In the year 5000

i am an open book. once you get past the dragons, climb the mountain and cross the volcano pit, I’m an open book.  My truth belongs not to me, but to the clouds and the wind.  These pages are swept over by alpine gusts, weathered by thunderstorms and sunshine.  Eroded like rocks in mountain streams, eventually sand or clay our closest manifestations of time on earth.  Ice is far more distant.  Mountains, oceans, even gorges,  nearly unfathomable.

but i won’t get lost in the caverns of my memory.  those are for the birds to rest and the bears to sleep.  i would rather not bother with details.  a book is a simple organ, unencumbered with perception or necessity.  it is purely for the sharing of words.

in my library there are many books.  books of expectations, categorized in to Self and Others. Failures, subcategory: Regrets, subcategory: Lessons.  I’ve got books of dreams.  Books of theory.  books of desires.  Books of fears and self-criticism.  Books of plans.  I’ve got books of habits.  and I will erode little by little, just like the pebbles on the banks of rivers.  wind and water wearing away at my skin, muscle, and bone, until I settle, like clay in the delta.

In my book there’s a Theory of Imbalance in my self as an individual, as a society.  tomorrow is a perpetual trick played by my book of habits.

comfort is conditional and subjective

care is more than meeting our basic needs, it is responsibility to self which is responsibility to the collective: a philosophy of stewardship

work is my body actively engaging in movement that brings us into the future we want

nourishment happens in conjunction

growth happens in relationship

In this theory of imbalance, there is always a list.  a list of things to stop doing, a list of things to start doing, and a list of things to keep doing or to do better.  this list changes over time, in different situations, when different issues come up.  it is like the books of my library – ever morphing and changing with the winds of time, the context, the situation.

One day my society wakes up, i drink hot tea, the list has burnt to ashes, just like the walls we tore down yesterday, and i can finally contemplate how beautiful life really is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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wild like rose

where does (y)our knowledge come from?

 

what right do we (you) have to profit

off of the abundance of nature?

 

what do they (we) know

about water?

 

what do we know but that

knowledge comes from this land

this land mother nature

nature is of water

water gives us life

life gives us knowledge

knowledge turns to wisdom

wisdom turns to dust

unless we got water

but where does our water come from?

and whose got water?

 

How many lakes and rivers does a person really need

when aquafina’s got the shelves stocked?

 

Will we remember who they put in prison

when they stood up for water?

 

WE

HAVE

THE

RIGHT

TO

REMAIN

LOUD

AND

ABRASIVE

 

about what is given to us

as reasons

that somehow outweigh

the wisdom in water

 

the water from which knowledge came

that primordial ocean

wild hibiscus and rose

know us better

than we know ourselves

water

the substance that carries the medicine

the energy that runs like the veins of this earth

 

the molecular bonds like that which holds our cells together

water:

the essence of what is medicine

 

 

 

 

 

Wake up to resistance

GOLDEN TEA

COCONUT OIL

TURMERIC

BLACK PEPPER

CINNAMON

HONEY

  1. Cook turmeric, black pepper and cinnamon in 1 part coconut oil on very low heat for about 10 minutes.
  2. Remove from heat.  Add 1/2 part or up to an equal part of honey and mix thoroughly.
  3. Pour into a jar and stir periodically as it cools so it doesn’t separate.

Mix 1 Tablespoon of mixture with a cup of hot water or coconut milk for instant golden tea or golden milk.  Drink daily.

Add other spices or tonic herbs; ginger, cardamom, vanilla, nutmeg, clove, cocoa…
Add to black tea, chai tea or whatever your heart desires.

 

 

2016 North Dakota

2016

North Dakota

Guerra espiritual

Donde nació el mundo Lak̇óta, en el corazón de la Isla Tortuga, el sol sale por las praderas congeladas y cubiertos con nieve. Las luces del sitio de construcción para el Dakota Access Pipeline brilla veinticuatro horas cada día, siete días por semana, sobre los cuerpos de los antepasados. Una voz viene del otro lado del río Missouri, despertándose el campamento en la madrugada: “Get up!…Get up! What are you here for?” Así comienzan los días: tempranos, con canciones de oración, a veces todo el pueblo meditando en por qué están acá, pero las luces nunca responden a la pregunta.

El viento brama con la grita de los protectores de agua sagrada. Los fuegos sagrados queman con la intención de generaciones pasados y futuros. Desde la primavera personas vienen de todo el país y de todo el mundo para unirse a la lucha contra la serpiente negra, que quiere devorar la sangre de la tierra madre y envenenar las aguas de nuestro mundo.

Todo el pueblo está trabajando con varias misiones, pero comparte los objetivos principales: proteger y sobrevivir. Alrededor de la puesta del sol, una grita corre por todo el campamento: “¡Guerreras al frente!” La policía está al otro lado del bloqueo, como cerdos en un cerdito, con órdenes de defender la serpiente negra, que les paga sus salarios de alquitrán. Unos jóvenes indígenas están de pie enfrente del gentío, llevando el peso de 500 años de resistencia con coraje. En medio del caos, un tambor ceremonial late y unas mujeres cantan con ritmo antiguo que el gas lacrimógeno, ni el spray pimiento ni el manguera del agua no puede callarse.

En la mañana, el sol sale como siempre por las praderas congeladas, una voz despertándose el pueblo con oraciones Lakota que hacen eco a través del río de tiempo, y las luces se ven por lo que realmente son: mentiras ciegas de los hombres de trajes, nada mas que fantoches de la serpiente negra que quiere matar el cuerpo de nuestro mundo y envenenar las venas de su madre.

2016

North Dakota

Spiritual War

Where the Lakota World was born, in the heart of Turtle Island, the sun rises over the frozen, snow covered prairies.  The lights from the Dakota Access Pipeline construction site shine twenty four hours per day, seven days a week, over the bodies of the ancestors.  a voice comes from across the Missouri river, waking up the camp at dawn, “Wake up! … Wake up!  What are you here for?”  This is how the days start: early, with songs of prayer, sometimes the entire village meditating on why they are here, but the lights never respond to the question.

The wind howls with the cry of the water protectors.  The sacred fires burn with the intention of past and future generations.  Since the Spring, people come from all over the country and the world to join the fight against the black snake, which wants to devour the blood of the earth and poison the waters of our world.

Everyone in the village works on various missions, but they all share the same primary goals: to protect and to survive.  Around sunset, a shout runs throughout the entire camp: “Warriors to the frontline!” The police is on the other side of the blockade, like pigs in a pig pen, with orders to defend the black snake, who pays their salaries of tar.  Indigenous youth are standing up in front of the crowd, carrying the weight of 500 years of resistance with courage.  In the midst of the chaos, a drum beats and women sing with an ancient rhythm that neither tear gas, nor pepper spray, nor water hoses can quiet.

In the morning the sun rises like always, over the frozen prairies, a voice waking up the people with Lakota prayers, which echo across the river of time, and the lights are seen for what they really are: the blinding lies of men in suits, who are nothing more than puppets for the black snake which wants to kill the body of our world and poison the veins of your mother.

 

Inspired by Eduardo Galeano.

More than one instance

“it’s not my job to explain the intricacies of the fact that you classified me being triggered as ‘projecting male issues’ on to you. the problem is the patriarchy. male dominance accompanied by the fragility of the male ego. and your reaction, whether or not you like it, was not on the feminist side of things. “

I.

I moved your hand away

I moved away

I said I don’t Know

I said Nothing at all

Maybe I was all over you

or maybe I was unconscious

 

I said it was not okay in the morning

because I am not the only one

And you hugged me

Tried to make me feel better

You didn’t want me to feel bad

 

I said I’m sorry.

I’m not trying to blame you.

 

Somehow convinced myself

like so many other women

that this was my fault

 

And it wasn’t until later,

upon reflection..

 

II.

I said something,

maybe you didn’t hear me.

 

III.

I screamed something,

should I say it again louder?

 

IV.

I moved your hand

and somehow it just gravitated right back

to where you thought it belonged

 

And later on, I sat down with you nicely, smiling,

and told you that you need to work on that.

 

You seemed to think it was instinct, human nature.

Well, let me tell you something buddy

patriarchy is not the natural order

This body is sacred earth,

and does not merely exist for your pleasure

 

So wait a goddamn second.

 

V.

I should have gotten up and left.

 

VI.

I should have punched you in the face.

 

VII.

I should have screamed instead.

 

VIII.

I have been indoctrinated into patriarchy

just like you have

there was a notion that I was teasing you

and you deserve to get off

there was this idea that ‘we had already started’

Yes, I have been indoctrinated into patriarchy

just like you have

 

IX.

When I told you what happened

You said carry pepper spray

 

X.

When I told you what happened

You said why were you out alone?

 

XII.

When I was standing at the bar,

you put your hand on my hip

and asked me where the restroom was

 

XIII.

I slept in your bed that night

So, what you can like something of mine on facebook

but can’t even ask me how i’m doing?

 

XIIII.

You walked up and started talking at me

as if I was just waiting to hear you speak

 

XV.

 

Don’t fucking interrupt me.

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbyes

I remember the first day I stepped into the classroom.    I had just shown up in my beat down ol van from the west coast, puttered into town the day before class started.  I didn’t make it to the orientation, I didn’t know anyone.

I remember I knew I was in the right place, at the right time.  I remember the feeling of the air in spring time.  The mountains alive with potential.  The trees in blossom.  The mornings still crisp.

Well, now it’s fall.  The leaves are changing, falling dead to the ground.  The nights are getting colder and colder.  The spring ephermals are but whispers of long gone stories, the berries have all dropped or been eaten, and the roots are already quietly waiting.

It’s been a long six months.  And it feels like I’ve waited a long time to get here, but here we are.  The world turns no faster nor slower for anyone.  I came here with intention, and I leave just the same.  I came here with ambitions, and leave with even greater ones.

I take some yarrow flower essence.

My cycle is synced with the full moon.

I am grateful to have been surrounded by such an amazing, intelligent, group of strong women who aren’t afraid to be real.  Who have given me space to be real.  Cause let’s all be real.  We are facing immense challenges.  We are called to healing because we know it is deeply needed.

Goodbye my loves, come visit me in the pacific northwest.  Thank you blue mountains.  Thank you powerful sun.  Thank you burdock and cleavers.  thank you rose.  thank you oat seed and skull cap.  thank you yarrow and ghost pipe.  thank you clove.  thank you echinacea purpurea, augustifolia.  thank you sunflower.  thank you hawthorn, thank you nettles, thank you passiflora incarnata.  thank you pedicularis.  ulmus rubra.  tsuga, reishi, cheoha, nantahala.  thank you viburnum prunifolium.  thank you sochan.  thank you basswood.  thank you salvia, nepeta cataria, rosmarinus, lavender, hibiscus. jamaica.  citrus.  thank you tulsi. thank you salix, sassafras, scutelleria.  thank you anemone, melissa, matricaria,  thank you cannabis.  thank you betula, thank you thuja.  thank you osha, elecampane. thank you anemone. thank you ginger.  thank you mycelium.  thank you water.  thank you wind.  thank you fire.  thank you stone.  thank you earth.  stardust.

 

 

 

‘INDIANS COOKING FISH’

 

isn’t it interesting how we can talk about native plants and animals, walk through a small section of restored or protected native habitat, and forget to mention where we really are?  like, people think we’re in Georgia but don’t even know what that means.

it’s interesting to me how a teacher can say an entire people practically went extinct, without so much as a single mention of why or how.

it’s interesting how our informational plaques name the white man who etched the drawing but never mention the name of the tribe. how can it be so easy to remember the botanical names of all these plant species and yet so hard to remember the name of a tribal nation?

when our plaques say “early peoples” instead of recognizing the name of the indigenous tribe, without naming the reason why there’s no reservation nearby, we are literally erasing history. we are continuing to uphold a white supremacist version of the history of this land.  not because we are lying about the past, but because we are content with avoiding it.  we are satisfied without an answer to the question of how we got to be where we are today.

we are happy to know what plants are edible, but fail to have a relationship with how we know which plants are edible.

we are content to stroll along what has been protected, without talking about what has not been protected.

we are fine with “Indians Cooking Fish”

was the white man who made that etching an “early person”? he lived at the exact same time as the subjects of his drawing…did he not?  i’m just stunned to see time and time again the same thing.  how come our plaques can honor native frogs and owls and ferns with correct nomenclature, but fail to do the simple task of honoring where we are, of honoring native people and not just native land?

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INDIANS COOKING FISH

From the John White drawings on Ashe’s History of North Carolina (http://docsouth.unc.edu/nc/mcpherson/mcpherson.html)

it’s interesting how we all can just pick a plant with no hesitation

 

my skin feels like the flesh of my heart

raw

I can’t contain my heartbeat

When we all share the burden of history it’s not too much to bear.  

 

an entire tribe does not just become extinct

sometimes we have to pull the truth out
from behind the veil of generations

colonization

genocide

displacement & extermination

 

maybe we should all brush up on a little bit of Seminole history.

the yamassee, a confederation of people from many tribes, rebelled against the missions and rose up against the colony, fought and killed slave catchers. the guale resisted. the people did not just die, nearly to extinction, a few running off to cuba. some people survived, the tribes resisted, the Seminole people aren’t called the free people for no reason

many people were slaughtered during the Spanish and British invasions

so, is it extinction, or is it genocide?

 

oh what a beautiful flower

that blossoms in these tannic cypress swamps

inland from the coast of Georgia

 

what interesting plants grow in these brackish waters

 

oh what a beautiful flower

 

but what interesting facts are missing?

what words are lacking from our vocabulary?

 

perhaps it’s easier to forget than to remember

about the history of the missionaries and

and the history of the settlers

or, maybe it’s easier for some more than others

 

all I ask

is

that we all remember

what should not be forgotten

 

all I ask

is

a simple sentence of acknowledgement

as to what land we are walking upon

where are we

really

in time and in space

for how can one expect to know the plants without knowing also what these plants have seen and what they have survived against?

 

my skin

feels like

the flesh

of my heart

 

my pores

open

to the winds

of change

 

I know I am not alone

in my heartbeat

but sometimes the silence is deafening