...had to start with me.

There is no way to really know what is going to unfold in a day. Yet, the world will continue on out there...passed my screen doors....passed the few feet of 'my yard'. (Listening to Believe In Dreams by Flyleaf)
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The snow is falling good right now.
The walk was cleared yesterday
and now fully covered again. The foot prints
pressed into the white banks are filled and replaced
with a new day of winter strollers.
Most of me remembers the peace that came
after the night dream wake.
Still, part of me clings to yesterday's hurt.
Its those little blessings that keep me
from a self induced cave-in of despair. My grandson
a constant teacher . A reminder of those teachings
of life that helped me survive this long.
He may not get any of the philosophical blurts
but he has the tools when its time. He puts them in
where he feels they fit for 'him'.

So, what is it that holds my day captive
as I fight to see bits of daylight?
I am one of the lucky ones. I came out
of the streets with all my 'needed' wits
and no limbs or organs lost. I embraced
a vision that promised to keep me safe
from my suicidal binges. I kept the faith,
as some would say, that the world would become
a better place but had to start with me. I
am grateful, the world is a better place therefor time
left to heal and strengthen. A legacy I can only pray
will be left for my children and grandchildren. I don't
reject my history or use it to blame my life on its events.
I have taken every 'positive' step that I know to take.
My life is not perfect with its daily challenges
and heartbreaking moments. I have little money and no job.
I worry each day about how long this house will be
called home. I fight off thoughts of drunken drug escapes.
I keep a tightened grasp on the forgiveness
needed for the hate controlling those outside my door.
I know this day is mine. I see the daylight through
the cracks of my home made curtains. I have this moment
and that is all that matters. And the smile returns
from the inside out. The world is better
and it had to start with me.

Reality

My son you stood in our doorway with a face covered with blood. My heart stopped and my world changed forever.

The List

Sorting through the wreckage of my life to find the treasures of my past. I have not lived this long to be one that resorts to a mode of self pity just to survive. I have live this long because I wake up each morning being grateful for those little miracles. There are too many to mention in one sitting without writing a book. So I will go with this day's list in no particular order of importance - all make my day.

I am grateful for the freedom I wake up with every morning.
I am grateful for the ability to sit and 'see' the morning winter chrystals on the tree tops.
I am grateful for the opportunity to say good morning to my children and grandchildren.
I am grateful for my crazy mind.
I am grateful for the cold floor in the morning.
I am grateful for the earth medicines that I burn in a smudge each morning.
I am grateful to "be aware" how blessed I am.
I am grateful for the knowledge and wisdom of those gone before me.
I am grateful for this day - this new adventure.


And so there it is - always more to add and all just as important as the other. My day is never without challenge but it all plays out in a blessed way. I learn from everything I experience. And if I don't it usually is replayed so the teaching sticks. I stray from the positive mind and that is also a teaching I need. I cannot appreciate the good without knowing the so called 'bad'. My life has so many dark moments that were made darker the more I stayed in its memory clutch. Now, these experiences are all part of who I am. I don't search for pity for the darkness I endured. Nor do I use it as an excuse to 'not live my life'. I must admit there was a time when there was alot of shame in my life...shame for not having the power to protect others from the darkness and shame for not having the knowledge to find my way out of the darkness. But never did I blame or ask for pity. In a way, that was my problem. I took on alot of responsibility for events that were not mine or were unavoidable. Realizing I had a 'choice' was what saved me from existing in the darkness of my experience and saved my children from reliving the experience. I would rather my children and grandchildren inherit the mind peace and spirit strength to face their journey. And the only way I can contribute to that is to 'live' my life so they will experience 'the choice' I made. They have seen the darkness and they have experienced the beauty of living. They have a choice. That's the most important teaching I have ever received. Today, I choose to live my life with the eyes of a child and the maturity of my experiences.

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Bob Marley - Three Little Birds ( There are some songs that just have a way....)

.....its snowing out there

Listening to So Long Marianne by Leonard Cohen)

The snow has arrived and with the unpredictability of today's weather pattern no one knows if nature's blanket will remain or melt into the ground to expose the sleeping earth to its death. But what hasn't changed, and I don't imagine will ever change, is the excitement in the the little boy's voice as he jumps and proclaims "It's snowing!" As the world moves on its way around a little one there is little to deter the young mind from seeing the wonder and beauty in everything. No matter what the world is puking up. (I see that sentence and can't help but 'leave it'.) I read somewhere in the beginning of my studies in old dusty literature, too see the world as a child with mature innocense. The exact wording is not what sticks its the message it leaves that matters. I have been pulled into each morning with a slight ache of unfed desire for a life that I have never known. Then....sometime during that moment or sometimes when I am trapped in the illusion of my sleep ... I remember. Its my experience, my life, that is the innosence and my willingness to live it the best I can is the maturity.

Not Enough Sheep for Me to Count for Sleep

My body is tired but I can't sleep. Four days. Four days and four hours of sleep. I did three abstract designs on paper last night....instead of making me tired it made me want to do another then another then another.

Lines, circles, squares, curves. I swear I started seeing faces forming in there somewhere. I close my eyes and a cluster of cartoon characters and script fill my head. I some how just flow with it and try make a story out of it. Too many thoughts and too many stresses at the moment I think.

Tried counting sheep as a last resort. The cluster of thoughts would just intefere and take me somewhere else. I even imagined the sheep leaning on a post patiently waiting for me to 'focus'. Funny. Now this is what happens with lack of sleep. Rambles of nonsense.

Morning Clutter

The minute I woke up this morning my eyes were jolted open and all I thought was 'what time is it'?

I used to lay there for a moment or two and review my sleep journey. An event in itself that helped lift off the day with thoughtfulness. I don't remember what I have dreamed. I haven't remembered in a long time or taken the time to let the worlds slowly transform. Now, I sit with a slight confusion and jump into the day. There is a good side to that and a bad side. I just haven't figured it all out yet.

Getting up in the morning is a difficult task for alot of people. I think of teenagers. Specifically, my teenagers. They have made me so proud. They dream. They have tested 'the line' society has drawn for them. They realize they need to do the work to celebrate the results. And yet, the most beautiful time of the day is the most difficult for them to face. I have always made a point of making the morning the best before they face the world. I would ensure the breakfast was one that sent an aroma throughtout the house. Even those mornings, and there were many, when the cupboards and fridge had nothing I was always able to create a breakfast they ate with smiles. I think their favorite was buttered biscuits and oatmeal. I was never a eggs and bacon breakfast eater. I grew up in a family where those breakfasts were saved for the adults. And they only occurred on weeks when the social benefits were out. Its amazing how, when you have nothing, family makes the day worth facing and fighting for.
Now just to figure out how to get these teens to make their first class in the morning.

As for me I have an appointment this morning. I don't like the idea I had to resort to social benefits to survive in this time of my life. I had dreamed, imagined, planned, crawled to ensure my life would be different. Yet, here I am. I search for employment and send resumes every morning. The other day, the city council rejected a hiring policy that would acknowledge the fact that racism exists and prevents equal opportunity for "qualified Aboriginal" people. Well that is a whole other issue yet is connected to why I need my teenagers to take as many hours in the day to hone their skills.

In our language, Umbe Washte, its a good day, i said everyday. No matter what struggles they are all seen as good. Our only responsibility is to live a good life. That can be a long list of 'to dos'. So life never should be boring. Now to go shake up teenage sleep.

Eat Pray Love

A night with my daughter led to diving into the movie Eat, Pray, Love starring Julia Roberts. I have been waiting to see this movie - attracted mainly by the title itself and ofcourse knowing Roberts will always deliver a worth seeing performance.

Verdict? It was enjoyable with a couple thought provoking moments. Honestly, I waited for "the moment" to happen. I felt a glimpse of what it would be like to be in Italy, the architecture, the food, the language, and the people. A travelogue with a few intimate flings to spice up the "find myself" journey. My favorite part is just the dreaming of being on the trip she was taking. Maybe that was the point. From the point of being numb and unexcited about life to exploring and expanding personal limitations to spark the life back into the day. I can understand that. I can appreciate that. But honestly, I expected more. Will watch it again. Just because I did expect more and feel jilted.

So, as for my life. I am confident with the day if I have faced it with a hint of passion. The days that scare me is when I see the end and all the in between is just that "grey filler" that means nothing because it will end when I end.

I went to the library yesterday and browsed the poetry anthologies for something that would jump out and awaken something in me. Taking out aged hard covered Elliot, crisp Atwood, and colorful names I had never heard of. Then, there she was, Anne Sexton Complete Poems. I had heard the name and wanted to explore more women authors. How did they handle their crazy. I continued the evening being a taxi and waiting in my little black bucket of bolts reading the introduction to Sexton's work. A history of a troubled sucidal woman who dared to spill her confessionals during a time when women's secrets were just that - secret. A natural flowing string of words devulging her love affair with death - specifically her own death. The scary realization is I relate to so much of her life and why she writes. She wrote to survive, to live, to stop from wanting to kill herself. I don't relate to the woman who walked with a barbie doll presence or the middle class view on the world. I relate to the loneliness and death that seemed to consume her days and led to her eventual suicide. I have walked with this cloud over me and survived with scars from my own attempts to escape my chaotic mind. But I did come out from that storm. I struggle each day to keep from drowning in my own mind. So I write.

Eat, Pray, Love....I guess that is a good start. I like the title. A morning cup of coffee, a plate of breakfast 'something', and cigarette while being an observer from my kitchen window. I may not have Paris today but I smiled. I smiled because I still feed. I still crave for candy apples and flavored coffee. I still yearn for the knowing only spiritual awareness can provide. I still can shed a 'real' tear when a child cries. I can still dream of being loved and sharing love. Yes. That's a good start for the day.
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And I Write

I now have 44 pages of 'poetry' or strings of words that vary in stream and rhyme. Must not sabotage this move forward.

I never know when the moment will arrive. In that moment I write and even I don't believe it came from me.

Not much the hand wants to type today in generalities. I want to edit and write more strings.

Key: Write. Write. And write some more. No thought to the direction but once the direction arrives flow into it with no restriction. No editing. No correcting or deflowering the freedom of the unfolding journey of writing.

What do you see?

What do you see when I walk by you? No designer bags or leased SUVs. If I got a haircut it was done in front of my mirror and usually with a dull scissors from my sewing kit. The shoes I am wearing I bought in a second hand store for a dollar and that was three years ago. Looked new then and still passes for 'okay'. The other night I attended a book reading. I was a bit out of place but I always am. It's funny how on those nights when "I" do a reading the down and out fits the attraction, but when I attend the reading (or places like it) the experience is worth observing. I stepped out of the old renovated building from the stuffiness of suits and academic ego rubs. I had to have a cigarette. My daughter was with me and we looked down the the quiet street and went over how nice a city it was Just as we said these words a couple came around a corner. They must have been in their late twenties or so. The man was walking his bike with a woman on his side. They were laughing and conversing until they seen us standing in front of the building. I smiled. He pulled her closer. My daughter smiled and the woman's eyes darted. She looked terrified and he looked angry. Wow. It's sad actually. I was more sad for them than offended. I bet they would have thought the woman would have been safe with the Cnl Williams than with someone like me. I have lived my life promoting peace and humankindness in my family, community, and where ever I go. Yet, this man, who was given the trust of political leaders and royality was the one lurking in the dark terrorizing innocent people. Yet the man with the bike would place his trust in who "looks" like someone he could trust rather than someone that 'looks' like me. I was out in the night. He was out in the night. Our commonality. My only fear is my children will have to live in a world that is dictated by their fear. That fear is based on what? The color of my skin? The second hand clothes? Their supper conversation? Religous beliefs? News broadcasts? History Books? Its all out there. Food to feed the fear. Sad.

"What man does not understand he fears. What he fears he kills." chief Dan George

This Moment Is Mine

There are days like these. Too many to count. I still have dreams and passions. Yet, society has put me on the shelf. I fulfilled the academic expectation to my best ability. I flew into the workforce wanting to be part of the solution. I raised my family to be independent and knowledgable. I kicked the crutches of alcohol and drugs. I forgave the monsters and hugged my enemies. I don't have a criminal record. I embrace my imperfections and use them to strengthen my passions. Yet...yet...I am still here the same way I was ten or twenty years ago. Still asking the same questions. Still hearing the same answers.

Every morning appears to be a new opportunity provided to me. I can make a change in a direction that will be different from yesterday. Then I am flooded with the reality of how much work it will take to achieve my dream or reach a goal. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be judgemental. I don't want to blame the white man, my mother, a politician, my children, my neighbor, the rich, the poor, the racist, or me. I just want to make my life mean something. I want my children to look back and be proud to say that was my mother. I want my grandchildren to walk with honor knowing I gave what I could to ensure they could carry on strength in knowing who they are.

The world will not know my name. My nieces and nephews won't even say my name. When the years pass that is all that matters. "Who will remember?"

There isn't much I can say about his day that is different from any other day. I can say I am giving it another try. I know my blessings. I am aware of the escape I have perfected. I live with smiles, love, and passion.

This moment is mine.

Being a Grandmother

I now have grandchildren. I was sixteen when I had my first child and was thirty three when I had my first grandchild. At both times I was afraid. I had a childhood with little adult direction. Most adults back then were lost and in pain. The children were like a gang family on the street at night when the parents passed out from the weekday party. I remember sitting on a step with some girls around my age, 7 or 8, and their siblings. We sat watching the falling stars and enjoyed the stillness - quiet - of the night. We laughed and held our little sisters and brothers while they slept. The sun would come up and uncover the reality of our world.

There is no bitterness or hate toward the adults back then. I did carry alot of shame for what I could not prevent and protection I could not provide for my siblings or even my mother. All I knew was it would be different and the pain would stop with me.

Becoming a mother changed something in me. My mind would revisit the city condemned white house I lived in as a child. I wanted the world to be different for my daughter. I knew enough to realize I had to be different. In some cases I see now I might have been a bit over protective and could have been more selective with my friends. Yet, it is that world that kept me safe when I needed. I stepped away and it wasn't easy. I left behind my friends and the life that sheltered all our pain. As semi-adults we now had families and had to grow up. I had to face the world without the crutch of drugs or alcohol. The bits of memory that had been locked away slowly began to seep into my day. Being a mother wasn't the challenge. Learning to be human with emotion was.

When my first grandchild was born I cried. It was amazing to watch as my baby brought to the world a little human. They both struggled for so long to meet each other. My world would forever be changed in this next season of my life journey. He had the right ammount of fingers and toes. His cry awakened something I couldn't recognize but it felt right. My daughter with her beautiful and forgiving heart was still scrambliing in her life to find her place. Her decisions were not based on her role as a mother but as a teenager. In my heart I believed it was my responsibility to step in where where the mother could not be. We battled back and forth fighting for who could care for him better. He cried and watched as we battled. Finally one day, a woman told me the story about the two women who fought over a baby and a king said to them he would solve it by cutting the baby in two so they could share. One woman said the other could have the baby because she did not want to see the baby hurt. The king gave her the baby. I understood. I stepped back with an aching heart and let my daughter keep my son in the chaos she was living. Within weeks she called and committed to letting me keep her son, my grandson. He has been with me since. I am close with my daughter and she has three more children.

In our traditional beliefs the grandmother plays an important role in the lives of the children. My children rarely had their grandmother in their lives. Just like I rarely had her in mine. So it was new to me but natural for them. I am a mother, grandmother, and woman. What a life I have been given. A clump of coal to diamonds story.

Bargain Hunting

The sky is pink...or is it light purple or maybe a bit orange. No matter, the sky is beautiful this evening. I spent the day searching affordable options to deal with some immediate concerns. I now have a vehicle, paid $500 for it, and it isn't the prettiest, quietest, or newest but its paid for and it gets me where I need to go. Today, I found a backyard mechanic to fix the brake pads. The little metal beast was squealing all over the city for the last two days. I called the shops and found this man on a local forum site. So it all worked out. Now to take care of the dryer. I took the back off but stop there when I seen there was a few more screws and backs that would need removing. A task for someone without a clue. I found another deal for a queen size mattress - $30 delivered. It is practically new but when i tried getting it to the upstairs bedroom I realized there is no way the bed is going to fit! So now I have a mattress and box spring sitting in my hallway. It will be going to my daughter. So it will be used. My other deal was a printer. I needed a printer for my daughters music sheets and my grandsons homework (homeschooling). So what do I find a free printer and she is willing to drop it off! I thank the lady and carry the little machine into the house and smile at the girls because of my little find. When i go to set it up....it is so old the connector is only for the computer towers and will not fit the laptop. So I have a printer. I have to be more specific with the wish list I send out into the air....a printer that I can use with my computer. Oh well, free leaves not much for complaining.

What would I do with my time if all these everyday adventures were erased with the sudden change of circumstance....like winning a lottery or inheriting some strange uncles pot of gold?

Being Alive!

The mornings are my favorite time of day. I love the feeling of coolness and quiet in the kitchen. The scent of brewing of coffee and sweetgrass smoke triggering childhood memories - those good memories.

This morning, I lay with eyes closed attempting to convince myself of the reasons why I should get up. No job. Goals lined in failed attempts. Broken dryer. Piles of laundry. Plans replayed and never realized. Promises made and not kept. Teenagers in drugs. Teenagers dropping out of school. Teenagers dropping back into school. My son calls me a hypocrite. My grandson tells me he hates me. My daughter isn't speaking to me. My other daughter is pregnant 'again'. Where did my son get that money last night? Were the police watching the house? He hates that I think that of him. My bed is broken. I am sleeping on the couch again - where my grandson wet in his sleep. I am gaining my weight back. I am afraid to exercise. I am afraid to take risks. I have many good intentions. I do more in my head than in my physical reality. I am still struggling to make ends meet. I dye my hair. I can't look in the mirror. My grandson barely knows how to read. The world will never know me. I will never know the world. How is my mother? My brother sent me sixty dollars. Will I lie to get money? Will I drink like that again? The closet needs cleaning. The window needs fixing. The door needs repairing. The screens need replacing. Can't avoid looking poor. The city is filled with racists with a voice. I don't have a job. I can smell the coffee. I can smell the sweetgrass. I can hear ...... the mornings are so beautiful. I am here. And no matter what I still care, want, need, plan, love, smile, and face the morning. I am grateful for all of it. That's what being alive means.

Changing Seasons

This time of year....when nature falls in colors and sleep overcomes...i feel sad. That is the only way, or simplest way I can explain how I feel. I love the changing seasons and the miracles that occur. Always different but always the same. A friend told me "it is a gift to feel the changes of mother earth". When I didn't understand what it was I was feeling I dreaded this time of year. Now I go with it. I feel it and everything slows down. I thank the relatives of earth for sharing the life and watch sadly as the way is cleared for a new year. Everything prepares to sleep. Nature's white blanket will soon be a reminder of the miracles that continue life. And when the spring melt and the first raindrop falls I will welcome the new year as we begin our life together again.

(Corny, yeah, but nature is sweet. Nature is violent. Nature is always changing. I love it all.)

Bukowski

Life is funny. One minute you are feeling like the party started without you and the next you realize the party was planned just for you. I have lived a full life with alot of adventure, pain, happiness, tears of sadness, and unending smiles for living. Alot of cliches, more than I can stand, but a life all the same.
I read an interesting poetic statement by Margaret Atwood the other day. It describes her journey to the writer in her. The inevitable pull to the wine drinking, cigarette smoking, paris seeking writers of her time and time passed. The desire to mingle with the risk takers and create the voice of a poet that would shock and portray an interesting 'writer's life'. Well, she found it, in the details of her life after the delayering of personalities acquired through the search for the writer in her. It is the presentation and perspective of the writer that entices the reader to continue reading. Bukowski presented the world with a dirty old man with a crude mouthful at every spit of drunken philosphy. Yet...it was interesting to experience his perspective of the world through the eyes of one in the middle of what most tried to avoid. It was no risk to him it seemed just his way and perspective and it caught on. I speak of Bukowski because he seems to surface in the work of new emerging poets where ever I go. I do admit I went through a time when he intrigued me to the point of purchasing all his books where ever I could. It was the feeling of raw truth...albeit his truth...that kept me wanting more at the time. I was pulled into his madness with a desire to find my own madness. This is where I found the writer in me. I projected all my filth, misery, and sweetness into lines that projected my reality. For a short while i experienced a freedom. Then I realized the journey was just in its infant stage. There would be more to come as my memory replayed forgotten or buried remnants of madness that just wouldn't be served best without continued maturing in the craft. I continue. I venture into the perspectives of writers to remind myself of that freedom....to be mad....my madness is a safe place for me. There is no good to it nor is there bad to it...it just is for me. I need it to be the writer I am. My words thrive on the madness around me. I write to live in the madness around me.

So Bukowski, the dirty old man spitting drunken philosphy, knew what he was doing in his own mad way.

Cancer Scare

Ok so the day has begun like all others. I have my list of 'to dos' and a great cup of coffee to sit by me while I spill my morning thoughts into this 'space'. But there is one thing different today. I am entering a day without that grey cloud of worry. I try outrun it by keeping busy and staying focused on the positive. Then those moments just before my mind drifts into my sleep journey, I plan my last days. And when the morning sun drifts through my window the words 'thank you' bring in the new day. For many years I have had the same physical pains and concerns. I have had numerous tests, ultrasounds, scans and enough blood to keep a vampire harem in suspended bliss. Then that little thing they found on my ovary grew in addition there were now concerns about both ovaries and more tests. I refused to say these things out loud. I believe to say it would to give it life - strength. I could just think of my children and my dear grandchildren.

This day is different.

This passed summer I went to a spiritual ceremony. The sundance. A sacred time of prayers, songs, dance, and personal sacrifice. I danced and prayed. I prayed for my relatives. Those ones that are sick, lonely, homeless, hungry, lost, afraid, - all my relatives - all nations. I gave thanks and shed tears for the beautiful ways the ancients kept alive in our spirit memory. Pilamiya Tunkashila....I thanked the Earth, our grandmother who keeps us alive. I prayed we would take our place in the circle as allies to Unci Maka..Grandmother Earth. And with the time in my prayers I felt the prayers of my brothers and sisters, my relatives, that danced under the sacred tree and prayed for me.

This day is different. The prayers were carried and heard.

The results of my tests came back and my family doctor had to take a second and third look at my results. She read them back to me...negative...normal...negative...
That's good enough for me. I woke up this morning thinking about living my day the best I can. No fear. That was my real sickness. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. But this moment is mine.

Peace and Humankindness.

....programmed into the brain where the spirit lived

it is time to register my teenagers in highschool and establish the schedule for my grandson's homeschool plan. i enjoy the creativity involved in putting the list of activities we will be taking on for the week or months. An important aspect of education is the social interaction. So much is learned in a conversation, an expression or body movements. Opinions are formed in conversations.

One plan was to get signed up for an autumn craft and art program at the gallery. I would also take advantage of the time there with a photography course. It is the move toward viewing the world in adventurous and possible ways. Well, I know I can't afford any of this without making small payments. So I had a pleasant conversation with the young woman taking on the greet and know of the gallery while the manager was away. I walked away feeling so great. The classes were set and the October youth craft bash promised to be educational and fun. The best part - our names were down and the payments could be made on the start date - which is the next time and only time in the month I would have money. So spending a few moments sharing smiles with a helpful humanbeing got the ball rolling for a positive move forward. "Not having money was not going to stop me from enjoying my life..."

Now, as the time draws nearer to the start date of the gallery programs, I decided to call to double check our registration and the exact amount that would be owed on the date agreed. Well, the telephone like the email, text etc...has damaged the already disfunctional act of communicating. Now I spoke with the manager. She sounded rough, older, and less interested in my excitement to start the programs. Dragging her voice she proceeded to inform me that the fees would need to be paid before they could confirm my enrollment. The financial aid program was not available ( I had not asked for financial I inquired about payment plan). " I have dealt with problems before so I cannot help you." So in a stuffy breath she made her decision in non chalance air....arrrrr. She flexed her power.

Why does it matter if the gallery won't wait for the fees or if we even take the program to learn, experience, create, communicate? It was just that moment of feeling like something we 'wanted' not necessarily 'needed' was unfolding in our favor. I had my teenagers excited a feat in itself expecially when they are more accustomed to disappointment. I felt like I had accomplished something. I did - I made the kids smile, talk, plan, and most of all - dream. Then because someone listened in the city....a communication between two people resulted in smiles, hope, confidence. Good feeling as the days went by and we knew we had 'that' day to look forward to. In a short technological line of black endless wire the words grated from her aged lips into a grinding echo that reached my ears, then my mind, my heart and my spirit. I waited in between the cold wire words for a moment she might soften and understand, trust, compromise, humanize. That moment never had a chance. She was like a robot. An answering machine programmed into the brain where the spirit lived.

Well, moving on. We always bounce back from these things. I just don't look forward to seeing the fade out of the little 'spark' that has been lit for the passed little while. They won't complain. They will nod and discuss other things. One of those things that was just in our grasp but was put there for someone else.

best drink I ever had

I have these thoughts that I can achieve outrageous goals in a short time. Sometimes it works and other times I wake up and think "it will never happen". Well I am in that mode of making things happen so lets see what happens.

Alot of love and peace this passed weekend. Felt the energy of what was described to me as the 'sixties". Anything is possible! Just smile and watch the world change one person at a time. Open a door and feel the ripple turn to a wave of human kindness. Let the human spirit of kindness be the leader of the day. I live in the center of the despair of families without, youth left out, women kept out, children left alone...a poverty of the mind and spirit breeds misery and despair. There is so much fear and anger there is no place to escape to. So it only makes sense to face it head on and kick it in the ass....I sat with one man and one woman who lived in a shack that wasn't theirs. They have no job, no food, no money. Yet they have the most loving way they have chosen to live and share. We shared moments that were priceless. Life is simple. Living is the tough part. Live. Just live. Smile. Cry. but smile again. A four day fast without food or water....brought the teaching of humility and appreciation for those everyday things we take for granted...i drank from a horn with insects swirling in their swim and it was the best drink I had ever had.

Distant from the Being as Humans

And the World is in poverty now! A reality in so many ways. We have starved ourselves almost to death by disconnecting with our main life force 'the Earth'. It is only in the reestablishing our connection as allies of the earth can we save ourselves. I have watched documentaries and read articles that reflect a hint of hope for the human 'beings' even after all the damage that has been done. BP oil spill "murderer of the ocean". Mother Nature's wrath spreading her cleansing hands with wind, storms, and earth shakes. An unrest with the people as they confront their governments once again to protest the neglect and disrespect of the commonman's plight to survive. These are enormous issues that span the whole planet. Yet in the shadows are the those whose voice has been taken during the decline of their lives. Asleep in alleyways, feeding from backdoor bins, stealing a can meat from a corner store, hunting sick and poluted animals, serving affordable junk to their children, drinking colorful water, and still dreaming it can change atleast for the children. What now happens to those who have been born into poverty? This is the thought that stirs my need to stand up and gather all the information that is out there and say "lets do this!" Turn the information into knowledge through doing, and wisdom through living.

It is easy to say grow your own food if you have the tools and the experience.
So....provide the tools and experience. Share the knowledge in every community! Let it be the way it has to be. Every neighbor to have a healthy meal for themselves and their family. And for those carnivores well hunting is still a great way to feed "families". It is the pollution and sicknesses that is making it difficult to trust this old survival way. But protect areas to ensure the natural habitant is available is a start.

I have a wish list and one item on the list is like many other families..'a home' to call my own. I have done alot of research on the variety of alternative housing projects being developed around the world. I don't understand why it wouldn't be considered as an alternative on a wider scale for impoverished families. An energy efficient home where the one time bill comes only in the materials. A home built with renewable resources to cut the cost to more than half for the finished product. Not For Profit organization run by citizens of the rural/urban area with a goal to ensure every family has a home. A barter system or mortgage payment as an option to assist in securing the home for the individual/family. For example; the new homeowner will now share the new homebuilding skills with future homeowners and share in the building of a new home. There are so many positives that could come out of feeling you have something worth while to offer and also have the pleasure of seeing the product of your hard work. Training and education for the building of the home and the continue learning in areas such as gardening (community gardens for example). A committment by Governments for the financial support for the training and resources to fulfill this goal. When one considers the cost of services put toward government housing, financial aid, and the thousands of programs developed and redeveloped to feed and house the homeless, this would be an investment in more ways than one.

These are not new ideas. We have become distant from the "being" as humans. Not only have we disconnected from our life source but we have created armor around our lives so we will not feel the pain of the world. Hoping maybe just maybe it will get better on its own. It is not to say we don't have the heart..the spirit...to make a change. I only say it is time to put our differences aside and realize we are all One on One Earth. Our only real Home. What is here was meant to be utilized with respect and honour for its abundance and generousity. There is no need for one person to be hungry in this world today. There is no reason why those who desire a home should not have one. There is no need for a government that only serves its own agenda as long as we have our voice! It's our differences that have created the dark shame over human life.

Magical Restaurant

In challenging times I turn to history.
First I go to my own. A childhood with
adventure and hardships. At the time
it was life. The adventure was surviving
it and the hardship was using my imagination.
One memory that stands takes me under a
kitchen table with my siblings. The adults
have all gone somewhere and I have been left
to protect. Under the table was a magical
restaurant. The five potatoes we shared were
turned into apple pie, chocolate, ice cream,
jello - anything the heart desired - and there
was enough to go around twice!
I was eight years old and I survived
the adventure through imagination.