Lost In A Song

Music has always, always, always been my mainstay. My idea of hell would be a place inaccessible to music, although then I’d likely subject people to my voice (which might be their version of hell, but ya never know.)

From my teen years on, I’ve followed music through so many incarnations. All teens did, so far as I knew. Love lost & found, dreams won & vacated, moves voluntary & not so much. I danced, not well, with an eye to how others would see me…which isn’t the way to dance at all. Cuz if you can’t abandon your body to the music, it isn’t very satisfying dancing.

Later in life, as a married woman, a “working jerk” in offices, an obedient soul paying taxes to The Man, for years I listened to classical music. Once I read that this genre is really limited – after all, it was stiffly specific to its timeline & there were only so many composers. The radicals of classical music sound rigidly controlled today. Music is art for the ears & what aficionados these are!

Now rock just burgeoned into so many branches from its hip-twitching bluesy roots, like folk, grunge, head-banger, stadium, Brit Invasion, death metal, hard, progressive, psychedelic, rockabilly, southern, surf, & more.

I never had an 8-track, but for a long period, my reel-to-reel was a great weekend’s occupation, taping hours of music, putting together mixes, selecting records, cueing them up, adjusting a sequence, headphones snugged on, crooning along. If I started naming the individuals & bands that dressed me up, I’d add about two dozen pages to this blog, so let’s leave that & move on.

Of course, music that inspires me is always a leading thread. Some Broadway shows have music which pulled me up from my seat to march or crushed me down to weep. “Funny Honey” from Chicago, and “Bound To You” from Burlesque were two of this latter. And then there’s “Never Enough” from The Greatest Showman. But my truest favorites rest with songs with beefy drums laying a road I simply MUST dance down.  

In the past three days, after discovering ‘The Greatest Showman,’ I have been listening repetitively (or more accurately, obsessively) to the soundtrack. If you haven’t heard it, check the web to find a rendition, check out the movie, but don’t miss it. I defy you to stay seated once it starts!

So many songs rip out my heart & return it, raggedly, unapologetically, bleeding to my hands (“Who Wants to Live Forever”, Freddie Mercury), (“Comfortably Numb”, Pink Floyd). “Here,” they seem to convey,” you deal with it, I’m done for now.” And the next track begins while I’m contemplating whether my healthcare will cover this fresh wound. But I have to say for all the drip, I love these kinds of songs. I love having my emotions stirred as though someone has put a blender fork into my psyche, turning both to high.

I love that people are visual, that there is art to look at. I enjoy food a great deal – nothing like a South Philly Cheese Steak to set the taste buds dripping. I enjoy silence so deep that the chirp of a bird sounds as though a cannon has gone off in the next yard. But, ah! Music! “This Is Me,” “This Is The Greatest Show” – what anthems for a life bestirred from meditation to a blown-apart, scintillate conversation with your own soul about who you are & why you’re here.

Today is another opportunity to dance my way through, to be uplifted into blessing, as in “I’m Changed” sung by Angel Travis at Agape Church, or almost anything by Peter Mayer, or “The Cape” by Guy Clark, “I Dreamed of Rain” by Jan Garrett & JD Martin – all of these I’ve mentioned are available via internet. Check some out when you’re ready to go “splorin’” the dusty corners of your soul. They’ll chase off the blues like dry leaves pursued by a leaf-blower. Find music which’ll lift off the top of your head & screw it down differently, that’ll get your hips rockin’, to shake your shoulders, semaphore your arms, stop crash-landing short of whiplash nodding your head.

Live on! Sing on! Dance on! Be inspired. As Peter M sings, “Everything Is Holy Now!”

Love to all –

Carol

The Journey of No Arrival

SLEEPING INTO AWAKENING

I was far away this morning

Understanding inevitability.

In the dream, two men were each my beloved

Of intellect & individuated thought

Each held mighty concepts easily

In both mind & sinew.

They welcomed me upon my approach

I traveled with them, offering

My sable-brushed ideas,

Fearful of being trite

Yet moved by the power to put together

Theirs & mine

For the wholeness this offered.

We came upon my car, trunk open, battery exposed

I knew this necessary. I knew if I left it, it would not stay.

I even recognized where I was

My dwelling behind a building

Where the vista opened

To reflective rivers, unhesitating

From which I’d learned the same.

I returned to my sleeping body

Puzzling to awaken in it

Felt the net of Ordinary descend.

I opened the door & stepped into darkness,

Where all the streetlamps were haloed

Soft, somnolent, unawake.

Even drinking my coffee

I could not tell which reality was mine.

 

NEXT

We are seldom ready for the unmaking of our worlds

Imagine the shout of surprise to find earth flat

As an underlying conspiracy!

But wake, we must, indubitably

If the future is dystopian, we will accustom to canned foods.

If we create our new reality,

Let’s opt for fields & fruit trees, for fertile grain

Let us see the clean bright shining

Even in the bowels of carven buildings

There’s no time for moving rearward

We all stare into this brave new world

When only by moving forward we bring it.

 

THE SITTING MUSE

I wake with poetry before commonsense

I seem to have fallen asleep on her shoulder

Listening to nursery rhymes spun of philosophy

Turning routine to raw talent

We share her vistas

Our inside eyes are staring

Even as my baby browns are fogged.

Coffee is not the usual scalpel of habit

Cleaving the mysteries of dreams.

I settle against her once more

She replaces her arms about me

She sings.

 

NO GUARDRAILS

Why are edges so seductive?

These places where worlds end & air begins

Where elements switch up reality & realty

The sky pushes against the land

Pressing down upon the water below.

My mind has become a wildlife sanctuary

Flashing brilliant feathers among branches

Lifted & lowered in a dance

Blow-through winds are dusted with dreams,

I breathe your breath, World,

I take part as I partake.

 

THE JOURNEY OF NO ARRIVAL

(a/k/a The Flow)

If I were done, I’d be there,

If I declare “mission accomplished”

Before I arrive

I reveal my ignorance

Of impending law.

I didn’t make a vow to bring closure

Only to carry it forward awhile.

I do, at times, believe in the world

Carried forward on the back of a turtle

Ponderous, amphibian, patterned in an eternal mandala

The land seems such slow going

Then we enter the water –

All grace & blessing

All ease with little effort

Until Eternity grows more shallow

Joining carefully with the land.

 

NEVERBEEN & NEVERWAS

I could use some new rituals

To replace these old habits

Help me peel away this tough exterior

To the tenderness within

To the succulence of loving all I see

Married to all I am

Seamlessly enjoining all I do.

Let the world, as such, infect me

Believe in me as I do her

Take provenance in my revelation:

The heart unveils the center

Expansion nourishes.

And if this is different, O Knowing Ones,

Let me silently decompose

One more absorption.

I dream of ascension

When the truth is I can hardly jump for joy

One step forward at a time…

I prefer to run down mountains

When success is achieved climbing them

Ah, human’s nature is a beloved backwoods

Overgrown & overblown with “what’s worst will happen”

Let’s turn this thing around!

Retrace our path as we re-turn to Love.

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Carol’s Carousel

I don’t know what to think anymore. I barely know how to think. Anymore.

I have had to research bump stocks & look up Nikki Haley & John Bolton. I spend time poring over reports about McCabe & Comey to try to understand the current “political scene” when I want to scream at everyone in DC, “Will you just behave?

I am one of a generation which may die off before the changes so looked forward to may even occur (NOTE TO SELF: climb aboard the good ship Hope & stay afloat.) I don’t claim to understand transgender issues, being certain that I am a woman who has never wanted to be a man. Having a penis would really get in my way. I don’t want to leave my stem cells for implants into AI computers simply because someone knows how to do that & thinks it might be a good idea. Hooah!

I don’t get violence. Having been in & around the medical profession for most of my earth-years, I understand physical damage from savagery of any kind: mental, physical, spiritual, emotional. I predict for myself a gradual fade from life after accomplishing as much as I can towards healing on all levels. I’m weary of fighting for the money to buy food for my fridge. I could understand paying taxes if the pothole at the end of the driveway ever got filled; but knowing my money disappears into fitting a fin onto a bomb is distressing. But tax evasion isn’t an option I’ll readily pursue – I don’t look great in stripes. I’m feeling some nervousness about making the monthly payments needed to assure some quality of life, although I have the strength & power within me to work the odd jobs I encounter to earn my way into fresh veggies.

After years of plugging along, pinning slogans like “Be calm & don’t worry”, of framing thoughts like “following my bliss”, or “doing things for the joy of doing them”, I’m slowing down. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet ET’s with golden triangle heads or blue feathers. I have stopped listening to my formerly intensely-followed gurus. I’m cautious about signing up for Starfleet Academy or manning bridges of any kind. Once anticipated, I no longer eagerly await what may emerge from the future to surprise me. I’m really happy to sit in the sun right now, to stay out of the unreasonable desert wind, to watch my little green tomatoes turn into little red tomatoes. Someone once mocked me for “watching the clothes dry on the line” but at this point, that’s quite a satisfying pastime. It indicates the privilege to be clean in a world where so many are not given this option.

I’m happiest when teaching…helping someone figure out something: how to use their cellphone, for example. I live in a town where everyone’s grandkids have recommended they have the latest tech when the “grands” only want to be able to call the kids on Sunday night. “What’s an app?” they ask me, “Can I get the words to come up when I watch videos?” “How do I stop all these advertisements?”

I’m planning to teach a class called “About Email” on Mayday, & the more I research carriers, the more I figure I’ll sound like some paranoid nut when I tell them what I understand about the collection of biometrics by nefarious one-world-government scions, the retention of data by people who are totally not entitled to know that I wrote my friend about how I feel, whether political or pleasurable. How do I help learners to preserve their privacy or get them to understand there is even a need for this in a world where the providers are all-pervasive about control & have the morals of cats in heat when it comes to selling us out? The State does not need to monitor our computers. Seriously, nothing on them is that interesting. For myself, I don’t expect anybody at the State Department to grok my poetry or wordplay. I only have one way to expand into the universe & it is with expression of my personal experience as such. And it comes out through language. If “they” consider RIDING THE LIGHT subversive, my tax dollars are totally wasted.

I know old ladies are disposable as rain puddles. It doesn’t stop me from working towards what I call The Good. It doesn’t hinder me from offering time & effort toward helping others learn how to function at the basic levels of courtesy, kindness, care & understanding, of actively paying it forward. I know at any time some doofus with a God complex can take control of my car & send me over the side of a cliff where others will be endangered trying to retrieve the detritus left by that push-button destructo-mentality.

I guess I can’t explain where I am in the present moment. I had a reaction today at our quite wonderful book club discussion where a totally innocuous book sent me into a red-rimmed rage for no reason I can discern. Reading the book chapters aloud brought me to the boiling point wherein I rushed home & stared wildly about for an hour. It isn’t even a book I admire, but a reaction of this magnitude of anger is totally foreign to me and/or what it should have engendered. WTH? Is it the sugary snack before bedtime that has me so reactive?

At the same time, I am tired of being a spectator; I want to participate in life. I want to travel to see wonders of geography, I want to sit at the feet of a master & take notes on keeping my mind in discovery mode. I want to pay my debts off so the nervousness can re-settle into a joy of life so daily I take no notice of want of any kind. Bread & circuses haven’t interested me in years. It is time for me to expand my thinking to encompass God & the Youniverse to a mystical, uplifting, soul-thrilling vibration. I want to thread that needle spoken about in Scripture, so I can pass through it into either the grace of comprehension or Comprehensive Grace. Isn’t that my birthright?

I am so over Darwin & his purloined theorem about survival. I once read that the word “love” was mentioned 96 times in The Origin of Species, while the phrase “survival of the fittest” appeared thrice.

I once felt I could get closer to the answers of Life’s Questions as I aged. I foolishly thought the world would become more logical, the weather more habitable, my life more accommodating to happiness. I thought I would have friends, if not family, who looked at me with love shining from their hearts through their eyes. But now I rely on the comments of strangers to lift me through the nights. Now I have no ties to what is considered Reality. I opt for helping some with cleaning their houses, offering a class now & then to aid others in understanding the new tools available & coping with their use.

I often tell people I’m allergic to TV, but I still find myself drawn to videos on the computer which show the exotic Cirque du Soleil acts, dancers who can move their bodies as I no longer am able, political commentaries which contradict each other one after the next.

I am as confused as any teenager about my current identity. Who will I be tomorrow? What will my achievements count for…or against? This life made of chapters cleanly divided by time & (at times) geography, by the borders of marriages, the maps of spiritual pathways, the fulfillment of dreams. I’m acutely aware too many of the paragraphs in this blog start with my most personal pronoun. I need to be led into divinity somehow & overcome this tendency to consider myself only human. I used to be able to do that better. How come I’m losing the knack?

The last frontier is never that. Horizons rise & fall regularly. I’m alive so long as I keep moving – even if it is in a circle while the calliope plays corny music. Cuz I don’t know anything, anymore.

Labels

I derive from a generation which kept its labels tucked away from sight.

Not so today. Levis puts their labels along the seams, so they protrude like the tabs on pinafores for those old stick-the-clothes-on cardboard dress-up dolls. Reebok simply prints them over your left breast. Nike swooshes everything, from farmlands to billboards. As though they didn’t make enough after sweatshop profits! These manufacturers are what the nuns used to sneeringly call “brazen articles.”

What if people wore labels? “Wash in warm water only.” “Dry clean, do not iron,” And the worst would be the size tag jutting out from your neck, like a shark fin: “Size 16!” Mine would prob’ly just say “fatty, fatty, boombalatty” in the interests of exactitude & accuracy.

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When we speak of transparency, I’ll lead the line on many topics. Actually, my face is of itself an LED display; everything I think flits across it. This can be dangerous in mixed company – I stay home a lot. If I flew a personal flag, it’d likely be the Andy Warhol soup can for “over-salted.” Still, I’m not attempting any Human Barbie look. Too many old dolls wind up headless / armless / legless, riding dust bunnies in odd corners. Oh, yeah, & naked.

My other labels, I hope, would read “funny,” “bright,” “sensitive.” Although I have the feeling they would read “sarcastic,” “smart-mouthed,” “ticklish feet.” The one on the back of my head would read “Does she really mean that?” And, um, yeah, I really do.

This is an age when secrets keep like milk left out in July sun. Of course, there’s a valid argument to be had that they never really did. Remember that old saw about a secret being kept only if one of the holders is dead? But it is different now. Egregiously so. Our vitals are sold off without even being bid upon. I recently read Google makes $12 for just having my stats. Do the math, everyone.

Does it ever run a chilly frisson of up your spine when the form you’ve just called up on the screen self-populates with your address, age, car make & favorite dinner? Mine even note I wear sweatbands doing massage, with the notes:

  • Wannabe human
  • May not have another book in her
  • Would rather be a cat smirking atop the bookcase

It can be handy when the speller suggests how to spell vinaigrette correctly. But other than that, I’m not as much into “arty-ficial” intelligence algorithms for the price of a vowel.

I want you to take a minute to think over your labels – your body language, your obvious attitudes, your words, all the niches you fit into by appearances, ideals & lifestyles.

Above all, don’t worry about any of ‘em. They’re self-populating, comprised of artificial stupidity & usually not at all what you see in your mirrors.

We are far too complex to be trivialized. It’s comfortable for everyone else to label us. Just like it is for us to label them.

Murder Disincorporates

Something interesting happened yesterday as I observed. My friend giggled about a story her husband had “made her listen to” of a woman witnessing a blood sacrifice in the basement of the Vatican. The gang laughed it off with head shakes & grimaces. Everyone “knew” her husband well: he’s a town character. I opened my mouth to begin the long tale of Reptilians, Annunaki in mitre hats, Vatican alliances with evil, ritual sacrifice…& slowly closed it again. Across town, there’s a discussion group where this topic would’ve engaged animated, interested debate. But I was at this coffee, not that one.

I continued sipping my smoothie silently, nursing my own thoughts. I know what I believe. I am interested in hearing their beliefs. What’s the level of disclosure to be reached here? Can conspiracy flourish in a group of upstanding “Christian” believers who entertain discussion with Jehovah Witnesses at the front door while pressing their literature into the trash as they close it?

I’ve learned to choose my battles. I want to see where the line of “getting along” divides & where I might tiptoe over. I’ve defended ideas in this group before. It can take lots of energy to get past the double-sprinkle donuts & open, yet strangely exclusive mindsets. Global nightmare is possibly not to be addressed in a friend’s living room at 8 a.m. over banana bread. But the converse continued on to gun control & how, since we knew no one personally & tragedy has not happened intimately, might be a topic dismissed with a trite, “what’s this world coming to?” platitude.

But really, I see both sides as being of paramount conversational importance…we are not a diverse group, but we are all seniors who have seen war, peace, history & we follow the current news, though not avidly.

We all know on some level that situations mirror each other. I look for “teachable” moments where I can cross over the acceptable lines to engage in fencing ideas with others. We did get to talking about how society seems to be going “kablooey” with opiods (causing mental illness), lousy nutrition (causing physical problems resulting in the “need” for opoids), consuming adrenalized beef products (causing increased aggression), demonic influences (causing claims “the devil made me do it!”), Mercury Retrograde & more.

The only real item of note; however, is how the story ends. Death is a disincorporation – a removal of the physical as the energetic lives on, Too many claim the power of death over life because they own a gun with which they only plan to defend themselves. Violence begets more of itself when viewed in the long-range. Just as many here would attribute the power of handling firearms to only those authorized to bear them. These individuals are supposed to be wed to the idea of defending life through the capability to deal death. And there has been much of note recently as to how this power is brought forth in society, whether amok in demonstration or peacefully marching down Main Street. The results can be dismaying in their sameness when guns are in the extant crowd, no matter the hands or hip holsters in which they reside.

The boundaries become indistinguishable when subsumed into the power of dealing death with the crook of a finger.

There used to be a largely acknowledged absolute that said, “Thou shalt not kill.” But that already was weak in a society that slaughtered animals for food. And yes, there are any number of rabbit holes to travel down with a statement that general. But it does involve a death which comes under the topic of discussion here.

Killing of any kind will never be a viable response to continuing to live well – individually or as a society. Dealing in death doesn’t pay off in affirmative life. But I nibble at this gargantuan topic with a toothpick & a salad fork. It just gave me pause for where I engage life, how much I am given to do so, why I choose my belief systems & how each individual fits into an overall scheme fringed all about, ultimately, with death.

Truth or Consequences

Some home-town photos…

We have a local trail, called the Healing Waters Trail. It started out at the edge by the informal dog park along the Rio Grande when folks got together to mark off a trail with rocks. It has evolved into a “real” trail with picnic tables, a bench & some pea gravel – whatever has not blown away or been marched away by walkers. Here’s an overlook as one starts climbing. The river is running almost green in the back; the Elephant Butte Dam is letting water out for spring planting. This water will travel to irrigate crops, being controlled through local “acequias” along the way, down to Mexico. (The photos are from Easter weekend 2018 – ignore the incorrect camera dates, please.)

 

 

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Overlooking T or C –

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Mysterious Creature Found Along The Trail:

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The sun in a cloudy iris:

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Some views of town:

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Originals: (Note the prospecting pony painted on the wall over the truck’s hood.)

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And shots of Mary’s fence. (Fence art is BIG here!)

Below these are the story of how I met Mary.

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I was reading my book one night in my little studio apartment when a knock came at the door. Upon opening it, I found a tall woman in a broomstick skirt, looking quite distressed as she clutched her pocketbook. “I can’t find my car!” she wailed; “I don’t know where I left it.”

“Well, just a sec here, let me get some shoes on & I’ll help you look,” I said. “Did you happen to notice anything around you that stood out when you parked it?”

“No,” she said more quietly now, having garnered help. “Someone told me to come here & see this place. I figured the best way was just to park & walk around,”

“Ok,” I said, having tied on sneakers, “Let’s go!”

We walked around for about twenty minutes until Mary spotted her car on Austin. I waved as she drove off. Next time I came to town, she had her own property & is hiring out as a fence decorator! (This, over the course of five years or so.)

T or C is life lived on a Vortex as powerful, tho not nearly as scenic, as Sedona. It can also be a strange experience if you’re not ready for anything. I’ve lived her on three separate occasions & this one I love the best.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the quick tour, the one vignette, the snip of history & the pictures I took with my sister’s camera.

Love,

Carol

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nods of An Approaching Dream

My fears have left me, one by one

Waving farewell over sharp shoulders

Each attached to a dream instead

Rendering sleep the final exploration.

There are cats in my dreams now

And family

People walking carelessly by

As I point at their shoes.

Sometimes I am skyclad

Uncaring as I should have been awake

During daylight I dwell in my home

Neat as the proverbial pin

While my dreams stack in errant piles

Rising as my eyelids fall.

—————–

The me reflecting in you

Is not the one in my mirrors

Or my mind…

—————–

There are no borders, no barriers

To living this adventurous life

There is me upon the shoreline

Of an ever-shifting sea

Or me, blown before desert winds.

The news lays its crumbs into my blender

I have dusted these from sore fingers

I favor the surprise now, shedding

The peremptory of unknowns

For even the news is familiar from my dreams

Ever the known, unloosed & traveling by rail,

The windows scrubbed with sunshine

And the light behind my eyes.

—————–

Local journeys for a local girl

I only need hold the rails of life’s Ferris Wheel

To be lifted above perception

To be found by angels entertaining unaware.

Life circles ‘round, cycles seem uphill mostly…

On coasting down, the mileage varies

Everyone must master the Dances of Transition!

——————

It feels increasingly good

To close my eyes now

A moment of distance

Is a reverie by any other name.

The house responds to wind’s awakening

I no longer react,

Letting silence pool in my ears

Slipping through the backdoor of that dream

Just to look around.

——————–

The front door is left open

The tan-white face of an artificial Siamese

Stares unblinking, from directly across the room

(I named him Mitts.)

He has inquisitive ears, he tilts his head

As we each await the other to speak.

—————–

Blessed is the silence.

The hollow stairwell

Offers no fixed direction

The hats hang from hooks below

The single bed is still made above

All locks engaged, safe in the Gratitude

I sleep.

——————-

I said yes to the soup

Behind my fluttering eyes

To the dream that was that close…

I never noticed there was no spoon.

This page is spotted in dots

From my nodding pen, my nodding head

A tired hand holding itself up at end of day

Pecking at a poem.