Samhain

Now I am not strictly a Pagan or anything, for that matter.

But I gotta say that at this time of year, it really feels as if we should recognize the dead, our ancestry, and also to prepare for the coming winter... just feels right. thoughts come up about mama, grandpa, opa, s, k, J, J-L, e, etc and all the other dead who have touched my life deeply. I don't need remembrance day to tell me to remember those who went to war for their country. but I will remember those who died who went to war against their will... and those who got killed by others defending their country.

but there is a personal dead which does not get such grandeur of recognition, who may have been just as noble, if not nobler, if noble is the question at hand.

tonight my son and I did a lot of dancing, tambourining, laughing, playing, watching of candles illuminating our personal dead, singing, being together. watching leaves fall in black winds. thanking the food we ate. being aware of the moment in its reality.

it seems important and forgotten. everyone we know is having a different sort of fun- candy, makeup, costumes, parties, alcohol, thrills, horror movies, trick or treating, which is good and releasing in its own way... but I can't help but long for someone who wants to get down to earth with me, to the spirit worlds, to the animal worlds, to nature, to the essence of the scorpion shadow that hovers. there is a reason these celebrations were invented, and it isn't just that...

which brings me back to Home- my cousins and aunt back home. they would listen to crazy finnish, norwegian, swedish folk music with me, go crazy dancing to bjork, sing old beautiful songs in harmonies, fling our hair around, make up "random music" on the spot (not Jamming- really creating intricate melodies ina non-rock-ish way) with violins, Irish drum thing, harps, flutes, tambourines, and of course angelic voices. and it used to move! like really move. poetry would be recited, dark and ironic. total laughter everywhere. shrieking, but in a good way. the intellect and soul and heart would combine through our family blood and bring us together, rosy cheeked, warmly by fireplaces and woodstoves. food would be made. just Pure awesomeness. I am not sure I will find that again. I must.

I am thankful I have such an amazing family, even if they ar many thousands of miles away.

basic

yeah, I am trying to reconnect my head with the rest of my body. that's why the writing is being more basic. I am (perhaps temporarily) letting go of overintellectualization too.

it's true, like Marion Woodman said, that when you live above your body, you can get a rush when you realize new things, ideas, even recognizing new spirits around you, new elements of life. but until it's you in your body recognizing it, it's just a temporary rush. Chris has told me over and over... "you don't NEED to think of that stuff s much". And it's true. I am not a better person for using my brain so much. why must I constantly try and surpass myself, whether spiritually, intellectually, or otherwise? can't I just grow truly and love freely with my whole self?

there is nothing to prov. in my soul, I am quiet. I am a quiet person. I do things quietly and diligently in my ideal life. twilight, pre-dawn... that is my spirit.

I think we are ocnditioned to be right at noon constantly. unchanging, unmoody.

the medicine wheel has a bunch to offer us all, methinks. change, wheeling around the center of nonchange. nature is change and nonchange at the same time.

I think it's raining, but not outside.

mother who is still here somehow

afterlife

not sure what is the afterlife, but I sure feel I communicate with the dead a lot. well, the dead I know, some of my best friends. not only authors and artists and others who have made themselves available to people like me... but family members whom I think of regularly, still trying to figure them out. of course things get distorted slightly, perhaps idealized, but the essence is here. my mother, for instance. an enigma and too easily judged by peopl, too easily fathomed by those who didn't spend much time with her. she deserved a lot more love.

my other friend, her best friend, who died recently. again, deserved love more than I can express. she was/is loved, but I think she is one of the most amazing women. I really wanted to talk to her, and sent her a letter that she would have received a few days after she left.

I've been clinging to the present of late, trying to make this town my home, trying trying trying. it's not, not yet. I feel a bit sad when I think of my mother's garden way thousands of miles... now not there... I think of a whole 28 years in Ontario, knowing the rhythms like the back of my hand, the seasons,the waves, the temperature. I think it is silly to judge a place based on people alone. but people have power...

connections there are deep, my roots had a long time to grow.. they were growing under the lake. under the graves in my backyard. twining with old old big trees. I bet the roots are still there,even though some of them were cut down for mansions to rise.

I am not idealistic, at least, not unreasonably so. I don't lay hope in the hands of people who "get it". we don't know anything really.

all I know is I love my family, Chris and my little son. I know I don't need others to tell me who I am or what I should be grateful for.

belive me I am grateful.

I am letting go of something... but it is something I didn't realize. I don't need to let go of my past hom, my love of place, my ancestry, no matter how imperfect.

I need to seriously let go of my ego, my need for perfection. my need to charm. my need to be beautiful. it is very very thin and superficial. it is ruining my life and affecting others.

so relieved.

I seem to be stuck in a forest of sorts...

Why hello. September 26th. Venus is present, I feel her. She's helping me alng while I do my morning recording. It's sunny and the sky's a cornflower blue, or should I call it chicory blue? My brother insists chicory and cornflower are different and in my ignorance I can't say for sure. I guess I will believe him. I just think cornflower has a nicer ring to it.

But the sun is a glorious complimentary orange, and apart from the racing megalithic trucks, it's glorious living here. Our yard is filled with indigo grapes, hanging, pouring from the trellis, the crabapple tree is weighted down, waiting to be made jelly from. No plums, but oh well. Brother has his cider press working and has made pear juice, gallons and gallons of it, apple cider, and plum juice, in the hopes of making wine and hard cider. To last through the winter. I dig.

For the last two mornings, I have recorded new songs. I will hopefully continue this ritual until I run out of words and music, which is hopefully Never.

Trying to openup ribcage to accept this new town Nelson as home. In my mind I call Nelson "Salisbury", its past name. But in my hear I think the name is different again. Probably the original Sinixt name, but I can't seem to find it out. I think the name Nelson undermines the beauty of the place. I am constantly reminded of the character from the Simpsons, the big oaf child Nelson. but This here Salisbury is too beautiful. Mountains surrounded it, cougars inhabit it, chickadees sing in it, or try to be heard, bears watch over it... I guess I miss foxes and crickets and sparrows and grass animals... but I am trying to get over my last home, which I sent 28 years in. Hard to shake overnight. The idea of going back to live there does little for me, but my missing is overwhelming anyway. Gotta figure it out, live it out.

Working on 3 projects. 1) Saturn and the Ladybugs, 2) Corvus Mae, 3) unnamed jazzish thing. A la Peggy Lee/ Marilyn. La!

Apart from being a full time Mama, that is. So in love with my son.

harvest season/ ducks fly moon

morning silent but actually crows. if you ignore the traffic.

a birthday today, Kris'. He's sleeping with a sweet baby. the baby has tantrums a lot these days. he throws himself around and claws with his nails. half-proud I am, and half-worried. he's really a sweet one, though.

laurence, atwood, munro, plath, maracle, erdrich, gunn, lightning woman. reading the women who have ties with womanhood. self-aware, aware of life. inspires a girl see through better and less-habitual eyes. adds shades and spirit fabric to everything surrounding and inner. behind, beyond, meta-, within, super, and perhaps. I love the women, the musicians, poets, composers, knitters-of-webs, the long line of us, actually, the great lovely circle of us, or spiral. we have the blink, the understanding, the almost-smile, the totally Mona-Lisa thing, the blood, like a female coyote, but with essence of brown mama bear, hummingbird, and others.

recording music soon. can't wait. so many ideas, so many projects. technological Kris is preparing the earth to sing on, to drum on, to play on. I have no idea about Scope, wires, connections, mechanics, that stuff. admiration.

Corvus Mae is keeping herself warm under folded wings, aching to caw. waiting. change of season now to ducks fly moon from the brown bear time. Dreamt of bear two nights ago, crow more nights ago. Bear was beautiful, slow, grace incarnate. something to be revered. glossy and dark. the western spirit. I felt her and watched her in her silence and became silent too. the one time I was close to Bear, Kris and I were in our '71 VW van, somewhere in the mountains, camping across Canada. 2006. night time. bear slowly ambles looking for food. beauty, amazement, reverence. came toward us so we started up the van and eventually drove off, feeling that we saw the most beautiful creature. we ate rice cakes and dodged mosquitos in the black. headlights illuminating specks of winged things, we silent with bear songs.

cougar sighting at the park in town. cool.

love,

me