.
I am committing to focusing on my communication model for the next 12 days, to renewing my commitment to clear languaging. To using existing models and tools; and to seeking out new ones. I am committing to looking inward, seeing where I can grow, and acknowledging my strengths. I commit to allowing what emerges from this inquiry into communication to formulate the questions for the daily journal.
July 15, 2009
Day 12 Body of Water- Surprise!
I had today's entry all worked out in my mind. I was going to say something about the 12 days of swimming also turning out to be the 12 days of Michael. He arrived in Nelson on day one of this commitment, to drive me to the coast to work with the L.O.V.E Collective. We swam together that first day at Red Sands Beach. I have spent this entire commitment with him; him alone, him and the Love Collective, him and my husband and girls, and finally him and I alone again, as he drove me down over the border as I head back to school. The idea was for him to drop me at the Seattle airport after a swim, thus concluding the 12 days of swimming along with the 12 days of Michael.
Life is full of all kinds of surprises.
This is Michael and I swimming in Chehailus, Washington, an hour beyond Seattle. As things turned out, I missed my flight. Since Michael had a bit of time before he needed to be in Nelson, we decided to drive to California. I will go to school, I am not sure what he will do. You just never can tell how a day is going to end.
“Is there a particular surprise which stands out in your memory?” is the question in 12 days journal #93 the final journal for this commit.
Life is full of all kinds of surprises.
This is Michael and I swimming in Chehailus, Washington, an hour beyond Seattle. As things turned out, I missed my flight. Since Michael had a bit of time before he needed to be in Nelson, we decided to drive to California. I will go to school, I am not sure what he will do. You just never can tell how a day is going to end.
“Is there a particular surprise which stands out in your memory?” is the question in 12 days journal #93 the final journal for this commit.
July 14, 2009
Day 11 Body of Water- Hiccups
We finally left the festival grounds today, time to let go of the experience. As we drove away, just beyond the gate the car began to sputter. We ran out of gas.
We chose the best spot to run out. It was just a matter of putting the car in reverse and rolling back into the festival site, no walking required. We went looking for friends with a vehicle to drive us to the gas station. We found a bunch, they were eager to help, offering suggestions along with offerings of food and comforts left over from the festival. A couple offered to let us syphon some gas from their vehicles, another to drive us to the station. Yet another suggested that there may be some gas left over from the generators which powered the music and lights. This, we decided, was the best first course of action. We wandered round looking for some one who looked official. A number of folks led us to Casey. Casey, one of the festival organizers, had run out of gas as well, he was going back to town in an hour and said he would take our jerry can and fill it. Then added, “There is that one jerry can over there, I doubt there is anything left in it, but if there is, it’s yours.” There was more than enough to get us across the island, over to the ferry and beyond. It was a bit of a hiccup, but one that could not have went more smoothly.
When we arrived at Blubber Bay for our first ferry we missed the 3:00pm by minutes. We wanted to park our car in line to make sure we made the next one, this meant waiting around for 2 hours at the ferry dock. I wondered how we were going to get in a swim. Just as this thought was turning to a worry, a van pulled up and a friend asked ”Do you guys know where the swimming quarry is?“ Before I could marvel at this synchronicity, Michael piped up, ”Ya sure, we will come with you and show you where it is!“ Another little hiccup which worked out fine, better than fine, it worked out refreshingly!
Michael and I took our longest swim yet, in the warmest water yet. It was warm because it was quarry water, no in flow, no out flow, just a big puddle of water which is warmed by the sun and the rocks each day. I grappled about whether it was a ”natural body of water“. Michael asked if my intention for the commitment had been fulfilled. My intention was to take a refreshing swim under the sun, in water without added chemicals. To swim surrounded by the Mother. My intention was fulfilled.
”How important is the intention behind a choice or action?“ is the question in 12 days journal #92
We chose the best spot to run out. It was just a matter of putting the car in reverse and rolling back into the festival site, no walking required. We went looking for friends with a vehicle to drive us to the gas station. We found a bunch, they were eager to help, offering suggestions along with offerings of food and comforts left over from the festival. A couple offered to let us syphon some gas from their vehicles, another to drive us to the station. Yet another suggested that there may be some gas left over from the generators which powered the music and lights. This, we decided, was the best first course of action. We wandered round looking for some one who looked official. A number of folks led us to Casey. Casey, one of the festival organizers, had run out of gas as well, he was going back to town in an hour and said he would take our jerry can and fill it. Then added, “There is that one jerry can over there, I doubt there is anything left in it, but if there is, it’s yours.” There was more than enough to get us across the island, over to the ferry and beyond. It was a bit of a hiccup, but one that could not have went more smoothly.
When we arrived at Blubber Bay for our first ferry we missed the 3:00pm by minutes. We wanted to park our car in line to make sure we made the next one, this meant waiting around for 2 hours at the ferry dock. I wondered how we were going to get in a swim. Just as this thought was turning to a worry, a van pulled up and a friend asked ”Do you guys know where the swimming quarry is?“ Before I could marvel at this synchronicity, Michael piped up, ”Ya sure, we will come with you and show you where it is!“ Another little hiccup which worked out fine, better than fine, it worked out refreshingly!
Michael and I took our longest swim yet, in the warmest water yet. It was warm because it was quarry water, no in flow, no out flow, just a big puddle of water which is warmed by the sun and the rocks each day. I grappled about whether it was a ”natural body of water“. Michael asked if my intention for the commitment had been fulfilled. My intention was to take a refreshing swim under the sun, in water without added chemicals. To swim surrounded by the Mother. My intention was fulfilled.
”How important is the intention behind a choice or action?“ is the question in 12 days journal #92
July 13, 2009
Day 10 Body of Water- Continued
“Diversity Festival is a 4 day, 3 night music festival that features artists from BC, Canada and abroad.
Festival highlights include 1 Band Stage, 1 Dj stage, workshops, art installations, interactive visuals, a vendors village, performance art and so much more.....
The festival grounds located on Texada Island at Shingle Beach Forest Service campsite are nestled amongst old growth trees, mossy bluffs covered with wind swept arbutus and juniper trees. Diversity Festival”
Today the festival ended. It was quite the time. I would elaborate but things are just too busy to do anything but say, life will never quite be the same!
We all (Chris, Michael, Kelly, Rosy, Lily and I) swam at a rock quarry on the way off the island, well that was the plan anyway. After the swim we realized we had to take a friends computer back to the festival site. We got back and there was still a huge crowd, music pumping. Looks like the good times don’t need to end just yet!
“How do you like to celebrate?” is the question in 12 days journal #91
Festival highlights include 1 Band Stage, 1 Dj stage, workshops, art installations, interactive visuals, a vendors village, performance art and so much more.....
The festival grounds located on Texada Island at Shingle Beach Forest Service campsite are nestled amongst old growth trees, mossy bluffs covered with wind swept arbutus and juniper trees. Diversity Festival”
Today the festival ended. It was quite the time. I would elaborate but things are just too busy to do anything but say, life will never quite be the same!
We all (Chris, Michael, Kelly, Rosy, Lily and I) swam at a rock quarry on the way off the island, well that was the plan anyway. After the swim we realized we had to take a friends computer back to the festival site. We got back and there was still a huge crowd, music pumping. Looks like the good times don’t need to end just yet!
“How do you like to celebrate?” is the question in 12 days journal #91
July 12, 2009
Day 9 Body of Water- Howler
“B.C. man presumed drowned off Texada
A Vancouver man is presumed drowned after swimming in the ocean off Texada Island Friday night.
David Kevin Fletcher, 35, was reported missing on Saturday by friends who were with him at the Diversity music festival on Shingle Beach, on the island's lower west shore.
Fletcher's untouched clothes were found in a pile near the water, which indicates the man went in for a swim and did not come out, said Powell River RCMP staff Sgt. Andy Brinton.
Brinton said the waters were calm Friday night but the current can be strong along the coastline.”
I didn’t know that the man I have come to know as “Howler” was named David. I never met Howler, but I met many people at the festival, including Michael, who did. Howler it seems decided to walk into the ocean and ,by choice or circumstance, didn’t come back. It seems fitting that today was also the day that the winds howled, picking up the ocean, chopping it into waves making swimming impossible. So instead of swimming I ceremoniously washed my face, hands, and body in the cold ocean water, and thought about Howler. I thought of all the things I had learned about him. He almost always wore a jester hat, liked to bike naked and loved people with a deep and passionate heart; always willing to help. I will never know Howler, this is something that makes me sad.
“Is there someone you would like to know or know better?“ is the question in 12 days journal #90.
Be well Howler, wherever you are. My wish is that you have found what you were looking for. God speed.
A Vancouver man is presumed drowned after swimming in the ocean off Texada Island Friday night.
David Kevin Fletcher, 35, was reported missing on Saturday by friends who were with him at the Diversity music festival on Shingle Beach, on the island's lower west shore.
Fletcher's untouched clothes were found in a pile near the water, which indicates the man went in for a swim and did not come out, said Powell River RCMP staff Sgt. Andy Brinton.
Brinton said the waters were calm Friday night but the current can be strong along the coastline.”
I didn’t know that the man I have come to know as “Howler” was named David. I never met Howler, but I met many people at the festival, including Michael, who did. Howler it seems decided to walk into the ocean and ,by choice or circumstance, didn’t come back. It seems fitting that today was also the day that the winds howled, picking up the ocean, chopping it into waves making swimming impossible. So instead of swimming I ceremoniously washed my face, hands, and body in the cold ocean water, and thought about Howler. I thought of all the things I had learned about him. He almost always wore a jester hat, liked to bike naked and loved people with a deep and passionate heart; always willing to help. I will never know Howler, this is something that makes me sad.
“Is there someone you would like to know or know better?“ is the question in 12 days journal #90.
Be well Howler, wherever you are. My wish is that you have found what you were looking for. God speed.
July 11, 2009
Day 8 Body of Water- Transparency
Today Michael met the rest of my family. Kelly, Chris, Michael, Lily, Rosy and I spent the day swimming in the ocean, listening to music, dancing and getting to know each other at the 7th Annual Diversity Festival on Texada Island, British Columbia, Canada.
“How honest is/was your relationship with your parents?“ is written in the front cover of 12 days journal #89
“How honest is/was your relationship with your parents?“ is written in the front cover of 12 days journal #89
July 10, 2009
Day 7 Body of Water- Crossing the Water
Today is a travelling day. Our journey includes 4 ferry crossings, it likely will take us 12 hours, to make it 30 kilometres, as the crow flies, from our starting point. This is the reality of island travel. The up side is we have to “hurry up and wait” a lot. Waiting for 4 ferries means lots of visiting, meeting new people, unexpected events and lots of down time. On the first trip cross the water this morning we met a man. He told me his name, but I won’t attempt to write it. He told me in his native tongue and it includes many sounds not represented on this limited keyboard. He was born around Powell River, his people have lived in the area for thousands of years. He sang us a traditional song which is sung when crossing the water. As he sang I danced, Michael sang along, Noel drummed. I didn’t know at the time but Steve took a photo, I am glad he did. I am happy to have had this magical moment to share with you.
Just before leaving Cortes Island a crew from the L.O.V.E collective swam (NAKED), for likely the last time this summer, in Hague Lake. I have forgot to mention before now that I have swum naked everyday except once. Perhaps I should have made this the “swimming naked everyday for 12 days commitment”!
“What do you love about summer?” is the question in 12 days journal #88
In the summer I am naked more than in the winter, and this nakedness often happens around other, usually when swimming or sunbathing. When I am naked more, when I am around others who are naked more, I am kinder to myself about how my body looks. I find I am gentler with the idea of what my body is “suppose” to look like in the summer, this is one of the many things I love about summer.
We are off to the Diversity Festival on Texada Island. Festivals are another thing I love about summer!
Just before leaving Cortes Island a crew from the L.O.V.E collective swam (NAKED), for likely the last time this summer, in Hague Lake. I have forgot to mention before now that I have swum naked everyday except once. Perhaps I should have made this the “swimming naked everyday for 12 days commitment”!
“What do you love about summer?” is the question in 12 days journal #88
In the summer I am naked more than in the winter, and this nakedness often happens around other, usually when swimming or sunbathing. When I am naked more, when I am around others who are naked more, I am kinder to myself about how my body looks. I find I am gentler with the idea of what my body is “suppose” to look like in the summer, this is one of the many things I love about summer.
We are off to the Diversity Festival on Texada Island. Festivals are another thing I love about summer!
July 9, 2009
Day 6 Body of Water- Family
Laundry day! As the washer cycled, Michael and I went for a coffee at Trude’s Cafe. This is where I left 12 days journal #81, and where I decided to give 12 days journal #84 to myself and 12 days journal #83 to Michael. While our clothes dried we paid a visit to The Gathering Place, where we were given a tour of this amazing community, ate breakfast straight from the garden, and caught up on each others lives. Back to fold the laundry, then off to the debrief from the show last night, and a closing circle which would decided the fate of the L.O.V.E Collective, and finally a group swim in the ocean at Galen’s Beach.
As I am keeping my entries short this commitment, I will leave the description of the meeting at this. While the L.O.V.E Collective is not continuing in this current incarnation, it is still alive as a concept and a force. It will, by either the same name or another, reconfigure at some point, when it does I will be a part of it. Until then the members are scattering. Some I likely will not see for many moons, others I will see often. Michael announced to the group he is moving to Nelson to start a family.
“What is you definition of family?“ is the question in 12 days journal #87
As I am keeping my entries short this commitment, I will leave the description of the meeting at this. While the L.O.V.E Collective is not continuing in this current incarnation, it is still alive as a concept and a force. It will, by either the same name or another, reconfigure at some point, when it does I will be a part of it. Until then the members are scattering. Some I likely will not see for many moons, others I will see often. Michael announced to the group he is moving to Nelson to start a family.
“What is you definition of family?“ is the question in 12 days journal #87
July 8, 2009
Day 5 Body of Water- Just Not There
Still no pictures, the days have been too full of performances, rehearsals, circles, and travel to do anything but keep up. No words either, just a question
“How do you stay centred when life gets hectic?” is in 12 days journal #86, which doesn’t actually exist yet as I haven’t had a chance to make it yet.
Oh wait I do have some words. I went swimming in Hague Lake with Joelique today. I actually SWAM, like for real swimming. The day was warm, the lake was great, the company sweet. Cortes Island is a true paradise being here with the L.O.V.E Collective makes it that much sweeter.
“How do you stay centred when life gets hectic?” is in 12 days journal #86, which doesn’t actually exist yet as I haven’t had a chance to make it yet.
Oh wait I do have some words. I went swimming in Hague Lake with Joelique today. I actually SWAM, like for real swimming. The day was warm, the lake was great, the company sweet. Cortes Island is a true paradise being here with the L.O.V.E Collective makes it that much sweeter.
July 7, 2009
Day 4 Body of Water- Moonlight
Radio shows, ferries, cars that won’t start, good laughter, relational deepenings, relational strains, dogs, pee stops, food, scattered travellers on an epic road trip, all added up to me realizing, at nearly midnight, that I had yet to swim. I considered lying to you all; I was freezing and the idea of going out into the rainy night to slip into a mountain lake sounded torturous. Michael lovingly encouraged me, nudged me out into the clouded full moon night. We walked slowly towards the lake, wrapped in blankets. Talking about the journey we had been on this last few days. Michael is in the last leg of his tour with the L.O.V.E Collective, his brain and heart child. I am with them for the first time, just as this particular incarnation of the group is ending. Michael and I have formed a very deep friendship steeped in mutual goals, loves, and desires. We are blessed with similar communication models, which makes understanding each other so easy. Ease...blessed ease.
We arrived at the lake and jumped in. By “jumped” I mean walked very slowly, hands clutched round our bodies, making a huge fuss about how bloody cold it was. The lake here on Cortes Island, Hague Lake, is actually incredibly warm for a Canadian lake, but this didn’t seem to make any difference. It was COLD!
Since this commitment began I have been curious as to what exactly constitutes “swimming” in a natural body of water? You should know that I haven’t exactly been swimming laps! Michael decided that so long as both my feet come off the ground, it was “swimming”.
As soon as both my toes breached the surface of the water, I was out of there! Michael was braver, he dove in, but quickly followed me out.
We walked home, wrapped tightly in our blankets. The rain let up, a small patch of sky appeared, and the full moon made a cameo appearance. Michael and I have known each-other for exactly a moon cycle and a day....I think after many, many more cycles pass that we will still be walking in the moonlight together, working as partners, doing the work of our hearts.
The question of what constitutes “swimming” made my friend Joelique think of “What is enough?”. I wondered how I could mould this question into something that would be easy to answer, but decided the question was enough. And so this is how it is written in 12 days journal 85, which will be given to Joelique.
We arrived at the lake and jumped in. By “jumped” I mean walked very slowly, hands clutched round our bodies, making a huge fuss about how bloody cold it was. The lake here on Cortes Island, Hague Lake, is actually incredibly warm for a Canadian lake, but this didn’t seem to make any difference. It was COLD!
Since this commitment began I have been curious as to what exactly constitutes “swimming” in a natural body of water? You should know that I haven’t exactly been swimming laps! Michael decided that so long as both my feet come off the ground, it was “swimming”.
As soon as both my toes breached the surface of the water, I was out of there! Michael was braver, he dove in, but quickly followed me out.
We walked home, wrapped tightly in our blankets. The rain let up, a small patch of sky appeared, and the full moon made a cameo appearance. Michael and I have known each-other for exactly a moon cycle and a day....I think after many, many more cycles pass that we will still be walking in the moonlight together, working as partners, doing the work of our hearts.
The question of what constitutes “swimming” made my friend Joelique think of “What is enough?”. I wondered how I could mould this question into something that would be easy to answer, but decided the question was enough. And so this is how it is written in 12 days journal 85, which will be given to Joelique.
July 6, 2009
Day 3 Body of Water- Freedom
Michael and I swam in the Pacific ocean today off the coast of Victoria. It was likely the shortest swim I will take this commitment, it was damn cold!
I also left 12 days journal# 78 and 12 days journal #79 at the Moka House on Cook Street in Victoria.
“What is freedom?” is the question in 12 days journal# 84
“So freedom and love go together. Love is not a reaction. If I love you because you love me, that is mear trade, a thing to be bought in the market;
it is not love. To love is not to ask anything in return, not even to feel that you are giving something- and it is only such love that can know freedom.”
J. Krishnamurti
I also left 12 days journal# 78 and 12 days journal #79 at the Moka House on Cook Street in Victoria.
“What is freedom?” is the question in 12 days journal# 84
“So freedom and love go together. Love is not a reaction. If I love you because you love me, that is mear trade, a thing to be bought in the market;
it is not love. To love is not to ask anything in return, not even to feel that you are giving something- and it is only such love that can know freedom.”
J. Krishnamurti
July 5, 2009
Day 2 Body of Water- Anger
We woke up this morning in Rock Creek, then took a morning swim in the Kettle River, one of my all time favourite swimming spots. What a wonderful way to start the day! Then we drove, and drove, and drove, fuelled by so many cherries that my belly is SORE! When we arrived at the coast we boarded a ferry to sail across the George Straight to Victoria BC. We had a strange, sad and frightening experience on the ferry.
Before boarding Michael and I were giggling, rolling around and being very playful on a the grassy patch which is mostly used for travellers dogs to relieve themselves. I usually explain to people that dancers can seem unusually cuddly, that we are used to playing and expressing ourselves with our bodies. Others can find this behaviour overt, they become uncomfortable. As I type this though I wonder if it is the dancing part of us which makes us this way, or the deeply compassionate part of us, that part so tapped into love that it shows up all over us, all around us? As we were being silly and having fun, finally out of the car after hours of driving, I became aware of a man in his mini van, spitting on the ground and saying “disgusting!” over and over again. I felt like it was directed at us, I physically felt the anger penetrate our playful bliss bubble. My mind though, being its eternal logical self, brushed this off. I couldn’t make sense of it; I mean why? Why would anyone be offended by what we were doing? Sadly my mind was wrong, my heart knew it was being judged. The angry man became more and more aggressive. I told Michael I needed to leave, I am very sensitive to this kind of energy. I would like to say I can roll it off my shoulders, not care what others think but this is just not the case. As we got up to walk away the man gave us the finger one more time with a huge smile on his face, I can only guess he was happy that we were leaving. I was shaken, and happy for the whole ordeal to be over.
We had planned to sleep in the car for the ride over the water but decided to go to the upper-deck first, to get drinking water. I went to the bathroom. As I came out I was washed over by a feeling which still makes my heart pound. Michael was not outside the bathroom waiting for me, I knew something was not right. I started searching for him, it was not hard, all I had to do was follow the yelling voice of a man filled with hate. A man who was saying terrible, violent things to Michael. When I came round the corner the man had already shoved Michael's face, sending him into a trash can. Something about my arrival had the angry man retreating, still saying terrible things, but less willing to be aggressive. I wondered later why this was, but was just grateful at the time. Michael was handling himself with composure and grace, staying true, in this moment of intense verbal violence, to his empathetic heart. He had removed his glasses because the man had already hit them, it was a reasonable thing to do, but I was afraid things would become more physical, that the angry man would take the removal of glasses as a sign of aggression. So I asked Michael if we could just leave, not try to work things out. Michael agreed. Then just as we did I spun on my heels, filled with a sudden rush of protectiveness, and asked the angry man to talk to me now. I could not understand what he was so angry about, I wanted to understand. What was it he thought was so “disgusting”? He refused to speak to me, he left. Later, in the car as we processed this experience, Michael wondered how this man could believed that what we were doing, or even what he PERCEIVED we were doing, could in anyway justified to hitting another person and telling him “Your lucky I don’t rip your throat out and throw you over board”?
All I can come up with is that this man saw two people experiencing joy, laughter and love, and that somewhere deep inside he wanted these experiences, these feelings more than anything in the world, realized that he didn’t know how, and instead reacted with the only emotion he could access. It is my deepest wish that this “angry man” finds peace, love and joy, and that he never attack anyone like he did Michael ever again. And since I am an optimist and believe that anything is possible, I am going to add...and so it is!
“What scares you about love?“ is the question in 12 days journal # 83
Before boarding Michael and I were giggling, rolling around and being very playful on a the grassy patch which is mostly used for travellers dogs to relieve themselves. I usually explain to people that dancers can seem unusually cuddly, that we are used to playing and expressing ourselves with our bodies. Others can find this behaviour overt, they become uncomfortable. As I type this though I wonder if it is the dancing part of us which makes us this way, or the deeply compassionate part of us, that part so tapped into love that it shows up all over us, all around us? As we were being silly and having fun, finally out of the car after hours of driving, I became aware of a man in his mini van, spitting on the ground and saying “disgusting!” over and over again. I felt like it was directed at us, I physically felt the anger penetrate our playful bliss bubble. My mind though, being its eternal logical self, brushed this off. I couldn’t make sense of it; I mean why? Why would anyone be offended by what we were doing? Sadly my mind was wrong, my heart knew it was being judged. The angry man became more and more aggressive. I told Michael I needed to leave, I am very sensitive to this kind of energy. I would like to say I can roll it off my shoulders, not care what others think but this is just not the case. As we got up to walk away the man gave us the finger one more time with a huge smile on his face, I can only guess he was happy that we were leaving. I was shaken, and happy for the whole ordeal to be over.
We had planned to sleep in the car for the ride over the water but decided to go to the upper-deck first, to get drinking water. I went to the bathroom. As I came out I was washed over by a feeling which still makes my heart pound. Michael was not outside the bathroom waiting for me, I knew something was not right. I started searching for him, it was not hard, all I had to do was follow the yelling voice of a man filled with hate. A man who was saying terrible, violent things to Michael. When I came round the corner the man had already shoved Michael's face, sending him into a trash can. Something about my arrival had the angry man retreating, still saying terrible things, but less willing to be aggressive. I wondered later why this was, but was just grateful at the time. Michael was handling himself with composure and grace, staying true, in this moment of intense verbal violence, to his empathetic heart. He had removed his glasses because the man had already hit them, it was a reasonable thing to do, but I was afraid things would become more physical, that the angry man would take the removal of glasses as a sign of aggression. So I asked Michael if we could just leave, not try to work things out. Michael agreed. Then just as we did I spun on my heels, filled with a sudden rush of protectiveness, and asked the angry man to talk to me now. I could not understand what he was so angry about, I wanted to understand. What was it he thought was so “disgusting”? He refused to speak to me, he left. Later, in the car as we processed this experience, Michael wondered how this man could believed that what we were doing, or even what he PERCEIVED we were doing, could in anyway justified to hitting another person and telling him “Your lucky I don’t rip your throat out and throw you over board”?
All I can come up with is that this man saw two people experiencing joy, laughter and love, and that somewhere deep inside he wanted these experiences, these feelings more than anything in the world, realized that he didn’t know how, and instead reacted with the only emotion he could access. It is my deepest wish that this “angry man” finds peace, love and joy, and that he never attack anyone like he did Michael ever again. And since I am an optimist and believe that anything is possible, I am going to add...and so it is!
“What scares you about love?“ is the question in 12 days journal # 83
July 4, 2009
Day 1 Body of Water- Haute Kooture
ACK! I give myself permission to slack of on writing and here I am two days late on this entry. So here is the skinny!
Michael arrived today. He came all this way knowing I had to make the trip to Victoria, a 14 hour journey, in a very short period of time. He hitchhiked out to share the driving, and so we could get to know each other better before doing the show with the L.O.V.E collective on the 6th. I am so happy he is here.
We went to Red Sands for my very first swim in the commitment. It was freezing and wonderful. There are great rocks on the beach to sun yourself after the cold plunge into the Glacial waters of Kootenay Lake. Red Sands is a clothing optional beach so I also got to go NAKED!
Later I modelled in the Day and Night fashion event, showcasing local designers. There are so many funky fashions which come out of Nelson, many of them from eco and recycled fabrics. I was in yesterdays show as well which show cased Day wear, tonight was evening wear. I got to wear some of the very talented Becky Norris’ fashions. As soon as I was done on the runway I dash out, to start the long drive to Victoria with Michael. It wasn't until it was too late to turn back that I realized I was still wearing the dress I had modelled, a gorgeous sparkly brown frock with an abbreviated asymmetrical hem line, lots of ruffles and a deep plunging neckline. My hair was big, my make up bold and when I walked into 7-11 at midnight to get gas, there were a fair number of stares.... high eco fashion is the perfect attire in which to start road trip!
None of the photo’s from the fashion show turned out, but perhaps some will show up on facebook, apparently due to the minimal length of my dress, there are a number of shoots which are intimate in nature, I can only hope people are kind enough to NOT post these ones!
“Do you have a story from a memorable road trip?” is the question in 12 days journal 82, which I am going to give to my new friend Seth who I met through Micheal, he was in the kitchen at the Point Street House when I was trying to come up with today’s question, it sounds as though her just came back from an epic bike trip, I am sure he has a few stories!
Michael arrived today. He came all this way knowing I had to make the trip to Victoria, a 14 hour journey, in a very short period of time. He hitchhiked out to share the driving, and so we could get to know each other better before doing the show with the L.O.V.E collective on the 6th. I am so happy he is here.
We went to Red Sands for my very first swim in the commitment. It was freezing and wonderful. There are great rocks on the beach to sun yourself after the cold plunge into the Glacial waters of Kootenay Lake. Red Sands is a clothing optional beach so I also got to go NAKED!
Later I modelled in the Day and Night fashion event, showcasing local designers. There are so many funky fashions which come out of Nelson, many of them from eco and recycled fabrics. I was in yesterdays show as well which show cased Day wear, tonight was evening wear. I got to wear some of the very talented Becky Norris’ fashions. As soon as I was done on the runway I dash out, to start the long drive to Victoria with Michael. It wasn't until it was too late to turn back that I realized I was still wearing the dress I had modelled, a gorgeous sparkly brown frock with an abbreviated asymmetrical hem line, lots of ruffles and a deep plunging neckline. My hair was big, my make up bold and when I walked into 7-11 at midnight to get gas, there were a fair number of stares.... high eco fashion is the perfect attire in which to start road trip!
None of the photo’s from the fashion show turned out, but perhaps some will show up on facebook, apparently due to the minimal length of my dress, there are a number of shoots which are intimate in nature, I can only hope people are kind enough to NOT post these ones!
“Do you have a story from a memorable road trip?” is the question in 12 days journal 82, which I am going to give to my new friend Seth who I met through Micheal, he was in the kitchen at the Point Street House when I was trying to come up with today’s question, it sounds as though her just came back from an epic bike trip, I am sure he has a few stories!
Latest Commitment! Swimming in Natural Bodies of Water
Ok it is time again for a new commitment. I can feel that it is time for a commitment which is easy and fun, not a lot of work. Something soothing for my soul and body.
One of my all time favourite summer activities is swimming, in lakes, oceans, and especially rivers. I grew up on a river. Riding the currents and rapids of natures water-slide represented freedom, self reliance, and was often an escape from some of the not-so-nice parts of my life growing up. I travel with a bathing suit clipped inside the passenger side of my car where it can dry, this way I am always prepared for a swim. The best swimming though is done when I can leave the suit in the car. I adore swimming naked.
I will swim in a natural body of water everyday for the next 12 days. I am travelling to the coast with my dear friend Michael, through the southern part of majestic British Columbia. There are literally hundreds of rivers and lakes along the way, and eventually an ocean to welcome us upon our arrival. I will swim in each during this commitment. It is my goal to take lots of photos and share them with you. Admittedly this is partly because I also plan to take a break from longer entries for this 12 day commitment, a bit of a 12 day vacation from the 12 day project. So you may often get photo’s in lieu of words.
I invite you to join me in this commitment and whenever possible...SWIM NAKED!
One of my all time favourite summer activities is swimming, in lakes, oceans, and especially rivers. I grew up on a river. Riding the currents and rapids of natures water-slide represented freedom, self reliance, and was often an escape from some of the not-so-nice parts of my life growing up. I travel with a bathing suit clipped inside the passenger side of my car where it can dry, this way I am always prepared for a swim. The best swimming though is done when I can leave the suit in the car. I adore swimming naked.
I will swim in a natural body of water everyday for the next 12 days. I am travelling to the coast with my dear friend Michael, through the southern part of majestic British Columbia. There are literally hundreds of rivers and lakes along the way, and eventually an ocean to welcome us upon our arrival. I will swim in each during this commitment. It is my goal to take lots of photos and share them with you. Admittedly this is partly because I also plan to take a break from longer entries for this 12 day commitment, a bit of a 12 day vacation from the 12 day project. So you may often get photo’s in lieu of words.
I invite you to join me in this commitment and whenever possible...SWIM NAKED!
July 3, 2009
Day 12 One on One- 100!
Well this is the 100th entry for this blog, and to celebrate I am going to keep it under 100 words....this means I only have 74 words left! YIKES!
I finally got my one on one alone time with sweet Ayla Bayla. We went for Thai food and a bubble drink, but I had to leave earier than expected because I got a call to go early to get my hair and make-up done for the show. This made me sad, our time together is so short. She is nearly 14, I still think of her as my little baby. I can feel her slipping away into adulthood, ultimatly I am very happy and proud of this, but a little sad too.
“What is something you have done that you are very proud of?“ is the question in 12 days journal #81
My answer is Ayla.
154 words...not bad I suppose.
I finally got my one on one alone time with sweet Ayla Bayla. We went for Thai food and a bubble drink, but I had to leave earier than expected because I got a call to go early to get my hair and make-up done for the show. This made me sad, our time together is so short. She is nearly 14, I still think of her as my little baby. I can feel her slipping away into adulthood, ultimatly I am very happy and proud of this, but a little sad too.
“What is something you have done that you are very proud of?“ is the question in 12 days journal #81
My answer is Ayla.
154 words...not bad I suppose.
July 2, 2009
Day 11 One on One- Starting Point
Sometimes the things I see on holiday that are fabulous and thought provoking are famous, like the Hearst Castle, apparently the most visited monument in the State of California. Other times though, the neatest thing I see in a day is random. Today we came around a corner on a fairly deserted highway between Grass Valley and Kent Oregon, to find this:
There is no pay parking lot, no gift shop, just a dusty pull out. I wondered aloud how it all started. The smart ass answer was “with one pair of shoes”. This came from my teenager, complete with an ample serving of sarcasm. What I meant was that I wondered at the story behind this shoe tree. Again since this is a random site, not sanctioned by any government or group, there was no placard to explain. I am left to come up with my own stories. Perhaps a pair of shoes got thrown out of a passing car, got caught in the tree, another passing traveller saw this and in a moment of whimsy added another. I imagined the trend continuing until the tree grew to its quirky and magnificent current self. Or maybe this art installation is the work of the property owner? Maybe they had seen a similar tree elsewhere and wanted one of their own. It is possible they work at a goodwill store and make use of all the shoes which can no longer be used. I will probably never know.
It is interesting to look at how things get started. This 12 days project was started on a whim. The first entry talks about how it was born out of my exercise neurosis. Having not sweated from activity while on an unexpectedly intense 12 days cleanse, I came up with a 12 days sweat cleanse, which grew into 12 days up Pulpit Rock, which grew into...well this entry, which I just realized is number 99. Wow. Far out.
Yesterday the conversation, on our long day of travelling, turned to the first day Chris and I met. We both remembered what we were wearing, where we stood, and how we had a deep appreciation for the shape of each others butt! Imagine if we knew on that first day that this meeting would become a defining moment of our lives...do you think we would have continued? or freaked out and run away? I am not sure myself, I guess this is why the Universe (God, Goddess, Powers that Be, Grand Pooh Ba) keeps us in the dark. I think that sometimes knowing our potential is the scariest thing of all.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
by Marianne Williamson
You know it Marianne! Truer word have rarely been spoken.
“What special talent/light/gift do you share with the world, making it a richer place?” is the question in 12 days journal #80. In which I will write the quote by Marianna Williamson.
Oh and as for today's one on one time...we are all trapped in a vehicle and have a total of 11 hours worth of ground to cover before the day is done. I couldn’t avoid one on one time if I tried, and believe me, with the amount of bickering in the back seat, I have considered riding on the roof.
There is no pay parking lot, no gift shop, just a dusty pull out. I wondered aloud how it all started. The smart ass answer was “with one pair of shoes”. This came from my teenager, complete with an ample serving of sarcasm. What I meant was that I wondered at the story behind this shoe tree. Again since this is a random site, not sanctioned by any government or group, there was no placard to explain. I am left to come up with my own stories. Perhaps a pair of shoes got thrown out of a passing car, got caught in the tree, another passing traveller saw this and in a moment of whimsy added another. I imagined the trend continuing until the tree grew to its quirky and magnificent current self. Or maybe this art installation is the work of the property owner? Maybe they had seen a similar tree elsewhere and wanted one of their own. It is possible they work at a goodwill store and make use of all the shoes which can no longer be used. I will probably never know.
It is interesting to look at how things get started. This 12 days project was started on a whim. The first entry talks about how it was born out of my exercise neurosis. Having not sweated from activity while on an unexpectedly intense 12 days cleanse, I came up with a 12 days sweat cleanse, which grew into 12 days up Pulpit Rock, which grew into...well this entry, which I just realized is number 99. Wow. Far out.
Yesterday the conversation, on our long day of travelling, turned to the first day Chris and I met. We both remembered what we were wearing, where we stood, and how we had a deep appreciation for the shape of each others butt! Imagine if we knew on that first day that this meeting would become a defining moment of our lives...do you think we would have continued? or freaked out and run away? I am not sure myself, I guess this is why the Universe (God, Goddess, Powers that Be, Grand Pooh Ba) keeps us in the dark. I think that sometimes knowing our potential is the scariest thing of all.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
by Marianne Williamson
You know it Marianne! Truer word have rarely been spoken.
“What special talent/light/gift do you share with the world, making it a richer place?” is the question in 12 days journal #80. In which I will write the quote by Marianna Williamson.
Oh and as for today's one on one time...we are all trapped in a vehicle and have a total of 11 hours worth of ground to cover before the day is done. I couldn’t avoid one on one time if I tried, and believe me, with the amount of bickering in the back seat, I have considered riding on the roof.
July 1, 2009
Day 10 One on One- Gadyo
There was a change in plans. Ayla and I were suppose to fly to Spokane tomorrow from Oakland. Chris, Rose and Lily were going to continue camping on their way up towards the west coast of Canada. Ayla needs to go home to start rehearsing for a performance she has at the end of July. I need to go home for a performance on the 3rd and 4th, then I am leaving again, making my way to the coast with Michael and leaving Ayla behind with her Nana. Well Ayla and I are still on our way home, but instead of being carried by a plane, we are being carried by our trusty truck and camper. Chris decided he wanted to come home, camp in Canada instead. We decided this last night at Seaside, and are now at the Oregon/California border. Just two States to go!
We were slow getting going this morning, then stopped to fish and swim. We haven’t made a good deal of head way yet. I think Ayla is freaked out we will be late for her rehearsals. The sun is going down, this is when we make consistent progress once the little ones fall asleep.
I have really enjoyed these last 4 days. Wandering round California, house on our backs. I am descendent of many peoples, a proper Heinz 57, but I identify most with my Spanish Gypsy heritage. I am told the term “Gypsy” is not PC, that I should call myself one of the Roma people or the Gadyo people. I am not sure about this, I have always loved the romantic associations of being a Gypsy. I find I am at my most relax when I don’t know where I will be the next day. Nomadic blood runs through these veins.
“What part of your heritage or ancestry do you most relate to?“ is the question in 12 days journal #79
I have been stockpiling journals again, this journal as well as the last two sit in my bag. I am travelling, which is a great time to give them away but haven’t sat still long enough. Our family has been very insular and to ourselves these last few days, I suppose this was the point of this commitment. I am going to make a better effort to leave the journals daily and get out of this new stockpiling habit. Part of this is getting back into the habit of making up the journal each day and not leaving it to be done 3 an 4 journals at a time.
We were slow getting going this morning, then stopped to fish and swim. We haven’t made a good deal of head way yet. I think Ayla is freaked out we will be late for her rehearsals. The sun is going down, this is when we make consistent progress once the little ones fall asleep.
I have really enjoyed these last 4 days. Wandering round California, house on our backs. I am descendent of many peoples, a proper Heinz 57, but I identify most with my Spanish Gypsy heritage. I am told the term “Gypsy” is not PC, that I should call myself one of the Roma people or the Gadyo people. I am not sure about this, I have always loved the romantic associations of being a Gypsy. I find I am at my most relax when I don’t know where I will be the next day. Nomadic blood runs through these veins.
“What part of your heritage or ancestry do you most relate to?“ is the question in 12 days journal #79
I have been stockpiling journals again, this journal as well as the last two sit in my bag. I am travelling, which is a great time to give them away but haven’t sat still long enough. Our family has been very insular and to ourselves these last few days, I suppose this was the point of this commitment. I am going to make a better effort to leave the journals daily and get out of this new stockpiling habit. Part of this is getting back into the habit of making up the journal each day and not leaving it to be done 3 an 4 journals at a time.
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