The air is soft and heavy.
The scent of jasmine and orange blossoms.
A boy sits by the lavender.
Category: Nature
Summer Rain
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?
Tropical Storms
It suddenly felt damp, really wet, in the house. I smelled dirt and vegetation. I was sweating profusely. I felt anxious.
And then it began, the lights went out, lightning flickered in the dark sky and then the rain poured.
It poured in big and small drops creating a curtain of cascading water.
Here is the thunder rolling across the heavens.
People in the streets are running to close doors and windows.
And now it begins.
Bulldozing Montgomery
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.
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.
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 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. 🤭
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.
As Solstice Approaches
Frost covers everything this morning though it’s not cold enough to freeze the water in the watering bowls set out for those of fur and feather.
The persistent wind has calmed so the old, giant maples, chestnuts, walnuts, fir, spruce and pine are not creaking in protest and the attic doors are not threatening against the hook locks.
The tiny heater tries so hard to warm the air in my room without success. This is winter (almost) in this old house. The furnace heats the first two floors though we can feel the air seeping in through the closed windows. We are grateful for this old house that shelters us.
Solstice approaches bringing longer days but colder months. I welcome the barrenness, the shades of grey. Though Winter settles in, Spring holds promises of life just below the surface and thrusts swords of iris and sprouts of crocus out of the mud and the brave honeysuckle shows tender green buds on seemingly dead and hardened vines.
There is no guilt in rest this time of year. Follow me says the earth, follow me.
In the Dark of Night She Kills
Looks can be decieving. Eres, the sweetest sleepy calico during the daylight hours.
But in the shadowy hours of night, she tangles with the dark, evil rodent forces; severing heads, leaving only hindquarters and tails, wreaking havoc and chaos and fear in her wake, leaving behind not a drop of blood.
She is a warrior, a terror, fearless and hungry always for blood and guts, bringing her spoils to us in the night, seeking the approval of her dominators and providers of shelter.
Therefore, she is one tired kitty.
A Little Respect Please – The Squirrel and the Apple
As I sat in contemplation in the shade of the apple tree, I was giving attention to the sensations in my body and the sounds around me. There was the warmth of the sun and the cool, sudden breeze passing by. Birds were seemingly arguing. Cars and trucks rumbled by. In the distance people were talking. The pleasant fragrance of jasmine and water was everywhere.
I heard rustling above me and I noticed that I was feeling bits of something dropping on my head and shoulders and hitting my legs and feet. I opened my eyes and looking up, there was a fat and happy squirrel chomping on apples and spitting out bits and pieces, making a direct hit on me.
If it wasn’t intentional, I would be surprised. We live in an animal paradise filled with food and drink for birds, raccoons, opossum, squirrels, crows, bees and butterflies and who knows what else.
You’d think that squirrel would have a bit more respect for the human who so generously provides this buffet.
Night Sky, Night Sky
Night sky – night sky
Endless night sky.
Mountains and hills
Holding the glow of the sun
As it falls behind.
Earth that gives rise to life
Feild and sand
Bluff and slope.
Birth dies
Gives rise to life.
The Cost of Consciousness
One of the advantages of having a house that is three stories tall is that I can look down on all of the plants in the garden. From my vantage point I can look down on the tops of the dogwood trees that are still blooming. The hummingbirds are feeding this morning from the blossoms. From high up here the entire yard looks green. Yum yum, my sweet dog, is lying in a pool of morning sunshine on the lounge. The water is hot and I’m ready to make my 1st cup of coffee. From high up here, I can almost forget what is happening in the wider world.
The advantage of being older is that I can do what I want when I want without being scheduled. This I love. From this vantage point I can look at my life and see the incredible life it has been. And I can also see what a wonderful life I am living, despite the chaos in the world.
From this vantage point I can also see the disadvantage of living in such a priviledged country. We are living on blood soaked land. We are living this priviledged existence because we are able to militarily overcome all other countries. We are only privileged because other countries have knelt before us at the point of a gun. We are only privileged because we have caused others to fear. People say this is the most wonderful country on Earth. What they don’t understand is that we’ve only been priviledged because we have insisted that others submit to us. We’re only priviledged because we have made it so that others have been brought to their knees.
What I hope for now is that we are being brought to our knees. Our powerful greed and hatred have been our demise. Our “democratic/capitalist experiment” is failing.
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this. It is hard to be the privileged person that I am knowing that my privilege has been bought with blood money. It is hard to be the privileged person that I am knowing that my privilege has cost another’s suffering. It is hard to be the privileged person that I am knowing that the leadership of this country consists of wealthy, hateful warmongers and have always been. It is hard to be so joyful and peaceful and comfortable knowing that the majority serves the minority. But so has it ever been. This dichotomy of feelings is the cost of consciousness.
My privileged life breaks my heart.
Te quiero muchisimo. I love you so much.
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
Our Mother’s Cycles
We have been in lockdown. We have been quarantined since mid-March 2020. We are expected to wear masks when in public places. Stores and restaurants and bars were shutdown, many to never open again. Businesses have closed. There is massive unemployment. People are infected with Covid-19 and some are dying.
And worse yet, we have a toxic president pushing for a fascist regime. He is up for reelection in November and his campaign is deeply rooted in white supremacy. He is hell bent on destroying not only America but the world. I’m terrorized.
I could write a list of what is wrong but it would be too long for the post I want to write. I will say only that we need real change. We need a universal awakening to stop the engrained systemic racism resulting in police brutality and injustice and inequality in every aspect of life.
We are destroying our home. We have raped and pillaged our only source of life. This just might be the end of us. And yet we persist in this destruction. My heart is sick.
And yet, the earth will heal after our self-inflicted demise, there is no doubt. When we no longer strip the forests, pollute the air, soil and water; when we are no longer here to burn down our home, the earth will recover. I should be hopeful.
While I wake every morning to face yet another day, to sort through what new tragedy has taken place, what new atrocities await us… how much money we spend on war machines to annihilate innocent people, to count how many children are in cages, how many refugees are in transit, and are hungry and homeless, how many US citizens are homeless and hungry, and not to mention the working poor, I become more cynical and without hope. I can hardly take it.
And yet, I am one of the lucky ones. I have shelter, food, clothing family and friends, but that brings no solace. Solace will only come with real and lasting change. History teaches us that only hatred and greed are the only constants in this world.
You will argue with me, I know that. I have heard all the arguments. There is nothing new that you can come up with. NOTHING!. You will say, “but look at all the beauty that surrounds you: nature, music, all of the arts, people who are good, people who are protesting and working towards a better world.” I know. But that doesn’t make change. It never has and I doubt that it ever will. I feel desperate.
But my initial intention for this post is to celebrate our mother, our great mother, who would provide for us everything we need if we weren’t so full of hate and greed. We do not understand her.
Two people have mentioned the changing of the season though we are not quite half way through summer. Do we somehow, intuitively feel the change, see it in the shadows, and see the end of life of earth’s flowering? Fruit and vegetables and all that carry seeds are ready to burst and fall upon the ground.
I have resisted and complained when folks start talking about the season’s ending when we’re fully engulfed in the present season. But I am beginning to understand and to embrace it. I think this follows my lack of recognition of changes in my own body.
I was never really conscious of my own, very intimate, monthly cycles of ovulation and the impending expulsion of my eggs in a flood of fluid and blood. I never experienced PMS symptoms or cramps with my menstrual cycle. I never knew when those changes were about to take place or were taking place until there was obvious evidence. And when the cessation of that cycle came, I wasn’t conscious of the internal changes taking place. I didn’t equate the changes of my emotions and psychology together with the changes in my body. The symptoms of menopause were slight and short-lived.
I am not saying that I didn’t sense the changes as one season was ending or another beginning but I was fully present: summer was summer, winter was winter, etc. Don’t talk to me about spring when it is still winter.
I am just beginning to understand how others more overtly acknowledge and accept mother earth’s cycles, her seasons and how that pertains to my own lack of consciousness of my own cycles… her barreness, her fertility, her impregnation and fullness of pregnancy and then her birthing. And of course there is the building up to each cycle, so I should have been able to put these together. I could be more joyful at the slow turning of the seasons and to welcome other’s acknowledgement that they sense the preparation of the mother to the changes.
Though the universe, the planets and the stars, tell us that the solstice and the equinox turns on this date or that date, we are in the fullness of earth’s cycles everyday and even in the smallest of increments.
How to tie the world’s demise to the earth’s resilience? Well, as chilling March turned into April, winter awoke from slumber and sprang forth in exuberance. Trees grew leaves and flowers. Sprouts burst out of the cold soil. Color was everywhere. Even in April’s cold rains, life emerged, undaunted by the turmoil produced by humans.
If I could wish for anything, it would be peace and justice and a consciousness that this earth is our mother, the very source of life, and that everything is dependent on our loving care.
So friends, let’s talk about the changing seasons. Let’s talk about how “a change is gonna come”. Let’s talk about it. Just maybe it will.
eyeamdust 