this too shall pass.

This Too, Shall Pass Away

by Paul Hamilton Hayne, American editor, writer, poet.

“Art thou in misery, brother? Then I pray
Be comforted. Thy grief shall pass away.
Art thou elated? Ah, be not too gay;
Temper thy joy: this, too, shall pass away.
Art thou in danger? Still let reason sway,
And cling to hope: this, too, shall pass away.
Tempted art thou? In all thine anguish lay
One truth to heart: this, too, shall pass away.
Do rays of loftier glory round thee play?
Kinglike art thou? This, too, shall pass away!
Whate’er thou art, wher’er thy footsteps stray,
Heed these wise words: This, too, shall pass away.”

this too shall pass.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS


Things change fast
But this too shall pass
Better carve it on your forehead
Or tattoo it on your ass
Cause who can tell
When the clock strikes twelve
If today’s become tomorrow
Or if it’s all just gone to hell
My friend makes rings
She swirls and sings
She’s a mystic in the sense
That she’s still mystified by things
But scared to ask
How can nothing last
Cause like a cancer in your body
It all just goes too fast

We think too big
We think our self is one whole thing
And we claim that this collection
Has a name and is a being
But deep inside
When every cell divides
It sets upon the rule that states
Self-interest is divine
Cancer, too
Lives by this golden rule
That you must do unto the others
As the others unto you
All for the best
Cause that’s all the life accepts
And so we kill it like a buffalo
With awe and with respect

Don’t ask God
Just ask the sky
She’ll tell it to you plainly
In the clouds that whisper by
And praise the shapes
And then praise the way they change
And they’ll teach you not to pray to light
Without you pray to rain
So I pray to hands
And I pray to needs
And I pray to blades of grass
To find forgiveness in the weeds
But as for health
I just never did believe
And so I never prayed myself
Except to those that prayed for me

The story goes
Or the way that I was told
There was a king that always felt too high
And then he fell too low
And so he called
All the wise men to the hall
And begged them for a gift
To end the rises and the falls
And here’s the thing
They came back with a ring
It was simple and was plainly
Unbefitting of a king
Engraved in black
It had no front or back
But there were words around the band that said
Just know: This Too Shall Pass

Copyright 2004. Words and music by Danny Schmidt

totem 2

(Original Link: http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/storm-clouds-south-dakota/)

totem 1

(Photo Link: http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/photos/hummingbird-photos/#/hummingbird-wings-straight_12894_600x450.jpg)

there's a cancer.

There’s a cancer inside each of us

It just looks like different things

Could be multiplying cells

And pain inside the blood

Or a father that called you names

Or a mother that couldn’t mother

Could be a nagging insecurity

That your life is always in question

There’s a cancer inside each of us

Just looks like different things

Could be the needles left behind from taking a life

For your country, that stab everytime you move

Or a not-yet-adult lying in the highway

His life slipping away from beneath a broken helmet

Or the hard coldness of a hand

That forces you to say, “I fell down the stairs.”

There’s a cancer inside all of us

It just looks like different things

Life is about dying, and dying is about living

And that’s the cancer inside all of us.

anatomy of a breakup. part 5. intermittent crying.

I hate this part. This is the part where you'll be walking the dog, or making breakfast, or washing dishes, and all of a sudden you just completely fall apart. It's the thought of her smile, or that I had her next to me every night as I slept, or the way the dog would take her out at the knees in the backyard, or any other of the 8 trillion memories two people create when they're together.

Some of it's anger, too. There's always some anger. Focusing on the anger keeps me from dialing the numbers, but doesn't keep me from the irrevocable sadness. The intermittent crying is exhausting. Your face dries out, scales, your eyes are red and irritated, your hair goes unwashed and you avoid people's eyes outside of your home. It's a normal part, but probably one of the worst.

After this part, the ache is just inside the chest; it doesn't come flowing out with a cry or a scream or a sob. But, you can never tell how long this part will last. And if you hold back the crying, if you choose to not let it flow, you can expect a longer recovery. Just go turn up the music, or turn on the hairdryer, crush a tear-stained photo between your fingers, and cry until you want to pass out. It'll feel better afterwards. For a while.

wine.

raven spoke to me tonight, but as usual, I can't understand what he's said. he was up in the tree and when I squawked back, he lifted up and flew off. then, there were two dancing back and forth in the sky together.

wine heals. I have forgotten my sadness and, at the same time, am ready to be bedded. dangerous territory. cinnamon for dinner, and hopefully the dreams will speak to me.

anatomy of a breakup. part 4. new.

Do not underestimate the power of new right now. If your room is the same as when your lover went away, it is time to change. This is a new time in your life, and you should attempt to celebrate the newness in small ways. Don't go too big; this is not the time for great, large change - you already have enough on your plate. It is time for small changes. It is time for reclaiming some small piece of yourself, if not your own totality.

Change your room. Buy several new things, whether they are new or used. Put into a box all things that remind you of the way things were. You do not need to throw these things out, only remove them from sight so that you can focus on the next.

This is a good time to consolidate the things you want or need, and dispose of the things you no longer have a use for. After all, your heart is being purged - so go ahead and purge your material items. It will help things to flow. Purification on the inside can be aided by purification on the outside.

There is no end to the value of treating yourself to new things right now. They do not have to be new, expensive things; they only need to be reaffirming of who you are. A new blanket, a new frying pan, a new bookcase with a new scarf laid over its top. A few new or used books, a new album, some fresh flowers on your dresser. Hang up those photos or paintings that have been sitting neglected for months or years. Perhaps a new pair of earrings and a new blouse.

Reclaim your space and your identity; when we are with another, these things get lost in the space of "I love you" and "We are one," when, truly, we are only two wholes living side by side. We forget this. It is time to remember your wholeness. Surround yourself with beauty. Surround yourself with things that make you feel comfortable, at home, and reinforce your inherent wholeness.

Reclaim you.

anatomy of a breakup. part 3. letting it flow.

Sadness is antithesis to what we desire in life, and so we resist it at every turn. This is a mistake. Sadness is a part of life, because without it, how could we truly understand joy? We couldn't. Many argue this point but it's futile - without hunger, you can't understand the true joy of satiation. Having been without air for mere moments, you can't truly appreciate the act of breathing. Only through being lonely can we appreciate the true joy of companionship.

So sadness comes, and we fight it. The loneliness, the future-that-fell-apart, the fear-of-new, the apprehension that accompanies finding oneself - all is tied up with sadness. Instead of fighting it, let it flow through you. Stop trying to distract yourself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop feeling the fear and the sickness of the sadness and the pain. Imagine you are a small faucet, and turn the knob. Let the sadness flow through you like the cleansing waters of a snowmelt stream. Let it flow through your eyes, your mouth, your throat - scream, cry, exhaust yourself to the point of deep sleep. Imagine the worst and allow the pain to move through you, from top to bottom. When you stop resisting, the pain can move through and OUT of you in a complete way. Let yourself mourn. Let yourself cry. Let yourself feel the fear and desolation of the separation. Play sad music and cry yourself to sleep. You will refortify soon.

Then, stand before the mirror and acknowledge that without the deep sadness you are experiencing, you would never understand the joy that you have known with your lost lover. You would never understand the future joy that you will know with the next. Let the sadness move through you, and the sadness will leave you.

To be sure, it will come again, but only in increments. Soon, it will begin to fade. Now it seems fatal, but it's not; I promise. When you drop your walls to the ground and let the tidal wave rush you, the next joy comes closer. Do not resist. Let it flow. Face the deepest fear we have as humans and the strength will come.


Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. - Rufus Wainwright

anatomy of a breakup. part 2. support.

It's important for you to have support during this time. In fact, it's one of the most important factors determining how strong you are. People like to poo-poo personal strength, as though it ALL has to come from within. Obviously that's bullshit. There is something to be said for mothers and best friends that understand the use of the words, "Everything is going to be okay," and other such phrases, like "It hurts, and it sucks, but you're going to be alright." Never, ever underestimate the power of the words, "it/you is/are going to be okay," because on your darkest day, you will need to remember that. You need to encapsulate it into your heart and remember that you are already whole, that any human being coming into your life can only complement what you are. There is no "completing" you, because you are already complete. There is no "perfect one," because many are perfect; in fact, all are perfect within the parameters of imperfection being perfection.

In this time, a friend that can empathize with you is paramount. Someone who knows the pain of love lost or love betrayed, that, simply by understanding, contributes to your own healing. That simply by being on the other end of the line passes over her own strength, to lift you up. 

Support is there. You must find it. Even in your darkest moments, there is someone there. They will listen, hopefully they will tell you it will be alright, and they will hold your hand no matter how far away you happen to be. 

Support.

anatomy of a breakup. part 1. panic.

Panic is a mix of denial and desperation. You can't change what's occurred, but you really can't face that, not right now. All you want to do is run until your lungs give out, or get on a plane and fly home to the arms of your mother (who knows, in her heart of gold, that you're going to be just fine), or hear the words come out of your best friend's mouth, "Cry it out baby, 'cause you're going to be okay."

Your heart races and you seem completely unable to control what happens with your body. You may feel faint, and you'll sob hysterically. There will be these tiny, shining moments of lucidity, where you remember that everything's going to be alright, in between the crying, but they will be fleeting for now. Your head will ache and your eyes will swell. You may or may not feel like you are drowning, like you can't shake it off. It clings to you like high humidity, refusing to let the tears dry, refusing to let you breathe.

(Just so you don't think this is the complete bottoming-out of depression, because it's not, I'll leave you with a quote from my mother after we talked for hours tonight, 1am her time: "The next time you meet someone, would you just ask them straight up, 'Are you an alcoholic?' Could you just do that?")

There is just panic. Because you'll be alone. Because that was the person you were supposed to marry. That was the person with whom your future belonged. Which means, by proxy, in your desperate brain, that you no longer have a future. This, of course, is something you'll get past, but at the moment it's all-consuming. Who will mow the lawn? Who will smile at you when you come home from work? Who will take you out for dinner on your birthday? Who will surprise you with a back massage after a long week?

Right now, no one. You're alone. You're going to be alone for a while. You will need to learn to wake up without someone rolling over and putting their arm across your chest. You will need to learn to go to bed without hearing, "I love you." You will need to cry by yourself when you've had a bad day at the office. You will have no one to comfort, no one to uplift, no one to make love to. And so you feel the desperation of panic rise up in your lungs, squeeze your throat, and wreck your brain.

This is the first part of the breakup. It's one of the hardest, so do your best to get through it.

blargh.

Well, what can I really say? My significant other has officially moved out, though we have not split up, and I was actually feeling pretty good about it for a couple of days until we went to a wedding reception together tonight. What an absolutely stupid idea. What the hell was I thinking?

Needless to say, I got all mopey and depressed and, actually, downright mad. I get cranky when things don't go my way. This whole situation is a serious lesson in letting go of my need to control things, because there's really no controlling the disintegration of a relationship and the ensuing chaos. I don't know if we have any hope. I don't know if we have any chances left. And now I'm feeling crappy about it.

To be honest, the last couple of days have been nice - they're peaceful, calm, and quiet. There's no arguing, no let downs, no going-to-bed-crying. I play with the dog, work on my projects, and clean the house. Last night I even went to a party on my own, which was mostly fun. I'm always that geek standing alone until I've had enough booze to get social with strangers.

The mere thought of work exhausts me. I don't know why. I feel like I just want a week off to sleep in every morning, lounge around the house, go for hikes, work on my nature blog, craft, and feel. If I could afford my bills for two months, I think I'd pack up and go home for a while to spend time with my mom.

At any rate, it's late and I need to get to sleep. Boo. Weekends are way too short.

irony.

Here's irony for you. I'm blogging on my other blog, but stop to add a post to this blog, because, well, I think one day I'll look back at these posts and smile. Or maybe not, who the hell knows.

I just needed to say that no matter what's going on, no matter how horrible life can be, there are always these tiny shining moments that fill your heart up with love so big it feels like it's going to burst.

What's my moment? What's the cause for saying such things?

It's this four-legged, Frito-smelling beast that has his head smashed up against my ass, twitching in puppy dreams, and - the best part - snoring like an old man. And I am so overwhelmed with love and joy right now that I'm having a hard time not crying. Thanks, Whatever You Are Out There.

Universe: 1, me: 0

moving along.

Things are moving along. Slowly, but surely. I'm feeling the urge to get a thunderstorm tattooed on my wrist; thunderstorms are so heavy and violent and powerful, but when they pass, the sun comes out, rainbows pop up, and the earth is refreshed by the rain. They're a symbol of power and hope for me, and I need a little of that right now.

My significant other is moving out. We haven't worked out the details yet, but we spent a good hour sobbing in each other's arms the other night and decided that, rather than calling the whole thing off and going separate ways, maybe just separating physically would give us both time to breathe and figure out what we need. It's scary and sad and big, but it's movement, and movement is so important.

I've been trying to be more aware of my bills, too. I sent away for another credit card that offers a year and a half without APR on balance transfers, and I really need that to get ahead on my credit card; I hope it helps. Now my payments will go to the principle. I also called around car insurances today and ended up discovering that what I pay isn't too high, and I actually have really good coverage. I'll only be able to lower it by just a couple dollars a month (I pay monthly rather than every 3/6 months) but it's something.

I had an absolute explosion of joy the other night: I sold something on my Etsy shop. TO A TOTAL STRANGER. You'd think that last part isn't terribly important, but it is. Friends are good people and they support you, but a total stranger (on the other side of the country no less) doesn't know you and YET SHE STILL BOUGHT A YOGA MAT BAG. God, I'm just stoked.

I've also decided to start another blog. It's completely about nature, and once it's up and running it will feature current news, articles, activities, and hopefully photo contests and that kinda thing. It's really a response to the fact that at my job, our useless ED won't let us have a blog to keep updates about things that go on there. So, I thought well fuck it, I'll do it on my own. There are no names so I can't be affiliated with my job site, but it's fun to write about something I really love.

At the moment, I'm just trying to stay afloat. My best friend on this coast is leaving for Morocco in just a few weeks and I'm kinda devastated. She's so incredibly amazing; at the drop of a hat, she's ready to go anywhere and do anything with me. We spent an awesome weekend in Sequoia National Park, we picked huckleberries together, and she's going to teach me how to make blueberry jam. This woman has been both my best friend and a mother to me out here. I'm really gonna freaking miss her. But I'm also excited for her to have a big adventure.

Sorry to those of you following along if this post is just painfully mundane; I'm just trying to keep my head above water high enough to see my next move. Thanks for reading. :) Also, if you're interested in the nature blog, shoot me a comment or a message (@gmail) and I'll send you the link.

Hope everyone has some sunshine to enjoy...

brain pain.

So I have to spend 3 hours with a group of 10 year olds on Tuesday morning, and the topic is "Geology and Prospecting." 


So I'm trying to look up some information on geology, since I know virtually nothing, and trying to find some activities. All I want to know is which impurities cause which colors in common minerals (i.e. iron causes red coloration, copper causes blue coloration, etc).


This is the sentence I just came across, thanks to this Wiki article on iron: [Iron] is produced as a result of stellar fusion in high-mass stars, and it is the heaviest stable element produced by stellar fusion because the fusion of iron is the last nuclear fusion reaction that is exothermic. 


God. I think I need a nap. Learning is hard.

aggravation.

I'm sure I'm blowing this way out of proportion. I'm sure it's nothing. But I'm still annoyed.

Today I mustered the gusto to go to the gym after work. Whilst getting a drink from the water fountain, I noticed a legal-sized questionnaire entitled, "Application to Date (Gym Owner)'s Daughter." What followed were a list of questions and mildly entertaining multiple choice questions such as, "How long do you think it would take me to bury your body?"

In the section of personal questions like birthdate and social security number, one question asked something about parents. The following query is what caught my attention: "Is one male and one female? Y___ N___" Below that, "If "No," explain: _____________."

Now, it wasn't like it said, "I hate homosexuals." But that, combined with the "Can I pray for you? (just ask)" tshirts that they sell at the desk and the fact that Fox News is on 24 hours a day on at least one television, all comes together to put a bad taste in my mouth. Not to mention the maker of said application isn't particularly pleasant when you have to interact with him.

One of the gym monkeys that works there saw me looking at it and laughed out loud. "That's great, isn't it?" says he. I wrinkle my brow and reply, "Actually I find some of this offensive." He asked what and I told him, explaining that "not everyone hates gays." He replied, "Well, those are just his beliefs." I placed the application back in its holder, said, "Well, this is public place and people pay to be here," and stalked off like an angry housecat. My headphones were still in so I didn't hear what he said, but I was so aggravated I cut my workout short and left.

Maybe it's meaningless and maybe the gym monkey was right - the owner does own the gym and who's to say he can't publicly display his conservative ignorance? I just don't remember signing something in my membership agreement that said so.

This probably wouldn't have aggravated me so much except for watching this video last night about a young girl completely rejected by her family because she doesn't agree with some of the views held by the Westboro Baptist Church (the people that picket funerals of gay people with signs that say "God Hates Fags"). After watching this video, I sat back for a second and pictured myself at an event where they people were picketing. Although it takes a great deal for me to become violent, I almost immediately pictured myself attacking someone, holding onto their hair until I was dragged off by others. This is a group of people that could make a relatively peaceful person hatefully, hatefully violent. Watch the video and maybe you'll understand.

Anyway. Maybe the whole gym thing isn't a big deal, but it annoyed me. As though if you had two parents which were not one-male/one-female, there would be a need to explain.

wealth.

A message to myself, and, by proxy, to you:

Listen, if your thoughts about money focus on your complete lack of it, you will not gain more. When you feel the feelings of lack, the feelings of not-enough, of I'll-never-get-ahead, then you are ensuring that you don't have enough and will never get ahead.

When you recognize the wealth that do you have, are grateful for that wealth, are grateful for being taken care of, you will find more wealth in your life. If you focus on the feelings of have-plenty, have-so-much-I-can-give-it-away, you will see more wealth.

It's time to believe in your own wealth. It's time to attract what you want, not just what you need, into your life. It's time to stop agonizing, to stop spending tears on something as completely illusory as money. It's time to have as much as you want.

landscape.

When I first moved to Central Oregon, I was startled by the monotony of the landscape. That is to say, I was horrified and was mildly concerned that I'd made a mistake by moving here. In Maryland, the land (that isn't taken up with buildings or highways, anyway) is saturated with green. And I don't mean just any green. I mean the green of life: deep, bright, lush. The Mid-Atlantic has a mild winter low in terms of temperature and an early spring, which allows a wide variety of plants to flourish.

Central Oregon, by comparison, sports frozen ground for part of the winter and extremely dry summers. We're only two inches of precipitation per year away from being an actual desert. Needless to say, moving from the doorstep of the Chesapeake Bay to a land that only sees a few violent thunderstorms' worth of rain per the three-month (and that's a pretty strict three months) summer was a shock to my system. I resented the gray-green of juniper and even the tall, majestic ponderosas that dominate the landscape. Even though they're completely different plants, the sagebrush, rabbitbrush, and bitterbrush all rolled together; a family of mid-sized shrubs that hurt if you brushed up against them and seemed to hold less nutrition for wildlife than the volcanic ash that covers the ground. The soil is dead, there's no water, and there are about five dominating plant species.

It was hard in the beginning. But I found that this year my love for the sagebrush steppe's plant community flourished because of one saving grace that managed to speak my language in a way I hadn't expected: wildflowers.

Splashes of blue, pink, red, and yellow against the sandy, gray ash tugged at my spirit until I realized that these tiny fireworks of vitality would not only save me from the painful disconnect I've felt from the floral community, but would teach me about survival in an unforgiving landscape.

My forests of home are mixed deciduous forests of beech, birch, tulip poplar (not a poplar at all, but such a beautiful name I can't discontinue its use), black walnut, and oak. Hidden pockets of ironwood enticed me to run my hands along sinewy branches, taut like the muscles of a young man in his prime. The breathtaking orange and yellow tulip-like flowers that gave Liriodendron its common name, which, when disturbed or spent, float to the forest floor from stories above like a floral rain. Magnolia trees stand not-so-tall so you can push your face into their huge, white, fantasy blooms. Grape vines hang, rose canes reach, raspberries secretly develop their drug-like drupelets.

The ponderosa forest is a very different one. For one thing, it's been around for hundreds of years; it was never leveled to create farmland, then replanted (or left to become a forest once more). These "ponderous" pines, at least some of them, have been growing for centuries. Granted, most of the old growth is limited because ponderosa is one of the leading lumber-woods in North America, but these Standing Ones are relentlessly impressive. Below them, depending on elevation, grows bitterbrush or manzanita. Before the invention of the US Forest Service, small or medium wildfires moved through, burning out most of the understory, leaving large, park-like grassy meadows between the sentient trees. Thanks to the shortsightedness of the people that took over this land, wildfires were halted for a good 60 years. For the ecosystem, that meant more underbrush, taller underbrush, and fewer pine trees which depend on intense heat to open cones and signal seeds. Wildfires, when they start from lightning strikes, now climb up the understory and into the trees. If the fire reaches the "crown," or top of the tree, the tree dies. The burning of matter on the ground replenished the soil and encouraged fleshy plants to grow, supporting wildlife. 

Shortsighted man, once more, had produced exactly the opposite of what he'd meant to do. Now, because fires are completely stomped out instead of being allowed to burn, they're hotter, more intense, do more damage, and take the lives of firefighters and homes of civilians every year. Stifling fire allowed understory to explode which means more stuff to burn.

So, this is a forest that needs a haircut. Despite the legacy that the innocent Smoky Bear left behind, I have learned to love this forest of sand and little water. The shade is cool. The flickers are loud. The lizards are lightning-fast. And the wildflowers, against all odds, produce explosions of color and shape. Sulphur Buckwheat has round leaves low to the ground and literally neon-yellow umbels on tall stalks. Purple penstemon that bleeds into blue rise above the ground and seduce pollinators. Oregon Sunshine stands in yellow bunches, while Paintbrush rises delicately with its feathery red plumes lifting towards the sky. Globemallow is almost a dream, a confusion of red and orange blossoms on long green stalks that float above the parched earth.

And Bitterroot, of all, a flower that bears so little leaf that it's easy to miss altogether. White or pink blooms sitting on the ground with fleshy roots that served as food for the local First Tribes. These creatures became my salvation: when I find them, it's always a surprise. I stand and marvel, lay on my belly and gently stroke their petals, examine their throats for bees, take photo after photo. And, sometimes, they give me something besides beauty: two mornings ago I took the dog for a walk in the forest and a mosquito bite was driving me crazy. I found some yarrow, chewed a small piece of its minty, sticky leaf, and applied the poultice to the bite. It immediately stopped itching and shrunk down. Today, it's gone. I left a few strands of my hair on the plant to show my respect.

It's taken a long time, but the dry heat of the summer sun, the towering snow-capped mountains, and the perpetual surprise of wildflowers have finally tied this landscape into my heart. 

Even the cactus, resented for its ability to stab, produces a profusion of beauty in the summertime. Creamy yellow flowers open unexpectedly on the fleshy green pads, amidst the long, sharp spines. A desert rose, to be sure.

big decisions.

I am in a terrifying place right now, and I'm going to blog about it because when people are heartbroken, no one ever knows what to do and it's awkward. Well, it's human nature, and the best thing you can do is just something. I hate the phrase, "I don't know what to say." I get that often when I'm going through a hard time, maybe because I'm usually the one that does the saying when the roles are reversed. The fact is, you "not knowing" what to say makes it about you, when in fact, it's about the person going through the hardship.

What then, should you say? Your best bet is to say something comforting, or just to make physical contact and hold it there for a while. You don't have to "know" what to say; knowing is about the brain. Using your heart ensures that what you say won't be hurtful. Tell a story about your own life, your own hardship, and how you managed to pull through, and that no matter *what*, everything will eventually be okay. Maybe a lot of people don't want to hear, "Everything is going to be alright," but I know I do. It reminds me that - oh, yeah, - this isn't the end. Eventually pain fades and you are able to take the reins again.

My partner and I are facing a split. We've been together for four years and things just aren't working right for some reason. We can't pinpoint it, which makes it all the harder. If it was as easy, say, as infidelity, then things would at least move along. When you're in love but things aren't working, it's just flat out devastating. It consumes my thoughts; I'm not one of those lucky people who can put it away until later. I've been crying since I got up this morning, about an hour ago. And I cried for about an hour last night. My heart feels like it's full of lead: it's hard, really, to face anything. I don't think I could stay out in this small town if we parted ways, which means I would consider moving back home to the East Coast. This kind of ghost decision-making is absolutely exhausting. I really wish I could just pull the emotion out of me like a floppy disk and set it aside long enough to figure out the best thing to do next.

But now I'm going to tell you why this day of my birthday vacation has been really, really amazing. Even though I cried this morning and felt a great deal of heartbreak, I had a long conversation with my mother back home in Maryland. She was (is) not stoked on her daughter being "gay," (I'm not sure she's aware of the word "bisexual" or if it would make any difference to her), but because I'm her only child she was determined to do her best to support me. She's always been kind to my partner, which is all I can ask, and has listened to my pain with an open heart.

She reminded me that what I'm going through is normal, that heartbreak hurts, that it lasts a while and it's messy. She told me about her truest love that she'd been with for years, but they just couldn't work it out. They were better off friends than lovers, so while living in the same home, they moved into different rooms. Because they couldn't refuse being attracted to each other, my mother made the strong decision to move out. While she was telling me the story, she grumbled the last part: that, when she moved out, she ended up moving in with a friend of his who was into coke, cheating on his women, and being a poor father to his children. I believe her exact words were, "And then I had to move in with that fucking idiot." My mom's not a cusser in front of me. What's funny, however, is that the fucking idiot turned out to be my dad when he so manipulatively wooed my mother. Once he found out she was pregnant he told her to get an abortion and then abandoned her when she didn't.

To her grumbling, I replied, "Well mom, if not for that fucking idiot, you wouldn't have me." I could hear her light up on the other side without her saying anything. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she mused.

About the situation in my home, she looked at it from a very matter-of-fact perspective: either things don't work out and she'll fly out to move me back home to Baltimore for a while, or things work out and I stay here. Her factual, straight-cutting way of looking at the next few months made it that much easier to face today. She may not be the most diplomatic, sugar-sweet woman you'll ever meet, but goddammit, she's my mother and she always knows what to say to comfort me. Even if it includes a little dad-bashing.

Then, after taking some attivan to calm my brain down from being emotionally out of control, the dog and I took a drive out to the Cascades Lakes Highway, which is a stretch of highway winding through the central Cascade mountain range. On this highway there are dozens of alpine lakes, Todd Lake and Sparks Lake being my two favorites. Todd Lake was once called Lost Lake, and that's what I like to call it, because I HATE when natural things are named after people, especially if those names belonged to white explorers. At least if they're named after First Nations' people, they'd be local and make sense. Screw you, Todd.

Lost Lake is a 47-acre lake that is under snow most of the year due to its high altitude of 6100 feet, and is surrounded by moist meadows, which are then further surrounded by a coniferous ridge. At the far end of the lake, Mt. Bachelor rises above the treeline; it's really a purely magical place. This time of year, the lake is surrounded by shooting stars, paintbrush, and a couple others I can't identify.

I put the dog's backpack on to make him good and tired by the end of it all (which, fyi, worked because he's passed out right here next to me). Here's a recap of my awesome day.

Broken Top mountain from Lost Lake.

For some reason the dog LOVES to smear himself all over snow.

Mischief.

Shooting Star.

Paintbrush.

Baby Western Toads are finally out of the lake and making a break for it!

Wildflowers in bloom.

Mt. Bachelor behind the Lake.

Mt. Bachelor and the lake's outgoing stream.

In my immediate future? A get-together with my favorite craftsperson. Hopefully she'll be able to give me some tips on altering cheap clothes I bought but need a little tweaking to fit right. She's good at that stuff. Then, tomorrow, Portland is on the agenda. Although I wish my heart was in better spirits, my birthday vacation is certainly giving me a good mental break from work. 

wisdom.

Sometimes, when I obviously have nothing better to do, I ponder the meaning of "wisdom." When are you wise? How do you know you have wisdom? How come most wisdom resides with older people?

Here's what I've figured out so far: knowledge is all inside the brain. Knowledge is facts. Wisdom, though, seems to be those facts getting translated through the heart. Wisdom, it appears, needs some level of compassion or heartbreak or joy in its purist form, to be real wisdom. You can't be wise if you don't use your heart. One's knowledge, moved through the heart, becomes wisdom.

There's my deep thought for the week. I need a nap.

sacred water

Jennie and I are good
at finding sacred water.

We don't know it at first
but the clean rushing earth-blood
swirling around us
pulls us
purifies us
cools us
awakens us.

We put the pepper of watercress on our tongues
and chew on wild mint.
We debate over sedges
and slide holy stones into our pockets.

We watch for rattlesnakes
and sinkholes that could suck us
into the bowels of the mother
and end our lives
by filling our lungs with hers.

When we are not watching
the water sweeps us away
opens our eyes, our hearts burst.

Beneath the big trees
Or by twisted juniper
I pull off my shirt
to be submerged.
I want to be
saturated.
I want to absorb the medicine
flowing
crashing
slapping around me.
To pull it through my flesh
Throw it up against my face
Blessing myself, water up over my head
Breathing the water through my arms and legs
like our ancestors before they left
the water for good.

Jennie asks to take my picture;
she's drifting in a daze
Stifled with beauty
Wordless with the heady mixture
of scalding sunlit air and
the cold spring.

The heat of the desert sets into your flesh
like a burn that won't go away.
In the sacred water places
We are reborn
rebirthed
pushed through the canal
bathed in the fluids of life
amniotic
The burn is soothed.

Jennie and I are good
at finding sacred water.

We climb over fences
Step carefully around hot stones
or lie on them flat like lizards.
We move in the water slowly
Naiads in a dream
as ancient as the water itself.
We reenter the womb.

Jennie and I are good
at finding sacred water.

We are safe in the sacred waters,
but strong medicine carries risk
and we are always
in danger of drowning.

To show respect, I cut off
some of my hair
And leave it in the wet sand.

When we are able to pull ourselves away
we are quiet.
There is nothing to say
after you remember that you're alive.

I don't believe.

my father saw me first
as a weapon
and then
as an impediment.

my grandfather
with whom I built snowmen
with whom I caught the baseball
and whom I caught smoking on the cement back steps -
he stopped.

my grandfather saw me as a seed
but lost interest in tending the garden
when my bloom didn't take the shape he had anticipated.

the men I loved
crushed me
   scared me
held me
  loved me
hurt me
  would have died for me.

but the fathers I had
left me with no notion
that I was something to be kept.

I watch other men
with their wives
children
and I don't believe.
they are caricatures
  playing a game
illusions in cologne
  holding plastic baby bottles
cradling their women in strong arms
protecting -
loving -
lusting -
but not real.
something missing.

I don't believe.

supposed to.

The worst thing about heartbreak is the loss of these ridiculous expectations we make for the future. I wanted to be with my forever-partner right now. I wanted to be buying a house. I wanted to be buying crap for the house, painting walls, planting gardens. There are things I wanted to be doing. There were expectations. I was supposed to be getting married sometime soon. It was an expectation.


Then you learn to live day by day. Because there's no other way to survive. The heart is a piece of lead in bad times; its weight anchors me to the floor, the bed, the sofa, wherever. I have trouble just going for a walk beneath its gruesome bearing. The bed becomes a small pool in which I choose to submerge; each morning, purging the water from my lungs, I struggle to move, to rise up, to exercise the dog. The brain does not have space for tomorrow; it has space only for right now, and what's next, and now what? The mind and the heart argue, like angry parents, father and mother, logic and love. 


Sometimes, it seems as though there will be no tomorrow. What's the point? Other times, tomorrow is the only thread holding you together. Because if you can just make it through today...

loose ends.

I've removed my blog from Facebook because things are about to get a little personal. I'm dealing with a lot of shit right now. I'm fine, but there's a lot of inner turmoil that is surfacing in the physical realm. 

My significant other of four years and I are potentially facing a split. I'm devastated and exhausted, but also out of options. If you're reading this and your friends with both of us, I ask that you do not speak to her about what you read here. I also want you to feel no discomfort about the situation, and certainly don't think you've got to choose sides.

My second chakra is completely out of whack. I threw out my back a couple weeks ago, and on Thursday, I spent 4 hours in urgent care to discover that I have an ovarian cyst almost as large as my ovary. Apparently cysts are common and they resolve themselves more often then not, but it's still a little scary. Mine is large and painful, and if it doesn't resolve, surgery may be in the future. There's also the potential that while I'm just going about my day, it's going to "burst" (gag), causing immense pain and panic. These two physical ailments are coming about because I haven't dealt with issues in the emotional realm yet, but I'm working on that.

The ultrasound I had to diagnose the burning pain in my belly cost $600. I'll be billed monthly with no interest, so that's great, the only frustrating part is that I'm already in a shitload of debt. Between credit cards, school and personal loans, and now this medical bill, it's going to be an uphill battle for a little while. I know I can do it, I just need to buckle down and not let it get me depressed. 

Also, for whatever reason, my boss has been really unpleasant with me at work lately. I have no idea why, so Thursday I dropped him a note to see what's going on and if it's me or not. We'll see what he's replied today. He's not the kind of person that talks about emotions, so the fact that I'm responding emotionally to his attitude doesn't set things up for a positive spin, but hopefully it will turn out. 

So, as you can see, I'm just fucking exhausted. All I want to do is sleep. On the bright side, my potatoes are coming along nicely, I have some Americorps money to use on my loans if I can get Americorps to get its shit together, and I have the greatest friend and mom in the entire world to see me through this. 

terry.

Terry Tempest-Williams is, hands down, one of the most amazing women I've ever had the pleasure to be in the same room with. Tonight I attended her lecture here in Central Oregon and she blew me away. Her sincerity, compassion, sensitivity, and ability to observe are so inspirational. I've read her books Red and Refuge, and picked up her latest one at the lecture tonight, Finding Beauty in a Broken World. I can't wait to dive in. If you haven't read Terry, be prepared for love, spirit, brokenness, and a connection to the earth that us granola-eating hippies can only dream of. Okay, well, I don't eat granola, but you get what I mean.

I'm staying with my friend Heather for a little while, and last night we went to Safeway at 10pm for ice cream. On our way out, Heather bumped into a friend of hers and they started chatting. As I usually do, I continued on my way out the door and entertained myself until she was finished. Heather and her friends are beyond cool - they're independent, involved in important things, are free, and have a serious amount of fun. They're who I aspire to be. So, intimidated, I shy away from contact with them for the most part. I feel like the chubby nerd in the class that dresses like crap and is too wrapped up inside her own brain. So Heather comes out and says, "You're never going to make any friends if you walk away."

 Shit. 

vintage style.

So, in a roundabout way, shopping vintage is one of my favorite ways to be sustainable. Yes, I love shopping at GoodWill and others, but sometimes the thrift stores are just kind of full of junk that, with a little creativity, we turn into something useful. Every now and then you luck out and come across something totally awesome and unique, but when I want to really shop vintage (read: I don't want to have to "fix it up"), I hit Etsy and eBay. There are lots of junk-hunters out there that know what they're doing, and they know that I'll pay an obscene amount of money for a rusty tin can.

Etsy is all about handmade, but it's just as much about vintage goods. A lot of the vintage on Etsy is crap (read: shoulder-padded dresses from the '80s for $40 - but maybe I'm just biased), but some of it is just fucking awesome. Shopping vintage not only keeps stuff from going into the landfill, but it gives your personal space a touch of nostaglia and uniqueness. It also keeps alive eras from the past and shows us how cyclical style really is. (Have you seen any teenagers recently? They all seem to be wearing the neon orange/square sunglasses/tapered pants/hideously shaped blouses from my terrifying youth in the late '80s and early '90s.) 

Here are a few of my favorites that I've discovered recently on Etsy.

These two awesome shortening tins are two of my newest, favoritist things. They used to hold Fluffo, a shortening that started its career in the 1950s. I don't have any idea what's going to go in them, but I have enough craft crap that they won't go empty.

The graphics are so modern that I was pleasantly surprised to discover that these tins were made mid-century. The style reminds me a little more of the '60s, but I don't know my decades well enough to settle on exactly when these were designed.

Next, here's a cool pair of silver earrings. I've been eyeballing them for months and it's been a good while since I splurged on a fun pair of earrings. (Well, okay, the last pair I bought was in May, but who's paying attention?) These flowers were were scavenged from an antique shop, their original purpose unknown. The seller cut off the flimsy stems and turned them into stunning jewelry. 

If you know me at all, you know that I love to sew, but don't make nearly enough time for it. I'm a vintage-sheet GEEK. The colors and designs from the '60s and '70s are a visual joygasm for me and I have a small collection started. I LOVE those vintage color combinations: blue and brown, or burnt orange mixed with gold, avocado green, and brown.

Here's a clutch I purchased, and an example of a sheet I want real bad for my sheet collection. Vintage sheets are so soft and the designs so fun, they're perfect for any project where you need a lot of fabric. I like to use mine for yoga mat bags, or just for fun new pillowcases, and they'd be awesome for skirt-making. Most of my sheets come from GoodWill, so they're priced at under $10 (which, for how much fabric you get, is a real steal.)

When I own a house, I want this lamp. Real bad. Right now. I love lamp.

Recently, I was reading in one of my geeky DIY design mags about decorating with vintage paint-by-number paintings. If you're not familiar, paint-by-number is exactly what it sounds like. It has a distinct look to it, with simple lines and shading, and has also appeared on Apartment Therapy, a famous design blog. Naturally, I like nature scenes and spotted this gem that immediately got added to my Favorites.

The last thing on my list of vintage 'wants' is this tea towel. I love the citrus colors and theme. Something so simple can make a big impact in your kitchen (or framed on your wall).

I've been so used to shopping at thrift stores that I came to think that thrifted goods had to be shabby, flawed, and essentially someone else's unwanted thing. I've started to shift my focus more towards interesting vintage goods because, when you find some awesome thing buried under a pile of antique dust and must, it's really like finding a hidden treasure. I know it's only a thing, but I've always believed that if you surround yourself with beautiful things that make you happy just by being near them, it's not nearly as materialistic. (Bullshit? Maybe. But it relieves some of my guilt.) It's more about surrounding yourself with beauty, I guess. Maybe it's the repressed artist in me. I don't know why, but it just feels better to have thrifted nostaglia than something-I-bought-because-I-needed-one-but-wasn't-really-stoked-about-it. Vintage gets me stoked. About kitchen towels. And rusty tin shortening cans.

At any rate, I hope you've enjoyed my completely random thought for today. What kind of vintage things do you covet?

straightforward.

Nothing in life is more complicated than love. Nothing gives us more pleasure, more security, more memories, than love. Nothing helps us to sleep soundly so much as love. In the same way, nothing is so difficult to lose, so troublesome from which to separate, or so hard to decide. Love is, at its greatest, the fuel on which the machinery of life runs. At its worst, love brings everything else in life to a screaming halt. Clothes don't get washed, mail doesn't get into the box, food doesn't get bought. Distraction rules the day. Sometimes it's completely impossible to simply carry on. Sometimes physical symptoms appear once the emotional and mental strain has gone on long enough. Sometimes it is pure despair.

Other times it's liberating. Every now and then, when the sun peeks through the clamor of clouds, there is the future, only a stone's throw away. Keeping the future in mind is, naturally, the most difficult part of having a broken heart. If we could simply keep the future in mind, I don't think hearts could be broken. As it is, we are a species completely obsessed with the future: what to make for dinner tomorrow, the list of to-dos for next week, planning for babies and home-buyings. Strangely enough, when it comes to love, all future plannings stop. We can only be absorbed in the present. Although love it the greatest thing a two-legged can know, it's also the one great device of torture in this reality. It is the ultimate paradox, the black and white, the goodness and the evil. 

nesting.

There's a nest on our porch. It belongs to a mated pair of house finches.

I got on the tallest chair in the house and tried to peek in, but I was still too short. I know mom's spending time on it because when I open the front door she bolts, but I'm not sure there are eggs. 

Here's a poor photo of mom and dad. It's been raining for days and the white clouds in the background made the birds fairly dark, but you can still see that the male has a showy red head. 

Here's the male regurgitating or mock-regurgitating food into the female's mouth. It may sound gross to us, but it's an integral part of the courtship between the two. Males will also perform elaborate dances, flexing their wings and even hopping back and forth over the females. 

I sure hope eggs appear, followed by some baby finches. We'll see what happens.

rain.

I'm sitting in the gravel parking lot. Rain is pounding the roof of my car. I turn off the iPod, turn off the engine, and lean back into my seat. No one's in the parking lot - everyone's already inside. I close my eyes, and the splattering of the water just above my head puts me in a tent, camping, in the rain. Warm, inside of a sleeping bag, listening to the great emptiness that is actually the complete opposite of emptiness. I open my eyes, and heave a great sigh. Things are weighing heavy on my mind these days. I let my vision blur. The pines and sagebrush whip in the wind, and I'm at the coast. The gray clouds move back and forth, dissipating but pushing forward. I'm just beyond the water. Just over the dunes, just beyond the sand, I can hear the beach just below the rain on the roof of the car. I'd rather be either of those places right now than where I am. My chest rises and falls with another heavy breath. I'm in Central Oregon, and it's early June, and it's been pouring for weeks. Everyone's complaining. 

But I don't mind the rain. I sit there longer, listening, feeling the rain coming down. It may be the last time I get to hear it on my roof for three or four months. I soak it in like the earth soaks it in.

stupid may.

Today was in the 40s with wind, and some type of precipitation that involved some snow, some rain, some sleet (or hail, whichever), and a whole lot of grumpiness from the two-leggeds in Central Oregon. I mean, it's freaking May. The END of May. I know, I know - it's Central Oregon and if I didn't want to deal with Central Oregon weather I should have moved somewhere tropical.


Horsefeathers.


Last night I was watching this PBS special on hummingbirds and if you don't know already, they are absolutely my favorite animal of all time. Which is tough for a naturalist to say because, well, we like pretty much everything. Did you know that a hummingbird's heart can beat 1200 times per minute? PER MINUTE? And that hummingbirds can flap their wings more than 50 times per second? PER SECOND? They move their wings in a figure-8 pattern, which gifts them lift from both sides, allowing them to hover, fly backwards, and turn in a circle. At night, hummingbirds go into torpor, which means their bodies slow down - metabolism, heartrate, breathing - so they use very little energy. Even the bird's body temperature can drop to nearly match that of the ambient air temperature. Then, the next morning, the air warms and they wake up. 

I know for South American tribes, hummingbirds are warriors. They will aggressively defend their territories and combat each other in the air. Here in North America, they were symbols of joy, rain, and emotional healing. They were perceived as miracles because of their incredibly tiny bodies and fast movement. The Rufous Hummingbird, the most aggressive on this side of the country, will even go after songbirds, squirrels, and buzz humans. They're so tough, they'll even kick females off their flowers! 


I like to see hummingbirds as knowing what's important in life - they live for nectar, the sweetest juice on earth, and track the blooming of flowers like a cougar tracks a deer. They are incredibly fearless, and they are high energy, zooming about their business without even thinking of resting. Hummingbird-type people are doers, go-getters, and prioritize the important things in life, but they can burn out. 

I don't know if this picture is real, but the sizing is right. This is the Bee Hummingbird, the world's smallest, found in Cuba.

One day last summer I went into the Nature Center to prepare for an Owl Prowl, where we lead groups of half-interested tourists around to look for nocturnal animals. Only minutes before people began to arrive, I was walking by an outlet with a cord coming out of it. Sitting on the cord was a tiny, motionless hummingbird. It had been trapped in the building for hours, which can mean certain death for these creatures as their metabolism necessitates constant feeding. I grabbed her up in my hands and she gave no fight - just toppled over and lay there. I was horrified and rushed her outside to the feeders full of sugar water. I dipped my finger repeatedly in the water and moved it across her mouth, prying the delicate beak apart. It took a while, but eventually she started flicking her tongue in and out - hummingbird tongues are CLEAR! She started to come around, slurping sugar water out of my hand, until she was able to sit up. She kept drinking, slowly, and then, all of a sudden - bzzzzz! Off she went, just like that. She sat in a nearby tree until I was forced to leave to run the program, but you can bet your ass I just wanted to sit there and watch her until it was too dark to see. It was such an incredible experience, and I'll never know if I saved her life, but having the chance to connect with a hummingbird like that was something I hope I never forget.


I've been designing a hummingbird tattoo for my right arm, kind of a mix of Egyptian, Art Nouveau, and tribal styles. I don't know if I'll ever get the guts to GET it, but a girl can dream I guess. Until then, I'll just goo over hummingbirds at every opportunity.


Gee, I guess I really like hummingbirds.

things I did today.

Thing #1.

Okay, so I've just lied to you right off the bat. I actually planted this little herb-garden-in-training yesterday, but it felt stupid to say, "things I did today and yesterday." Anyway. Our first herb garden! Now I feel really domestic. Soon I'll be baking meat pies and whole turkeys with stuff crammed in them.

A triangular herb garden built out of scrap wood by a friend. 

Three types of basil, chives, and nasturtiums (edible flowers).

Thing #2.

Duct-taped my credit card up and shoved into a little-used drawer. (This may appear ridiculous but the last time I did it, I didn't use it for two months. Until I needed food.)

Thing #3.

Scored a sweet set of vintage (or, vintage-looking) drinking glasses.

All in all, a good day.