Love Painted Here (The Original): 09/05/2004

Peace

Linked Together

What was a sunny day
turned surreal as I drove
that S-curve and heard
the report of the first,
waiting at the light
too bright sun behind
couldn’t see when
it turned green
the honk of horn behind
while our friends
were being killed

diving and burning
in the sky of ash
not alone, but no other way
to be in death
what began that day
was horror and shock
unable to tear one’s self away

for days we watched
cried banded together
no work, but promises of love
spoken like never before
wedded together in our
collective grief, we watched
nothing else to do

I woke from a dream
happy on the third day
they’d found those officers alive--
at work, they told me it wasn’t true
the report I’d heard
my dream
was just that, nothing else.

Even then, I wanted to say
how the evil illuminated our goodness
how the soul of the world came through
in these days and months of loss—

what you could find
if you looked close enough
was beauty, shimmering, like the fire
that took months to die--
those crushed were taken up
into the arms of strangers
people once distant, now entwined

the soul of the world cries every day
now, somewhere that evil persists
in someone’s life,

how can we laugh, find joy, peace,
stillness in the dark,
can poetry and song
and anger and commitment persist
in allowing us to move on

but not to forget, not to allow
this day to give permission
for another man’s sorrow
not to allow that echo of fire
surrounding the woman
engulfed in catastrophe
of collapse,
her aura just this bright white
melting,

not to allow this fire
to spread
uncontained

Speak against the pain
find solace in our days
that remain open in hope
against the ugliness
of that inhumane
(and now all these others)
day.

Dome at the entrance to the ROM

The Koran--at the Royal Ontario Museum

CN Tower from inside my car

From the hotel window

Blurry CC driving

CC in the blinding light

Red

Glancing down the street

Toronto in the rain

Here she is :) November 4...720Yankee (oh...I forgot that my birthday was part of her name)

Taking off

Cockpit of 20Yankee--the plane of the story below

Lake Dreams

For some reason, just as I am about to post this poem, I am reminded of a particular flight in the little Cessna, back home from a meeting in Chicago. Bob has just returned from a two week training with former Top Gun trainers in the Arizona desert (and has upside down photos of him co-piloting a jet fighter to prove it).

There is brilliant sun and very high pure white clouds above us. We are flying over Lake Erie and about an hour from home. Bob asks me if I know what G-force is. I say, oh yeah, it's like when you are on a rollercoaster and you go flying down one of those incredibly high hills. Yeah, he says, something like that. He asks if I want to experience it. I say, well, just do a little something.

So he rocks the plane from side to side a little. I'm in the back with my headphones on and oxygen cannula in my nose (always a fun time) and he's enjoying freaking me out a little. But I like it. It feels like we are in a boat when he rocks the plane like that. It doesn't scare me. So he does it more, and I feel a little tiny bit scared, glancing down to the lake. But it's a rush and I still am liking it. He does it more. Oh oh...ok! Bob asks if I want him to flip the plane over. UH NO! No no. That's quite alright.

No. Just demonstrate a little (no such thing) G-force for me. So he noses the plane almost straight up and then BOOM! He releases the throttle (or whatever you call it) and we plummet to the lake below. I am out of my seat (held down though by the belt) and screaming "Stop Bob Stop ok ok ok Bob Bob". It lasted for maybe 5 seconds max, but it felt like an hour. What a rush. It scared the daylights out of me but I laughed for 15 minutes after.

The next day I told the "girls" at the office all about it, still giddy. All they could do is shake their heads and say "You two are CRAZY!" Yeah, maybe :) The last time I flew with him, he offered to let me fly the plane on the way home. That time I did freak out, because he didn't warn me while we were still on the ground so I just couldn't do it. I regret that now, I suppose. I miss the plane sometimes. Miss flying. It was the best thing. Just the best.

Here's the poem that reminded me of flying:

Lake Dreams

You soar over me
like a flock of geese
migrating toward temperate waters
in my dream.

I lay back
beneath the path of you
my other half,
caressing heaven
with your paintbrush hands.

Only need to wait
for what is us to come

lake and sky merging
your atmosphere my heart
my surface your lungs.

Another Child Dies

Sky darkens
vast over the lake
uncut by sailboats
or laughter,
another storm moves in
pressure changes
ears pop
forehead pulses,
like a cold palm
at the back of the neck
the wind beats down
into the earth.

And this is my favorite of any I have made. It's twisted sterling wire with adventurine, turquoise, and rose quartz beads. I get so many compliments on this one. I love it.

More. The top one is freshwater pearls and silver links---a gift to my mother for her birthday this year. The middle is full of pearls and semi-precious stones. I like to mix the colors purple and green, as well as green and blue. The bottom necklace I made to match a gray beaded shawl I was wearing to a wedding. The groom was someone who once said he loved me, and that we were connected at the soul, and that he wanted to be with me, but the dress and the reception and everything was already paid for...I made jewelry for the occasion--took one of my gay boyfriends as my date, drank a lot, congratulated the bride and caught the bouquet. I am in their wedding album forever now. I am glad he ended up marrying her and not me. Good thing.

Since I love jewelry so much, I taught myself how to make my own. Here are some examples of some of the necklaces I've made. When I used to be on-call as a counselor, I would sit and talk to clients while making jewelry. It would pass the time and I wouldn't feel like I had just wasted an hour of my life while someone screamed into the phone about how much they hated so and so. It had a calming effect on me I suppose as well. The top necklace here is made with silver and garnet. The middle one is green glass and a carved Buddha. And the bottom one is actually a chain made by David (who makes the most spectacular, intricate, mathematical, silver linked chains---they are stunning) with a pendant of lemon quartz, garnet, and rose quartz--made by me.

And here's my other favorite one. Fares brought this back from Iraq with him. It has matching earrings, ring, and bracelet. The silver is incredibly soft so the ring and bracelet are virtually unwearable. It's silver and turquoise. He gave me this the last time I saw him. It was after he'd asked me to marry him, and I asked him this time, what my life would be like if I was married to him. When he told me, I knew our cultural differences were just too great for me to say yes. I miss him terribly. I saw his friend Ali in the library maybe two months ago---and now he comes in all the time and we talk whenever I see him. But I can't bring myself to ask about Fares anymore--after the first time I did. Because I went in the back room and cried my eyes out---I miss him that much. He's in TO, so close, but so far...

I love jewelry. I mean I LOVE it :) I have been mesmerized by sparkles since I was a little kid. This is probably my all-time favorite necklace. It's blue topaz--one of my favorite stones--also my birthstone, me being a Scorpio (November 4th, for those who care ;)

From my short story "Whisper"

The interviews often disgust me, and I suspect today's will be no different. Lee and I are invited to the blue conference room at the far end of the ward, on this, our second day of captivity. Lee's face is a pale reflection in the windows along the corridor, yet the image of his cheekbones and jaw remains that of facetted gemstones, cut in perfect proportion around his jade-green eyes. These eyes have an exotic upward slant that command attention. He is virtually perfect, or so says his girlfriend Nyla.
The psychiatrists who conduct the interviews are disheveled, pompous men who pick at their teeth or socks, or women who ramble indiscreetly beneath a veneer of bright make-up. The psychiatrist today, Dr. Ketchum, is enigmatic in his pressed clothing and verbosity. His face appears odd, with eyebrows that are at least two inches in height and look as if they have been combed straight to the sky. He is like a cat with thick whiskers over his eyes.
Lee is humming the cello line of the Mozart Requiem as we walk. He sings often. Sometimes to obscure my voice, sometimes to remind himself of who he is. To ease the tension I sense building in Lee's brain, I mention the eyebrows.
(Lee, notice the eyebrows, it's Felix- Mr. Cat- look at those whiskers over his eyes!)
If I could laugh out loud, I would.
The doctor turns with a frown to face Lee and I at the threshold to the sparsely decorated room. His stocky frame has become the silhouette of a bear against the winter sun engulfing the room.
"Is there something funny? I'd certainly be interested in hearing the joke."
Lee holds his hand to his mouth, concealing his amusement at my observation. He is six feet two inches tall, about eight inches taller than the doctor, and still he cowers like a boy being reprimanded.
"I'm surprised to hear you laughing so soon after the traumatic events of two days ago. Perhaps you can tell me how this change has come about? I am anxious to know?" The doctor does not relinquish his stance in front of the door.
Lee wants to talk to me though he's trying to stop himself. I feel a sense of implosion, as if I am being compressed. I am a fiery ball of matter being sucked into the black hole of Lee's suppression. It is difficult for me to communicate with him during these moments, but I manage a sentence anyway.

A Course In Miracles

So, for a long time now, in addition to my journey as an artist, I have been seeking spiritually as well. I have a small library of books on religion, God, spirituality, theology, and the soul. I love these books. I carry them around with me, fall asleep reading them, and return to them over and over. I should make a list of them on the sidebar---maybe at some point I will. Anyway, I am not an fundamentalist anything, in fact, I think one of the reasons I became so obessed with a spiritual path is because my own religious upbringing really created all sorts of problems for me internally, in that it wasn't inclusive of others and other religions. It's not that I was taught to be intolerant, but that I was taught that THIS IS THE WAY.

I couldn't reconcile that. I don't agree with it. I know too many people who, even if they didn't "accept Jesus as their savior"--there's just no way they could even be condemmed to hell. And what's with this just accepting him and then no matter what you do for the rest of your life, your "saved"? Forget that. Even as a child I knew there was something fundamentally wrong with that concept.

Anyway, one of my favorite books, is called "A Course In Miracles". It was actually written down by a self-declared athiest. It's main theme is about love. I first heard of it through the book "A Return to Love" by Marianne Williamson (an excellent book that discusses authentic love and the spiritual nature of such love). I know this all sounds so new-agey, but it's quite real. It's a huge text.

I wanted to post some excerpts from another book based on the course. It's called "Gifts from a Course In Miracles". Here they are:

It is the nature of love to look upon only the truth, for there it sees itself.

You are only love, but when you deny this,
you make what you are
something you must learn to remember.

Let us forget the purpose of the world
the past has given it.
For otherwise, the future will be like the past,
and but a series of depressing dreams.

The strong do not attack
because they see no need to do so.
Before the idea of attack can enter your mind,
you must have perceived yourself as weak.

Make way for peace
and it will come.

The essential thing is learning
that you do not know.

Teaching is done in many ways,
above all by example.
Teaching should be healing,
because it is the sharing of ideas.

Would you not go through fear to love?
For such the journey seems to be.

Peace.

I just can't help myself. What adds more beauty to the world than a beautifully sculpted man? Not much ;) My Aunt actually sent this one to me in an email. That bad boy on the far right is MINE ladies---hands off! lolololol In my dreams maybe! But he issssss my type! Anyway, I'd cite the photographer (as I started to say below), but I don't know who it is. My apologies to the artist. What a lovely refreshing image for the evening :) Enjoy and Peace.

My angel. I just felt like posting some gratuitous flesh here, that was emailed to me. I'd post the photographer

Here's my 92 year old Grandmother sitting in the car---he even got her to sit in the rumble seat (not open in this view). I guess she's been having some fun riding around with him---but she tells him he drives "too fast James". I think of the Great Gatsby whenever I see this car. It's the coolest!

This is my father's Ford Model A Roadster he rebuild virtually from scratch. He had a frame and two rear side panels sitting in our garage my entire life. He used to talk about his "car" and my mom, sister, and I would tease him about it. He's had it for over 40 years, and this summer, he finally finished it. One time I came over, while he was rebuilding it (we're talking, he crafted the wood steering wheel and dash, the gas tank, the entire engine---all by himself!) and he was in the dining room with all these papers on the table. They were his hand-drawn blueprints and plans he'd made to create the car. It was unbelievable. I told him that he better save those plans---I wanted them! Anyway, here's the car :)