every week
that I participate in a certain blog hop, I hope the members of that
community will swing by to read and comment on my contribution, as I do theirs.
I
can see that they're reading my posts, and commenting on each other's
entries while offering mine the silent treatment, leaving me with a
momentarily bitter taste in my mouth - like they're hoping that if they
ignore me, I'll go away.
the sting of their betrayal shows how frail
their sensitivities are, as they seem to lack the curiosity to engage
with my subject matter, torn as it is from recent headlines.
I grow
restless over their silence, and my confidence would take a massive hit
if I hadn't learned to strip myself of the doubts planted by others
hiding behind a facade of righteousness, judging me from wherever they
are in the world.
I want to dare them to come to where I am, and learn
the truth for themselves, but ultimately I don't bother with such petty
foolishness.
I will continue as I began; writing for me.
*I wrote this on Sunday using the prompt words for The Sunday Whirl,
and wanted to include it here too, so imagine my surprise when it
turned out to be exactly six sentences! I was planning on having to do
some editing, but all it needed was for me to add the prompt word in a
spot where it fit, and voila! some of the folks over at the Whirl told
me that the process of using a WordPress/Google account to comment on
Blogger is cumbersome and problematic, so I took a look at my settings
to see if there was anything on my end that was causing an issue, and
there doesn't seem to be. so, I guess the Universe only wants me hear
from people who are willing to go the extra mile. 😉
every week that I participate in a certain blog hop, I hope the members of that community will read and comment on my contribution, as I do theirs. I can see that they're reading my posts, and commenting on each other's entries while offering mine the silent treatment, leaving me with a momentarily bitter taste in my mouth - like they're hoping that if they ignore me, I'll go away. the sting of their betrayal shows how frail their sensitivities are, as they seem to lack the curiosity to engage with my subject matter, torn as it is from recent headlines. I grow restless over their silence, and my confidence would take a massive hit if I hadn't learned to strip myself of the doubts planted by others hiding behind a facade of righteousness, judging me from wherever they are in the world. I want to dare them to come to where I am, and learn the truth for themselves, but ultimately I don't bother with such petty foolishness. I will continue as I began; writing for me.
"Mom," Mark asked around the eco-friendly straw in his mouth while vigorously sucking down a root beer float, "why did Loolah's mom offer to help fly us out of here in that message she sent you?"
Doing her best not to react angrily to the invasion of her privacy by her precocious young progeny, Blanche took a full breath in and out before diplomatically replying, "well, my dear...some people don't understand the deep and meaningful connection we have to this land and our culture; much like some young people don't understand that it's impolite to read people's personal correspondences - even if, I'm assuming, they left them open in an active tab on the computer when someone else wanted to use it to beat people older than themselves at chess online because I haven't been fun to play with since you were four or five years old."
After another moment she added, "...do you want to take her up on her offer? go stay with her in the States for a bit until this all blows over?"
"No way - she smokes cigarettes, and being around it makes me sick and gives me ear infections," his scrunched up face mirrored the distaste that could be heard in his objection, "and besides...I like it better here because people aren't always calling me antisemitic slurs and saying dumb things about Western Asia like they know anything about it."
Blanche regarded her only child happily enjoying his delicious float under the Mediterranean sun on a warm, winter's day with a mix of love and heartbreak that threatened to overwhelm her and cause tears to slip from her eyes, so she inhaled deeply, leaned back and stretched her spine like one of the street cats that roamed the square, and said, "that's what I like about you, kid - you just get things without my having to explain them to you like you're an idiot, because you're smarter than most people - and better company, to boot!"
I have a hunch that the majority of the people still rattling their angry chains about events currently happening in Western Asia don't have ancestors who heard the crunch of Nazi boots in the streets they lived in, or suffered under the Islamic regime all their lives, where women are grasping towards a life that doesn't require them to dress like packages. can you even begin to imagine being forced as a child to submit to a marriage to an old man or a terrorists, or be permanently scarred and possibly die in an acid attack - or endure the pain of surviving one? what about the many people who went out in the streets to protest, even though they knew they maylose an eye for demanding justice and peace from their government? a quick scan of who reads and comments on the various blogs/bloggers that participate in this writing challenge reveals a smallcolony of folks who are against 'war' in general (as am I), yet don't understand the wider implications of what military action in this region means for them in their safe little homes thousands of miles away. now, I'm not pointing fingers, but, if the shoe fits... I see a lot of anger on social media at the way ICE is operating, and opposition to the loss of many social safety nets for veterans and folks who live on the lower end of the 'socioeconomic scale', but would that online anger be seen in the streets if the consequences were the loss of an eye or an acid bath? how many LGBTQAI+ folks would be waving their anti-American flags if it meant they would end their lives in a public hanging? I don't enjoy sitting in the bomb shelter with my neighbors, but I do want to see more support behind ending the regime that targets both the country I grew up in, and the one I now live in (and many others around the globe, as well). you can hate your government and what it does and still want there to be peace and justice in the world for all.
the message was sweet, but she didn't really know how to respond to her friend's offer to fly her back to the States because of her projection of her own fears about the missiles currently being shot at Israel since they and the US had preemptively chosen to strike at Iran in what was definitely NOT a war, but rather a rescue mission for the people who have been horrifically oppressed by the current regime there for close to 50 years.
after deliberating for some time, she responded as gently as she could that not only did she NOT have any plans to leave her new home, but that the airspace was closed anyway, no airlines were flying in or out, and the only way anyone could conceivably find a flight out was by crossing over land into Jordan or Egypt, or traveling by sea to Cypress, all of which were just as - if not more - dangerous than simply sitting in her building's bomb shelter with her neighbors when the alerts went off.
(pause in the writing - there go the sirens now!)
she continued on to say that from her sun-drenched porch she could see grandmothers toting shopping bags full of groceries, mothers pushing strollers laden with babies, children playing in the street (schools are currently closed due to the situation), and that even though only essential businesses are 'supposed to' be open, the variety store, the pizza shop, the pet supply store, the little clothing store, the party store, the nut shop, the schwarma restaurant, and the small neighborhood market were all open, and that was just on her block - one block away there were several more markets and shops doing business, including the McDonald's in the central bus station where the buses were still keeping to their schedules (to say nothing of the rest of the city).
and people were singing and dancing out in the street, as well, since it was technically a holiday, though gatherings had also been prohibited, and congregations were forbidden from assembling to read their sacred scroll that is only read on one night out of the year - the scroll featuring the story of Esther (and Vashti) who married the king in order to save her people (the Jews) from annihilation back around 480 BCE.
she concluded by saying that she was in no way living in fear, that this is just the way things were there, and when the 'all clear' was sounded they went back to doing whatever it was they were doing before they were rudely interrupted by those who are constantly trying to kill them, such as dressing up in costumes to celebrate a holiday with their children, rejoicing at their continued survival, mourning those who were sadly killed by recent missile strikes, or writing a blog post about how they explain to their friends that they're never leaving their homeland again because they feel safer in Israel than they did back in the US where people they used to consider friends dressed up in Made in China keffiyahs (popularized back in the 1960's by an Egyptian terrorist) while openly calling for the death of all Jews/Israelis/Zionists, and pretending to know more about Western Asia (note the post-colonial geographical language) than those who have been doing this dance their whole lives.
why not? I've always been a
glutton for punishment. click here to read all the
contributions, and Make Sure To Leave A Comment to let people know
you've enjoyed their work - even if you didn't. I leave a
comment on everyone'sposts (even if they
have an horrifically appropriative name for their blog and double
down on their racism when you point it out).
rushing down the 43
stepsfrom
my apartment (twice while writing this post) into the bomb
shelterwith my
neighbors - more for those on the higher floors - as the air trembles
with explosions above us, we settle
into our places. the three Russian ladies and the guy I assume
is one of their sons against the far wall, their poor dog on its
leash at their feet, or under their chairs when more than the usual
number of unruly children are locked in with us. one of their
elders can't even make it down the stairs in the minute and a half we
have to get there and seal the door shut, so she sits on a chair in
the hallway outside of their apartment. also in the hallway is
Elena (when she's awake), the elderly woman who lives in the
apartment across from me - her personal care worker runs down to the
shelter with the rest of us. the Ethiopians (mostly a pile of
unruly children as schools are closed during these times of frequent
bombings, whose parents are all essential workers) on the dilapidated
old couch on the adjacent wall; the boys absorbed in the video games
and social media reels on their phones; the girls chattering away
loudly (causing the traumatized dog to slink under her owner's chair
rather than lay on the blanket she puts down for her) and posturing
in the full length mirror, while slapping and teasing each other by
snatching phones from hands and snapping pictures; the littlest boy
(too young for a phone of his own) playing with a yellow balloon that
makes the terrified dog bark when it comes too close, a sound that
hits the eardrums like rocks
against metal reverberating uncomfortably in the enclosed concrete
space that is already messy
with echoes. on the far wall is where the people who came in
from the street stand (no chairs for them) because even though this
shelter is in our building, our regularly locked front door is thrown
open during emergencies to accommodate our neighbors (we're all
neighbors here). And me, settling
down on the only scrap
chair left, in the far
corner by the barely hidden toilet at the edge
of the shelter, just right for a fleshed
ghost such as myself
what rose from who
knows where, or why - the only Israeli/American in the building, and
quite possibly the neighborhood.
"So, what your saying is that we don't have enough money to cover the rent, and you think that driving up to Montreal to gamble at a casino with the money we do have is the best option for getting it?"
She couldn't believe she was sitting in his car heading north, going along with this ludicrous and most likely ill-fated plan as they approached the border to Canada, passed through with their Vermont ID's, and continued on to the outcome she hoped against hope would work out in their favor.
Having only been to Las Vegas that one time, the casino still somehow felt familiar with its low-lights, lack of clocks, and wildly patterned carpet, and she quickly went to sit at the slot machines where she was the most comfortable, as the tables with their high stakes were intimidating and she wasn't that bold a gambler, never having had the kind of money it required to wear one's confidence like a suit.
On the other hand, he went straight to the tables, illustrating one of the key differences in their characters, and probably a good indication that the relationship wasn't bound to last, though that thought (which she had often enough to make her consider breaking up with him at least once a week) always made her think of Philippe Halsman's Jump Book, which seemed to indicate the opposite - that couples who exhibited similar jumps ended up splitting, while those who jumped differently appeared to have stood the test of time.
After an hour of their separate endeavors, he came over to where she was absently watching the virtual wheels spin with eyes that looked to be glazing over and turned her to face his newest idea as it had come to him, and with a contained excitement he began, "I think...instead of this aimless sort of searching for our fortunes on our own, we should team up, pick one game - like craps or roulette - and put the whole pile of what we have left on one bold bet, no regrets."
And so she found herself standing before a long expanse of green, broken by lines and numbers down its center that had no meaning to her, shaking two dice in her right fist muttering, "Come on, Lady Luck, mama needs some brand new shoes..."
(I hope I've done this right, and if not, I hope someone pops in to correct me!)
hello my darlings - I'm enjoying doing these community readings, and I hope you are getting something out of them too. this week, I didn't feel called to ask any specific questions, I just wanted to clear my mind, shuffle, and see what the cards themselves had to offer. the deck asking to be utilized for the task was the Celtic Tree Oracle - interesting because they're not really cards I use, but cards I keep because they were a gift from a dear friend, and many years ago, a deck belonging to a different dear friend gave me some profound insights into my life at that time. while there isn't a Celtic bone in my body (though there could be a past life...), I deeply respect the traditions of others, and love the natural connection these cards invite us into through the trees. as it happened, I had the opportunity to do this reading outdoors, so I sat down under a bur oak, and enjoyed the scent of wild rose in the air while paying attention to the details in the images. though there is a particular system which one is supposed to employ for their use, I know these cards well enough to know that they don't mind my freestyling. so - let's see what wisdom they have to offer us:
image shows three cards from The Celtic Tree Oracle deck on a pastel colored cloth with silver stripes. on the left we have 'Quert' (apple), in the center 'Muin' (vine), and on the right Ioho (yew). each card has the corresponding Ogham lettering in the border on each side of the center tree image, a detail below, and intricate knotwork designs all around.
Quert - Apple: ah, the apple! one of the oldest known cultivated fruits, it is associated with choice, possibly between similarly attractive options, though the options may matter less than the fact of a choice needing to be made. in Arthurian legend, apples are connected to Merlin and Avalon - a secret mystical island where the uninitiated must not eat of the fruit, for it contains the Pythagorean pentagram (the seeds in the shape of a star, possibly symbolizing divine wisdom). it was both where Excalibur was forged, and where Arthur was laid to rest, and said to come back from someday. I always think of the Greek goddess Eris in connection to apples, and the chaos she instigated with her golden apple for 'the prettiest one' that started the Trojan War, as well as the Garden of the Hesperides where that golden apple was grown.
from "How Merlin Dwelt Among His Druids in a Secret Orchard in Celyddon, in the Emperor Arthur's Time"
Muin - Vine: this card is associated with Lughnassadh/Lammas, the August 1st Celtic beginning-of-harvest-season festival dedicated to the Sun. grape vines - in the context of wine - speaks to the release of prophetic powers, letting go of logic and intellect, and letting intuition lead. permitting instinct to show you what needs doing, allowing emotion to flow freely, and openly trusting your senses to act for you. be open to noticing all the signs and omens. *at this point in my meditation of the cards I kept noticing a heavenly scent of flowers which I couldn't identify, but oh, it made me look! on my way out of the park I found the source - these wild roses in the image posted below. intoxicating! I used to work at an apple orchard, and one of the many things I learned from old Mr. Soons was that roses are in the same family as apples, as are peaches, pears, plums, strawberries and cherries. also, there's a theory that the golden apples in the Garden of the Hesperides - the "nymphs of the evening" - may really have been oranges! (signs & omens)
wild roses!
Ioho - Yew: several of the oldest trees on Earth are yews, and as such, are deeply sacred. their branches grow down into the ground to form new stems and trunks, and when the old trunk dies, new ones grow from it, giving this tree the meaning of rebirth and reincarnation. a new soul sprung from ancient roots in a new body. that the eldest of the oldest yew trees (age estimates vary between 2000 to 9000 years old) stand in churchyards shows they were previously sites of ancient Bardic/Druidic groves; interestingly enough, in 2015, one of these appeared to have changed sex (the ongoing reemergence of goddess energy in the collective consciousness?)! the longbows the Celts were known for their skill with were carved from yew, and while the needles were historically used to brew poison, it can be used homeopathically as well. this card is direct contact with your past, spiritual strength renewed, a revivification - understanding through wisdom that was always there, which we may have forgotten, or ignored. things that were, are, always will be ~
Ioho (Yew) card detail with intricate boarder knotwork, Ogham letter, center image of tree, and inset detail of trunk, needles, and berries, in muted colors.
look for an upcoming choice, which when paying attention to signs omens, calls for the possibility of a new life growing from the old one. dive deep into the well of your own understanding, and trust what you find there!
thank you for coming along, commenting, and sharing - this reading is
for anyone who wants/needs it! as always, I hope there's something in
here for you, personally, and feel free to contact me for a private reading.
god how I want him - want to get him alone, so I can seduce him into long kisses, groping at each other up against the car in the parking lot. moaning hard into each other's mouths, sucking each other's air in with our tongues...hot breath on necks in the dark, the desperation of our advancing age forcing us to hurry, get it all in while we can - like teens holding off their parents call that it's time to come in. can't sleep for thoughts of him - infatuation runs deep.
I want to run with you fast as we can to nowhere
holding hands
laughing screaming
with joy
at the thrill of being alive
with nothing else to do
but feel each other rising
in a world of possibility
your electric skin
crackling
beneath my fingers
discovering worlds in our eyes
sinking
in the ocean
pressing against
my flesh
from inside
your lips
our hair
wild
in the wind
here's something I've been meaning to talk about for awhile - tarot, and my connection to reading cards. I got my first deck 37 years ago at the (long since defunct) cool local head shop the OM where they sold silver jewelry, leather goods, paraphernalia, posters, groovy clothing, black lights, incense, tarot cards, and various 'adult' items I didn't yet know the use for. of all the things I bought there over my teen years, I only still have this amazing deer suede shirt by Erda, and my Tarot of the Witches deck of tarot cards (scroll down at the link for a deck review).
where did I first learn about tarot? in my mother's shelves of books which included Eden Gray's Tarot Revealed: A Modern Guide to Reading the Tarot Cards? in the library stacks, where I discovered so much more? in the music I listened to, the people I bonded with? or was it in the head shop itself, the first time I saw that High Priestess image in her jewel tones, on the outside of the box, her cold stare beckoning to me from some weird, nightmarish, yet oddly comforting circus-world. I learned many years later from some acquaintances who owned a bookstore that this unique deck by Fergus Hall was featured in the 1973 James Bond film Live and Let Die. so weird!
Roger Moore as 007 & Jane Seymour as Solitaire
in a way, it's cliche to be (part) Roma and read tarot cards, and I did 'work' the exoticism many of my cousins complain about feeling targeted and harassed for before I understood the implications of that sexualized perspective to those without my privilege. now, I feel like plenty of people capitalize on tenuous and non-existent links to marginalized cultures, so why should I feel bad about owning my own cultural heritage, especially when it has nothing to do with my interest in tarot? how my father hated to see me dabbling in the occult; how averse he was to anything that might be interpreted as 'witchcraft' from growing up with a stigma about being Roma, as well as Jewish - a culture which abhors the witch. for sure I was the only kid in my high school class doing readings in the school
library during lunch! the folks I met later at Renaissance fairs, Rainbow gatherings, pagan camp-outs, and work with in a coven had more of a connection to esoteric knowledge, and through them my understanding of tarot & magick deepened and grew. even though I've been drawn to other styles and types of tarot decks and spreads, I've mostly only ever used my own deck, other than a few reads with a friend's Celtic Tree Oracle (though there isn't a Celtic bone in my body), and had never read any minor arcana cards because in my deck, those cards are 'pips' - just a picture of the suit with that number of cups/batons/coins/swords on it - rather than the well-known picture cards imbued with symbolic meanings.
10 of cups on the bottom right is a 'pip' card.
during my last round of college I met a well-educated, forthright, outspoken, proud young Cale woman from a well-known Flamenco family who taught me what it meant to be an advocate for the Roma people, and through her, I became acquainted with many other Romani scholars, activists, and artists. and wonderful as it was to finally get access to real and empowering information about Roma people and culture, it was just as hard to feel shut down by some of them because tarot card reading/belly dancing/poetry writing/white girl Roma who say G*psy and claim to have Romani grandmothers yet no tradition/language/community get told by more traditional Roma who know who they are and grew up in communities with shared languages to sit down, and stay in our lane. they call us 'didikoi' (half-breed), and sometimes even 'gadje' (non-Roma), because they know how much it hurts. now, I have a great deal of respect for those scholars, activists, and artists, but I also see that I can be proud of my Roma heritage, and still read cards, while being an active voice in the conversation to uplift our communities. I feel that I have a responsibility to speak about Roma issues from where I
stand, without what is considered to be a 'traditional' upbringing, and I have every right to do my work for financial gain, as well. why waste my energy envying folks for doing the same work I've felt called to do for so many years, out of some sense of moral conscience, just because someone who doesn't know me said I can't/shouldn't? now that I've had a few years of feeling badly for possibly misrepresenting my own culture in the past when I knew less about it, in a world where so many appropriators are out there doing it every day, and since I now know better and do my best to elevate the narrative, I honestly no longer see any problem with my engaging in a practice I've studied for decades, no matter what ethnicity, religion, or traditional folkways I come from.
I believe in using
the tarot as a tool to help clear your mind, to think deeply about the
situations in your life, and help guide your decisions. there are those
who do less and claim more.
a friend of mine recently downsized their home, so they gifted me a number of different tarot decks, some of which I was able to pass on to other people who needed them. soon after that, I felt a strong draw towards Katelan Foisy's P7: Planetarium workshops during which I really reconnected with that way of being 'witchy' - getting back to my cards, burning candles & herbs, charging and using crystals in ritual, working with the moon, engaging with astrology, sigils, goddess energy, chakras, dreams...it was refreshingly inspiring. during that time, I'd been seeing a flyer for Shea's tarot group at the library, and didn't manage to get to it in person before it went online for the pandemic - which I'm glad it did, as it's been great to have what amounts to a women's group to connect with regularly this past year! so through that online group, I've been renewing my relationship with the major arcana from a more diverse and mature perspective, bringing in all I've learned through both my academic and independent research in family systems theory, mythology, folklore, ethnography, storytelling, and collective and personal experience. I'm also learning how to work with the minors which obviously opens up a whole new level of understanding for me after all these years, which has been deeply gratifying.
for the online group, I'd been working with the Tarot of a Moon Garden as it was the only deck I had that's based on Pamela Coleman Smith's artwork, though it's a bit fairie-cartooney for me, and...not quite right. I'd been wanting to get a deck that spoke to my newer understanding of what a deck can be - like the the Thoth deck I've been wanting to work with for at least 30 years, now - and I had recently become aware of The Hoodoo Tarot through Katelan, who I didn't at first realize had done the artwork, or had done a previous Oracle deck with Tayannah Lee McQuillar (the Sibyls Oraculum). I didn't want to buy it, though, because something I read made me feel like the deck was only really meant for a certain population, and that as a non-white white person, it isn't a population I belong to, so I promoted it out of my love for it, but did what I thought was staying in my lane by not buying it.
"The Hoodoo Tarot
is a Gorgeous deck, and I keep going back to look at it! I was
recently lamenting the lack of Black, Indigenous, and People of Color on
tarot decks in general, and while I have no knowledge of, nor cultural
connection to, Hoodoo (or Rootwork), I am still Very drawn to this deck,
and would love to work with it!" - Oct. 2019
during a recent wander through Barnes & Noble, I was pleased to see The Hoodoo Tarot on the shelf with a few other forward-thinking decks I recently became aware of, and it occurred to me...first of all, right on Tayannah & Katelan! and if they're selling that deck in Barnes & Noble, hopefully to enough people to earn them a good living along with the other work they do, then as someone who deeply respects the traditions and cultures of others stemming from a history of having my own misunderstood and disrespected, I can certainly work with this deck, too. I didn't have enough in the budget to buy it right then, but after receiving some monetary gifts for my recent birthday, I happily went back for it (and gotten the This Might Hurt & The Wild Unknown decks, as well).
look!!!
I've also learned to branch out from the classic 10-card Celtic cross and explore different spreads. the Celtic Tree Oracle uses a fairly elaborate 15-card set-up, and Froud's Faerie Oracle uses one and three card pulls for beginner basics, then encourages dabblers to use their intuition to draw cards about a situation or conflict, and formulate a series of deeper questions based on the number of cards drawn. some of the folks I follow on instagram will posts links to different spreads from other readers, but I can't always tell what the source is, and as a librarian's kid who's spent time in academics, if I can't cite it, I won't reference it. and though I'm not new to doing this work, I'm new to advertising online that I do it, and I realize that not only is there a learning curve, but there are SO many others out there with much more business acumen and advertising savvy doing the same thing, and it's rather daunting...and I certainly don't want to step on any toes! in that spirit, I'll share some of my favorite online resources: I really dig the intuitive astrology by Tanaaz of Forever Conscious, the weekly readings from moonandcactus on instagram are great, and I like 3am.tarot for spreads and card meanings. Meg's (3am.tarot) seasonal tarotscopes on autostraddle are really meaningful for me, and her instagram crystal pairings make me stop and think about what I'm looking to clarify. astrology isn't a field I've worked with much past in the past, and I'm still learning the basics past my own sun sign, stars, and planets, but it works well with tarot for me in terms of giving me a frame in which to hang ritual work around (think Solstices and Equinoxes).
so, this is my way of saying that I am once again going to be offering tarot card readings! the decks I currently work with are: Tarot of the Witches, The Celtic Tree Oracle, The Fairy Oracle, the Lover's Tarot, Tarot of a Moon Garden, The Hoodoo Tarot, The Living Altar, the This Might Hurt tarot, & The Wild Unknown. get in touch with me so we can work together - and since I'm all about helping people connect with their own cultural heritage, I'm happy to help you figure out what that is, and which deck or decks would be right for you for a reading. also, the best way for me to do this work is by giving something back to the various organizations that also seek to reconnect folks to their heritage/culture, and preserve it, so we can figure out how that might look for you, as well. following is a list of organizations I believe in, and am happy to support, and please let me know if there's another group/organization you'd like to see on this list. I'm looking forward to hearing from you!
the words dance gaily
away from me
finding their ways
to the mouths of
younger women
forming and reforming
combinations
for which I don't know
the meanings
inflating with pride
inventing new definitions
- sweeping roots across the floor -
weaving me back into being
emptying my closet
dis-collecting personae
naming them as I
let them go
nighttime. the house asleep. heart thumping, the sealed jar taken down and out beneath the swollen spring moon. to the river, swiftly, through the forest. down the rocks and across the sand, to the water's edge. so beautiful...but there's little time. draw, with the big stick, a circle in the sand. mark the directions, and say hello. open the jar, hold it up, think about what's in it, how old it is, where it came from. why. place it on its side in the river. let its blood run out. set it free. is this what it was meant for? didn't it seem like it had more of a story to tell? why? what has been set loose? where did it go? too long, too long..! rinse it out and seal it up; time to go. thank those who watch over, in the opposite direction. grateful for the big stick, up over the rocks, across the grassy strip, into the trees. heart back to thumping because it's bear season, but the sounds of footsteps and a big stick meaning to be respectfully heard should be enough, and the scent they would be after is back in the river, now, anyway. the house lights comfortably close, steps slow, breathing expands out. now what?
equinox sap, rutting season.
the drums bring her back.
where the hell..? where am I now?
she wonders.
oh yeah, the River. awesome! I love these people!
her head bobs deeply with the beat as she smiles, digs the rhythm. duende. she changes her direction and does a little spin, changes it up, and one of the drums comes with her. she lets him go because she needs to steady herself after such a bold move, and find the swing again.
I was lost just a minute ago, need to balance!
so she catches the net the drum throws out, and hangs in.
right. it's time.
moving gently in waves towards the altar, she takes a deep breath and begins to gather in the energy of the drummers and the dancers, pulling it into her. she throws another spin in, but wilder, and more focused. feet stamping. arms stretching, reaching, encompassing...she throws her head back and bends her knees, then lifts the bowl, slowly, carefully, overhead. gazing up at it, and out into the heavens. she pours a smooth stream of blood over the rocks of the altar where it pools around the bases of dozens of candles, offering plates, flowers and herbs, crystals, fruits bones grains mixed with honey and wine seeping into the stones dripping into the earth where they danced
where they danced
hear us. amen.
the drums were signaling, so she came back again. swaying with the bowl in her hands, dripping its last onto the flowers before her feet, she bowed to the altar and replaced the bowl. dancing back, she turned to face the drummers, and they all met her eyes. yes. they beat the ritual out. a collective whoop from all those dancing set a seal on the night's work, and some fell to the ground, some shook out last ya-yas, and a few were left spinning...spinning...and laughing. there were sighs, and lots of breathing. then came the hugs. everyone embraced in what became an all-group mosh, with many sighs, deep with feeling and the closeness of days of journeying. the drummers joined in and all hands reached to massage arms
shoulders
necks.
of those who were hungry, they went to food.
of those who were thirsty, they went to drink.
of those who were tired, they went to sleep.
of those who were aroused, they made love.
many made love. many made it with others.
many did it roughly, like animals - out in the open, biting clawing growling, with teeth blood and bruises. like a good fight, fierce and tight. a coupling. a mating ritual. death.
three did it hidden in a grove like fairies, all soft and fluttery, breath letting out in peals and tiny gasps, exquisite. a wonder, a discovery. life.
one did it alone. and with everyone, everywhere. rebirth.
(and they had pie) his father's tools in his hands conquer the world.
this tragic hero, this...John of Arc. John of Philly, California. John of My Heart.
this motherfucker.
this work of art.
what can be said would be right? shine on you crazy diamond? I don't even know how that hurts. I can't walk the walk, and I can't talk the talk, but I do my best, so fuck off.
in accordance with my own parameters, I like to post here once a week as my own personal 'use it or lose it' boot camp. I only posted twice this past month, and while I'm quick to forgive myself (because it's not like anyone really cares about this blog other than me), I'm still annoyed about it for it's place in the web of other tasks I didn't manage to complete in a timely fashion recently. I have four drafts that I've been working on for varying amounts of time, according to their relative emotional difficulty to get out on the page, and my own laziness/busyness. so in the interest of 'getting something out there', I'm going to whip up a list of:
"Things I Think About While Awake at 3am"
why am I awake at 3am?
should I go to bed, or will I just lie there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything I could be doing instead?
how long will the logs in the woodstove burn?
what music should I listen to?
what is there to eat?
can I just keep snacking on candy all night/morning?
there are dishes in the sink that need doing.
there is laundry that needs doing.
my bathroom needs to be cleaned.
I need to sign up for the parent-teacher conferences tomorrow.
I need to pay all the overdue bills...somehow.
I shouldn't eat any more candy.
where's the cat?
why didn't I know about that gig that cool band I like played?
I hope everyone got home from Trick-or-Treating safely.
the kitchen floor needs sweeping.
I just ate another piece of candy.
why do I have so much stuff?
why do I censor myself?
will I ever love again?
does it matter, as long as I get to have sex?
this isn't music I'm listening to - it's annoying noise.
when will I finish that 3k-word story?
my desk is a mess - I really need to spend a few hours doing paperwork.
I don't think I'm going to be under 200 lbs. for my 50th birthday.
I could be under 200 lbs. for my 50th birthday if I work really hard at it.
why can't I think of myself as attractive if I'm fat?
there are lots of beautiful fat people.
why are all the people who contact me on dating websites sub-par (for me)?
does that mean I'm sub-par?
how do I up my game?
why do I want to 'up my game'? I don't have any 'game'.
what is going on in that woodstove?
I ate more candy...
look at all the stuff I have to Read!
it's November - time to batten down the hatches.
should I get the cat a kitten?
can I stop the horribly named restaurant from naming itself so horribly?
will people help support me in getting them to cease and desist?
'when you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dying day'!
am I pretty?
can someone please Tell me that I'm pretty?
42
27
18
hut, hut, HIKE!
the car is going to need new tires...
I feel disconnected from my spiritual community.
I often feel disconnected from my community.
gotta pee!
I think that might be enough to knock me out for the next three hours before my alarm goes off, but we'll see...we'll see...
The Unused Portion (in case you haven't guessed) is on vacation, so I'm reposting this oldie-but-goodie because it was written about the place I'm going to be tomorrow.
I didn't write a blog post this week, as in, I didn't have a running theme that I engaged with on the page for several days in a row, that I polished up and edited to post on Monday. I have a big event coming up, and most of my time and energy has been taken up by planning and prepping for that One Thing, and the weather has been hot and humid, which exhausts me, so I've been pretty wrapped up inside myself and my daily to-do's to get everything done on time, or at least demonstrably close. one thing I DID do this week was write a letter to a local person who is the administrator for a facebook group that I was blocked from for standing up for my people, my family, and myself. so, I decided I would post that letter here, and call it a day (night). feel free to contact me if you want your name added to the signature line, or if you find any typos or anything. thanks, and enjoy ~
Following is a letter to Mr. Jim
Dougherty, the administrator for the online Facebook group 'Woodstock
Bulletin Board'.
Mr. Dougherty -
I was distressed to learn that I was
blocked from the Woodstock Bulletin Board facebook group because as
an educated Romani woman, I chose to bring attention to the fact that
a White woman was appropriating my culture, and using an ethnic slur
for my people as the name of her business. I learned of this
'blocking' on August 2 - the 74th anniversary of the liquidation of
the 'Gypsy Camp' at Auschwitz-Birkenau, adding further insult to
injury. There were two businesses in the town of Woodstock who also
used this slur in their names, both closed, now, and while I didn't
patronize either establishment, I did make it clear to others how it
made me feel to see those hurtful words every day, and used them as
examples to explain the ignorance of others to my young son. While
there are many businesses who use the word “Gypsy” as their name,
as we evolve as a society and culture, there are quite a few business
owners who have realized that this is an inappropriate practice, and
have changed their business names out of respect for who we are, and
what we have faced, as a people. We have a right to live with the
same dignity that is afforded to every individual in this country,
this state, this county, and this community, and by blocking me from
a community group, it is made it clear that there are those who don't
think my family is entitled to the same rights as others, that my son
doesn't deserve to be treated with the same respect as other students
in our schools, and that we don't have the right to know when events
are happening in and around the community in which my family makes
its home. This thoughtless act clearly states that I either agree to
being demeaned, degraded, and silenced, or I can’t be in the group,
so I feel I need to speak up for both my family, and my people,
before this misinformation disseminates any further, and is allowed
to spread its hateful poison throughout the beautiful Hudson Valley,
which has long been home to many cultures and religions, as well as
minorities and refugees.
It is infuriating for us when non-Roma
choose to impersonate our culture with their swirly-skirts and
tinkly-bell jewelry to be seen as mysterious and exotic, while we
suffer the slings and arrows of “dirty gyppo, go back where you
came from thief/beggar/liar – Hitler should have finished the job!”
We have been accused of kidnapping little White children while it is
our youths who are systematically removed from their
families/culture/language, as with the recent case of 'Maria', a
blond girl 'found' among darker people, and taken from her foster
family, later found to be of Roma decent. The news story prompted a
rash of officials across several countries to go out and conduct a
witch-hunt against dark-skinned people with light-skinned
children...of which I am one. Given the recent horrific events
endured by immigrant families that have been savagely ripped apart by
Draconian government policies, it seems we are slipping farther and
farther into allowing the kinds of hate-speech and prejudicial
attitudes that brought about the Holocaust, and there are a great
many people who are willing to stand up and demand that it Not be
allow to happen Ever again.
Would the town of Woodstock, the
all-inclusive hippie-love-fest, peace and understanding art colony of
years past not gasp openly if a shopusing an ethnic slur for Jews,
African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, or Native Americans opened
its doors for business? Or would it be tolerated? What if it was
insulting the Whites? The slur to which I am referring is one you
may not even know is a slur. The word is Gypsy (please note the
capital 'G' – a lower case 'g' perpetuates disrespect for the
exonym). The word is highly controversial, and some of us use it
among ourselves with pride, though the preferred term – for those
of us who grew up having epithets hurled at us – is Roma, or the
more specific names of our subgroups (known as vitsas),
some of which include Kale, Manoush, Romanichal, Dom, Lovari,
Kalderash, and Sinti.
In all fairness, I'm sure the owner of
said business is probably a lovely individual, and my intent is not
to cause them any harm or embarrassment, but to give them the chance
to openly acknowledge their mistake, make the proper apologies, and
perhaps even do their small part to make sure their customers are
informed as to the truth about our people, rather than just taking
our name and using it for the benefit of their own finances. Another
business owner in a similar situation some time back agreed to keep
books about Roma and some printed materials with information in the
store, and on their website – would these local folks perhaps agree
to sell products or disseminate information in the same manner?
Would they consider sponsoring an essay contest, donating books about
the Romani people to the library, or sponsoring a forum?They are creative people, and I'm sure they can come up with a
way to use their success to open a dialogue and engage positively
with those who find offense with the slur under which they chose to
do business.
The term 'Gypsy' comes from the
erroneous belief that our ancestors originated from Egypt. Our
language, customs, and DNA kits tell the true story – we originated
in India, before being spread in a Diaspora across Europe and the
Americas as slaves and servants, without rights, who have been
systematically oppressed and slaughtered to this very day. In many
countries we are still barred from schools, ensuring that our
children will not be educated, and therefore perpetuating the cycle
of poverty we have been held in for centuries. On the other hand,
many of us have managed to overcome great odds to become educators,
doctors, lawyers, artists, musicians, and bastions of cultural
literacy. We bristle at the Halloween costumes cultural
appropriators don every year. Our children are confused and shamed
by those who dress up as caricatures of our grandmothers, while we
ourselves fear to don our own cultural dress as it gives us away to a
society that has made it clear they only want us as models for their
own romanticized version of what being Gypsy means, which is usually
so far from the truth, it hurts.
Several Roma recently wrote in to
Hudson Valley One about an article written about a performance of
Macbeth performed at Opus 40 in which the director of the Dzieci
Theater Group misrepresented our culture, and we were treated to
dignified response stating that they were 'misquoted', and would be
changing the way they presented the performance in the future out of
respect for us, and our cultural heritage. That is how to “be a
good neighbor, and work to make things better daily”, a quote taken
directly from Mr. Dougherty's facebook page – not by blocking
community members from community groups. We call upon the business
owners, the town, the community, and activists of all stripe to
choose to do the same, and be on the right side of history with this
issue. Racism, xenophobia, antiziganism, and any kind of racial
intolerance is on its way to oblivion – let us use this as an
opportunity to advance together, and move into a more inclusive
future where the town of Woodstock can reengage with the statement
made on the Woodstock Chamber of Commerce and Arts website, “...where
the individual is always welcome and new and creative beginnings are
always possible.”
Sincerely,
(several people whose names I removed to protect identities)
