It's like a sampler pack of actual blogging.

I was watching this movie, part of which involves this group of folks hacking their way through a jungle. It's one of those romantic travel movies where some kid from the suburbs randomly falls into global adventures, and where it's never explained how he manages to pay to get from point A to point B or, you know, beer and food. This film was an alright example of the genre, which I have an incredible soft spot for. I sometimes feel like the older I get, the more boring my life becomes. I mean, most of my ridiculous stories involving crazy shenanigans come from damn near a decade ago.

Anyway. This film tweaked my Macchu Picchu lust something fierce, but also made me laugh at myself when they showed this kid wielding a machete all day on his first day, no gloves, no nothing. The color commentary voice in my head was all, "What? That guy would be crying 'cause of all his blisters." My next thought was, "Well, Follett, when have *you* hacked your way through a jungle? How do you know?" And then the one right after that was, "Well, except for that one day you worked as a Christmas Tree trimmer and spent all day hacking at pine trees with a machete, and were crying 'cause of all the blisters you got 'cause you didn't wear gloves."

After which I drove a 4x4 down a mudslide. True story! I was an idiot when I was younger.

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I've been off work for awhile, trying to recover from a nervous breakdown - specifically, a pretty fierce panic disorder. I tried to handle it in bits and bobs, and it just got to a point where I couldn't take it. The good news is that my treatment team (yeah, I have a team) is awesome, and things are improving, though not exactly "better," whatever that means. I'm down to an average of only one panic attack a week, which is a huge improvement. Of course, the idea is to get rid of the dang things entirely.

I comfort myself with the fact that the litany of bullshit that has landed on my doorstep over the past few years (both through my own jackass choices and through the blind nature of life being rough all over), when compressed into a twenty minute recap, has been shown to drop the jaws of professionals. So, you know, I guess I have some stuff to be legitimately stressed and depressed over.

I vacillate back and forth over whether to be really transparent about what I'm going through, in the hopes that it will help break down some of the ridiculous stigma associated with these kinds of mental health conditions (not to mention save me awkward explanations down the road)....or whether it's too much work to try to express my experience effectively. Plus, I always have a vague worry that I contribute nothing but whining to the internet...then again, what is the internet for? Besides porn, obviously.

I still haven't exactly decided one way or another....so in the meantime, I'm just posting what I feel like and that's that. I go to therapy, I do a lot of yoga, I read about anxiety disorders (self help books, woo hoo!). I play my guitar a whole bunch. It's been hard to write much, my brain has been so scrambled and restless....but that's starting to be easier again. I take naps, I take walks, and I spend a lot of time thinking and processing my feelings. Sometimes I have rough days where I can't talk to anyone or do anything without feeling like I'm the Universe's Emotional Punching Bag.

It seems like this much time off work ought to be more fun.

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I picked up Rob Brezsny's Pronoia the other day, for the first time in yonks. Since my wordy brain is starting to come back, I though it would be nice to try that book, as an alternative to the whole twelve-step way of doing things (and put a pin in *that* for later). I flipped to a section at random, and read:

Teach them the difference between oppressive self-control and liberating self-control. Awaken in them the power to do the half-right thing when it is impossible to do the totally right thing.

It was good to read that, and I am reminded how much I dig Brezsny. I totally recommend that book if you're of a spiritual bent, particularly if you like your reverence significantly irreverent.

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So, at my therapist's recommendation, I went to a handful of different Al-Anon meetings. (I know I'm blowing the Anon part by talking about it, but here's me not caring.) The short version is they didn't really work for me. And I'll tell you why!

I hadn't ever read the twelve steps before going to a meeting, and when I did, I was really shocked. I didn't love the religious overtones (especially when 3/4 of the meetings I went to were in churches), but I could actually handle the Higher Power bit alright.

It was the idea of powerlessness that rubbed my fur the wrong way. I mean, I've been powerless. I know what that is, and maybe it's one of my issues, but I am not interested in accepting that state of being in my life now. Sure, there are things I can't control, but that's different from being powerless to me. I don't always have a good choice or a comfortable choice or a convenient choice or a pleasant choice or a desired choice....but there's always a choice. I would rather put my energy into recognizing the choices I have made, making better ones where I can, and having compassion where I'm still making less-than-ideal choices.

I totally get why a lot of people really dig the Anon meetings. They're obviously a powerful tool for so many people....but I just couldn't dig it. So, as often happens in my weirdo life, I find a different way to get there. Good times.

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I've been learning a lot of covers in my time off (since I haven't been doing much writing). My favorite so far (and who knows if this will ever see an audience other than my cats) is Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" smooshed in between verses of Queen's "We Will Rock You." I don't know why I think those songs sound right together, but I do.

So far, the cats agree.

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I blew my health insurance deductible for the first time since I switched to a high deductible plan, lo these many years ago. Considering this year has put me through pneumonia, persistent back-related bullshit, and a nervous breakdown....it makes sense. Makes me grateful for the luxury of insurance. And wish for actual universal health care. Le sigh.

I cut my hair off. Like, more than usual. I will post some pictures at some point. Probably.

For anyone who's sent me a message or note of encouragement....I'm grateful, even if I haven't acknowledged it. I appreciate the thoughts, though I am pretty much total shit right now at dealing with anyone but my therapist. That will change, and - depending on whether I wind up on antidepressants in the long term or not - drinks are on me sometime over the holidays.

Thanks for being patient with the crazy girl, y'all.

Inconsequential Greatness: a Ramble.

"It wasn't exactly like I'd sold out on my life and dreams and all that other bullshit, because the truth was I'd never actually had anything to sell. It was more like I slowly froze in place...more like some part of me just fell asleep one day and never woke up."
- Elizabeth Hand, Waking the Moon

Things at work are pretty crazy at the moment, such that I'm actually mostly doing actual work most of the workweek. Surely this offense to the natural order of things will pass soon, and I can get back to reasonable amounts of multi-slacking and stuff...but in the meantime, there's a certain satisfaction in it, a kind of honest challenge and joy in problems solved.

Friday, I left the office just after 5:00 and walked around downtown. The air was warm, humid, poised on the edge of storm, but it was nice enough that the sidewalks were packed with people: office lackeys like me, in Friday casuals and flip flops, walking from store to store; kids of every stripe, wearing shorts and radiating energy, excited to be outside and warm, like it was the first time this year; families of tourists, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look at street signs, crumpled maps, and eventually passersby, in the hopes of finding someone who wasn't glaring and might be willing to give them directions. I stopped at a tea shop and read a few pages of my book while sipping a strawberry green tea concoction that was a refreshing counterpoint to the humidity and cigarette smoke and rushing.

I made my way home eventually, ignoring the creep on the train who asked me if I wanted a lollipop while staring at my tits, and walking the three quarters of a mile from the station to my apartment, slowly, as the sun set. I made dinner and ate while reading, then grabbed my guitar and held on to my hair as the music started pouring out of me.

I went to bed late, and woke up early, and went straight for the guitar and the notebook. I still liked what I'd written the night before, and was excited to tweak it a bit and run through it over and over until it felt right. I stopped to eat breakfast and get back to Sweeney Cassidy's story. I read all day, in between bursts of cleaning and unpacking and internet-ing and a walk around the neighborhood in the sunshine and a long phone call with my sister. After dinner, I fell asleep in front of the third Mummy movie, only to wake up later and rework an old set of lyrics from a notebook I unpacked earlier in the day.

I finished the book early this morning. After, I did some more housework and finished painting the den. I had a long conversation with my dad about politics and religion and overpopulation and genetic destiny and how much he doesn't like San Antonio. I made myself coffee and pancakes with lingonberries, and took an afternoon nap after fiddling with some more lyrics. I pulled off the painter's tape in the den and started pulling out stuff to hang on the walls.

Now I'm sitting on my couch in front of the open windows in my living room. Someone in my neighborhood is grilling steaks, and the smell of hot charcoal and seasoned beef is blowing in every now and then. It's cool, and twilit, and the sounds of traffic on the street outside don't bother me anymore. As I'm sitting here typing this up, there's a feeling in my gut like I've taken a breath for the first time in a long time, as if some tension I didn't even know I was holding has been released. I feel....content?

I'm not saying there isn't angst and whatnot still going on, for there surely is. I'm not saying that I'll be able to hold onto it, but for this moment, I just want to keep breathing deeply, keep feeling this satisfaction. I want to remember this peacefulness, this pleasure in the mundane details of a quiet weekend spent alone, at home. I haven't done anything spectacular or even particularly noteworthy....just eaten and slept and cleaned and read and made music. It still feels like an accomplishment to me.

When I was a little kid, Howard Carter was my hero. I aspired to do what he had done - make some revolutionary discovery, do something sensational that would change the world and put my name in history books. I wanted to be special like that, Destined For Greatness or something. It's not that there isn't part of me that still aspires to greatness, or holds out the possibility that maybe someday I might find myself a historical footnote.....it's more that the older I get, the more I believe that that kind of "greatness" has less to do with hard work or brilliance, and more to do with circumstantial advantages and pure chance. The kind of greatness I can count on is the kind I felt this weekend - the satisfaction of everyday tasks completed, of a comfortable home (or working towards one), of creative expression and good food and books and rest and sunshine. (And yes, I recognize how much that kind of greatness is tied to circumstantial advantages and pure chance, too, but that is a ramble for another time.)

Maybe it's complacent or even lazy...but honestly? It feels as close to happiness as I've been in awhile, and that's a nice enough feeling that I don't really give a damn.

A Love Letter.

I love my hands.

Now, generally speaking, I recognize that I have a thing for hands. I have been reading palms for over half my life. Hands are one of the body parts I tend to find super hot on a dude. I love watching a guitarist's hands while they play. I dig the idea of hands (and their delightful opposable thumbs) as one of the driving factors in human history. There's a certain romance to hands - they're such a basic way humanity interacts with the world around us. (The geek in me wants to call them the Original Interface Device.)

But even above this thing I have for hands, I really dig my hands specifically.

It's not just that I think they're attractive - though to be clear: I do! I like the shape of my fingers and my fingernails and the proportions and the ratio of palm-to-fingers and the texture of my skin and even the small mole on the back of my left hand that reminds me of a beauty mark. An ex once earned himself big gold stars by stumbling into my hand-related vanity and constantly raving about my fingers (and not just in a naughty way). Sure, they're big and strong and not small and dainty the way girl hands are supposed to be....but my hands are nonetheless pleasing to my eye.

More importantly, though, I love the gifts my hands give me every day.

They give me the feeling of a string meeting fretboard, plucks and strums and the edge of a pick hitting wound bronze, the sound of pen moving across paper to jot down lyrics and chords. They let me make music in any number of ways, and that's pretty damn awesome. My hands are a big part of how I enjoy the finish of my dining table and the faux fur duvet on my bed. They give me a lover's heartbeat and take away boring white walls. They help me play games and fiddle with tech gadgetry and assemble shelving and put my books in order.

They also bring me information - whether or not it's raining, whether or not the oranges have gone bad, not to mention the more intangible kinds of information they bring me via all this typing. Which reminds me - they're also a huge part of how I make a living.

My particular hands are not without their peccadilloes. Like many guitarists, I have obnoxious tendonitis - my brand is tied mostly to my thumbs, which I have to be careful about stretching and not overusing. I worry about carpal tunnel, too, since I do make a living at a keyboard. I have crackly knuckles and weak fingernails that break all the time, and that one finger that I jammed in a door in high school that's just never been the same.

They have some scars...they've borne their share of the ramifications of me being pretty klutzy, and two non-declawed cats who I insist on playing games with leave their marks, too. And of course, there are the guitar calluses and the bump on my right middle finger that holds my pen when I write. Character, I guess, is what I think my hands have, and the older I get the more of that I expect they'll develop. I'll probably have to be more conscious of stretching and taking breaks and using lotion and parraffin dips and all the care-taking I do in a half-assed way these days.

Today, though, as I was painting a second coat of paint on the wall of my den, and my tendonitis was firing a few warning shots across my bow, I was just thinking about how much I enjoy my hands, and how grateful I am for the gifts they give me. It's a privilege to have them, and not one I should take for granted.

Family news, plus SFSV: The Reboot.

Last week, shortly after I posted my glowy post-solstice happy post, my grandfather passed away.

On the one hand, this was not exactly out of the blue; he was in a car accident a year and a half ago that induced a stroke and left him needing twenty-four hour care. Sometimes he would be relatively lucid, but he was never the same, and I think even those family members who argued otherwise knew that it was only a matter of time. In some ways, his passing is a relief, freeing him from the purgatory of a nursing home.

My grandfather was...just this guy, you know? He worked at a factory until he retired, bowled in a league, drank beer, smoked until the doctors made him stop, played cribbage, hunted and fished. He and my grandma (technically my step-grandma) were kind of the "cool" grandparents - they had a hot tub in the sunroom, a motorcycle in the garage, and they travelled more than most of my relatives. He wasn't any great humanitarian, and I suspect he had a lot of regrets...but he was a good man, as these things go. He enjoyed his life.

His favorite insult, in jest or in seriousness, was "potlicker." Seriously. These are my people.

I didn't have to sing at the funeral (the church wanted, for some reason I don't understand, to pre-record the vocals and play them back with a live organist; needless to say, the singer was less than awesome and the song had zero punch....I could've made it a catharsis, but whatever, obvy the church dude knows best), which was okay with me, since doing so inevitably makes me ball like a baby after. Also, the preacher made sure to mention that the hymn was "a great song for Christians to sing," which had my sister whispering in my ear "yeah, no singing that one, pagan."

The preacher, as per usual in Christian funerals I have attended, attempted to use grief as a recruitment tool for the big team in the sky. I fucking hate having my loved one held hostage in heaven against my repentance. Why does so much of Christianity (as expressed by preachers in church, anyway) seem to hinge on fear and manipulation, when so much of what Christ espoused was based in love and tolerance and good works? I mean, do they cover that stuff when they're teaching the preachers, or is that touchy-feely crap only for the kiddies in Sunday school?

Anyway.

I am officially re-booting the SFSV plan, and going on a break. I am pushing back the recording process until the fall, I am going over my other upcoming obligations and considering which ones I'll maintain, and which ones I'll cancel or delay. If I could take a leave of absence from the office, I'd do that, too. Instead, I'm scaling back my expectations of myself, opening up space in my calendar to watch movies and wander along the lakeshore and get acupuncture and do nothing. I just can't handle trying to juggle much at the moment, and I'm tired of trying. Solstice weekend, with its surprise free time to enjoy the sunshine and indulge in fripperies, is more of what I need. As much as I want to get various projects done...right now the project I'm working on is not feeling like such shit.

Sunshine and darkness and time passing.

Okay. This week? We're going on a diet. All of us. But this is a diet of a different kind. We're going to regulate the habit of unhappiness. We will make the conscious decision to make the most of what we have and pine for nothing. No undefinable need or vague despair. Enough!!! If you don't like it, FIX IT. If you can't fix it, PLAN B it. If you like it and want more, RESPECT IT. Clean straight lines of living.
- The Mayer, via Twitter

I have been unhappy a lot lately. No matter how many blessings I have tried to consciously celebrate over the past six months or so, I just couldn't shake the doom and gloom that has hung over my head since my grandmother passed away in December. I couldn't ever seem to catch my breath and find the calm, still center of myself, the part that is solid as bedrock regardless of the shaking of the world around me. I'm not used to that happening very often...I tend to - even when I'm standing in the midst of a shitstorm - be able to handle it from that place of groundedness, so that even if life is crap, I still feel okay, like it will pass, like I can handle it and things will eventually get better. I got very scared this time around that I'd lost that light at the end of the tunnel, that tiny glimmer of optimism that somehow manages to survive in the cynicism and sarcasm that is my standard operating procedure even in the best of times. I worried that I was losing hope.

That's only happened to me once before, and it was a warning sign that I needed a huge shift in my life, that something essential was missing, that the core of my life wasn't right. That was the day I dropped out of college, jettisoned my plans to become an engineer, and embarked on the journey to become the weirdo pagan hippie freako musician I am these days. It scared me a lot to think that maybe I was standing on the cusp of another horribly painful transition like that. I like change, but ripping apart my expectations of myself, not to mention my concept of who I am and how I define my own self-worth? Yeah, I could do without something quite that big just now.

(Sometimes, when I type something like this up, I feel incredibly dark and twisty and obnoxious. I recognize how melodramatic and over-the-top it sounds, even while also feeling it's honesty and truth. Can I simultaneously take myself really seriously *and* laugh at my own pomposity?)

Anyway. Last weekend was the Summer Solstice (here in the Northern Hemisphere, anyway), and through a series of unexpected events, I wound up at loose ends. Two days of unplanned, empty, sprawling free time with nobody around (roomie was gone the whole weekend). Just me and myself and 48 hours of sunshine and blue sky. The longest day of the year, and incidentally one of those big ol' holidays us crazy pagans go nuts over.

I won't bore you with the gory details of what all I did with my free time (suffice to say it was awesome and I enjoyed the hell out of it), but during the whole time, there was an undercurrent of reflection and rumination about what exactly was making me unhappy. Some of it, I found, was shit I can't change or control; all I can do there is try to bear with it and breathe deeply and endure. Some of it was shit I choose not to change or control; dealing with this was a matter of examining my choices and deciding to change them, or to make peace with them. Some of it was shit that is absolutely within my ability to shift, but that I haven't...and here's where the work was for me. Why have I been pouting about this stuff, when all along I had the power to embrace it or reshape it or drop it like a fucking hot potato?

Well, you know, I'm human. Sometimes it all gets to be too much, and the system breaks down. While my life experience has taught me that I am lucky enough to live a life where there's nothing that I can't endure, overcome, or walk away from...some of that is easier said than done. Sometimes I don't handle it well, and I lose my center, and I flounder around like a fish out of water. Or a human being out of her depth and at her wit's end. And, sometimes, I have avoided looking at things I'm afraid of, and hampered my own forward progress.

This morning, I read The Mayer's tweets above, and nodded so emphatically I knocked an earbud right out of my ear. Yes! This is where I am. It took the longest, sunshiniest, most gorgeous day, plus hours of connecting with my gawky teenage nasturtiums and my tiny baby basils and my toddling thyme sproutlings and all the other beautiful greenbloods I've invited to live with me....to remind me of how happy I can be. I doubt I'm done with the darkness, but I have had a break, and something has changed. If only a little....still a little.

Linkage.

La vida has been sort of weird and upsy-downsy lately. Mercury retrograde probably isn't helping, but it's also just the nature of plans changing and, you know, life happening in unexpected ways. C'est la vie! (So, lessee, that's "life" in three languages so far, eh?) Anyway, I've been spending a lot of time navel-gazing and trying to spread my intellectual recognition of how fucking lucky I am into a visceral and experiential understanding. It's not as easy as it sounds, I am finding.

Meanwhile, yesterday yielded some interesting stuff that I found by turns inspiring, motivating, and soothing. Some of it was meandering into Millennium Park for lunch, only to stumble into Serendipity, a performance troupe featuring various seniors performing (the bits I saw, anyway) some ass-kicking Motown soul music. "Stand By Me" was haunting me yesterday (which, of course, makes me want ot pull it out and whip up a version myself).

Also, last night at pottery class, I think I maybe made some stuff that doesn't suck. Though, you know, we'll see. Still has to be fired and glazed. I'll take pictures if it isn't butt ugly.

Other things that caught my eye and imagination and set my heart aflutter yesterday:

** T. Thorn Coyle, a capital-T Teacher whose work isn't mine (but whose integrity, humanity, taste, and hair I admire nonetheless), writes about...well, a lot of stuff: paganism, how sex-positivity interacts with sex education and the sacred, integrity and authority and, well, just go read it (yes, all of it!): Clay Feet, part one, Clay Feet, part two, and Clay Feet, part three.

** A link at Shakesville led me to Playing for Change, an organization that brings together musicians from all over the world to promote peace. I don't know how I have managed not to hear about this before, but I am blown away. I watched all the online episodes, and downloaded the electronic version of the CD posthaste (though I will likely also pick up the combo CD/DVD to get the documentary part). It's inspiring, but it also makes me want to write more protest songs....which, as anybody who knows me knows, I am not great at.

** This article at New York magazine (tweeted by @fingertipsmusic) talks interestingly about attention, meditation, and the idea that our experience is composed of whatever we pay attention to. Money quote: "It’s possible that we’re evolving toward a new techno-cognitive nomadism, in which restlessness will be an advantage." I should be so lucky, 'cause I pretty much find my own restlessness to be an advantage for fuck all.

** The Freak Revolution was recently launched by my friend Kyeli and her partner Pace. I like a lot of the ideas they've talked about so far....though I'm not sure that it quite fits what I'm working with in general, or where I am right now. Having said that, totally worth checking out, just as one more way to shift away from the dominant (crap) paradigm!

....and thus concludes this friendly, neighborhood linkage. Happy weekend, y'all!

Compare & contrast.

Things attempting to damage my calm today:

* Woman in elevator at office asks if I'm in tomorrow; I'm confused as to why I wouldn't be. Takes me a minute to realize it's Good Friday, which I don't celebrate because I'm not a Christian, but people assume I'm Christian until/unless I tell them otherwise. Somehow I thought the black nail polish and dyed red hair would be enough to project a stereotype here! Maybe I should start wearing my pentacle to work? Or more tattoos....hmmm...

* Coming through the security doors on my floor of the building, I vaguely hear footsteps before the door closes behind me. A woman says, "Thanks" in total sarcastic mode. What, the eyes in the back of my head were supposed to let me know you wanted me to hold the door? 'Cause clearly you're able to speak....but weren't able to ask me to hold the door since you were, uh, BEHIND ME?

* This article pulled from the Sudan Tribune, talking about the dangers of colonialism inherent in so much charity related to African countries. Makes me question where the donations I've made to "Save Darfur" are really going. Sonuvabitch! But a good reminder to me to do the effin' research before sending money to anything. Intentions are important, but thorough knowledge doesn't hurt. Time to wade into learning more about Sudan, I think.

* E-mails from family members basically telling me I don't trust Yahweh enough and also am un-American for thinking taxes make a better society. Yes, taxes suck, but the alternative sucks worse. Also, stop trying to convince me to have faith in Jesus.

* Danny Glover speaks truth about the Obama administration and racism. A bummer, but also informative.


Things helping me hold on to sanity:

* Ellen Brown preaches to this choir about how banks are totally fucking evil. Maybe not in those words.

* The Mayer explains a fear exercise I love to hate.

* I have started a trend of reflexively un-friending or un-following or un-subscribing stuff that bugs me. I love Chicago Honey Co-op, for example, but yesterday, they were pimping out some article or program or something or other talking about "get off your fat ass and bike to work." Which, you know, just doesn't seem like it's gonna be anything but a bunch of "omg I'm so fat and lazy and disgusting, I need to bike - oh, and starve, too - my way to a socially acceptable body," and you know...I just don't feel like wading through that kinda bullshit just to hear about how the local honeybees are doing. Buh-bye! Ditto bloggers or Facebook friends who are dieting, proselytizing, selling something, or posting total nonsense. Someday I may crawl out of the echo chamber...or maybe not. For now, my brain really appreciates relaxing its tolerance muscles a little. I mean, they get enough exercise at the office, anyway.

* Elle posting at Shakesville about water. This is a beautiful, heartbreaking post.

* Speaking of really awesome posts that tear me up, there's this one from Beth at Fake Plastic Fish, one of my fave green blogs.

* This playlist:

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" - John Mayer
"I Got a Name" - Jim Croce
"Mr. Curiosity" - Jason Mraz
"A Case of You" - Jane Monheit covering Joni Mitchell
"The Part Where You Let Go" - Hem
"The Shape I Found You In" - Girlyman
"Running on Faith" - Eric Clapton
"Comfort You" - Denison Witmer covering Van Morrison
"One Good Year" - Slaid Cleaves
"I Drive Alone" - Esthero
"St. Peter" - David Ford
"Rootless Tree" - Damien Rice
"By Way of Sorrow" - Cry, Cry, Cry
"Heart of the Matter" - India.Arie covering Don Henley
"They Were Wrong" - Matthew Ryan
"Dear Chicago" - Ryan Adams
"She's Out of My Life" - Josh Groban covering Michael Jackson
"Mexico" - Kim Richey covering CAKE
"Say It To Me Now" - Glen Hansard
"31 Today" - Aimee Mann
"Spilt Milk" - Matt Duke
"Ain't No Love" - David Gray
"Gravity" - John Mayer

What happened that night...

The night started out with me standing under the horse statue on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Congress Parkway, discussing (at volume, 'cause I'm loud like that) the ridiculous anatomical correctness of the horse's nether regions, while an indie reporter behind me tried to conduct an interview about the historic nature of the evening's proceedings.

Hey, what's ground-breaking history without some obnoxious chick in the background yelling about horse cock?

After that, we shuffled through three different security checkpoints in waves of frantic (and generally polite) Obama supporters. Then through the metal detectors, into a sea of milling and standing people who were all buzzing with excitement over the expected results of the election. CNN was playing on the Jumbotron, Wolf Blitzer recounting results as polls started to close and numbers started trickling in. Projection after projection, broken up by discussion of the Democratic Revolution, or the Generational Shift in Politics, or other equally relevant features of the landscape in American Government. James Carville, oh, how I've missed ye! (He might be on CNN every night, for all I know....I don't have cable.)

I was pleased to see that when CNN cut to commercial, the Jumbotron went to a screensaver and music blared over the loudspeakers. I would've ranted at significant length if they'd run ads at this kind of rally. Phew!

A beachball popped up from somewhere and was batted around the park. When CNN showed the waiting crowd at the park, we all looked out for the cameras, and screamed like lunatics. Time passed; CNN called a few states for McCain - no surprises, and the huge crowd booed anyway.

Then, Wolf Blitzer announced that the polls were about to close in California. Obama, per CNN projections, was at 225 (I think), and the guy behind me says that we'd still need Florida even if California went blue. I turn to him and, using my advanced arithmetic skills, let him know that if Cali goes to Obama, it's over. A countdown clock flashes up on the Jumbotron, as CNN counts down to the last polls closing. The crowd chants along with the numbers.... five.... four... three.... two.... one.

The screen has some kind of explosion graphic, and giant letters scream "CNN PROJECTION: OBAMA WINS!" or something like that. I don't remember it precisely because my brain short-circuited and I was screaming - not yelling, not shouting, screaming at the top of my not inconsiderable lungs. I didn't stop for several minutes.

There were several minutes of excitement - CNN showed Oprah, various crowd reactions, and the iconic shot of Jesse Jackson. It reminded me of his presidential run in 1988, and how I had (at ten years old) much preferred him to Dukakis. I can only imagine how amazing that moment was for him, and I hope he recognizes how much his efforts have contributed to Obama's success now, and I hope he feels vindicated and appreciated and loved. 'Cause I love me some Jesse Jackson.

Then, they showed McCain's concession speech. I was by turns disgusted and encouraged. I saw glimpses in that speech of the man I used to respect, of the John McCain I considered an honorable enemy. I don't know that he'll ever get back my respect, but I hope he really can abandon the divisive rhetoric of the campaign and really get behind President Obama in making this country, and this world, a better place.

Shortly thereafter, they cut CNN and played a pre-recorded segment about the campaign, and how it was all about the people in the trenches and on the ground. The phrase "community organizer" flitted through my head several times. It was a lovely video....and then we got to listen to music for awhile, and stand around wondering what the lineup of speakers would be.

A roadie (do they call them that in politics?) came out and did the last of five or six soundchecks. He said, "Final soundcheck for the next president of the United States," and the crowd lost its collective shit. I cried for the first of many times.

A little while later, there was a prayer from a Reverend of some stripe. It was actually pretty open for a prayer, but one of these days, I'd like to see a truly inclusive blessing at a big political function; something that allows people of all faiths (and no faith) to support the sentiment of a benediction, without having to pay homage to Jesus.

A lovely woman came out and butchered the Star Spangled Banner. I know I'm biased, not only as a singer, but as someone who has sung this particular song for various events, messing up the national anthem happens - sometimes you forget a word, sometimes you mix up a line, it just happens. But. At the fucking victory rally for the next goddamned President of the nation for which the song is the anthem, maybe you sneak a crib sheet onto the fucking podeum so you can get the words right, hey?

And then......then....there he was. Michelle was there, and the girls, and it was the new first fucking family, and it was amazing. After a few minutes of unrepentant cheering, he spoke. I called my sister in Michigan, and put her on speaker so she could listen with me. We were both crying, and I was yelling every now and then, juggling the phone and my camera back and forth. The whole field (felt like the whole world) yelled "Yes we can!" right on cue as he recounted some history, reminding us just how far we've come as a nation...and reminding us obliquely how far we have yet to go.

As the ridiculous crowd left the park when he was done, people were crying and shouting and dancing and singing and carrying signs and celebrating. One dude was high-fiving everyone he met walking along Michigan Avenue. Near the Art Institute, someone had set up a boombox and people were dancing in a huge clump under the watchful eyes of sixty gajillion Chicago cops. Folks were hawking photos and buttons and shirts and towels (hoopy!) every ten steps. I walked slowly, enjoying the undeniable energy of excitement and hope and connection. People were smiling and laughing and dancing and cavorting and connecting, and it was glorious to behold.

At Lake Street, I turned and headed for the Red Line, where I waited for something like six trains before my claustrophobic ass found one non-crowded enough to get on. I rode next to a young white dude with blazing red hair, who was basically harassing a couple black college kids (who were totally handling him beautifully), somehow presuming some kind of connection based on the fact that he'd voted for Obama. When he eventually got off the train, the college kids had one of the most interesting discussions about race and identity politics and privelege that I've ever heard, and I wondered how much of that was because there were no white people talking.

A posse of cops greeted me on the el platform when I got off the train, and another blocked the street below. I'm not sure what to make of that, but I made it home finally.

I'm sure I'm leaving stuff out, but this is what I remember now. I wish I'd had more than a day to get used to the new camera....but I got some relatively decent shots, which you can see here.

I'm hopeful today, and hopeful that that feeling will last. I've been playing "Somewhere Different Now" by Girlyman today, and these lyrics are sticking with me:

Now I don't mind saying, I believe in the waiting
In the visions of grandeur, and the random encounter
I'm not on fire, not burned out
Just somewhere different now

Yeah.

Good things.

My sinuses have rebelled, and I am extracting snot by the bucketful out of my head. I am surrounded by the oh-so-sexy smell of monthol, and my nose could light the way for Santa. Also, apparently I'm glassy-eyed and pasty white (or more so than usual).

In short, I'm sickly, and so today I am writing about good things. I could use the reminder.

First off, I am going to see Girlyman next month. If you're not a fan of them already, and you dig awesome harmonies and alt-folk with bluegrass flavors and tasty lyrics - you should totally check out their stuff. (They're playing Schubas on October 12, in case you're interested.)

Next good thing on my list:



I love someecards!

Moving right along....I love the CTA. I know it's imperfect - I know it's inconsistent and always bogged down with some construction project or other - I know it's blatantly classist and racist, in terms of access and service and cleanliness. But, for all of that, it lets me live car free, and for that it has my love, much like mass transit the world over. (Or, in my case, the country over:)

Show off your mass transit usage at b3co.com!

Next good thing on my list? Tonight is the season premiere of Heroes! I'm not normally a schedule-my-life-around-TV kinda girl, but since I'm sickly anyway, plopping my hiney in front of the tube seems a reasonable way to spend my evening. Woo hoo!

And today's special good thing? A new "Target: Women" from the ass-kicking Sarah Haskins!

RNC Welcoming Committee Press Conference.

Just watch it.

...and part two.

...and part three.

Rambling about spirituality and politics.

So, as mentioned in the smartass description above and as some of you may be aware, I'm one of those crazy pagan witchy types. My particular brand of paganism, called Reclaiming, explicitly ties political activism to spiritual convictions (among other wonderful and awesome facets that I enjoy). That's why I try, as often as I can, to put my money where my mouth is on as many fronts as I possibly can - I try to make the world a better place, because I think it's the right thing to do.

This has less to do with my supposed devotion to some deity or other (though I am a devotee of one of the Norns), and the deity's supposed retaliation and/or reward for my good and/or bad behavior. It has more to do with the right thing being the right thing being the right thing - in any situation, regardless of potential carrots or sticks.

I don't need a spiritual framework to support me in doing what I consider the right thing...and I am not terribly turned on by a lot of the trappings of many spiritual practices. I have, at various points in my life, considered myself an atheist, and I have no problem acknowledging that my belief in Divinity is very likely to be nothing more than purely psychological construct created by my brain because it helps me lend meaning to the narrative of synaptic activity that makes up my consciousness. The evidence seems to stack up pretty strongly that way.

But, being comfy with paradox in general and my own proclivities for paradox in particular, I have no problem buying all that scientific stuff and simultaneously enjoying a healthy dose of woo. For example, I love participating in ecstatic ritual, I believe in various forms of faith healing, and I am a total divination junkie. It works for me. I can't explain why, and I sort of enjoy the unanswered question.

This whole train of thought was inspired by reading Starhawk's account of a ritual undertaken by activists and fellow witches in the Twin Cities, centered on the RNC actions taking place there. I've been carrying a lot of heartache over this whole travesty (maybe you noticed?), and reading the story of this ritual...I dunno, it just struck me right and made me think and maybe nudged me towards feeling a little less hopeless and helpless.

Some excerpts that hit home for me (just in case reading about freaky pagan ceremonies isn't your thang):

There’s a web of negative energy that has been covering this country, media webs that whisper to you day and night that you’re not good enough, not good looking enough, webs of scorn and judgment. And those webs get inside us.

If there’s a core belief in the Goddess religion, it’s this: that each of us is part of the web of life, and precious, bringing our own unique gifts to the world. We don’t ask people to believe in things, not even the Goddess who is simply our term for the great creative mystery that weaves the world. But we do ask people to believe in yourself, in your own deep work, in your sacred purpose. You are here for a reason.

Magic. Like so many things, it doesn’t work perfectly. But it works.

At the risk of fulfilling yet one more pagan cliche....so mote it be.

I am composed primarily of spleen.

So, my suck fatigue is ongoing, and my attempted media fast and bullshit vacation....well, it's harder to bury my head in sand than I expected it to be. Apparently my radar just doesn't like to go down without a fight. I keep stumbling into new things to get pissed about - like this "shocking" finding that - gasp! - body size isn't necessarily a good indicator of health, or this bullshit from the George W. "I Hate Animals and the Environment" Bush and his cronies, or this nonsense about corporations not paying taxes (Chuh. Big surprise there.), or this ridiculous jackholery where the Olympics told a seven year old girl she was too fat and ugly to be seen performing in their opening ceremony....and don't even get me started on the John Edwards affair thing.

Yeah, not really unplugged the way I want to be. I tried working my ass off (bathroom: painted! kitchen table: arrangements made! apartment: totally cleaned!), hacking my hair off, distracting myself with musical pursuits and good books, and letting myself get a little obsessive over a dude (which may or may not have been or indeed *be* productive)....yeah, none of that worked either. Le sigh.

This is all aggravated for me by various life circumstances that have inserted themselves into my head and reminded me that no matter how much work I do on myself, my history never leaves me. Shitty life circumstances can be ameliorated to some degree, but even the very best tools can only shift things so much. Sure, I can make choices that help, I can try to stop reactive behaviors, I can breathe and recognize the line dividing what I can and cannot change and have compassion for myself and the people around me....but that's cold comfort sometimes. I want my issues to come with an off switch, dammit.

Anyway, since I'm not having much luck keeping my head down, I've decided to shift from a Media Fast into a Bliss Blitz, a la Rob Brezsny:

In response to our culture's ever-rising levels of noise and frenzy, rites
of purification have become more popular. Many people now recognize
the value of taking periodic retreats. Withdrawing from their usual
compulsions, they go on fasts, avoid mass media, practice celibacy, or
even abstain from speaking. While we applaud cleansing ceremonies like
this, we recommend balancing them with periodic outbreaks of an equal
and opposite custom: the Bliss Blitz.

During this celebration, you tune out the numbing banality of the daily
grind. But instead of shrinking into asceticism, you indulge in uninhibited
explorations of joy, release, and expansion. Turning away from the mildly
stimulating distractions you seek out when you're bored or worried, you
become inexhaustibly resourceful as you search for unsurpassable sources
of cathartic pleasure. Try it for a day or a week: the Bliss Blitz.

This weekend, I am headed home to see the family, drink some beers, eat some pig, and spend some quality time (hopefully) in a hammock under an apple tree (please, weather gods, let the sun shine on me, and tell the bugs to go to hell, yeah?). When I get back, I plan to embrace indulgence in as many ways as possible: a trip to Lush, a mani-pedi excursion, a massage, a picnic dinner on a blanket to the tune of Holst's The Planets, maybe a trip to The Art Institute to see that Benin exhibit I've seen ads for, maybe I'll coat myself in DEET and brave the insect-filled insanity of the backyard (and potential rude assholes) and treat myself to a couple nights of playing music to the plants....we'll see. All I know is, if I can't turn off my awareness of the world's sucktasticness, then maybe I can turn up my awareness of the world's delightfulness.

Here's hoping.

Hitting a wall.

A lot of activists seem to be hitting a wall this week for some reason. I'm feeling it, too...when I look at the enormity of the injustices in the world, how close the planet is to total oblivion, and how little many people seem to give a damn....it's overwhelming. I get frustrated with what often feels like my own inability to shed the expectations of the culture I grew up in, and engage in more authentic, more sustainable daily habits - not to mention doing stuff beyond the everyday to try make the rest of the world a more equitable place. I forget sometimes, though, just how far outside the "norm" I already am, in many ways. There are plenty of people who consider me obnoxiously radical, even though I feel like there's so much more I could be doing.

That's the context in which I read David Korten's brilliant remarks to the Seattle Green Expo. While part of me thinks the Green Expos are still too driven by commerce and consumerism, I do think they're great baby steps to help spread green ideas and information. Korten's speech, however, was a breath of fresh air - it touched on things I believe but don't always articulate very well - particularly the idea of Empire. Some excerpts:

No more throwaway stuff. No more economic growth for the rich. Our priority must be to grow our well-being rather than our consumption. Invest in peace, education, and health care rather than war. Invest in compact communities rather than suburban sprawl. Invest in local economies and environmental rejuvenation rather than in shipping toys around the world and speculating in the global financial casino. Invest in sidewalks, bicycles, bicycle paths, and public transportation rather than cars and highways. Invest in education for living rather than advertising to get us to consume more. Here is the kicker. We must eliminate exactly those forms of non-essential production and consumption that our economic and political systems are designed to promote.

We might wonder how such injustice could happen in a world governed by democratically elected governments. The answer is simple and alarming. Our world is not governed by democratically elected governments. It is ruled by global financial institutions in the service of financial speculators who exchange trillions of dollars daily in search of instance unearned profits to increase the fortunes — and the power— of the richest people on the planet. They bring down governments that displease them, and buy and sell the largest corporations like commodities. By design and law the defining priority and obligation of these governing institutions is to generate financial profits to make rich people richer, in short to increase inequality in a world in desperate need of greater equity.

Absent the discussions that encouraged the sharing of their true stories, women whose experience failed to conform to the prevailing cultural story held themselves responsible for the failure. They assumed they were simply different, and thus in some way deficient. By breaking the silence to share their stories they ended their isolation and rose above self-doubt as they came to realize that they were in the very good company of a great many other wonderful women. Many then lent their voices to a growing chorus of women engaged in changing the cultural stories by which society had long defined women and their roles.

This bit here strikes me as particularly relevant to social justice movements...it's one reason why fat activism is so important to me, why it's important to share stories that break cultural assumptions about fat bodies and what it means to live in one. Most importantly, this idea of shifting the "failure" from the individual to the cultural construct that defined that failure in privileged terms that excluded the entirely valid experiences of many people.

One of the things Korten mentions is the Earth Charter, a fairly comprehensive statement of principles related to environmental, social, and economic justice that I like a great deal (although there was a spiritual/moral bent that I would want to shift to make more open to those who follow no spiritual path). It's a little more extensive than the Reclaiming Principles of Unity, but covers a lot of the same ground (although minus the witchy framework). In looking over the people involved with creating the Charter and maintaining its propagation in the world, I see a lot of diversity, but also a lot of powerful people; I'm not entirely certain the egalitarianism I find inherent in the values is also present in the actual operation....but then again, there's a whole thing about decentralized expansion - which breaks down hierarchies....so maybe it's more like Reclaiming than not.

Ahem. Anyway.

Sometimes I worry that I am not doing enough. I have no doubt there's more I can be doing everyday to live within my values.....but I also think it's important to recognize how much I'm already doing. Sure, for every radical action (like, say, catching graywater when I'm washing dishes and using it to water the plants - or growing some of my own food in an urban environment - or daring to be fat and not hate myself), there are multiple not-so-radical, not-so-awesome actions (like dying my hair with horrible chemicals - or sometimes getting frou-frou coffee from Starbucks - or buying a new pair of shoes when I have forty pairs at home already). I work a corporate job, and don't own a car. I use laundry detergent made by Proctor & Gamble, but biodegradable dish soap.

It's a process, working towards a sustainable life. I'm not yet ready to give away everything I own, wear sack-cloth, and sleep on a straw pallet....or pull myself entirely out of the capitalist world in which I was born. I add a little bit every day. I come closer every moment. I am compassionate for the times I don't do as well as I'd like, succumbing to convenience and privilege. I try again.

In summary, from Mr. Korten:

In everything you do, share the story of our human possibility and of our right and responsibility to create for ourselves and for future generations, the world of our shared dream. Our distinctive human capacity for reflection and intentional choice carries a corresponding moral responsibility to care for our Mother Earth and for one another. We must now test the limits of the individual and collective creative potential of our species as we strive to become the change we seek.

Tuesday Ruminations.

I think it is human nature to separate the micro and the macro into nice, cozy separate boxes. I think the blurry lines between individual choices and the inextricably connected Big Picture are frightening on some insitinctual level - it challenges whatever it is in human brains (or maybe just ones bathed in capitalism and patriarchy and Western culture?) that individuates and helps us prioritize the survival of our genes over the survival of those *other* genes that are NOT ours. I think about this kind of paradox a great deal, which is why I feel like I spend a lot of time walking the razor-thin line between, er, "normal" (for lack of a better term) and some kind of Peak Experience. I see this dynamic in religion (a sort-of-like-a-human God v. the entirety of creation and uncreation being one seamless whole living being in all its diverse parts), in politics (individual freedom v. peaceful coexistence), in activism (my individual actions v. the faceless and overwhelming status quo), etc., etc., etc.

I think it's hard for one brain to comprehend the endless complications of even the most seemingly simple idea. A cup of coffee isn't just a cup of coffee - it's a product of an ancient process with millenia of history and context, with impact based on where and how it was grown and harvested and shipped and processed and transported and prepared and how I choose to drink it, not to mention the various social and cultural and economic and environmental factors for all the people involved in all those processes...and then there's the effect it has on my body when I drink it, the cultural implications of drinking coffee, how it affects my appearance and status and how the way I choose to drink that coffee reflects my personality and my lifestyle, the effects on my immediate environment and possibly the regional environment...but even holding an awareness of all those layers of complication, I have trouble not just focusing on the cup of coffee. I can only hold so much thought at one time, and I haven't yet progressed in my enlightenment enough to truly sip coffee with a full awareness of the vast network of inter-related factors tied to this two second moment of my life.

And therein lies, in my opinion, the central challenge humanity wrestles with as a species. Self. Universe. And the mushy middle between, where most of life fits.

I stumbled aboard this train of thought this morning while reading this piece. The writer talks about the idea of food activism and individual choices being a somehow more manageable alternative to massive environmental problems, like global warming or soil contamination or polluted water or deforestation or toxic chemicals in everything. It's an interesting way of looking at the environmental movement as it's become more and more mainstream over the past few years; I find it particularly interesting the way so much activism (especially the kind I hear about in the media) has shifted from nuclear protests and people chaining themselves to redwoods and laying in front of bulldozers....to more capitalist measures - conscious consumerism, as it were. That's a really noteworthy (and sort of disturbing) shift, and it brings up the idea of individual choice in a context of severely harmful systems of being.

((My inner conspiracy theorist says: How much of a shift from groups challenging systems, to individuals changing how they consume...how much of that shift is a total red herring?))

This theme popped up again for me, in reading the comments on this piece from The Guardian. As always with any story about fat people, there was a lot of "just eat less, and move more" (with various levels of courtesy or coherency) and also plenty of "get rid of your cars and bike everywhere" (not to mention "people just need to learn how to eat healthy" - which makes me wonder, what the fuck rock do people think these alleged ignorant people are living under that they don't know how to "eat healthy"? Seriously, I can't crack a newspaper, flip on a TV, listen to a radio, or surf the internet - or have a conversation with most of my friends and family - without having seventeen opinions about what "healthy eating" means shoved right down my throat! If anyone doesn't know how to eat healthy, it's because the only person they ever talk to is painted on a volleyball...) (/end rant). The premise of the article, though, was that there are systemic issues at work, not just individual choices...that food "choices" are less free than people want to think, that economic realities and various other cultural factors have an effect on fatness. Interestingly enough, the bugaboo of fatness leading to a decrease in life expectancy didn't come up in this article (via Common Dreams), which talked about how life expectancy has gone down, but mostly for poor people with little access to proper healthcare...which again begs the question: is it the individual, or is it the bigger picture? Magic Eight Ball says: Answer Not Clear.

I have said before (in answer to many, many questions) that "It's Not That Simple," and I always mean it. It's been my experience that very little in life is ever simple - and if it appears so, there's likely more to it than what's visible. The personal is political, the part affects the whole, as above - so below, all different ways of saying the same thing: what is done in this moment matters, and cannot be disconnected from what was done in the preceding moment or what will be done in the moment following. When we're talking about fighting presidential secrecy, that won't just be done by my writing to the White House and telling the President I think he's an asshole for legislating from the Oval Office and pissing on the Constitution - it will probably also take massive systemic change coming from Congress and broader, collective efforts to reestablish the checks and balances that separate a representative democracy from a fascist oligarchy. When we're talking about ending racism and sexism and sizism and ableism and looksism and other kinds of outdated (and yet, sadly, still present and active and pervasive) discrimination, it can't just be done by calling out some jerk for shitty comments at a press conference...it will probably also take a complete and total reframing of our cultural understanding of gender and race and ethnicity and all the other visible (and not visible) characteristics that mark the tremendous diversity of the human race. Saving the planet won't just happen because I buy local, organic food...it will take global reductions in greenhouse gas emissions, massive shifts in food and transportation systems, and an overhaul of what "lifestyle" means in a world on the brink of breakdown.

I recognize that I have some pretty radical ideas, in general. I sometimes want to give away everything I own and go walkabout in a veggie-powered RV, fer chrissakes (holy cows, I'm not the only one!). A lot of that has to do with wanting to distance myself from People. You know, Them. They are stupid and ignorant and different and intolerant and judgmental and whatever other adjectives apply. They are faceless and there are way more of Them than there ever are of Us. Part of my desire to go a-wand'ring is tied to my chronic boho hiraeth, but it's also part of how I manifest my own personal need to draw a line around myself and clarify that I Am Not Them. I separate myself from the Whole, because it makes it easier for me to simplify the messy chaos of life - it makes it harder for me to get hamstrung by the heartbreak that would inevitably haunt me if I really could see the impact of every moment I am alive.

But the harder I work to become more aware of my impacts on the world around me, the more I recognize that that line between me and the world around me is a creation in my head and doesn't really exist. And there has to be a way to apply this concept to all the systemic injustice and degradation in the world. I'm still working on that.

Neither afraid, nor petrified.

The other day, I read this little gem from the ever-brilliant Paul Campos, and even through the fog of ooky spring snot-fest, a little ray of sunshine landed on my brain.

One of the things that turns my stomach most about mainstream Western media is the way it shamelessly uses fear to manipulate people, again and again, with regard to just about every aspect of life. It's there in advertising using fear of social rejection or inadequacy or loneliness or whatever to sell useless shit and take people's money, and newsmedia on both local and national platforms using fear of mercury in CFLs (or drugs in tap water or LSD-laced stickers being handed out on the playground) to drum up good ratings, and our disgusting government using xenophobia and fear of the Other to invade other countries and kill people of all nationalities the world over.

Fear is a useful thing, an instinct that has evolved over millennia to protect us from danger. Recently, I faced off in my shower against a spider. Now, intellectually, I know that a spider with a two inch diameter does not pose a life-threatening risk to me. I know that, even though I am naked in a shower, this tiny creature is unlikely to really hurt me, even if it did, for some unknown reason, try to attack me instead of running away. I know that it is really a long shot that it's got the ability to do more than maybe give me a slightly scratchy bite. But tell that to my limbic system, which is convinced it is filled with deadly venom and bent on injecting it into me through every single pore. What sucked is that, instead of letting the little guy be on his merry way, in peaceful non-bug-killing coexistence, my body auto-reacted and splashed him with water until he crumbled into a ball of legs....because I knee-jerk reacted purely out of fear-based instinct.

Not what I would choose consciously to do, and yet what I did anyway. Shows the power of reacting out of fear, doesn't it?

And this is the same powerful instinct that our fucking shameless leader taps into everytime he makes veiled references to mushroom clouds over Middle America. He juxtaposes "nuc-u-ler" weapons and picket fences because that imagery incites the same kind of violent reaction I had to a spider in the shower - the kind of thing that seems perfectly natural when my heart is pumping 75,000 beats a second....but seems kinda silly once the rest of my brain comes back on line. In the grand scheme of things, the loss of a spider - while regrettable - is a much less horriffic knee-jerk reaction than a worldwide corporate-sponsored killing spree. I keep wondering when our collective consciousness will come back on line and stop letting the collective hindbrain run the show.

Over the course of my life, I have had more than enough experience with real, live, actual fear to want to take on imaginary fear just for shits and giggles. (Plus, seeing "Jaws" at age eight left me with a paralyzing fear of sharks that, to this day, wreaks havoc on my love of swimming.) I learned very young that real fear (as opposed to the manufactured kind) is a warning to be heeded - a precursor to pain or suffering of some sort. Sometimes, the pain or suffering can be endured...but recognizing fear and using it as a tool to possibly avoid the pain or suffering...yeah, that's kind of the point, isn't it? Fear is logical - it's an advanced, instinctual application of cause and effect - and it has a long memory.

I have learned how to deal with fear, how to take necessary action even when afraid....because I don't think there's a better choice. The times fear has paralyzed me, I've always regretted what happened - whether it was taking abuse instead of fighting back, staying in a crap job because I feared change, not sharing my feelings for fear of rejection, or even just staying in bed until my bladder was ready to burst because I was scared of the dark. Those kinds of experiences have taught me that not only is fear a useful motivator, but being afraid doesn't remotely prohibit taking action. In fact, taking action is often exactly the thing needed to change circumstances and relieve fears altogether.

All that said, though, I don't actually like being afraid. If I have to deal with it, sure, but I don't seek it out, and I sure as hell don't appreciate anybody trying to make me afraid. It has taken me a lifetime to learn how to put fear in its proper perspective (and by no means do I have it totally down) - i.e., something to take account of but not let rule my actions - and for someone to try to induce fear to manipulate me? To give me a false choice so I'll knee-jerk buy a load of horseshit, and give over whatever some jackass was pitching me? That pisses me off like nobody's business.

So, I say bring it on, world. Let the marketers try to tell me no one will ever love me until I buy their shit; I call bullshit, and I pick and choose what I spend my money and time on, how I represent myself to the rest of the world, and what I want to support with my energy. Let the fear-mongering governments try to tell me that militant Islamic fundamentalists are coming to blow me up in my sleep; I call bullshit, and I put my time and money and energy into creating more peace and understanding out in the world and righting some of the wrongs that sort of fear-mongering fosters. (Also, I pretty much disregard any claims made by fundamentalists of any stripe....the world is too complex for anybody to be so totally Right.) Let the media sell fear after fear after fear, trying to make me dependent on their noise machines for the latest danger to get my knickers in a twist over; I call bullshit, and I refuse to stop living joyously and boldly and openly because I might get sick or taken advantage of or maybe someday die - that will probably all happen anyway, whether or not I'm afraid of it. I choose not to fear it.

I have two completely irrational, full-body fears that I wrestle with regularly: enclosed spaces and sharks. Any other fear is a red herring, and I refuse to let red herrings run my life and make my choices.

Gratitude.

Today, I am grateful.

This morning, I walked from my apartment to the train, slowly. I breathed deeply of air blown in fresh from Lake Michigan. The sun, just rising over the trees and buildings, caught in my eyes and brought a few tears even through my sunglasses. My stomach was contentedly full of fruit (strawberries from Texas; soon they'll be local!) and granola (organic! no corn products!) and yogurt (organic! no artifical sweeteners or HFCS!)...because I am lucky enough to have riches enough to buy groceries and eat more than one meal a day. As I walked, I chatted amiably with a friend...because I am blessed with abundant social connections, and can afford technology like a cell phone that makes communicating with them convenient.

I am grateful for a body able to amble along the sidewalk, noticing the green buds on tree branches that herald spring, feeling the wind on my legs, hearing the birds gossip about the squirrels.

I rode the train to my job, which is a precious thing in an economic downturn like we're going through these days. It's also the thing that affords me the ability to live in maybe the nicest apartment I've ever inhabited in my entire life, the luxuries I enjoy daily, the ability to make picky food choices and grow my own food and play music when I like (both on my guitar and on my mp3 player) and support two ridiculously spoiled domesticated animals and check my e-mail on my laptop whenever I like. I would like someday to be grateful for living in a world where my job was growing my own food and making my clothes and buliding my own shelter and filling it with useful objects I built myself instead of ones mass produced by underpaid factory workers a world away from me...but for now, I choose to gratefully acknowledge that I am able to support myself in the wage slavery-based system that now exists....while I build up the resources and skills to change that fact.

As I rode the train downtown, I looked at my fellow riders and realized once more that I live in a city filled with diversity. Someday, I hope to better understand more of the stories of the people I share this beautiful city with, and I hope that the world shifts so those stories will be told with justice and true equality. For now, I am happy that I have access to education and humility, such that seeing the patchwork quilt of diversity around me doesn't leave me fearful or digusted or confused - but awed and open and hopeful.

I am grateful to be aware of my own participation in the systems of oppression that leave so many people without basic rights and needs. I hope to become better able to recognize that, and make more just choices, and make space for other voices to be heard, and use the gifts I have to help others.

As I ate my lunch (chicken teriyaki with rice and veggies), I delighted in the fact that I know how to eat rice with chopsticks - not only that I am blessed with the manual dexterity and the luck to have someone teach me how, but also that the world's cultures have shared so much with each other that someone who's never been to China can know of and try out a custom so far outside my own cultural experience...and may practice it with gratitude and recognition. I flipped over the bottle of schmancy flavored water I was drinking (I'm still working on finding the right alternative to individually bottled drinks...suggestions?), I was greeted with a "1" recycling symbol, and one less plastic bottle went into the trash.

I am grateful for being able to meet my basic needs (in more sustainable ways every day!), for living in a world filled with amazing history and geography and a wealth of new horizons for me to explore respectfully. I am grateful for an open mind and to have been blessed with the skills of learning. I am grateful for the internet's wealth of information, and the means to access it.

I am grateful for the smile I shared with a woman getting on the elevator today - when we were both trying to be more courteous and let the other person go first. I am grateful for the considerate el rider who avoided stomping on my toes when the train lurched a little more roughly than usual. I am grateful for the soil and seeds and water waiting to be planted at home, and the bounty of earth and sunshine and rain that allows me to put less money into the corporate agricultural complex and all of the atrocities it supports. I am grateful to be alive, now, in this perfect moment, and for all the bazillions of things that happen every day - in my sight and beyond it - that enable me to continue living gratefully.

Today, I am grateful. Happy Earth Day!

Rob Freakin' Brezsny!

I first encountered Rob Brezsny through his Free Will Astrology column, which I stumbled across in NewCity. I always dug his horoscopes, finding them compelling in a way that had nothing to do with astrology as I understand it. Of course, love and understanding do not have a consistent relationship in my life....so I loved Free Will Astrology without any understanding. A while back, I was wandering around the internets and somehow managed to come across mention of Rob's book, "Pronoia is the Antidote to Paranoia." I was intrigued by the description on Amazon, added it to my wishlist, and bought it a couple weeks ago. I started reading it during last week's funk. Here is what I found:

I fucking LOVE Rob Brezsny.

No, seriously. Some of what he has to say is just....pulled right out of my head. There's an urgency and an optimism that resonates with me on so many levels - and I don't mean that Suzy Sunshine dimple-ridden child-like innocent optimism that makes me want to paint something black....I mean a full-body grown-up gritty optimism that has some meat on its bones and some experience under its belt. I love the way this man assembles words, too - jumbling together paradoxical ideas in a way that might seem nonsensical if I didn't understand, in the nucleus of my every atom, what he meant. It's brilliant and transcendant, and I love it.

Some excerpts:

In the New World, you'll be a fascinating enigma worthy of a best-selling unauthorized biography and I'll be an inscrutable genius whose ebery move is packed with symbolic meaning - and vice versa. That will be the law in the New World - far different from the Old World, where schadenfreud is epidemic and your distinctive flair is supposed to make me feel worshipful or diminished.

Yes. Hell fucking yes.

I am in a tiny minority in my belief that evil is a fucking bore. But how dare Udo Kier, or for that matter Dan Rather and Stephen King and Eminem and Ridley Scott and the editors of the New York Times - how dare they proceed on the assumption that 'good has a limit' and that 'good isn't as interesting' when there are so few smart artists and thinkers who are brave and resourceful enough to explore the frontiers of beauty and truth and joy and compassion?!

Ditto. I run into this again and again in life, even from people who purport to be working for a "better" world...yet they focus so much on the heartbreak and misery, without ever acknowledging how fucking hard it is to find the sunshine in this world's hellacious cloud cover.

Demand equal time for new about integrity and joy and beauty and pleasure and renewal and harmony and love. In your personal life, be alert for stories that tend to provide evidence for the fact that all of creation is conspiring to give us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it.

I swear to gods, practically these very words have come out of my mouth before.

And so...if you reject a lot of the bullshit out there, and are looking for something capital-T True...I recommend Pronoia.