Sunday, March 25, 2007

Luck, or Reaping what is sown?

I have been assured that I am far too generous. That I am too kind, too naive, too gullible. That one day I will get myself hurt (I have been, but that won't stop me).

This may be the case. Certainly it appears to be accurate from certain points of view.

And yet, this is how I am. I have a generous spirit. I give when I can, where I can, when I perceive need. In one month I paid a scholarship to a workshop for someone who could not afford it, I paid for coffee for a woman who left her wallet at home, I asked a single-mom with a newborn what she needed most and got it for her, gave a friend with back-trouble a massage, paid for my niece's daycare so my sister could finish her nursing program, and gave freely of my time to an acquaintance who was having marital problems and needed an ear.

"That was very generous of you," commented a good friend of mine.

"Its only time and money. Its what I do with them that are important," I answered.

Besides. I do have a motive. Or maybe three. Giving, of myself or my resources, makes me aware of the abundance in my life. I am aware of my good fortune and try not to take it for granted. It makes me feel good, knowing I have been able to do something for another person. And lastly, and perhaps more importantly, I do so selfishly. I have this superstition that what I send out into the world comes back to me, perpetually. Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds, I feel, revisit themselves upon those who perpetuate them. I sow kindness and good intentions and in return, I know, I just know, that when I have a need I cannot meet myself, that somehow, someway, I will get what I need. Some call it luck, some call it karma. I say--good or bad--what comes your way often depends on what you send out into the world.

I cashed in on a few good-deeds this past weekend. I drove up The Mountain and when I left, I left my car and took the car that The Englishman had... it was being cranky. It was late, and it was some time before I realized that the car I'd traded mine for had a gas gauge on empty, and the nearest place for gas was 14 miles away on a winding, graded road. I had a twinge of anxiety but told myself I would make it. And I did. Only, when I arrived, the station was closed, and had been for 30 minutes. I noticed a clerk was still inside. I knocked on the door and he came to it, saying, We're closed. And I said, I noticed, and could he please tell me where the next station was, as I was on empty. And he told me 7 miles. And I asked him if he thought it would be open. He looked at his watch, looked at me, at my car. He said, No, not that late, and he must have seen the flash of panic on my face, because he offered to turn on the pumps and fill my tank. I thanked him profusely. When he finished filling the tank, I tried to give him some cash for him, for his time, for staying late, but he would not take it.

He was a good man, who did a kind and generous thing for a stranger late at night. I could have been a thief, but he took a chance, and helped me. I hope, one day, when he is in need, someone will help him, too. I know the next time I come across someone who needs my help, I will do so, and remember him.

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Saturday, March 24, 2007

Good morning

Morning. The world is still asleep. Silence. Its almost tangible. It lays over my ears like an amplifier. Every creak, every squirrel chitter, every bird twitter, is audible, even from inside.

It is moist outside. The air caresses my skin, masking my face in cool mist. So refreshing and invigorating. I'm years away from getting wrinkles in a climate like this.

Green. So many shades of green. The guest from England said we have more shades of green here even than in the British Isles. The daffodils and tulips are blooming. The bamboo is dangling diamond droplets from its leaves. The primroses are showing their colours, and my winter daphne is still blooming, sharing its scent with the breeze.

Coffee. Micro-roasted, the 'Fat Albert' blend. The scent is amazing, the taste as amazing as the scent, its flavour moderated with a dollop of heavy cream. Real cream.

Life. "Every day you wake up and then there's a new day," says a very dear friend. Ambivalence. Striving to enjoy the sensual immediacy of the moment--of every moment--even with the concerns of the day pressing, pressing, always pressing.

Deep breath. Scanning my body. Holding tension in my shoulders, my abdomen, my low back. Exhaling. Shoulders drop, hips shift. Better.

Altar. Lighting incense. Sitting zazen. A nod to Buddha, so sanguine and magnanimous. Om. A timeless moment of blankness, of purity. Better. Much better.

Good morning, world.

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Friday, March 23, 2007

The Mountain

Mount Hood. The dormant volcano that dominates Portland's eastern skyline. The skiing wasn't so good. Two weeks of unseasonably warm weather turned powder into ice. Ah well. It was gorgeous, all the same, and the guest from England got to experience the full weather gamut from dreary rain, to hail, to brilliant, clear, warm days. He flew home Wednesday.

I'm feeling a bit like that mountain this week. Cool, smooth exterior concealing the rough spots and the volcanic energy. Its been one of those weeks with bad news on almost all fronts personal and professional. My sister's condition is unstable--we are waiting on test results to find out if she has cancer. I somehow managed to make one of my best friends anxious and uncertain, which rocked the foundations of my support system; and my boss had a minor stroke and will be out indefinitely, and the head of a supporting department will be out for surgerry next week, so my workload has effectively doubled and may even triple until further notice.

The good news is that is streaming my audio stories. I uploaded Attention Please I and II and I expect Doc will have them on the site before the weekend is over. I've recorrded Check and Mate but want to finish editing it and recording the intro. I'm such a perfectionist--I need a recording studio.

The best news is that a friend is coming to town for the weekend. So once again, I'll be too preoccupied to do much writing or recording.

Not that I mind...


Saturday, March 17, 2007

The sounds of spring

I awakened this morning at a reasonable hour, having slept 45 minutes past my usual waking. Today is the fifth or sixth clear day in a row this week--something remarkable in the Pacific Northwest. Since I'm going up The Mountain today, I brewed coffee first thing, then stepped out into my patio to enjoy the beautiful morning. I was greeted by crisp, moist air that had my nipples standing as a wave of gooseflesh swept over me. Standing outside in a silk nightie in mid-March was a bit too spontaneous. I went back inside and grabbed a robe and camera, then dragged my mic and stand outside. You see, my back yard is a golf course, and the trees are in flower, and the birds and squirrels were chittering, and the fishermen were motoring down the river, and the wind chime was singing, punctuated by the lonely sound of a train whistle. And when the weather permits I am outside in the mornings, experiencing this. So I thought I would share it.

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Thursday, March 15, 2007

Who am I, if not all women?

Who am I,
if not all Women,
silkenvoiced and silkenfleshed?
A lotus-creature whose senses blossom,
unfolding toward annihilation of self,
abandoned to pleasure
and sun-gold enlightenment.
Oh Man, who am I
that you would pluck me like fruit from a vine?
Have you not learned Adam's lesson?
I am succulent and bittersweet, aye,
the apple of God's eye.
Oh Man, you should tremble at the thought
of possessing one such as me,
such as we,
we Women, all,
all of us the fruit you long to eat
whose flesh, numinous and divine,
once swallowed,
The all-seeing eye grows in Man's belly,
sightless and afire with desire to See.
Oh Man, you wish to bite into the apple of God's eye
to sow your seed in the furrow left by your teeth,
immortalized by progeny,
through me.
Plow as you will, oh Man,
this body is a temple
not a field.
Who am I
if not all Women?
Worship me
I suffered that you might live
now suffer Me.

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Life as a journey...

I'm not sure who to attribute this to, but I just came across it and I love it!
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body; but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in hand, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO-HOO what a ride!!!"


Wednesday, March 07, 2007


Being back home has been an adventure. Belated birthday wishes, gifts, and get-togethers. Company updates, new people to get on board, division VP in town. Finishing up some business arrangements with and Recording stories old and new. Picked up a guest from London at the airport. Whee! I'll make a real post later.