This reflection is a current response to an article from the Los Angeles Times written by Tracy Wileinson.
The article speaks of Mexico in the fields located in the western Sierra Madre highlands. Here local farmers grow marijuana for the Sinaloa’s cartel. The article focuses on how the Zeta cartel is killing these farmers and is trying to monopolize on this product.. Of course the innocent families here are caught in the middle of this quest for power, which is the sale of this product for profit in the United States. I feel for these people because their government and country does not seem to care about them.
My focus here is on the pattern of power and the ruthlessness of it. I am reading a book now entitled, The Creature from Jekyll Island by G. Edward Griffin which is about the creation and the history of the Federal Reserve. He refers to the Federal Reserve as a cartel. My focus is on the pattern of cartel. Griffin defines a cartel this way, “A cartel is a group of independent businesses which join together to coordinate the production, pricing, or marketing of their members. The purpose of a cartel is to reduce competition and thereby increase profitability. This is accomplished through a shared monopoly over their industry which forces the public to pay higher prices for their good or services than would be otherwise required under free-enterprise competition.“
This destructive pattern is a global destructive pattern found all over the world and supporting these cartels, being part of them is the worse excuse of being a human being. Yet , often we have no choice….
leaf foggy herb
smells reflective round watery dew
drop the ocean hill etched into the broken
rocks falls down into salty small sand crab alert and foam carries away
tumbling inhales dark and light green leaf and beige and black crab into the tide tangled seaweed into the consumed blue.
My mom and I did not always see eye to eye. There was a time when she tried to draw the line for her wild child. Once with her foot she drew an invisible line and said, “Holly don’t cross this line!” Of course I looked her right in the face and without a word stepped over it, with a loud stomp. Then the two of us went rolling on the ground. I am laughing now but then it was not so funny.
When I brought home my first tattoo on my left arm she said, “Oh how nice.” Then she wet her finger with her tongue and said, “OK, this isn’t coming off?” I had to tell her it was permeate before she gave me the look.
When I was much younger she would spank me with a rolled up newspaper on my butt. My older sister told me that this frustrated our mom because I could not be phased and would laugh.
What she did teach me was unconditional love even though I wished she would have spent more time with me.
I witnessed her love of baseball, flowers and my dad. I followed her deep love of flowers. She told me never to stop painting them or writing my poetry and stories.
My mother knitted and crocheted. I write in the past tense here because I lost her around three years ago. It is what she gave me then that comforts me now. She created for me three blankets.
These blankets are in my house every day. They are mostly on our living room couch. They are over the couch or me or my children. I hold them bunched up in a pillow for comfort on times of sadness. My cats knead them and purr, but I move them away. These are my Golden Fleece from my mom.
“Oh My heart, Oh my heart, shies form the sorrow” ~ Tim Buckley, Song To The Siren
A haunting mythological tale that speaks of the place of the sea. Maybe dreaming and the call of loving beyond. I chose this today because of its haunting beauty. As Venus will eclipse the Sun this coming June. I feel the pull and this song draws on these emotional strings. Love , loving and sensual. For me it is that time to bring forth the desire to create and give voice to the siren in me, calling to the physical manifestation of life. It is affirming the mystical in this life…the muse and the creator.
Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water;
she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.
~Canticle of the Sun.
1990:~After I abandoned Al and Flipside Fanzine for pursuing other men, there was something else that really inspired me away from the Punk Scene.. It was the contemplative life. I was in correspondence with the Poor Clares of Long Island for many years. They were part of my journey. I stayed with the Poor Clares for some time. Their orderly life seemed very pleasant, and adjacent to their closure were the Franciscan Brothers. I would attend their early Morning Prayers with readings from the Canticle of the Sun. Sister Philomena had a small newsletter called The Monstrance. She was a good friend and it was a dream come true to visit with her. One story I remember her telling me was before she joined the convent. As a young woman she enjoyed the Coffee Frappe while living in New York City. At that time it was not a poplar drink as it is today. She would go to the Italian corner store and drink them. Now every time I get one…I think of Sister Philomena. I will never forget, as a brother drove me away to the train station, seeing her outside the car window …waving to me in full Habit and holy clothing… as the wind blew, her smile still affirms to me that a life with children was the best choice for me.
I finished my Flipside Punk Rock memoir about two years ago. There are so many books coming out about the punk rock days of the late 70’s and 1980’s. I just feel a bit jaded at this point. All the revival and nasatgial… I got over about three years ago as well. I am still reading books about the subject of writing and publishing. I found a pretty good book called Booklife by Jeff Vandermeer. An excellent review of this book is included on the site Where Musicians and Writers Collide: Publicity. So far I find the book interesting. Jeff writes about setting goals and tells writers just to do more writing over all. He writes about the difference between the public life and the private life of a writer. As we know the public life is a very social one and at times very political. The private life is about the time writers need alone to have the time to actually be creative, and write. For me it is also about how I wish to present my book. I am looking for a good editing program. It is putting the two elements of a writers time together that makes for a successful writer. So I may still put away this punk book and write another one or two. One about my days growing up in the San Fernando Valley of California, and another being a murder mystery novel about how a woman tracks down the girls who bullied her in her school days and hides them in her bomb shelter. The point being Jeff’s book has inspired me and that it always helpful.