Prayer

Sacred little fruit,
Thank You, speechless burst of life
in my mouth, my mind. 

Winter's last sigh

The floor of this old house
breathes foot-chilling cold
through its chipped linoleum
and pine planks,

like the earth expunging
the last winter air from its lungs,
awakening from five months' sleep.

My home,
-adobe flesh and wooden skeleton-
solid in place,
A wizened squatter covered
in clothes from many decades,

more connected with the life
in the soil than you might think;
the land's conduit

as the valley expels
the last chill of winter,
making room for Summer's warmth

Sketches and Watercolor Paintings

Meditation

Tree on SC Campus

Study in color and paintbrush shapes

Tree on SC Campus outside my window at the library

Study of color value with hand tracings

Charcoal and pencil drawing of a bone on my desk (First attempt and something I've wanted to sketch for a while, but didn't have the courage to until a few days ago.)

Tranquil storm

The hills that day, to the north of us as we worked, were heart-ache, soul-ecstasy-beautiful. I have never seen anything like them; dark blue clouds misting upon low, smooth crowns, like some moor in an old English novel, like I'd imagined the heath in "The Secret Garden".

I wanted to be in the middle of it. But I suppose it might not have been as pretty, beheld as a tiny human from far away, lent god-sight by proximity and imagination. My favorite way to observe landscape much of the time is from the passenger seat of a car moving rapidly down the road, my eyes acting as fingers and hands feeling the geography. In my mind, feeling the ground and trees with fingers and hands that exist only in my eyes.

I desperately wished I'd had a camera of some sort, or my iphone. But I rarely take technology on jobs, especially that far away, so I have only my memory and whatever I manage to put down in writing.

Barefoot Utah Hippie Girl Chant

Grow more trees,
Quit killing bees.

Plant more seeds,
Quit killing weeds.

A Few of the Animals Living in Tibet

Tibet is home to an astonishing array of creatures, many of which seem like copies of animals from other countries in the world, dropped into harsh and unforgiving landscapes.
A species of snake inhabits the areas around hot springs generated by the massive underground activity of the Chinese and Indian continental plates smashing together. Similar to Utah's garter snake, it seems surprising for the cold-blooded creature to inhabit Tibet, one of the coldest and and highest climates on earth, but its living there is made possible by warmth radiating from the hot springs.
The Plateau, or Black-lipped Pika, related to the rabbit and belonging to a genus found all over the world, inhabits Tibet's plains, moving vast amounts of earth tiny hole by tiny hole while hunted by the Tibetan brown bear and Tibetan sand fox. The Tibetan brown bear, also known as the Tibetan blue bear, horse bear, and Himalayan snow bear among other monikers, is related to the Americas grizzly, with a similar hump on its back. The Sand fox is lightly dun colored, has a wide face with eyes set far apart, and isn't particularly territorial. The bear and fox sometimes share a commensal relationship hunting pikas.
Another inhabitant of Tibet's plains is the Tibetan Antelope, or Chiru; a snub-nosed creature with long, slender legs. The males of the species sport long, tapered horns used in the seasonal battles for females. Males guard varying numbers of females, usually two to nine, and will fiercely defend their herd from other marauding male antelope.
The animals native to Tibet are at once familiar and surprising, as if various animals from the US were scattered across the steppe. However, this comparison may be rather unfair; as familiar as the Tibetan Brown bear, Pika, and Sand fox might seem, they evolved in Tibet, filling specific niches and developing physical characteristics and behaviors very unique and well suited to them and their surrounding environment.

(Sources: http://www.bioone.org/doi/full/10.1644/817.1
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tibetan_antelope and "Wild China: Tibet" (we watched the documentary, but you can find info about it online at http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0884762/))

The resurrection of the beautiful dead

Your iconic Starry Night, troubled life, and self-taught technique inspire me and lead me to despair. You fascinate me, and of course, as human beings perceive about all other human beings, I see sparks and flashes of myself within you; your obsession with the beauty and wonder in nature, your stubbornness and determination to teach yourself painting, your disdain of institutions, and religious fervor removed from religion.
Certainly, Van Gogh, you have managed to spark my interest as no other artist, of any genre or time period ever has. This may be entirely thanks to my local college's impressive array of books documenting your life and works (I have discovered two thick volumes so far), but it began long ago, certain paintings of yours stuck fast in my mind and memory, and later, that amazing, heartbreaking Doctor Who episode.

Oh beautiful beautiful, I know so little about you still. I am learning more; and It will never be enough. Comforting are the long-dead people resurrected in our heads by their own works and other's words. 

A sunset and a moonrise

I decided to watch the sunset a couple evenings ago, just as a way to slow down and free myself from some of the frustration and ennui I've been experiencing lately. 

(You'll have to click on most of these to see them full size, a few are panoramas and mobile posting is so finicky anyways.) 

Misty Mountains and an Experiment in Horizon Lines

Prayeralells

(Written a few days ago, I really am not sure how true it may hold still. Today is grey and disgruntled.)
Set as we are, to the East in our valley, surrounded by mountains on all sides, the view we enjoy is incredible in any season, in all directions.
Today clouds hang low and wispy; the palette: deep blue and tranquil white.

We accuse humans of anthropomorphism, especially those with the occupation, curse, and liberation of Poet. But suppose the Earth does feel emotion? Suppose the animals feel just as deeply, or even deeper than us, the homo sapiens?

Wouldn't we feel more responsibility and kinship with our surroundings and quiet neighbors?



Our valley today feels tranquil, just a little sad, and slightly huddled. Waking up after a strange, strange winter, sleep sand spilling from crevasses slowly.


Suppose we don't superimpose our own emotions on nature. Instead, nature taught us how to feel;
The anger and jubilation, the absolute, raw power of thunder and wind and downpour. Sweet sadness and release in quiet, grey rain, pure and so beautiful. The awareness and hidden mysteries hidden and revealed by the moon in all of her incarnations, the silent encouragement of her consorts, so far away. The sun's crankiness, wisdom, and benevolence, it's faithful nurturing of the earth's green (and pink) things, sometimes far surpasses the rain's trustworthiness. The Buddha or Jesus voice and touch of snow and its muffled blanket, its quiet meditation and inner eye.
The parallels of the seasons and all of life; birth, flower, maturation, death, recycle.

Every-day Meditations

I
Bread dough--
rough polish on my nails

--Sometimes I forget every-day meditations
for the ethereal allure of cocooned spiritual practice
and living

--But the idealistic future
lives no where--
except the present,

if you'll let it


II
My heart is made of galaxies
but it's also grown over,
twisted through
winding ropes of knuckle-kneaded
bread dough-
and my prayers, my meditations
are grounded in

The hugs of little children
"Goodmorning!" sung from a friend across the valley
Sunrises
Kisses
Simple poetry
Incense lit on my dresser
My native landscape
and
You

Dancing Around the Nothing (Not entirely sure I'm all here sometimes, but the funny thing is, that doesn't bother me)

Can I be the water,
or even the wind between my fingers?
Would existence be any easier then?
Not that it's terribly uncomfortable, just,
sometimes it doesn't fit me,
or I don't fit it.

Can I be the rain on my nose,
can I be the breeze skipping through the leaves?
Can I be the ground underneath my feet?
Or perhaps nothing but the motion of
my longboard curving from side to side?
Can I be the sound of life whispering
from every atom of every cell of every stone?
Can I be the act of seeing and doing
purposefully in true faith?
Can I be your voice and your eyes and your hands?

It's just that I kinda want to be everything,
but who's to say I'm not already,
or that I haven't already been many times before,
and that's why it's all here inside of me,
responding to the light of everything outside.

And this is all so very soft, but I don't want to be always or only a jagged edge--
because I'm not.


I imagine that someday it'll all make sense,
it'll all come together,
I'll have the ability to really understand and communicate it all,
I'll finally see the overarching plot to, maybe, everything, but now
I look back, and I can see a series of arches, then to there, then to here, there to here
Beginning, middle, end of something eternally. 

Two-headed Poem

(To explain the title, love, I once read that when writing a poem, it can emerge as two intertwined poems, and you must then work to separate them from each other. I haven't actually experienced this phenomenon much, there have been a couple cases, but this is the first that seemed distinctly so. As it is, I decided that I'd break that rule, I'd let this poem stay siamese-twin, and try to further twist and weave it, and so I did; what you shall read presently, is two-headed, dualistic, two concepts in my head right now that seem to play off of each other, separate but entirely related.)








I.
Mmm,

The complexities of language, 

Crashing waves beneath floating papers, 

Cobwebs and spindly plants.

II.

The refinement of her expressions,

Intricate and infinite; 

A testament that everything communicates; 

It is we who must choose to listen.

III.

Looking beyond, between, underneath, 

All of the winding tendrils around written words, how wondrous, 

More wondrous still, how you can nearly read her thoughts 

from the positioning of her eyebrows and ears. 

IV.

They all have different voices, 

You know, 

Mountain peak and ocean depth, 

Short bark and long drawl, lilting or singsong. 

And their voices are no different, loud quiet infinite--

Like ours 

July 21st, 2010. Wednesday. (Funny the things one doesn't remember writing.)

They call me the deer girl,
I speak with and of their
eyes, their steps delicate and
lilting.
Brown pools of soul encased within thin faces,
Nibbling at tomato plants,
A stranger's garden.
Strange encounters with wandering
animal souls.
       Summer is here,
       Where did Winter go?

Stone

This stone was born in the center of a star. This is only half of the stone, the other half is your heart, and there are stones all over the world that are missing pieces, the pieces which make up you. You will find a dozen, maybe more, stones in your lifetime, that will answer a question you didn't know you we're asking, and some will ask you a question in return. They may ask you to take them up and place them on your bookshelf at home, to be glanced upon from time to time and handled, little pieces of memory spiraling off of them. Other stones will recognize you, love you, and ask that you leave them where they are, in their home, they will be handled only In memory. Still others will remember you, joyfully greet you, and ask that you come visit them periodically over your lifetimes. 

I remember you, great yellow stone. How have you been? 

September

Sunrise, Moonset

I woke up early this morning, about 6:30 or so, and after a bit of deliberation, I decided to throw a long sleeve shirt on and go outside to watch the sunrise and the moon set. I went out free from devices; my iPod, camera, ect. I considered taking one or the other to photograph what was taking place, but I decided to be solely an observer in the moment this morning.

The sky was mostly cloudless, just a few wispy, dusty-pink ribbons and veils towards the East, approximately where the sun was going to rise. The pink tint grew brighter and led on the deep orange, then yellow as the morning progressed. Yellow faded to gray for a time, the clouds almost blending in with the surrounding sky.
The moon, at my back, sank and dimmed as the sun's light gathered strength and intensity. I believe the two eventually met face to face, looking across from West to East, East to West, but I never actually saw and took note of that exact moment. The clouds were too low upon the mountains to really tell when the sun had fully emerged.
The grey of the clouds eventually gave way to seeping edges of streaky, roiling, waving white, as all things took on greater definition and stronger shadows. It was then that I left my spot on top of a large, particle-board coal box in the Southeastern field to grab a lawn chair and pick a spot on the North side of our home, where I could see the respective rebirth of the sun and impermanent death of the almost-full moon.
Seeping white became full, luminous white, and yellow waves travelled along the clouds directly above the mountains, framed by the treetops up the street.
The moon grew pale and paler, blending in light-gray with the sky as the clouds had during the transition from yellow to white.
Illuminated further by the rising sun, the clouds made imprints on my vision as I sat and watched, the morning cool comfortable through my clothing.

I ended up going inside before the sun had made it's full debut, but the patterns it left on the doorways and walls of our home were a quietly beautiful sight as well, and I checked on its continuous progress through windows for much of that early morning. 

The Idols of Environmentalism | Curtis White | Orion Magazine

The Idols of Environmentalism | Curtis White | Orion Magazine

Finally finished this article today, my mom emailed it to me a month ago, and I did start it, I just never felt like I had the time to finish it, beh.

Anyway, it's pretty good, it mentions a lot of the same beliefs as me and my family, and it gave me a lot to think about, mainly on the subject of my garden and how I'm going to share vegetables with my community as I first intended.
I started the whole thing with the intention of selling vegetables at our community farmer's market, but it is in great disorganization, and the person who is currently in charge is, I have heard, running out of steam.
My mom and I have spoken with some friends about their possibly heading up a new farmer's market on some land they own out of town, but I don't know how well that will go; they're pretty busy as it is, and I haven't heard anything more from them about it.

I have a neighbor who is interested in buying vegetables from me, but I have no idea how much I want to charge or how I should arrange it. I went to her house with some swiss chard from both my and my mom's garden and some turnip greens (she said she'd try them out) this afternoon, but she wasn't home, so I took the bag of vegetables to our neighbors the next block over and gave it to them.
The thing is, I don't know if I want to charge money. I don't feel good about that, and my garden is kind of an experiment in how I fit into this world and nature, as well as me figuring out how I could possibly support myself. But I don't like money, and I'm earning a lot as it is, so maybe this will be a community experiment in kindness and selflessness, because I would rather give away my heart's work in kindness and friendship rather than for personal gain.

Fourth or fifth time?

I'm at a crossroads or sorts

I don't really believe in money, therefore, I don't really believe in anything it is hopelessly entangled within or can buy.
I don't really believe in college and the pieces of paper that is a college education's end and purpose. I do strongly believe that I can educate myself on my own and with the help of other people in my life just as well, and in many cases, better than any institution can. Institutions deal not in spirituality, family, community or nature, but in materiality, the workplace, institutionalism (of course) and mankind's development and constructs.
I don't believe in careers or the avid pursuit of money and material wealth, I am pursuing a different path in a different world. I make everything I can, and do without or obtain secondhand whatever I can't. Albeit, I buy personal items, but that may be about to change as well. It's amazing what we are capable of making with our own hands, though; most people have no idea! It's incredibly satisfying to craft and make and create for yourself and the people close to you and around you. We're missing out on an unbelievable amount of connection with ourselves, God, the Earth, nature and it's creatures; other people, and the very materials that make up everything in our daily lives by resigning ourselves to being mere "consumers". A closed loop is much more complete and content than some huge mouth spewing out immaterialities for more and more and more things.

I'm not actually absolutely sure that this path I'm on is the right one or the best one, but it's feels good, so I guess I'll follow it for as long as I can.