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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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.

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.)

....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.

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.