bird toy

bird toy.
sometimes useful, somewhat amusing, shiny thing.
left alone unless bored.
pecked at by the universe.
shit on.
life.
bird toy.

it doesn't pay to piss me off

i was given a christmas cactus as a gift.
at first blush, i was touched. how nice, i thought, such a spontaneous gesture.
only a day after receiving it, i was entertaining doubts.
the reason i was suspicious of the motivation behind said gift is that, of course, i immediately wanted to take pictures of it. ha.
photographically speaking, this is the plant from hell. it is a demon, existing solely to make mad those who seek to digitally reproduce it's form.
that would be me. and i'm already nuts enough.
i got pissed.
(i don't anger easily. when i do reach saturation point, just stand back. leave the room. hell, leave the country.)
add to that a major dose of polish stubbornness, and you have...

pictures! good ones!
took me two damn weeks, so i'm posting almost all of the ones that worked. i'm saving a few for the bad days, when nothing works, and i need a lift. i'm not just speaking photographically, either.

arlo's christmas carol

i'm old. so this is culturally significant for me.
i work on ahimsa, the yogic principle of non-violence.
so this is spiritually significant for me.
plus, it's funny.
arlo guthrie has been, and continues to be, one of the gentler people on the planet. he seems to have escaped the genetic disease, huntington's chorea, to which woody succumbed.
the first couple of lines had been running 'round my brain for a few days. i finally remembered enough to go looking.

short version: (embedding is disabled, here's the link)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQbyT0cUMNc

if you want to hear the whole thing: (and it's worth it!)

may your holidays, and the year to come, be filled with peace, of heart, mind, and spirit.
namaste.

this post brought to you by...

...tag, who posted, and once known as el tejon, who commented on tag's post today.
(not to mention my first husband, who contacted me this past weekend, after about 15 years.)

i'm supposed to be making fudge right now.

the question under discussion, at least in my head, is:
once heartbroken (or twice or 47 times), how do we move on in a way that serves us? how do we avoid the hardening of the heart into which we can fall so easily? what do we do with the hurt, anger, bitterness that we humans create so easily, and feel the need to justify? how do we let go of the pain, and let love in again?

It is sad not to love, but it is much sadder not to be able to love.
-Miguel de Unamuno

i could write reams about this. none of it would be new. so here's the reader's digest condensed version.

1. don't deny the hurt. don't hang onto it, either.
2. tell yourself the truth. don't let others tell you what you are, or should be, feeling.
3. know what part you contributed to the heartbreak. if you think you have no
part in it, think again.
4. resolve to do better the next time, for yourself and whoever you meet.
5. resolve that there will be a next time.
6. forgive the other person.
7. forgive yourself.
8. remember that you are healing. there will be very bad days, and not so bad days, and finally, good days.
9. resist the temptation to take on the role of victim.
10. finally, make no decisions based on the pain. those decisions, like "i'll never do this again", or "i'm not loveable" are pretty much always wrong.

i could write more of these pithy little comments. i might, later on.
there's so much more to this topic than can be addressed in one post.

we all have to make our own way through the muck and miasm of heartbreak.
this quote is the bottom line:

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was within me an invincible summer.
-Albert Camus

the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step

the question then becomes, which path?

"Look at every path closely and deliberately, then ask ourselves this crucial question: does this path have a heart? If it does, then the path is good. If it doesn't, then it is of no use."
Carlos Castaneda
The Teachings of Don Juan

life, art, what's the difference?

i've struggled with the "issue" of creativity my entire life. i was told, early and often, by family and teachers, that i was not creative, and that i had no artistic talent. in any arena. the implication was that i would NEVER have any, talent being inborn, and i was shit out of luck. and so, it became something after which i yearned, longed for, lusted after. the lack of it also became something that defined me. that lack lodged in my brain and body.

since i couldn't create, i became an accomplished audience. that was not enough.

i know a bit about how brains work, and how brain organization and perception intertwine. i know that i think differently, and see (both literally and figuratively) differently, than most. i know that now. back in the day, not so much. it's damn near impossible to hold on to your sense of self when everyone is telling you that you're crazy, wrong, or just plain weird.

i started mucking out the augean stables of non-creative crap. well, that's a life's work, if you're not hercules!

all of this is a long way 'round to saying, the tectonic plates have shifted, expression has erupted. aftershocks continue. the effects are not confined to the usual artistic endeavors. it is spreading to every facet of life. life itself is becoming an artistic endeavor.

from oscar wilde:

life has been your art.
you have set yourself to music.
your days are your sonnets.

finally, finally, it all comes down to recognizing, honoring, and acting on, what you know, in your heart, to be true.

winter

winter is, energetically speaking, the time during which we rest deeply, renew, replenish our reserves, go inward. this winter, more than any in the recent past, the urge to hibernate is strong in me. pulling myself out of a warm bed is torturous. i want to eat a lot, heavy, carb-laden foods. i want to nestle into my couch, with blanket, book, and red wine. i want to integrate, not just this past year, but the past 3. i want to write (that's new), to see what comes out, to hold it up to the light. i want to see what shines and what needs polishing. i want to listen to the peace within. and i want to become aware of the paths to be followed, in what direction i am nudged, pulled, or even, shoved.

this wasn't my first choice, or even my second.
this will do.

more bad poetry

i found this in the back of an old notebook of mine.
i think this would make a good, bad country/western song.

not the brightest thing
i've ever done,
falling in love
with a son of a gun.

you'd think by now
i'd learned not to.
then i roll over
and shit-it's you.

get out of my way,
out of my life.
go back to your horse
back to your wife

i gotta learn how,
gotta think this through.
can't live this way
it's too far from true.

this is only tangetially related, but damn...

soxual healing

i live in a place where i can wear sandals or flip-flops 8 months out of the year.
i come from a place where i needed to wear socks 8 months out of the year.
a disconnect, you say?
you're right.
i've been missing my socks.
so i thought i'd have a sock parade.


the first marathon i ran was the flying pig marathon, in cincinnati. after that, everyone, and i mean every-damn-one, gave me things with flying pigs on them. this is the sock version. what you can't see in this photo is that the pigs are wearing halos.



i hate to admit to playing sock favorites, but i will bear up under the humiliation and say, yes, these 2 are my favorites.

they have monkeys on them.








toe socks. my mother gave me these. she's such a cut-up.








these are my cosmic socks. they have stars, planets, and rockets on them. the coolest thing, which i didn't see until i took this picture, is that around the top, it says "universal love!" i ask you, who doesn't want to be walking around in universal love?

oh, i have lots more socks. wool up-to-the-knee socks for skiing, socks for running, your basic utilitarian socks that are monochromatic, skeleton socks for halloween (they were in the laundry). i even have a pair of socks marked "left" and "right." they are all part of my sock family.

and when it's cold, and dark, and you're a long way from home, it's good to have family around.

this one is x-rated. well, if you're a sock:

ghost heart

in your haunted-house heart,
ghosts live, and live well.
gorged on hurt and sorrow and loss,
fat with pain and the past,
they are your present.
their eyes are yours, you speak their words,
you hear only echoes.
they drift across your face at tender times.
we don't exist, the flesh-and-bloods,
until we stir the ghosts.