This morning’s weather reminds me of when I was younger. It shows just how Portland I am.
It’s grey everywhere except for the explosion of some small Spring flowers. It’s cold. It’s raining but not pouring but it’s constant.
The wind is blowing. It’s blowing hard enough that I can hear the bells hanging on the porch.
The trees are still barren with just small buds of green showing. The exceptions are the Magnolia and Tulip trees that have full blooms, now drooping and dripping. The Japanese quince, stiff and thorny, is showing pink.
I walked the dog and I was reluctant to come back into the house. But Yum Yum was wet (her least favourite state) and ready for her treats.
Now, I’m sitting in my room and the rain is tapping on the windows. The big and old trees are swaying slightly against the wind.
I can hear the heater motor and see the fake fire inside my electric stove. Somehow warming.
The cat is sleeping on my bed so there’s no reason to make it up. She has made beautiful swirls in the blankets.
It’s very dim in my room and I don’t want to turn on any lights. I like this gloom and deep shadowed corners that are inviting and welcoming.
I think I will have a cup of tea and a little bit of dark chocolate and slices of the orange sitting in a ramen bowl.
I don’t miss the invasion of the bright rays of the sun that is hiding behind the charcoal clouds as they scud by, pushed along by the wind. There is a brightness in the far distant horizon where the clouds have thinned.
I might even doze a bit today. The gentle pitter and the patter of the rain are the perfect lyric and rhythm that can enduce slumber for any troubled mind.
I’m held in the arms of Portland weather and memories. Let the world go by. I’m not interested.
I wake to another cold and rainy day. What a relief after our brutal Summer and Fall where the earth cried for rain. From what’s predicted, we should have nothing but welcome cold and clouds and rain through the middle of the month, at least. May it be so until Spring arrives in our neck of the woods
As long as I have my coffee in the morning and my lovely warm bed and my beautiful room and knitting to do and the cats and dog lying about, I can’t imagine being more content on this November 1st.
I’m trying to put aside the earth’s sorrow and just enjoy that the holidays are here. Though I love every season I might say that this is my favorite time of year, though I can find something in every season to bring me joy.
But I love the dark days and I love when people start to put up the twinkling lights. I love to walk by houses with lights in the windows at 5:00 in the evening. I can imagine a warm welcome for everyone. I love the gatherings with drink and food and at least an appearance of love and goodwill. I love the giving of gifts no matter how great or small.
Contrary to what many, or maybe even most think that these are Christian holidays, for me they are not and never have been. Rituals of celebration and gatherings and the giving of gifts existed way before what people think of as commercialization. Make your days of celebration be what you will.
I am too much of a realist to wish a cozy home and enough food to sustain through the dark months for every person and being on the Earth… and peace… at least peace. And yet I wish it so.
My trip to Arizona was amazing. Tracy and Kelly and I visited historic sites to view missions and petroglyphs. We visited mountains and canyons, the desert and rivers and creeks.
We hiked in the Madera Canyon in the Santa Rita Mountains and did a lot of birdwatching. A coati came right to the door of our cabin… not once but three times.
Deer and wild turkeys were abundant as were the afternoon thunder storms with raindrops the size of marbles. The food we ate on our travels was a cultural adventure.
Tracy drove us along the rim of Box Canyon, an adrenaline rush to be sure. Where the road was washed out and only wide enough for the truck, we laughed or held our breath as we looked into the depths of the Canyon, yelling and telling Tracy not to look but to keep her eyes on the road.
The skies in Arizona are wide and blue or black with giant storm clouds the size of mountains. The roads are strewn with washes and signs warning of flash floods and cattle wandering the open ranges.
I greet the saguaro as we pass by. They seem like old friends and maybe ancestors. I love all of the cactus that I see as we drive long, long stretches of road through the reservations and small towns and seeming nothingness except the land, the mountains and sky. But there’s something special about the saguaro that I can’t explain.
Though October is rattler explosion time, I thankfully didn’t see a one and I thankfully didn’t see not even one bear or big cat. The universe heard my cry.
We knew the elusive Red Start was near because we could hear it’s song. We were never able to spot it until moments before we left the cabin when it hopped upon our door jamb as though to mock us and to say goodbye.
Back home we visited the Cosanti studio again where they bought me another bell. We swam in the pool and looked at the sky and read the books we bought along the way. We watched a movie or two and discussed life in general and in particular as we loved on the three old dogs and cats.
It’s the Pacific Northwest, Portland. We have dry, hot winds from the east out of the Gorge blowing in from the desert-like High Steppes.
Everything is tinder dry and crackling. The ground forms fissures like open mouths waiting for a drop of water to quench its thirst.
For the first time, I’m hearing the Cosanti bell ringing more, as our porch, where it hangs, faces east. It’s so lovely, but I’m wishing for wet, Fall weather with hard winds coming from the southwest, heavy with water from the ocean.
We need days of rain… days and days, maybe even weeks… months. We need cooler, cold, temperatures to make the sap run into the roots of the trees, so the leaves can change color and drop to the ground in soggy layers. This persistent summer-like heat feels strange, unnatural, even.
Will it end? Will we get back to rain bouncing off the pavement, forming puddles, streaming from the roof, filling the gutters. Can we get back to running from the house to the car and into the store, school, coffee shop, trying not to get wet? Will the streams and rivers rise to flood levels again? Will children have to wear raincoats over their Halloween costumes ever again?
Can we get back to sweaters, raincoats and boots? Can we get back to complaining about the dark days and constant rain? Please.
The shadows in the jungle were deeply green and impenetrable to those without eyes to see. The soft breeze was cool, yet the air was also warm and cloying. Her light, filmy garments clung to her wet skin. She felt… she felt like she was warmly alive, sensual, moved.
She had come to the pools of Naemahn. How she had come, she didn’t know. Why was she here? Who had brought her? What was she to do? And yet, not knowing was not unsettling as she stood at the edge of the water. These were subtle and slow moving streams connecting miles of waterways.
The water was covered completely with green algae, large pads of lily with erect stems supported graceful and large, creamy pink blossoms. Through the soft light, blossoms of ruby, violet and golden flowers could be seen peeking out along small paths into the interior catching what light penetrated the shadows.
Large birds with soft grey feathers and long beaks stood on spindly legs that pierced the water. Brightly colored parrots flew randomly and silently through the dense canopy above the water. Other creatures moved through the underbrush, soundlessly on soft padded feet, eyes glowing as they lowered their heads to drink from the pools. All the sounds were muffled and murmured almost imperceptibly to those without ears to hear.
A luxurious flat bottomed barge painted with many colors pulled up in front of her. It was draped in silk fabrics that waved softly as they caught the breeze and completely obscured what was inside. A stunning woman dressed in purple and lavender, embroidered in golden thread, appeared on the deck and invited her to board. Without hesitation she stepped aboard, noticing only at that moment that other rafts similar to this one were seemingly languishing but slowly floating through the waterway.
The woman held open the curtains and a fragrant interior slowly came to light as her eyes adjusted to the candle light. Smoke from incense filled the room. The heady scents of frangipani, myrrh, frankincense, bergamot, rose, clove, cedar, patchouli and more seemed to sedate her. The interior was filled with a pallet and cushions that were covered in the most lush fabrics in saturated jewel tones. The many shades of greens, blues, reds and yellows dazzled the eyes. Every sense was heightened.
The woman motioned for her to sit among the many cushions. She did not resist. She saw no reason to. The barge rocked slowly as it moved away from the shore. The woman, whose name was Ipreet, began to loosen her clothes and slipped them from her shoulders. She sat next to her and gently laid her back on the cushions. The pleasure she felt from the movement of the boat, the many fragrances, the soft light, and Ipreet’s hands, caused her to move gently like a cat.
Ipreet began to massage her slowly and softly with oil of which she could not identify. Its fragrance and softness was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Slowly Ipreet had removed her clothes entirely and was massaging her breasts, her thighs, her stomach, arms and feet and reaching to touch her most delicate parts causing her to reach the heights of ecstasy without letting her reach the peak where every feeling would be released.
After sometime, she felt someone board the raft and enter the room. It was a man. He was dressed in a pure white robe, a white turban and he was barefoot. He had a white beard and deep brown eyes that were almost black and there was a golden light emanating from them. Her legs were open and he sat at her feet.
Ipreet brought him a brass plate with a fragrant smoke climbing sensually to the ceiling. She was feeling an intense desire for this man, though she did not know him. She wanted him to touch her… to continue what Ipreet had started. Where he sat, she could see that he had a large penis. She moved sensually as to arouse him but he remained flacid. She wanted him to enter her. She wanted to have what she knew would be the most remarkable fireworks of her life but he sat there and only smiled at her showing perfectly white teeth and full lips.
Ipreet slowly covered her body as she lay there. She remained uncovered from the waist down. She made no effort to cover her private parts. She wanted the man to make love to her, but he brought the plate between her legs and blew the warm smoke into her. As he did this, she exploded into a million stars of every color. He stayed there, it seemed to her, for seconds, minutes or hours, she didn’t know.
She fell into a deep and mystical sleep filled with beautiful and strange dreams. When she awoke, she was at the waters edge, rocking gently. She was alone. Ipreet and the stranger were gone. The dim interior of the barge was still lit with candles and the incense still burned. She moved to get up and she was aware that she was once again clothed. Her skin felt soft and the fragrance lingered on her skin and in her hair, evidence that she had not been dreaming.
She stepped off the boat onto the jungle floor and moved into the shadows. It was as if no time had passed. She needed no guide. She seemed to know her way out. She felt more alive and fulfilled than she had ever felt before.
She would not soon forget what had happened to her this day… or was it night?
Happy rain day, dark and grey. I love the view from my window by my bed. Our yard is so green.
I look down on the apple trees, the honeysuckle, the vine maple and the kiwi, that create an arbor covering the patio. They surround and shield us from the harsh sun and neighbors.
And I even love looking over to the neighbors flat roofed garage to watch the puddles grow and the rain drops splashing into them.
Every once in awhile a fresh breeze comes through the window bringing with it the fragrance of the wet earth and plants.
We have so many fragrant flowers like kiwi, lavender and jasmine. Someone should create such a lovely perfume. I would wear it everyday when we so easily forget summers past.
Such beauty I couldn’t imagine if I tried. Or have I?
We lived on Montgomery St., just below Vista Avenue, before Hwy 26 went in. The construction destroyed miles of large beautiful houses built at the turn of the century.
Beautiful large homes, in the West Hills, like this one, were bulldozed to make way for highways.
Portland exemplfies the song “Yellow Taxi” written by Joni Mitchell, which goes, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot… Portland was being raped and thousands of long time residents displaced. No one who was making a killing cared.
Our yellow house was built with four apartments. The front was built at street level on a steep hill leading towards downtown to the East, and to the North, the land was even steeper giving each apartment spectacular views of the city.
I couldn’t find an historic photo of the area but this is the type of house sacrificed for development
Each apartment took up an entire floor. The ceilings were at least 10 feet in height with windows almost to the ceilings. There were at least three bedrooms, a large living room, a kitchen and with just one bathroom. The back door opened out from the kitchen onto a balcony with stairs that led to the ground below.
This is not the house but reminiscent of the types of houses in the area.
This was in the late 60’s. Pure LSD was easily had and weed was $10 a “lid”. Our rent, if I remember right, was under $100/month. We didn’t need much money to live, so we bought pounds of marijuana, divided it into plastic sandwich bags and we put them in a large container just inside the front door. Whoever wanted to buy pot from us could leave their money and grab however much they wanted. The honor system at work.
Marijuana, LSD, psilocybin, peyote and the like, were all illegal. But at the time, we were more concerned that the house would be raided by FBI agents looking for draft dodgers and those who were AWOL. It had happened and it was scarey but if they’re looking for people, they had no jurisdiction to bust us for drugs.
Our life on Montgomery street was mostly peaceful. It was a good time for exploring both internally and the world around us. We were protesting the right of the US and other countries to invade others to procure resources. We were protesting a culture dictated by corporate greed and materialism. We wanted a simpler and more peaceful world.
Unfortunately, our idealism could not, and has not, changed the white and wealthy. We were using psychedelics, meditation and exploration into philosophies both western and eastern, to found a new path to a kinder and gentler world. But what I know now, is what history teaches us: the few wealthy are lords in the earth and the rest of us… well, we work for them and try to keep our heads above water. No one benefits from war but the wealthy and the young are sacrificed to that purpose.
Those were days that I would return to. Those were days when we thought that on that LSD trip, the answer had been given to us but language failed us. The answer slipped away as we “came down”. One definition of reality that I can recall so clearly came out as I sat looking out over the city as “loud tomato raisin”. I’m still looking for the translation. Perhaps one day I’ll be enlightened enough to translate. ðŸ¤
Those were days of infinite sexual energy, which I didn’t experience again until my 40s and 50s. Hormone saturated freedoms. Dancing in the moonlight. Light shows. Live music and open mic poetry readings. Unbridled idealism anchored and tempered by existential nightmares that things always stay the same.
David Byrne sang, “Burning Down the House… same as it ever was, same as it ever was…” and it appears that we are burning down the house. We can see the ashes. But now it’s not just the big beautiful houses that were once our abodes but it’s the planet where we live.
eyeamdust 