I trimmed the pansies back because they were getting so tall and rangey, and I knew how pretty the little flowers would look in small glass jars.
The angle of the sun wasn't quite right, and I didn't have a great location scouted out for this type of shot, I just saw the little flowers in the pretty jars, and they made such a lovely scene that I had to capture it, regardless of its status on the scale of desired outcomes.
I think some of these aren't half bad, as studies - I mean, at least I know where the sun is coming in if I want to do more of this kind of shot, and at a preferred angle with a planned background! And it's cool to play with the settings in the new phone - new possibilities at every turn!
I over-processed this one in an attempt to make it look like something it's not, like a painting, or drawing. It's definitely surreal, and I like the quality of the print, but a better framed shot would have made for a cleaner overall image.
I love a good sunburst, and the clear jars look fantastic in the wash of bright light. Great angle, but I wish I'd taken the time to think about the background, as well.
I spend so much time in front of this cursed machine, and get so little done with it. The machine itself is slow, and I am easily distracted. So, after my weekend of flying as close to the fire as possible without getting burned, I came to the page to try and sort out just what the hell I'm doing, before the whole day is lost. I didn't get into the bookbinding workshop I had applied for, which is fine, because I don't really have the money for it just now, and it will come around again when I do. There are instructional videos online I can watch and learn from just as well, and I'll have more time to focus on my next project. Yes, I applied to a Master's program, and I have every reason to believe I'll be accepted, so I've been fleshing out ideas, drawing graphs, and making lists, as well as sitting in front of the computer, staring at vapidity, thinking 'what was I doing, again?' and so.
Breakfast went well, though I would have preferred if the boy had had some nuts or seeds with his smoothie, and I packed him a good lunch (water, grapes, cheddar cheese and crackers, tomato soup, leftover chicken). I had the rest of the soup for breakfast, and as I'm thinking about it now, I believe I'll have the leftover smoothie in a minute, with a rice cake... I turned on the computer this morning to check the weather; hot and humid, 85 today - definitely a shorts day, I told the boy, as I saw him putting on jeans while I went around closing windows against the coming heat, hoarding my cool air behind glass and sheer fabrics. After the boy got on the bus, I checked in on all my beautiful facebook peeps who make me feel not so alone sometimes, and then did a search on 'how to get motivated to exercise' while wondering why I didn't just get up and exercise - it's not like I don't know how.
The lovely weekend that has just past (Memorial Day), I spent at a place I've been visiting for nigh on 20 years, now, and as I stood in the sun, on that spot, and stretched my arms up over my head, and reached out and over and touched my fingers to the ground in front of my feet and felt the puuuuuulll in the back of my legs without my knees even straight, or my back being flat, without my hips anywhere near where they should be - with the source that sustains me warming and stretching my muscles and my bones on that old wooden deck I thought, "Holy god...my body is tight." A knot, even. One big muscle, all bunched together. The wrong end of dynamic tension. I remembered the young man who gave me the word 'somatics', and the woman I met who does cranio-sacral adjustments. Something must be done...
...which got me thinking, the way I do, about the history of the African continent, and how little I know about it. I thought about the health and wellness of the world's most desperate populations, and how so many of them must be miracles of survival - because stereotypically, Westerners kill themselves with medicines and poor diet and tv and fluoride and all that - I wonder how much healthier the people who live without these things must be, though they face more direct threats to their immediate health most every day. Do they care about gmo's or do they just want food - how does that relate? The choices we get to make...and the ones we don't. It just blows me away. I wanted to know what Africa was like before the slave trade, before the history of an entire continent wasn't written into my textbooks, to see what that continent had that Europeans wanted so badly/feared so much that they attempted to destroy it's people to get, and so I go seeking.
We should all I think it would be interesting to know your own history - where we are in our communities, in our families, in our cultures; politically, historically, religiously, spiritually, mythologically. And one day I'll learn how to express it like Gurdjieff, in some bizarre new dance, and people will still think me a whack-a-doo 100 years after my death, and it will all have been a great, fun, trip and so worth it, for better and worse. So to blogger, to get it all down, and to Boom Pam to keep it going, and now my ass is wanting to get up and moving off this chair, get that smoothie and get back after watering the garden. How I love being the rain and watching plants grow - it seems like all I want to do anymore is grow food, cook the food I grow, and share it with as many people as I can. And then tell stories around the fire.
It's moments like these when I dream about my hobbit-hole, agri-tourism, organic farm/craft village that I've built in my imagination, and wish for you all to join me there.
I have fabulous hair. I am blessed to have the kind of hair that fits the cultural and societal norms of what constitutes a desirable head of hair. Growing up, there were times when this fantastic hair was more of a burden than I cared to carry, but I have learned to live with it, to love it, and to cherish it. I've sold it once or twice for doll hair, and I've given a great deal of it away for wigs. And there's the braid I buried with my first cat, Delia - I wonder how long it takes a braid of hair to decompose? When I was young, under 12, my mom brushed and styled my hair - mercilessly. She would pull and wrap it into tight ponytails and severe buns. She'd say, "If you want to be beautiful, it has to hurt." And I'd think, 'then I guess I don't want to be beautiful...' At some point, since I was so much of a 'tomboy', and had no interest in the punishment of the hair-care ritual as I knew it, the long tendrils were shorn to a bob, and I went about my merry way without the added bother of extensive daily detanglings.
As an image-conscious teen, I wore it long, because again, we are lead to believe that long, shiny hair that waves free in the breeze is pretty hair, and I was playing all the cards I had in the game of attracting the opposite sex for elicit meetings in darkened environs - I had some of what the boys were told to look for, so I waved it at them. And let us not forget the influence growing up in the 70's listening to musical sensations like Hair had on my formative ideas of image and appearance. In my 20's, I started playing with it a bit, with strange-for-me cuts and colors, and it shocked me how agitated some of my male friends got went I cut it short: "You look like a dyke," was the usual response, and knowing quite a few more dykes than the morons who made such statements, I couldn't necessarily say that was a bad thing (even if it was a stereotypical mass generalization). The first time I wore dreads it was a style thing - I was all hippied out, in my overalls and patched jeans - it started as a few beads and wraps and evolved into its own natural condition. Some of the people in my life were horrified by the dreads. So much so, one of my friends came over to my house while I slept, and started to comb them out! At that point, I had to finish the job, and my hair was back to 'normal'.
In Kyoto, Japan, at Higashi-Honganji Temple (a link for that? really?), they had on display gigantic ropes woven from the hair of the women in the nearby village - hair they had cut off and donated to the war effort (there's a picture of it at the link). It was so amazing, I wanted to touch it, and see how it was made! A few months later, soon after I got a buzz cut (to clear old energy away, and begin a new journey), Alice Walker's 'Medicine' came into my life:
Grandma sleeps with
pa so she
can get him
during the night
look at me
(my apologies to Ms. Walker for any formatting errors, I pulled this off the web) and Hair took on a new meaning. For sure, I had long grasped the concept of hair's energy and how it relates to each of us personally (hence having buried it here and there, and leaving strands as offerings. I probably still have a jar full of it on a shelf nearby), but I thought about it in terms of how it relates to others - like the guys who would get so mad when I cut it off. It did seem to be some kind of medicine for certain people, and so I kept it as a gift to those whom it made happy. For the past decade or so I haven't done more to my locks than sport the occasional crazy hairstyle where I'll wrap it with brightly colored ribbons and yarn for a few weeks, or redden it with henna, but I am acutely aware of fanciful and decorative hair as it is one mode of self-expression that excites me, inspires me - like when you feel your pulse accelerate, your eyes dilating, as you make an appreciative sound, like an 'ooh', or suck in your breath...that little catch in your day, the spark of magic that reminds you to resonate on the higher vibration...
'righteous hair fairy'
A few years ago, I saw Chris Rock's film, Good Hair, which made me think about the politics surrounding hair once again, and I felt cultural grief for any pain I might have caused to my afro-straightening, weave-wearing sisters of multiple ethnic backgrounds, and I cursed yet another industry for taking advantage of our emotional real estate and inflicting such a toxic ideal of beauty on an entire group of women whose hair type I happen to really dig. More recently, I was reading an essay, also by Alice Walker, talking about how experiencing her natural hair helped get her outside of herself, and moved her through a 'restless stillness' which she acquaints with periods of withdrawal during growth. In thinking about that piece, and one that circulated on facebook about Native American scouts in the US military during the Vietnam War who apparently suffered a great decline in their abilities after receiving military-issue haircuts (note: I can find no other information about this subject, and the article lists no references), much like the biblical Samson after a session at Delilah's, my desire for George Clinton-esque hairstylings developed into braids with the intention of dreading again.
Call it my foil hat, if you will, or tuning my instrument, in line with the Rastafarian belief in their holy antennae, narrowing the frequency, drinking from a more contained flow...what ever it was, I needed to bind my locks into a more finite psychic-wave gathering apparatus, to limit the number of feelers I had out, while at the same time, strengthening them by joining them into synergistically enhanced collection tools. Are they considered less than attractive and possibly dirty by mainstream society? Do I conduct my life based on input and feedback from mainstream society? Okay, yeah, but just a little. In this case, it doesn't matter. It's a temporary thing, and as I tell the people thinking/saying, "Oh, my god! What have you done to your hair?!?" It's just hair. My personal renewable resource. When I'm done having dreads I'll either comb them out, or cut them off. I'm way less attached to it than some people to whom it's not even attached...
In the meantime, I'm enjoying the way it feels sort of tight, and as I run my hand over my head, I feel like both the master who has applied the clothespins to the slave, and is using them as keys with which to play the instrument, and the instrument being played - as each pressure tugs sensation to bear on a particular section of my scalp, I feel stimulated into concentrating on my higher chakras, and finding the tone of that vibration, being my own incantation. I like to freeboot and camp out in the Summertime, and I don't feel like packing a brush,
or having to fight knots out of my thick, waist-length locks while
trying to keep them neat on the journey, so I took pre-emptive
action, and went for it. The peyote wraps I used to wear 'back in the day' were safely tucked away in my jewel case, and it feels nice to have them woven back into the mess of month old braid and dread happening on top of my head.
It seems there is an argument to be made, in the hair debate, for one's
beliefs, though: Buddhist monks shave their heads to show the commitment of one gone forth into the Holy
Life (Brahmacariya), Hare Krishna men shave their heads to symbolize renunciation of the
material way of life and dedication to spiritual pursuits (the tuft at the back signifying them as Krishnas as opposed to Buddhists), Sikhs tend not to cut their hair at all as they believe it is a symbol of love for god and what they have been given, some nuns and
Hasidic Jewish women shave their heads (though I think that has more
to do with vanity than spirituality), some Hasidic Jewish men wear payot to show a symbolic separation between the front part of the brain (intellectual) and the
rear part (physical, sensual) and his intention to
keep them separate. There are obviously many
other cultures I haven't researched on their particular and/or peculiar
hairstyles - and I wonder where bald people or folks with alopecia universalis fit into this discussion?
The only thing I think it's fair to say is that our hair
(or lack thereof) serves as a medium for communicating who we are, and
in some small part, what we believe in, to those around us. This season, I'm saying I have too many other things of importance to use my brain for, so I am relinquishing my perceived responsibility of keeping my hair the way most people would like to see it in favor of a wash-and-wear, quick-drying, no-nonsense natural styling of it's own choosing, with a few shiny adornments thrown in here and there. It's so important to remember to be ourselves - I often forget, and
when I get shaken back to it, it's like an affirmation that becomes more imperative
with each realization, because Right Now is all we'll ever have - it's all there is. Why dream of being brave enough to wear rainbow candy stripe dreadlocks - why not just wear them? Yes, thank you, I think I will - because I'm exercising my desire to be wholly me, both for my vanity, and for my soul.
I wrote this a year ago, which means the original post I am referring back to is over 2 years old, at this point. Time to get back to it ~
(6-5-11) Relating back to a previous post - holy crap it's been a year, almost to the day! - I've had my mind on this project lately. I felt like doing some work on it, and then realized that I packed all that stuff up already (figures), and maybe I should flesh out the stories I conjured with a few lines back when..? And where was it that I had done that, written that down? Was it in my journal or on the blog? Goodness, I think it was on the blog, why yes it was, here it is, with pictures! How nice, now I can move it along to the next stage, good, good, good. And I believe the Move will start in the next few days, as well, gonna happen slow and easy, nice and smooth as well...all the pieces falling into place just so, and I'm sailing that vessel, that small, solid Lookfar of my own story, feeling it swim it's way over the tides and times, too obscure to expect recognition, world-renowned nonetheless.
M. Citron LeSurfactant, Knight of the Rosy Toilet - Patron Saint of Domestic Order, unclutterer of corners, scourge of the dust bunny, charmed by Giggles' eco-minimalist tree-habitat, father of her 5 children
Giggles, Demigoddess of Folly - a sprite of the forest whose laughter falls like joy upon the heart, her playful spirit comes to those wistful for freedom and adventure, known to bestow gifts on single parents, daughter of Veggicus and Betty, her heart was won by M. leSurfactant's impeccably cozy shabby chic interiors and his noble deeds of stain removal, mother of S-n-S, leFrog, Sam & Minty
Veggicus, High Priest of Health and Wellness
Betty, Goddess of Wisdom
Spic-n-Span, the Conjoined Twins of Peace and Harmony
leFrog, Pope of the Ludicrous
Psychotropic Sam - yeah, that...
Dementia - know for her discontent and self-loathing requiring the employ of lavish gifts, ego-stroking, and undivided attention to successfully dispel her sour aura.
So, M. LeSurfactant, I'll start with you - who are you? Where were you born, who brought you into being, who raised you where? Were you a precocious child? A born leader? Did you crack jokes in class, get beat up on the playground, do well with the ladies? When did you discover your talent, how do you use it, and what led you on your journey of self-discovery? I want to know how you met Giggles, what your first impressions of her were, and how you fell in love. I want to know what you will do when all the kids are grown, and moved out of the tree-habitat - how will you redefine yourself then?