Sweet Songbird at Sixteen Months

Photographic documentation of the subtle changes in my daughter over the months, really, really, really freaking excites me. Here ya go... 16 months and ONWARD WE MARCH!

State of Repose

Let us consider being still. Extroidinarily still. Like a praying mantis. No movement. No busy mind. Just allowing yourself to engage in the deep melancholy of all the things happening in and around you.

I know we all have urgencies, duties, and obligations, but it is necessary to be calm.

To Recharge.

To be Still. Motionless. Quiet. Introspective. Bare.

Even the Hummingbird Rests. The bustling, wild, eccentric, energetic, lively, and tiring Hummingbird.

It only takes one moment to stop and sing to yourself,
"I am breathing in, I am breathing out. And this is all I really have to do."

(Now if only Salem could appreciate this.)

I Have Learned To Use My Hands

I am learning to rely less on others. I am learning to survive with less affection and love from a multitude of other people. Perhaps this was not my aim, but I am easily adapting to this new sense of freedom. I draw from the few people that I need and love, some are far and some are near. I have retired from my past as well as my future. The ever-present Now is my manifestation. I do not need to look beyond or behind myself any longer.

The food I eat serves a greater purpose.
The words I read inspire me more.
The words I write relieve me, create me, and perpetuate substantial growth within me.
The loved ones I cherish extend an abundance of love to me.
The love I have I extend in abundance to my loved ones.
I find a more sacred space for myself in between breaths.
I have learned to release objects, feelings, people, and places that do not serve me.
I have grown towards acceptance and buried rejection.
I know how to release the tension held in the small space between my eyes.
I have learned to use my hands.
I am at peace with my solitude.

I am a good woman.

"Collective Progress" or "On Waking Up Tomorrow"

Did you know that the rain falling onto the N.E. seaboard of the United States, Eastern Canada, and California, Oregon, and Washington is as acidic as tomato juice? We are relying too heavily on burning coal (coal has sulphur and burning it creates sulpheric acid which, directly produces acid rain).

It kills fish.
Think about that.

That means it is also in your drinking water. Hope your cities have the funds to go to great lengths to extract some of the 200+ hazardous materials in drinking water...

And another thing...

Did you know that it will only take a 12 cm rise in sea level to flood cities on coastlines such as New York or Los Angeles? Currently, the sea levels are rising because of the melting glaciers...And the levels will only continue to rise.

And come on people, stop building your shitty homes on geological disaster zones...

I know, you don't know any better. Neither do I. But we should and we can. It just takes effort.

I don't want to build or buy a home that rests on top of an old waste dumping site. Nor do I want to build or buy a home that is on an active fault( all faults that have been active in the past 10,000 years are still considered "active") , in flood zones ( the process of flooding from rivers is usually a few meters per second) or at the base of a potential landslide. First, we are running out of room and that "forces" us to develop on inhabitable land. (So hey, you religious conservatives, stop refusing to embrace contraceptives, same-sex marriage, and abortions. If we put our personal opinions aside about those things then maybe we could help with our BLATANT overpopulation crisis on Earth...Wow, did I really just put that out there?)

Second, we are greedy and work too fast making decisions that can only afford us temporary satisfaction. Just because we want to build on that gorgeous cliff doesn't mean over time we won't just slide right off into the ocean due to weak rocks beneath the foundation of our home or an eathquake that shakes, shakes, and shakes the foundation loose. Can't you see that my concern is for both the precious, beloved, environment and equally my precious, beloved brothers and sisters?

Don't get me wrong. I am not an expert on environmental geology or engineering. But, I am taking a small amount of time out on this Saturday evening to consider the relationship between Humans and Nature.

And For Fuck's Sake, start recycling. That is a very small and usually effortless contribution ( unless you live where I live and instead of a nice little recycling pickup at your curb you have to drive to three separate places ranging 10-45 minutes away in order to properly recycle all of the recyclable objects you "use"...yes, it does take effort, but ususally Salem gets a good nap in during that time anyway) to prolonging our resources on Earth.

If you have made it this far in this post, I love you. Please know that. Because it will take people like you to make things better round here.

Crucified on the Dentist's Chair

I assume we all agree that teeth are important. They allow you to comfortably smile, communicate and maintain your status as a bi-pedal, symbol-using, chewing mammal. They are a neccessary part of your daily endeavors. Or at least, our teeth are crucial assisstants in turning our food into an easier and more digestible consistency (especially for your meat eaters). So, why then, is it so expensive and virtually impossible to maintain our pearly whites?

Even a flossing, tooth-brusing nazi like myself has been having unfathomable dental issues. And it doesn't help that the two most influential men in my life are so practical and headstrong and question every single thing that the dentists have been feeding me. I am at a loss. I cannot separate the dentists bullshit from their truth any longer. In order to spare you the largely boring details of the past few months of my dental visits, let me just say that I find it hard to believe that one fucking tooth can cost thousands of dollars to maintain. And I find it even harder to imagine that one 1500.00 procedure performed less than one month ago would render my tooth in such a condition that the next necessary step cannot possibly happen. How can these doctors continue to (mal)practice and take thousands and thousands of our dollars and get away with perpetually taking us half the way there? Or in some cases one thirsd the way there.

I am beyond my usual field of compassion and understanding and have entered the realm of utter skepticsm and resentment.

I sat in that damn chair two times, three hours each session to perform a root canal retreat only to get referred to the dentist in the next suite who would tell me that the 1500.00 procedure will have to be completely overhauled to perform the next step.

Times like these, I really wish I wasn't just a damn number or dollar sign. I wish they knew my name and feared me. I wish, as a minimum as a human on this ridiculously god-fearing planet, they would at least be honest.

Come on you damn dentists, didn't you learn in bible school that honesty is important to God?

Concerning Ego

'The shadow', says Jung, 'is a moral problem which challenges the whole ego personality'; it is moreover a social problem of immense importance, which should not be underestimated. No one is able to realize the shadow without considerable moral resolution, and some reorientation of his standards and ideas. Jung hints that no redemption is possible without tolerance and love - attitudes that have proved fruitful in dealing with the social renegade, but that we do not usually think of applying in any constructive way to ourselves.

Nothing Compares To You

I can barely remember the bareness of the woman I was in the past. Surely I was more radiant, more dynamic, and disobedient, right? Surely the potion of rituals I drank which consumed my reality and allowed for the sense of freedom associated with youth, aided in my glory. No? Well, I am skeptical of the distance I used to have with myself. In this temporary moment, sitting among the possessions that create my current home, catching fabric on my broken fingernails, brushing the loose hair away from my eyes, and moving my body so subtlety to the fucking outrageously heart-wrenching vocals of Sinead O Connor, I see that I am a shell of the past; a ring in the trunk of a tree; a mountain underwater; a bouncing marble; a selective, super-sensical, soul-fearing, sacrificial, sacrosanct; sipping slowly from the reserve of energy alive in all things. Shall I bow before the image of myself in the half-lit, foggy bathroom mirror, only to show my obedience and loyalty to this nurturing current of electricity I have become? Or is that the job of my lover or my daughter? Should I still remain humble in this transition or can the touch of sunshine turn me to stone? My skin feels like the sight of water dripping from a dying petal.

Yes, I disengage whenever possible.

Laden Anxiety Surrounding a Broken Babe

The day is dismal and elated and it isn’t even noon. If the hands of the clock didn’t say 11:48 a.m. I swear I would get back into my pajamas and get in bed. To my dismay, I have only begun to conquer the hours of this day. Currently, Salem is sleeping on the afghan covered orange couch. She went effortlessly, presumably because she had just annihilated her chin on the wooden knee of Buddha. (She has a load of defense mechanisms.) The proof is on the right side of my gray tank top where a ghostly shaped, crusty smudge of Salem’s blood casually sits.

Let me back up.

We pull in the tight parking space in front of our loft building. With two sticky, old coffee cups in one hand, a heavy bag full of Composition theory books strapped to my back and a restless child on my right hip, we make our way through the drizzle, up the stairs to the elevator. She loves the elevator. Every single time she must stand alone, banging on the glass watching the trees get farther away. Finally, the heavy metal door cascades open and out tumbles Salem. Crash number 10 of the day. Every crash is equally as gut wrenching and tormenting. Down the long and narrow, fluorescent concrete hallway I can see the doormat that screams “HOME” and “MORE COFFEE”. Of course, the hanging red fire extinguisher on the empty white wall captures her attention. Here we stand. Here we always stand. She touches, pokes and examines the extinguisher and finally decides we can proceed on the rugged journey to our loft.

Insert key, turn handle.

Success.

We are home. It is warm and smells like coffee. Perfect.

I turn to the sink where I anticipate placing the dirty coffee cups. A tower of menacing dishes greets me. Plan B. I just sit the cups along the edge. Dishes can wait. I am tired. I am feverish. I unload the backpack and turn to find Salem. I see her turn the corner around the counter and head towards the living room. I am right behind her. One inch too far behind. Apparently, she trips on her own feet and falls in a violent heap onto the life size Buddha. I hear her chin crack on his lotus positioned knee. I know what comes next. The painful and terribly long moment of silence where her face is frozen in an “o”. Next, a high-pitched, agonizing bloody scream of pain follows. I pick her up hoping her teeth aren’t broken, hoping she didn’t hurt herself too badly. I coax her into a relaxing state by singing little tunes, nursing her and loving her. She falls to sleep within minutes. It is well after her departure into dreamland that I see the blood stain on my shirt. I am still unsure where the source is.

Somewhere within her, a wound needs my healing.

Dirty South

The smell of bbq chicken wings and 40 oz. cans of Schlitz malt liquor linger in the air…Nothing like living in the Dirty South. Especially off of Whitehall and McDaniel streets. Across the street is a convenience store that is protected by a wall of bars. Inside is a cashier that never breathes the same air as his customers. Connected to this store is "Wings R Us". You name it; they'll supply the flavor. At night, the lights of Turner Field create a halo over this skeleton of commerce. Across the street from this over-priced convenience store is yet another four-star restaurant. Only they are more ambitious than the wings place across the street. They serve Philly cheesesteaks along with chineiese food and “the best wings in the South”. Yeah, I spelled it right.
C-H-I-N-E-I-E-S-E, according to the owner of the restaurant. Apparently he or she passed high school geography class. Anyway, we live day-to-day hearing sirens and trains and the pitter-patter of horses hooves from the ever-so-loved carriage horses. They live their lives pulling a sleigh full of rich tourists around the ghostly city of Atlanta. They shit in buckets attached to their asses and have vision blockers on so they can’t see past a straight line ahead of them Yeah, they are living the good life. I wish I could be beat into submission for wanting to not pull thousands of pounds of flesh behind me. So the horses live in stables really close to us and we hear them whipped and trotting all the way home. Nothing like living in outdoor stables that are right beside the busiest interstate of the south to avoid air pollution…Anyway, the days of our South gangster living are coming to an end sometime in the next two years for sure. If anyone reading this knows that I am still here after Jeremy and I graduate I give you permission to poison our wine glasses.