Tag Archives: beauty

One drop of rain

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SEVEN YEARS ON WORDPRESS !!


th (18)idn’t speak much when I was young. Was not interesting in writing either. Only a few poems. I played with my friends, but I found it more and more difficult to communicate at school. I felt restricted, invisible or persecuted by my own peers. I was wild and not awake to the pounding of an education that seemed incredulous to me. I now realize I had foresight, creativity and a natural spiritualism that could not find contact. Nature was receptive! My mom and dad tried with lots of watercolors and paper.  A giant black board was painted in my room. Endless chalk drawings were created and erased, drawn and erased. The old player piano in the boys’ room is where I spent hours playing any song I wanted that I learned by heart only.


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Did I not express myself in school because of fear? Was it the constant fighting and alcoholism in my household which pushed my mind down into myself? Was it dyslexic, autism or a painful shyness that was the bewildering issue within me? We the children were not diagnosed back then.

Having foresight was a curse when no one listened!  I did not have the proper device , neither did I have the wise ability to  reach out  towards others. I did not have a voice!

Now at 60 I realize my heart & mind are mature and keen enough to reach my inward growing child. That is my reasoning currently to create a hub like The Seminary Of Praying Mantis.  To share my voice and reach a global community! I believe this is the truth. Finding one’s voice and sticking to it is wonderful. The last seven years WordPress has helped to make this happen for me.


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I am celebrating 7 years with WordPress. My HUB in a global community.

While spending a few hours observing nature this afternoon. I know that the many voices were loud and some subtle. The chirp-chirp birds, to the black crows on tall cypress trees. Above me high in the sky are the circling hawks and the commercial jets. Sounds of life. One drop of rain touched me. I am one drop of rain too.

I invite you to support The Seminary of Praying Mantis and celebrate with me. I have words to read, items for sale and images to make you laugh. I have grown as a writer, author and artist.  It is amazing that so many tools are available where one can publish ones’ works! It can be achieved very cheaply and sometimes even for free as with Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. I have taken the core of my punk philosophy, wild nature, foresight and freedom to communicate with the world. I found a place to express myself. It is colorfully rewarding….

My Punkalullaby: The Seminary Of Praying Mantis (Punk Fanzine Memoir Book 1) http://a.co/2ZeXdAU


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We rode our painted ponies wild

Sony the white mustang and me

“I’ve learned to hurl the tomahawk and ride a painted pony wild
To run the gauntlet of the Sioux, to make a chieftain’s daughter mine”

~From Elton John’s 1971 album “Madman Across the Water.” The song was written after lyricist Bernie Taupin’s first visit to America, on the first tour in 1970.

I awoke to this song playing in my head. The lyrics are in my heart always. The song brings back my memories of riding the hills of the Santa Monica mountains in the early 1970s. Nature called our names as the wild sage did hug our thighs.  We rode our painted ponies wild as we sang this song aloud. We were held up and whirled into a time when everything had meaning. Schools, education, social pressures and family problems all erased. We galloped with the ghosts of a spirituality I only now begin to understand. Currently as a crone it is infusing my spirit with the wonder, beauty and sadness of life.


The Adventures of Sony and Raubie

https://hudleyflipside.com/category/the-adventures-of-sony-and-raubie/


Mary’s Special Place

I worked for the Visiting Nurse Association as a Home Health Aide in Santa Cruz California back in 1991. I enjoyed helping the elderly, sick and crippled. I comforted them and attended to their simple needs of washing, food and medicine. I loved their stories they shared. Most of my patients were in their 90s and their lifetimes were filled with a richness that I yearned for. They shared their stores with me.

I will share a story of Mary. She was alone in her parents’ home. A beautiful Victorian home near the shores of Santa Cruz. Only one room was used for Mary. All the other rooms, which were many, were closed off. The stairs that went to her room were something out of the novel Gone with The Wind. And to the right of these majestic stairs was a giant Ballroom with a crystal chandelier where Mary told me her stories. In the room where she lived was a single bed and a small bathroom with bath. On the wall was a painting of a lovely sailing ship. The painting was of her father’s ship. It was a family ship. She told me that she came from a sea family. It was a merchant family business.

As the times changed her family and Mary took to living on the land. She was born and raised on a ship. She knew the ocean well. Standing on ground was difficult for her as a young lady. Eventually she married. Santa Cruz was a cowboy town at the time. She told me one night when her husband made his usual advantages towards her. She declined and fell asleep. He went off to the bars to sleep with a prostitute. He gave Mary gonorrhea and after that she couldn’t have any children. It took some time but she forgave him.

This is a poem about Mary and our walk to her special place. She told me that the wild animals that lived there sometimes would pop up in her toilet. Small rats,  squirrels and lizards would sometimes appear. It did not look all that bad to me. Yet, I can only imagine how it once was.

Mary, We Call You Near

We walked our way 
To the stream 
Down a short 
Wood’d green.
Marking our way 
Me with my little red hat 
Mary with her special cane 
To a faerie glen 
Perchance we glance 
To see one of ‘em- 
Of course, 
Mary Would be reciting 
A lit’bit of Kipling’s.
 
Arriving then 
I sat upon 
The concrete tunnel there- 
Mary stood proudly 
Above my stare
A lassie quite young 
That only time 
Be’a steal’n years from. 

A stream did run here 
Once very free 
Now the community has grown 
A lot of concrete 
Be surrounding 
The stream’s old home 
Controlling the flow 
Which was once surely
More freely flow’n-
Now the stream runs
Past wood’d green 
And homes to the ocean shore. 

Mary and I listen’d 
To the green trickling
Of the eternal water go 
I looked up 
to see Mary’s face a shine’n
Like the sun
Full of wisdom and love 
Lots of hopeful youth too.

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old Irish Drinking Song…

Sting like a jelly-fish

Today while walking into Ralph’s super market I saw the familiar old lady under yellow plastic. She was holding a white tissue to her red nose. She sat in her wheelchair at a prime target getting her ‘a little sympathy’. She got mine. I went into the store and purchased a $1.95 Starbucks house coffee medium. I am still amazed that a ‘cup of joe’ costs so much now. I remember when it was 25 cents.

“I like watching Noir films,” I said to the barista. “It is a wonder in those films that a ‘cup of joe’ only coast five pennies.  Twenty-five cents got you a cup of coffee, a ham sandwich and a piece of pie.”

The barista smiled at me as I took the coffee, put in some cream and sugar and then headed towards the old lady in a wheelchair.

“Here is a cup of coffee, you look cold.?!”

“I don’t drink coffee it is bad for you.”

“Really I thought it would warm you up. Coffee is not as bad for you as you may think.”

“I have never had any.” She looked down to her right at a dirty bag of oranges. “It is all right I had an orange…I am fine.”

I was a bit upset. I never thought that she would reject a cup of coffee on such a cold and rainy day.

“Lady sometimes beggars can’t be choosers?!”

I realized that I could not reason with the lady. She had her right to say no.  So, I walked on remembering what an old myth taught me. All about a woman’s psyche.

As Persephone went on her journey, she was advised not to give anything to those needy people who asked for something along the way. It was important for her to hold on to her strength and parts of herself that were precious.

I guess I failed the test today.Then that sorrow thread pulled in me. I call it the thread of sorrow.

I think that our current society does not embrace their share of sorrow. That is why we have so many drug addicts and alcoholics. A social epidemic.

We all need to hold on to or embrace our threads of sorrow. It can pull hard. It can be an echo that mocks. It can sting like a jelly-fish. When we run from our share of sorrow, ignore it, or get lost in our addictions hating it, it only manifests in our world as a monster shadow. Creating hate, chaos and terrible politicians. That is why I love Jazz because it speaks to the human heart and soul. It embraces it’s share of sorrow.


Massage as a profession or occupation

At about 8 o’clock PM.

The unpredictable Crazy days are far behind me and the routines of life have set in. Family and cats bring the little rituals of life which brings symmetry into the chaos of living such as; racing through traffic and surviving, watching current politics and not having a heart attack, and realizing that we all die. It is comforting to know that we live in a recycling universe, or so it seems. The point being within the light and darkness of life are the routines of everyday living that does bring joy.

Last night was a normal trash night. The difference in the routine is when husband said that there are two cars parked in our unmarked-marked trash can places. The usual sounds of annoyance on his part made me think about visiting with our new neighbors and asking them to move one of the cars so we might have a place for our trash cans.

The green sweat coat with 1976 on it pulled over my shoulders and I was off. I found myself in front of the neighbor’s house. Placing a knock knock and then pushing a ring ring upon their door and door button. Something expanded when I heard the ring ring.

It was a different kind of ring ring. It being a tasteful and alluring sound. The front door was half window and I could see in as one of my neighbors looked back at me. I mumbled something about the trash cans. The neighbor’s eyes widened open. Dressed in a light blue robe, looking confused my neighbor opened the door slightly. Having a face that was angular like something out of a Pablo Picasso paining such as Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 during his cubism period; caught me off guard.

The new neighbors had radically changed the format and structure of the house since the last owner. As the door opened there was only a white hallway that met about half way through the house. Directly on the wall before me was a giant painting of what looked like a  Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril Dancing painting. Yet this painting was one woman with her leg up and a giant red dress like a blooming flower. Once there were two rooms here one leading right and one left. One into a game room and the other into the kitchen. Not anymore. Straight ahead was a veil into another reality.

Our conversation was quick. I told the neighbor our problem. Nicely I was told that each of them had a  masseuse come out for a special treat message and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both of them were almost finished.

Like clockwork each masseuse left in their two separate cars. I put out my two trash cans under the crescent moon of a very dark night. Feeling nicely surreal and wondering about our new neighbors?

 

Gallery

Age, shadow and beauty

This gallery contains 1 photos.

His beauty was notable even in a province where the lack of it is more exceptional in a young man. It was the sort of beauty that is celebrated by the heroic male sculptures in the fountains of Rome. Two … Continue reading

Anthropomorphism

Here is my latest praying mantis caricature. A holiday greeting from long ago ancient times.

Attis brings Liberte’

At the darkness time of the year, the longest night, the winter solstice… here comes some ancient anthropomorphism… and praying mantis is here to make life so meaningful.


scorn and unbelievable

Ritual is good. Songs bring in the seasons. In this dark time ‘song ritual’ help to ease the scorn and unbelievable with something sane and consistent.  The skins of my large white beans are shedding away as they boil in the pot. There are times when I feel like these large white beans.

Today during my heart focused breathing I was surprised to feel a pin point of joy dance upon my heart. Faces of love smiled before me and I was grateful. I cried for those released from this Earth, this planet.

What a mystery it all is. I talked to my oldest son. He said he was listening to a tape about the The Ten Hermetic Keys of Hermes Trismegistus.

The mental origin of the world and of man. 2 Corresponding harmonics. 3 Dynamics of alternation. 4 Bi-polarity and complementarity. 5 Cyclic repolarisation. 6 Cause and effect. 7 Gender. 8 The astrology of the Ogdoad. 9 The magic of the Ennead. 10 The alchemy of the Decad.

This caught me off guard. So I looked it up. I showed him my watercolor that contains this in a kind of alchemical way.


Watercolor Rendering by Hudley  (Azoth-1613-Basilius-Valentinus-Beatus-Georg-rebis)

I have this image hanging on the wall in the living room to remind me everyday. To show me that in this mystery of life, in all of this chaos and discord of life and death … light and darkness, there is a ritual that is beholding to us all.


Bob Woodward and Stacy Abrams.

I don’t think Government is necessarily bad or completely corrupted. We elect people to represent us. The powers that move around our leaders can be very strange. Leadership is part of our human experience. We at Flopside Comics have found two leaders that we want to support. One is a journalist that is not the enemy of the people, holds integrity and has vast journalistic experience. Another is an honest woman of leadership, the first African-American woman to run for Governor in the state of Georgia.

Bob Woodward and Stacy Abrams.

Bob went to Yale College but instead of becoming a lawyer he became involved in investigative journalism. “While a young reporter for The Washington Post in 1972, Woodward teamed up with Carl Bernstein; the two did much of the original news reporting on the Watergate scandal.”

Read his book FEAR !!

Stacy Abrams served on the Georgia General Assembly, 2007–2017 before this in 1999, she earned her Juris Doctor from Yale Law School. A business woman.

Stacy 1

Read her book, Minority Leader: How to Lead from the Outside and Make Real Change

What inspires us is their shared support of diversity and how they use their knowledge and education to help us, “We the People.” They are, right this very minute, confronting corruption. Two individuals, a journalist and a politician, that seem to care.

Our humble character watercolor renderings of Bob and Stacy, with badges on the side. (out soon!!)


New Badges !

Christine Blasey Ford



Audience members stand up to listen during a Senate Judiciary Committee markup hearing on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC on September 28, 2018, for the nomination of Brett M. Kavanaugh to be an associate justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. – Kavanaugh’s contentious Supreme Court nomination will be put to an initial vote Friday, the day after a dramatic Senate hearing saw the judge furiously fight back against sexual assault allegations recounted in harrowing detail by his accuser. (Photo by Brendan Smialowski / AFP) (Photo credit should read BRENDAN SMIALOWSKI/AFP/Getty Images)