So long and thanks for all the fish.

Ever feel like just bailing? I mean getting up and walking out on your life? Leaving the job, the house or apartment, the responsibilities and hitting the open road? I have been mentally feeding my wanderlust lately. It has made me restless. That lets me know I am on the verge of something really big. Mary, one of the travelers in Eric Overmyer's play "On the Verge" ends the play by asking "what's next?" She decides that she doesn't know, so much adventure ahead of her but she knows she is "on the verge." There is something incredibly sublime and frustrating about feeling on the verge of something. You need patience to ride that wave and allow the new to be born. Patient is one thing I have never really been. And rather than live in that discomfort of not knowing - I would rather bail. That has to be easier right?

I think I am learning, however, that when I get these feelings the best thing to do is to get still and stand. Wherever I am. In the middle of whatever it is. Ugh! But my feet want to move. It's uncomfortable. It is unsteady, uncertain and definitely not safe. My skin is crawling and there are clearly ants living beneath my epidermis. I find myself talking, out loud, to myself just to have sound to allay the disquiet. But what of the dolphins as they ascend much like the Virgin Mary, off the earth? They tell the doomed earthlings in Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy: "So long and thanks for all the fish." Why don't they warn them or try to save them instead of leaving them to their doom?

Because they have to save themselves. And that's how I feel lately. That I have to save myself. I am the only one who can. But from what? From the annoyance of not knowing what is next? Yes. So today I literally stretched my body into uncomfortable positions and starting breathing. And the ants stopped marching and the voices stopped nagging. That entire time that I was stretching and breathing inside my world was silent. Ahhhh. Is it really that simple? Yes it is. I am no longer lamenting it taking me 38 years to get certain lessons. There are people who have had 38 lifetimes and are still working on their lessons. 38 years I can take. So to the disquiet, the discomfort and the annoyance for today I say: So long and thanks for all the fish.

We are blessed may we recognize the blessing

in peace

photo:Kalandrakas

p.s. I thank Ilya for giving me that book to read one day. It is true almost everything can be accomplished with a towel. Don't forget it.

Longing.....

Doing the dishes is a place where I get a lot of ideas. I spend a fair amount of time doing dishes (but not nearly enough). My husband tells me that he hasn't read too many blogs like mine. There is spell checking here and complete sentences and thoughts. That's because it takes me a long time to write these posts. I think about them for a few days before I commit to writing and publishing. Mostly because I want to work through the entire thought before I put it down and also because I am sensitive to criticism. Today I want to write about obsession, transference and projection and presence/charisma.

I think at many times in my life I have been guilty of all of these things. Sometimes at the same time! And I am writing about this in hopes that somewhere out there is someone who does the same thing. Someone who feels the same way so I am not alone in what Freud perceives to be psychosis! (I know, f@#k Freud!)

Obesssion:: "a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling." Wow. I don't think my obsessions are unreasonable. I mean I could really marry Will Smith, right? But that is not one of my obsessions, any longer. It is often around an idea and sometimes a person. Once after a rather unfortunate and painful breakup in college my friend Anna remarked that I said that person's name more than I said the word "the." She was obviously tired of hearing me talk about that person and that situation. I immediately stopped. I didn't stop thinking about the situation or the person, and I didn't stop mulling over the "what ifs" in my head. But I did stop talking about it out loud. I am not sure when that obsession ended, it took awhile. But it did end. In the meantime I learned some really valuable lessons about being in a relationship and communicating with people. I learned a lot about how I processed and expressed intimacy. And in the end it felt as though the "obsession" was good for me, it helped me work through some internal issues. But at the same time it was my WORST semester in college. I blew off my responsibilities and rarely went to class, relying instead on my charisma to get me through the semester.

Obsession can also be a great avoidance measure. Right now I am coming to the end of a rather time-consuming and expensive obsession - the work of Anna Deavere Smith. I could probably say that the obsession extends to her as well. I have read everything I can about her. Watched several videos and seen her play "Let Me Down Easy" three times. In the process of this unearthing I have learned so much about me and how I make art and what moves me. I have found my inspiration again. But at the same time I have avoided finishing job applications and have used this obsession to block other rather important tasks, like grieving the illness of a friend. I tell myself that I AM grieving because this person shares my almost twenty-year love of Anna. Or is that an excuse?

Transference and Projection: They are pretty much the same thing. You take your feelings and transfer them to someone else or project them onto someone else. I have been thinking about all the people I transfer my feelings to. My children, my husband, past romances - especially those that ended badly, professors, teachers, friends, therapists (wow, that's a post in itself!). I am never quite sure that things I am experiencing, with regards to other people, are actually how I feel about them or if it's just my issue. One of my many Mamas told me that if I had a problem with someone I should check myself first. So I tend to do a thorough excavation of my feelings when I first meet someone. And I am usually pretty good at telling in the first seconds of meeting someone whether or not we will get along. And as I have gotten older I tend to trust that feeling more and move on if I feel that this relationship is not going to yield any healthy fruit. The people who have gotten entire documentaries projected onto their person are few - but they exist. And I appreciate their being there for me to play out the movie of my life. I don't necessarily think that that's a bad or negative thing. It's just a thing.

And the last greedy shark swimming around my undisciplined mind is Presence, something I call charisma. That thing that draws your eye to a person. That thing that makes you want to get to know them, get to love them. I don't think there is universal presence. Bill Clinton has so much presence but I know a few Republicans who would disagree. So I want to posit that presence, charisma is subjective. It is another thing that comes through our eye and excites and fascinates us. The people we think have presence are also the people we find attractive - are drawn to. And I am trying to unravel how that happens too. What is it in me that finds distinguished professor-types charismatic? Or that draws me to motorcycles and people with tattoos. Is it that that is what I want to be? Or is it that that person is what I want to have?

I know that most of this can be perceived as psycho-babble and some of you stopped reading at Will Smith, but I am really trying to make sense of these issues because I think they are going to unlock the central theme to this piece of theatre I am working on. I wrote about it earlier in my post on intimacy. How do we get close to someone? And why is it that we want to be close to a certain someone? Anna Deavere Smith writes in Letters to a Young Artist, that presence is feeling that that person (the object of your gaze) is right next to you because you long to have them there. Long to have them there. So I am trying to get to the root of the longing, the root of the craving. Ground zero of our passions. What do you think?

Photo:Freud's Couch - Wikipedia

Kiss Me

Alla That's All Right But,
Somebody come and carry me into a seven day kiss
Somebody come and carry me into a seven day kiss
Somebody come and carry me into a seven day kiss
I don't need no historical, no national, no family bliss
I need an absolutely one to one seven day kiss.
- Sweet Honey in the Rock

There is some kiss we want with out whole lives.
- Rumi

The two most intimate things a person can ever do, in my opinion, is to feed someone and to kiss someone. We as Americans don't take our food seriously. We don't think that feeding someone is a sacred act, but that which you have prepared is going into someone's body to nourish them and sustain them. What could be more personal than that? Kissing is something else all together.

We think of a kiss as two lips touching a part of another's body. But in Merriam-Webster's dictionary the secondary definition of "kiss" is "to touch gently or lightly" and "to come in gentle contact." Nothing about lips in that definition.

Three weeks before my college graduation my answering machine played the above verse of the Sweet Honey song, after asking for the seven day kiss, I said into the machine: "If that is you or you want to give me a job, leave a message." Did I really want someone to literally kiss me for seven day - no. I wanted someone or something to touch me gently for seven days, seven weeks, seven years. I wanted to be inspired.

I am working on a project about intimacy. And I am thinking a lot about food and kissing. And I am thinking about the attention we pay to each. None actually. How are we intimate with other people? How do we connect with them? How do we feed them and kiss them and how do they kiss and feed us? Intimacy, I am learning is very difficult to define and even harder to attain. It is magic. You know it when you see it. And you know when you are lacking it but are not always sure how to get it. I am still working on it. In the loud, busy, constantly moving world we live in how do we make human contact?

Let me know your thoughts. Kiss me.

We are blessed may we recognize the blessing.

in peace

keisha

photo by: Chris Spira

Camus

those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.

I have been thinking about this quote, and so many other things for a few weeks now. I am reconnecting with the divinity inside of me that is wider than raising my children and the PTA. I love the image of you being a house with many rooms in which to keep things. Those of you who have seen my house know that there is usually a lot of clutter. And you need to sift through a bunch of junk to find the truly useful and meaningful. I have started doing that with our house. Our living room even has our couch, lovingly bathed in red corduroy IN it as opposed to propped up in a corner on the front porch! I have a place to sit on Sunday and read the New York Times with coffee and orange juice and yell at Meet the Press. And these are no small things. They have given my everyday reality enough roots so that I can open myself up to the other rooms and unearth what is hiding.

Enough metaphor. My artistic side has been hiding, hidden for quite some time. I had delusions of Mothering grandeur when I first started this parent gig. I was going to cloth diaper my children, read to them, bathe them in lavender oil and respond to their every need with love, calm and rapt attention. Okay, I will pause here while my mother-friends clean up the coffee with too many sugars that they just spit onto their computer monitor or keyboard. Done? Okay, resuming. My heart, my mind, my chakras (a wink at ADS) are opening up. And it is luscious and overwhelming. Remember my post about desiring to live in the liminal - to live and feel each moment in sacred space? Cannot do it. Not possible. There is laundry and pick ups and playdates. And there can be years (for me 10)of just getting through the day. ART - takes a backseat.

I used to find it incredibly pretentious when people referred to themselves as "artists." Really? Who the hell are you? And now I realize that it takes a great deal of courage to admit, out loud, that you want to make the world a more beautiful place. That you are essentially an idealist which in mainstream parlance equals naive. You paint a huge target on yourself to receive ridicule and to be taken advantage of. It's a brave and bold move. And I always hated when people did it because I was not feeling particularly "artistic" for a good deal of my life. Jealousy really at their opportunity. But that is not fair. And I remember that being an artist means infusing your life with beauty. Ah.

Back to Camus. I have recently remembered all the images, touches, and sounds in whose presence my heart first opened up. There are so many. And remembering them has been lovely and painful. And so worth it. Think about this today - when do you remember your heart first opening up? You may find that there have been so many times and I hope each one of them causes you to smile. I tend to feel things very deeply when I allow myself to feel them, so it has been an intense couple of weeks. We Leos never do anything small. And my 100 Angels have rallied around me to bring me into the next part of my life. Filled with conscious beauty, discipline and dare I say it - art? Join me there.

My Hierophant - Upright and Reversed

I have mourned the death of my father over and over again. In small ways and in big ways. It might have been easier on me if I had mourned him fully when he first died but that was highly inconvenient. I hold onto grief and let it out when I can no longer hold it in anymore. And it is always inconvenient. But not this time. I am in mourning right now and it hurts - bad. Someone I love very much is sick and it is not easy for them but it is even harder on me. I know talk about selfish. When I was sick I was really worried about other people. I wanted them to be comforted and cared for because I knew my cancer really hurt them and made them feel lost and out of control. I remember a good friend crying in my presence after I told her of my diagnosis. She got angry with herself and said that I shouldn't be comforting her. But yes, I should have been comforting her. Because she was probably sad about me but ultimately she was sad about her own mortality and looking at the fact that she would have to live if I died and she would have to go through a lot of pain when and if that happened. No one signs up for the kind of pain. And I have spent the better part of my life keeping real emotion, real feeling at bay. But I can't keep it back - not with this person.

My love of my hierophant is deep and abiding. I met him right after my own father died and he immediately became the father I always wished I had. I haven't seen him in years and I have missed that connection with him but getting back in touch has been difficult. It has required me to come to grips with his mortality. And it has required me to lose my father again. I realize that the older I get the more people will leave my life. And I am also too old to postpone these feelings.

I watched two minutes of Oprah the other day. Oprah was interviewing Kate Hudson. I stopped the DVR long enough to hear an actually interesting conversation. Oprah asked Kate what Joy meant to her. She said that the one thing she learned from her mother was to live every emotion - fully. That means the sad things too. To go into them and live there. I've said before that I am afraid of those emotions because I may not be able to come back from there. But the more often I make the trip the easier the return trip will be. Ideally. And I have to believe that - have faith in that. I don't have faith in much and I believe even less.

Yet, here I am. And here I will stay. It is up to me how the next evolution will be spent. And like a foot that has fallen asleep, it hurts coming back to life. I think even more when that thing is your soul.

in peace

It's America - Dammit!

I am a liberal. Most liberals have nothing on me! I am also a black woman in America. But liberals can really get on my fucking nerves. I am not a monolith in my opinion, life or art. I have so many sides to me it would blind you if I released the facets. Yet, if I vote for a certain party then I am somehow supposed to believe everything and agree with everything that party or the representative of that party does. I do not. I am entitled to have a difference of opinion. It is my right. This past weekend something happened that made me come out of blog retirement. The President, my President, won the Nobel Peace Prize. I believe the first words out of my mouth were: "Wow, Congratulations!" And it was not said in a sarcastic tone. My next thought was "how did this happen?" I know a bit about the workings of the Peace Prize (although it took my friend Dave to point out the the peace prize is awarded by a Norwegian panel and not a Swedish one). I know that the deadline for nominations is February 1st and I know that our President took office January 20th. That gave him roughly two weeks as President before he was nominated. Hmmmmm. That seemed like a small amount of time to have exacted much change.

What Rachel Maddow and my additional research so clearly pointed out is that the Peace Prize is not always given for accomplishments. It is often given for the effort and in this case the promise to improve America's profile in the world and to build alliances with the Muslim world. That is laudable - definitely. But when I responded that I felt that he hadn't done enough to get the award all hell broke loose on Facebook. Somehow everyone who disagreed with this decision was lumped in with Glen Beck and Rush Limbaugh. What?! I do not have to think this was a good idea just because President Obama is a Democrat or because I voted for him. And I can think he is a good President and support him without falling all over myself about this award. We are a nation of free-thinkers and I think liberals should be allowed to have a difference of opinion just like conservatives. I fought against being a monolithic black person (oh, you can't talk about black people's dirty laundry in public - or around white people). I am me, always. And I fight against being lumped in with all the liberals. And if my fellow liberals cannot respect my, apparently, G-d given right to dissent, then I think we are in a hell of a lot of trouble. I respect your rights. Respect mine and don't assume I am negative or sarcastic or a hater just because I disagree with you.

It's America dammit. If you fight for it -- fight for all of it!

in peace

And so it goes

I haven't been here for awhile and I think that has really affected my mood. I miss having this quasi-private forum to vent and bounce around ideas. When they stay in my head they get cloudy and persistent. And that's where this post is going. I think, it is time for me to say good-bye to blogging, at least for the time. I have found that it is a good way for me to stop doing what needs to be done. Like the U2 song says: "She's running to stand still."

But as I learned most recently praying with your feet is so much more important. I have prayed with my head and my heart for a long time without moving the prayer down to the earth. They stay "up there" in ethereal land. Now it is time to feel the earth instead of hovering over it. I will miss this - maybe, but it's time for something new.

And so with joy I say:

We are blessed may we recognize the blessing
until we meet again

Nanda Mama

photo:moshing