Today I was looking at all the bullies in my life.
On Facebook I noticed a friend put up a thought. When she was young, she thought she was ugly. Now much older she realizes how lovely she really was. I am glad she found this out about herself.
I hang fabric up to cover half of my windows. I do this to enjoy the shadow and light on the fabric. When the window is open the fabric moves and I often see the texture and fun pattern within the fabric. As one lives a long life one can begin to see shadows, light, texture, and the pattern of one’s life. This is a wonderful ability I have acquired in my life. My insight is reflection the ability to see my life as a pattern with texture and light and shadows.
Elementary school there were two major bullies. Both I followed through what we called Jr. High and then High School. Lisa and Lori were the worst of the worst. They were pretty, popular, and mean to all those who were not part of their click, I always let their image of me influence my self-worth.
Now I know that it was not about me but about them. I do not believe them anymore.
Also, when I had my white mustang Sony, I found instead of everyone enjoying my bliss and best friend. Jealousy took hold and nasty gossip formed. The boy next door started the lies, and this gossip ran its course throughout Jr. High and High School. I cannot even imagine how pungently immoral the gossip was. The collective shadow of peers is a grandiose thing to have to deal with.
Now as a crone an older woman I can look back with a type of disconnection. I like myself now more than I ever have. These new positive feeling shine out and my libido is renewed with hope and creativity. Those old ways burn down and fly away into the underworld of no more.
Like ground up coffee grounds. Fragrant, recyclable and transformed. Soul soil for new possibilities.
Tonight, as I walked around the block, I thought upon three extraordinary times in my life.
I try and walk a mile each night while watching Jupiter, Saturn, and a very bright Venus. I think upon good justice, laws, and love & beauty.
Tonight, I wanted to run away to a time of the streets of Hollywood. I was a young punk who could be found running through parking lots and record stores. Moving strangely and excitedly through clubs and into cars for wild rides. Light and signs above me and loud music filled me. New friends and bright colors. A thrill and wonder beyond explanation.
Then there was when I was a probationer at the Rosicrucian Fellowship. The time of the new moon healing when I entered the living temple on the campus found at Oceanside California. The temple is like the Griffith Observatory. Just as you enter you look up to see the round astrological zodiac. The 12 signs. In the Rosicrucian Temple you can look up and see the full zodiac too. With Leo the Lion in front of the temple podium. Each probationer is asked to sit in their sun sign. An organ played loudly as a barefoot maiden played the healing music. We read the words and sang the songs. I have since never viewed such beauty or felt filled with a inner nimbus of healing energy.
The last is running the hills at night with my friends, we were all about 14 years old. We flew with the wild and sat upon old rocks high in the hills over streets below. Howling at the moon, I swear I saw a young Artemis with bow and arrow whisk by us. Glorious friendships of wonder.
I miss my varied friends of the streets, holy places and wild hills and the freedom that youth often brings. Oh, how I wish to be at those places now as I walk under a dark sky of a Scorpion new moon.
It is great to have a book’s first publication to view and find mistakes and typos before the major publication. To find all the stupid dumb mistakes. Usually, the first draft is an inspiration of thoughts and concepts. Then comes the grammar and spell check and then the Review and Read Aloud.
I have read papers by fifth graders that are perfect. I have read books by bigwig PHD professors that are riddled with mistakes. For me it is a concept and feeling that is always most important. Is there an archetype that I can grasp here?
Many artists and writers make up novel words. Or reuse old words and bring on new meanings.
I remember speaking to Todd Taylor from Razor Cake fanzine how he had several editors go over everything written before publication. At Flipside Fanzine we rarely had the time to edit. As said before when doing things fast and wanting to publish current … mistakes were often made or overlooked.
“Session 5B: Punk Political Economies presented three panelists. What came forth here is that “We should consider continuing to support the cracks.” I enjoyed Kathryn Heffner speaking about women fanzine publishers of science fiction writing. Briefly I can say that I learned about the history of fanzines. She talked about the community formed by fanzines and how they communicated. It is about women and resistance. My heart about jumped out of my chest. She defined so many elements of what a fanzine is all about. It is about community, friends, and a subject. The punk scene is about friends and the continuity of friendships over time. I did not hear much about this at this conference! Kathryn did tell a short story about a sister zinester who misspelled a word and made a whole movement out of it. I about jumped up and screamed hallelujah. The point being that with fanzines the information is current and was often printed up quickly to spread like a good wildfire of communication. I knew this to be true. Her talk gave meaning to my community. We need to keep writing and self-publishing.”
I don’t care if things are misspelled, or that grammar and dates are off. It makes it more valuable to collectors. Yet I understand the need to get things right. Especially when we have all that we need to do so. When I find mistakes in a pompous book it brings me boundless joy. Other wise I read over the mistakes and find the major concepts far more important then the imperfect parts of its sum.
It is ironical that the Uranus (Promethean) ~ Aquarian spark for freedom may be inverted into the dark mire once more… into the darkness of our collective unconscious… again?
“Approaching her property, I noticed a person in Persian lamb, very vexedly pouncing the bell, pounding a brass knocker. “God damn you, Mabel, “she said to the door; then turned, glared at me as I climbed the steps- a tall, intimidating replica of frail unforbidding Miss Marianne Moore (who, it may be recalled, is a Brooklyn lady too). Pale lashes eyes, razor lips, hair a silver fuzz. “Ah, you. I know you,” she accused me, as behind her the door was open by an Irish crone wearing an ankle length apron. “So, I suppose you’ve come to sign the petition? Very good of you, I’m sure.” Mumbling an explanation, muttering servile civilities, I conveyed the butcher’s parcel from my hands to her’ she, as though I’d tossed her a rather rotten fish, dangled it generally until the maid remarked. “Ma’am, ‘tis Mis Mary’s meat the good lad’s brought.” ~ Page 239, A House on the heights, Portraits and Observations, The Essays Of Truman Capote.
Associate Justice Brett M. Kavanaugh and Associate Justice Amy Coney Barrett.
Justice Amy January 28, 1972 (age 49) New Orleans, Louisiana, U.S ~ Sun sign Aquarius.
Justice Brett February 12, 1965 (age 56) Washington, D.C., U.S.~ Sun sign also Aquarius.
Reflecting on US Supreme Court to hear Texas abortion law case on Nov 1 2021. We can participate by listening to live oral arguments.
I will never forget when Justice Amy stated that she read the complete works of Truman Capote in high school. I think upon his creative genius. He was born September 30, 1924, New Orleans, Louisiana, U.S. ~ Sun sign Libra.
Two new Aquarius Associate Justice’s, before us now, will influence this vote. Will Truman’s creative genius and good balanced personality indirectly persuade equality for all womens’ rights?
A private personal issue of the womb is now before the highest court of the land. I am perplexed and troubled. I look to Truman’s influence on Justice Amy. Somewhere in her is the creative Aquarian spark? Hoping It will inspire justice and good conscious beyond and above this dark mire of politics that face us currently.
In 2019 I heard the infamous Henry Rollins confess before an audience that he grew up in the world of Brett Kavanaugh. He seemed to be apologizing for himself and this awkward Associate Justice. A man who took voice away from a good woman. Silencing Sexual assault allegations by Christine Blasey Ford.
Will he also do the same for Roe v. Wade, the women’s liberation movement, the suffragettes and Planned Parenthood? The list goes on!
Here are a few posts which share in this day of celebration…
Excerpt From To Ride A Painted Pony Wild
All life was fresh, new and exciting. Elton and Bernie were our insightful friends. Experiencing nature and reading stories about the lifecycles of American Indians is who we were. Our horses were part of this mystery as well. Whom we were all together was important to us and our horses were everything. Bernie and Elton’s song Indian Sunset off their Madman Across the Water album was our warrior song.
Often, we rode barefoot. When cold we had our parents’ go shopping to buy us moccasins. We read about the history of the Medicine Wheel and experimented with our innocent religiosity.
The Medicine Wheel is based on the wisdom of the Native American belief. The four directions of nature are part of the medicine wheel circle representing the four seasons.
While riding we carried a compass to know which direction we traveled. Spring is the direction of the east which is also the time of brave eagle. Summer is the direction south which is time of trickster coyote. Autumn is the direction west. This is the time of retrospective bear in his cave or sometimes owl and the setting full moon. Winter is the direction north and is time of wise buffalo.
We were robust girls misfiled along a line of make believe. We used our imagination, developed our spirituality and because of our horses, we united these two qualities into an earthy reality.
Before we got our new fence it was a forbidden zone for our cats. The fence had holes and was leaning over into the neighbor’s yard. To make a long story short we decided to just go ahead and fix it with a new fence…
“A flash of lightning. Dionysus becomes visible in emerald beauty.”
~ Pg. 65 Dithyrambs of Dionysus / Friedrich Nietzsche
No longer a forbidden zone, it once was a dark night when the rains came with lightning and took our Football kitty away from us. Was it the hole in the fence and the neighbor’s German Shepherd? Was it the nasty drug dealer now gone due to the dumb bloke being taken away by the police? Or was it an alien mutation … it sure looked like one. If you do not know what I mean look it up? Finally, it could have been the other side fence that is also now new. It was replaced a couple of years ago. A jump over by local twister trickster coyote? Coyote told me this,
“Nope not me.”
What was once a forbidden zone is not forbidden anymore.
This autumn has its forbidden zones. I must be honest my once explored forbidden zones have become zones of good fruits of wonder.
I am turned on because a hearty harvest has come in. It feels good. Here are some projects I’ve been part of. Here is the harvest…
Where The Wild Gigs Were –~ Tim Hinely & Friends, HoZac Books.
Sabrina’s red scarf hung on the tip of the crescent moon. As her leather dress slid off her and fell below towards the earth. Hawk and Sabrina relaxed together on the curve of the moon. The light and darkness of the crescent moon held the two lovers together bound by her. Setting into the night. Nothing was hidden from Hawk and Sabrina anymore. What was revealed, what was once hidden, was their love. Two hearts, a crescendo of love that would grow with the full autumn moon.
The Wabanaki Indian tribes, who craft their baskets from ash splints, have a tradition that humans were first created from black ash trees as well. The Chitimacha Indians believed ash was poisonous to rattlesnakes and would use ash canes to drive away snakes. Some Great Plains tribes, such as the Ponca, used green ash wood instead of cottonwood for their sacred Sun Dance poles. ~ http://www.native-languages.org/ash-tree.htm
An Ash tree is being cut down tomorrow in our neighborhood. My neighbor told me so as she walked by one evening while I was outside. Shock quickly ran throughout my body as a strange sad sensation.
From my yard I can see the Ash tree. It’s been home to hawks and ravens and many other animals over the years. It is a family of two other giant Ash trees on our neighbor’s property.
We too have one in our front yard which stands about 12 feet. It is only a two-year-old. Our gardener and I are watching the tree closely. It is being trimmed and we will not let it get too big or start the process of spreading its multitude of seeds.
We now also have a fence on either side of our yard of Ash trees that are groomed to be just that.
Today I walked by the neighbor’s home and talked to her about the tree. It was growing into their homes foundation and there are issues of telephone and electrical lines. I told her.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying a prayer for the tree. I know of the hawk and ravens who live there.”
We agreed it was the best thing to do. I walked away happy. Then this story revealed itself to me.
The Ash tree story.
My parents planted an Ash tree near their home the day one of my brother’s was born. He is two years older than I.
Growing up with that Ash tree is something I sure did enjoy. Out of my parent’s second story house I often looked out at the tree throughout the seasons. There once were some steps that ran by the tree from the hill down to the home yard below.
As the years went by seeds from this tree blew over to the other side of their house. An Ash tree grew wild there a few feet away from the carport. The carport was above their house since they lived on a hill.
I was pregnant with my second boy when the mother Ash was cut down. Seems the Ash tree was on the border between to property lines.
I threatened to tie myself to the tree so it would not happen.
I had countless arguments with builders and my parents yet could not stop it from being cut down, Dad and mom agreed to it being cut and taken away. They kept tree wood for their fireplace.
I grieved the tree for a long time.
About ten years later I was talking to my mom on the phone. I heard her scream.
“Your father just drove the car over the carport.”
She hung up on me. I went into shock. I called my husband at work. He left to go see how my mom and dad were. I lost time until my husband came home and told me what had happened.
When he got to my parents’ house it was surrounded by three fire trucks. Dad was still alive. He was in the car unable to get out. The car was facing front side down and the tail end up. What kept him from rolling down the hill in his car to the house below was that same Ash tree that grew up from a seed long ago. An Ash tree saved my dad’s life.
How dad’s car was towed up the hill is a blur to me. The fact is after a few hours the firemen got him out safely.
Dad was washing the car that day on the carport. He stepped on the gas instead of the breaks. This is what sent him over a 12-to-15-foot drop.
The Ash tree in our neighborhood will be cut down tomorrow. In my yard are several Ash trees that came forth from such a mother Ash tree. Hawk and raven are always welcome here. Their flying patterns have changed. I can see that they already know that a change is coming.