When people walk out of their bodies and into the formless realm, they take everything with them but the literal baggage they leave behind…
their body, the constrictions that become embedded within them in the cycle of birth sickness aging… on the way to dying… Sometimes some intergenerational wealth, but money—no matter how much—never replaces presence. In death, the weight lifts, and the body begins to decompose.
Many crashes haunt the Marshal islands, where the wrecks still lie. People Native to everywhere have been inflicted with US military invasion of land and culture for all of its decades. And apparently, some of the DNA in my being haunts that lagoon…
When I was a little girl, I had a lot of my Dad’s favorite songs. Now when I listen to them, I see how those songs, in many ways, shaped my path. How could they not right? They soundtracked my being, from gestation forward. And in the case of the last song… backward. I hope you enjoy them, and this uniquely Intimate storytime…
There’s a bird singing across the sunglistened crispy snow… sounds a bit like spring, but we know that’s quite far Continue reading
This summer, me and the Woodstock Festival turn fifty. And as the world rubbernecks between looking back and looking forward, the next generation of badasses are calling us to look ahead. Sure… peek backwards to collect some of the lessons we’ve been asked to learn, and perhaps one day we will learn them. Or maybe not… But if we don’t look ahead and protect their futures… we will miss the opportunity again.
I was born as the sun cleared the crest of the horizon… The morning dew kissing the ground as it Continue reading
You can tell which houses the families still live in… the others are growing in number…
Standing cold, temperature set around 50°, water drained from copper veins, Some heavy with the lead that remains…
The two leggeds called to the Ancestors tonite… Those who prayed we’d come awake.
Songs from within the womb gave way to the crescent moon—dancing with the light of Venus
Palace of Muse 