Bicycles & Beansprouts

I am officially allowed to sing and play the blues now.

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 02:20:00 +0000

For my friends, family, and readers who cannot and will not understand or try to understand why I have been doing some of the radical things I have been doing lately, such as being arrested deliberately, please know that for many years, once upon a time, I saw things from your side. Probably even held a a staunchly more conservative view than you can imagine. Until recently, I have always followed the letter of the law in my activism, such as signing petitions and merely marching in rallies. I have done things the way the law tells me I must, but nothing ever changed. It never gets any better. It only gets worse and the lies from above get bigger and more outlandish as more and more go without the hard-earned dollars they should be getting a lot more of than they do.

And now people who lie across railroad tracks may potentially be considered terrorists because they are trying to save the planet from the corporate "people" who are raping the planet of its valuable, non-renewable resources, creating pollution on a scale never seen before, manipulating the government and the economy...egads, where does it have to end before people will stop scratching their heads and wondering what I'm taking against a stand against...and why. And for whom. I love you ladles and jellyspoons, and wish I could tell you how it feels the moment you realize you are willing to put yourself at great risk for something to change for the good. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I'm doing it because I believe someone has to. May as well be me. Don't support my cause, that's fine. Don't support me if you don't choose to, and that's fine, too. But please don't tell me I'm an idiot for doing something that you've never done, especially considering the conscious reasons I'm making these decisions. If you don't understand it from my perspective, it does not make it stupid. It only makes it a wrong choice for you. A right choice for me. Not wrong for either...just different.

This isn't open for discussion; I simply wanted a place to air how I feel. Yes, I'm proud to have been arrested, and I think you would be, too, if you were in my shoes, but bigger than my pride is my sorrow for the lessons I learned in jail...that our country dropped the ball on seeing to the wellbeing of its citizens' children. As a former foster parent, I got to see where my foster kids end up: like the 21-year old mother of two who has been in this jail 11 times this year. Where did we go wrong, America? What do I do to fix it? I might not get it right, but at least I'm trying. Radical Altruism. Because Greed, Corruption, and War don't work. Peaceful action might. It's hella cheaper than funding a pre-spun war overseas, too. All we want are some warm blankets and a cuppa or a bowl of hot soup (I've been craving a hearty vegetarian leek and potato soup for weeks) while we hang out together and try to change things. As my original sign reads..."Please pardon our peaceful chaos as we reboot our country's operating system". There's bound to be some inconvenience, just like when there's a detour when the road is being fixed. It's a bother, but in the end, the smooth surface makes the traveling so much nicer.

I will be telling my jail story soon. I'm still decompressing and digesting. I'm glad I did it. It was enlightening. I've grown.

Wishing each of you and yours the very brightest blessings of the holiday season. Namaste'.

Day 30...melancholia sets in

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 19:35:00 +0000

Being a revolutionary is hard work. It's even harder when you've slept 29 out of 30 nights in a tent in the rain, wind, or cold (or worse, a combination of all three). Have you ever camped out for a month? If so, you might realize how difficult it is to keep a clean camp, especially if you have kitchen facilities and different people coming and going all day. At the mo, I am sulking because I am not happy with the condition of the camp and am a bit embarrassed to play tour guide for curious passersby. With the setbacks we've had from the weather, especially the 60+ mph gusts of wind, our camp has seen better days in the month that it has been established in a park next to Bellingham Bay. Half of our tents are gone. Our community tent isn't adequate, requiring that it be lowered every time the winds come up (and sometimes requiring a harried run after items blowing away at two o'clock in the morning). We have no routine for making the tent weather-proof, so every time we have to adjust it for windage, the fodder in the tent (snacks, miscellaneous dishes, papers, blankets, and other stuphs) keeps getting moved around, misplaced, relocated, moved to off-site storage, thrown away, or just plain lost. We've been talking (and talking and talking) about acquiring a new structure, but so far, it's just that...talk.

Frankly, I'm a bit jaded and wonder if we'll just fall apart from lack of motivation in a leaderless movement. I'm awaiting [in abundantly grateful mode] the delivery of a small yurt (six feet in diameter, not the one pictured that is a traditional Mongolian yurt, or ger) that a friend has told me I can have; it needs repair, but I'm confident that I can make it work. This will give me a bit more room than my considerably wee tent (my sleeping bag lies diagonally so that it will fit inside). You'd be surprised how much I will appreciate that little bit of extra wiggle room. It's my hope that, when the rest of the camp sees how functional and weather-resistant a yurt can be, they'll think about helping me to build a bigger one to use as our communal space.

I'm certain that I can create this common area, used for our General Assemblies and "living room" when we're not working for the movement or shivering against the cold in our residential tents. I won't say that I've met resistance on erecting a bigger yurt, but I've deferred to the others in camp who seem to think that a structure using scaffolding as a foundation will serve better than a yurt. However comma...it's been over a week that we've been discussing this shelter, and to my knowledge, we're no closer to acquiring it than we were when it was first discussed. In the meantime, I've researched the materials necessary and checked various resources for availability of inexpensive, used components (slats or rods for the lattice wall, supports for the central ring that can be made of PVC pipe, tarps and thrift-store or donated blankets for the roof and outer walls). It won't be the quality of the yurts made by my friends or manufactured kits you can purchase, but in my humble opinion, it would serve better than the wall-less awning type of tent we currently have; the tarp walls we haphazardly hang from the sides to keep us a bit warmer do absolutely nothing to increase its stability in the wind. Yes, I'd be happier to have a yurt than a scaffolded tarp castle, but if this castle would just get built, I'd shut up about the yurt. I know I sound like a broken record, but someone has to keep harping about getting something done, else nothing will ever get done, will it? And after 30 days of camping in adverse conditions, it's getting easier to harp about things that just aren't getting done. Once a mom, always a mom.

I'm currently awaiting moving into a flat here in Bellingham after living in my cozy little place in Sumas for three years; I expect to be relocating in two to four weeks. This means that I really need to spend some time there, packing and preparing. However comma...every time I leave camp, I feel guilty, thinking that I may be needed there. Our population has dwindled with the nasty winter weather that keeps getting thrown at us; there aren't enough of us as it is to have the camp manned 'round the clock. I have to wonder if this is a point that the other Occupy encampments have reached...a month in, and there is talk of doing away with the camp in favor of participating in more events and actions. I don't support this, as ready as I have been in the past couple of days to just throw in the towel altogether. We need a camp. We need that symbology of sleeping in cold tents in the wind and rain to show our solidarity with Occupy Wall Street. And Portland. And Oakland. They had their camps taken from them against their will, along with their personal belongings and their very safety. And we're gonna give up because it's too hard? I have said that, even if I am the only tent left in the park, I'm not leaving. I hope I can live up to that. I'm certainly not doing this for my health. I'm here for my granddaughter. And for my kids, because I was ignorant about all the reasons I'm now part of this movement while they were growing up. For Mother Earth, who just can't take any more abuse from the oil corporations that continue to rape her of her lifeblood and nutrients.

But I am tired. And a bit melancholy. And I miss my big ol' brass bed and a lifestyle that doesn't involve waiting until right before it's too late to make it to the freezing porta-potty at three o'clock in the morning because I can barely wriggle out of the cocoon that is my WWII down mummy bag in time, the only warm place in my universe. Still, there's a revolution to be waged, and wage it, I will.

Postcards from camp

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:28:00 +0000

A few photos from Occupy Bellingham, my home away from home, while we recover from having about 2/3 of our camp dismantled by the strong winds last night.

This is Suzie, our resident mooch. Too cute to deny, she runs off the other swirls, much like the one-footed starling who knows she alone is allowed to clean up after us.

Home away from home

When we're really lucky, an anonymous donor brings us hot bricks to warm our hands and place in our sleeping bags to warm and dry our cold tootsies.

Support from down the road...awesome! And yummy!

My new boops...good camo, and they keep my feet dry, if not terribly warm and comfy. Dry is still a very, very good thing at camp.

Stick around for deeper blogging...I'm currently running on very little sleep and/or rest. This is just a glimpse into the unexpected things you might see at camp.

Portland Police Peppered my Papoose

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 18:11:00 +0000

My baby was pepper-sprayed yesterday. I'm so proud. Well and truly. As part of what seems to be an organized movement against a movement, the police have shut down Occupy Portland (in addition to much unrest in many parks across the country), where my son has been contributing his time and energy to the same cause to which I dedicate myself here in Bellingham. Though I've never been tear-gassed or pepper-sprayed, I know that my very presence here makes that a possibility (though a slim one, as the Bellingham police have been quite gracious). Knowing that my son stood his ground against injustice the same way I would have done makes me a very proud mum, indeed.

I've lost track of the number of nights I've slept in a cold tent...I think last night makes night 20 (night 21 for the camp, but I missed a night when I went home to tend to my cat who now lives with me here). Today marks the beginning of Week Four here at Noisy Waters (our camp name, the native meaning for Whatcom, the county in which I live). I would never have believed I'd be living in a tent at my age, especially when I have a warm, dry, comfortable, cozy apartment of my own. I suppose it's taken me this long to finally know who I am, what I stand for and against, and what is so important that I will make sacrifices I'd never have considered making.

Why the hell am I doing this? For my granddaughter. So my wee Kalliepillar Flutterby won't grow up ingesting growth hormones in the milk that she drinks and genetically modified foods that haven't been tested. My granddaughter deserves the very best planet I can give her. Unfortunately, that planet has been overrun by corporations like Monsanto that buy their way into our government and into our food supply. When a former bigwig for Monsanto becomes a chief advisor for the Food and Drug Administration, there's a huge problem. Can you say conflict of interest?

Monsanto is just one very scary corporation whose government money threatens us. And not merely financially, like some of the others who take away our homes, underpay/underemploy us, or give our jobs to someone who will do it much more cheaply overseas. By continuing to be ignorant and or apathetic of their practices, we are allowing them to poison our food chain. We are inviting them to take away our small family farms as they sue farmer after farmer when they conveniently discover that a single kernel of their corn has "volunteered" on the next farm over. "You can't grow our seeds...those are our property. Now we will sue your farm away from you with our great corporate gain and legal team you can't afford to beat." They are sneaky cheaters, throwing money at the government who looks away, choosing not to see the potential dangers that the chemicals they are producing will eventually eradicate entire plant species which are beneficial to man. Do some research into what Monsanto's weed killer, Roundup, is really doing to our world. Seems to me that a corporation that manufactures plant killers probably shouldn't be in the business of growing the genetically altered food the government tells us is "just fine" to eat.

And Monsanto's GMOs may do us all in, as testing isn't always done; "these foods are essentially the same as what you're used to eating, so extended testing isn't necessary". Really? You're fooling around with isolating the particular section of a gene from an animal that will, say, allow a plant to require less water and be heartier in adverse conditions, and you expect us to believe that it's basically the same thing that our ancestors grew? Pardon me if I cry bullshit, but "Bullshit". What's scarier about all of this is that, when combined with the text of the Codex Ailmentarius, written in 1962, you realize that the whole food supply becomes a potential weapon. And our very own government, there to protect us, right(?), has been so caught up in the want of more, more, more, that they look the other way while the ones pouring money into their coffers are simultaneously pouring poison down our throats.

This is just one example of what one corporation's money in our government is doing. And just look how deep it goes! If this one corporation alone is creating such problems for mankind while getting richer and richer as they do it, don't you wonder what the others are doing? Isn't it time to take a stand against that? Isn't it potentially the time to be pepper-sprayed if there's a chance that it will keep your granddaughter from growing breasts when she's nine years old and menstruating at the age of ten? Now is the time for action...we have been submissive and quiet for too long. I am living in a cold, wet, tent in the winter (it snowed some last night) to remind others that things are rotten in the state of America, and to rally with those who know that we have to change this system. Now. And hope it's not too late.

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 21:01:00 +0000

(Typed before I had access to any news)
So, apparently, Occupy Wall Street is under attack. Or was. Even the media was first uninformed, then arrested when some reporters showed up, and the protestors have lost Zucotti Park. My cell phone, my only real source of news outside the camp except for my fellow Ninety-Niners, won't keep a decent charge in the cold, but the last text message I got from my PuppetMan (a dear friend in Chicago who is one of the artists of PuppetBike there) was that OWS was blowin' up. I went to bed knowing the police were there, but didn't know what would happen. And I still don't know what's happening, as the camp is particularly empty this morning. I won't know much until I go up the hill to charge my phone and hear the news, which is when I'll also post this notepad creation to Bicycles and Beansprouts. If I'm lucky, I'll have just enough charge on my laptop every day to formulate a post while I'm sitting in my warm sleeping bag, waiting for my day to start. And because there's so much uncertainty to what is happening to the peaceful occupation movement in New York, I'm feeling a bit more unsettled than the last 15 or 16 mornings I've woken up in my wee tent here.

What happens there affects us here, as we are their 99% and they are ours. I fear for them. And for all the movements that are peaceful. We are horribly misrepresented by the majority of the media. Any drug overdose you hear about in an encampment is one that could have and probably would have happened anywhere else. As for filth, this park is cleaner than it was before we occupied it. Sure, we each have our representatives that might not serve as well as others, but that's also true in any organization or family. The media, a tool for the very corporations guilty of the deeds that have wrecked our planet, will show you only what they're "allowed" to show you. Remember the twins in "Good Morning, Vietnam", the ones who censored the news feed feed before Robin Williams' character could read it on the air because "what we didn't know wouldn't hurt us"? If you don't believe that the media is controlling you just as it is being controlled, then you're probably not the right type of audience for me, quite frankly. No offense, but please...do some thinkering.

I digress. Occupy Wall Street. Without knowing what's going on, my mind has the potential to fear the worst: rubber bullets and fractured skulls, pepper spray and skin burns, tear gas and mass confusion, mayhem, and chaos...in another word, WAR. Why?!? Someone please make me understand how camping peacefully (if they're even allowed tents) and doing the necessary work to make things right in our government at long last is a crime. And even if it is, how is it feasible that it's so potentially dangerous to anyone but the 1% that the police need to go to such great lengths to hurt the peacemongers who don't have riot shields to hide behind? We're unarmed. No weapons allowed. As far as I know, the movement of non-violence is prevalent throughout every Occupy movement. So why are we battled out of the places we paid to build with violence and weapons? I can't fathom where treatment of people is acceptable in any country, but this is us...the good ol' USA. And just like in the wars where we send our young men and women to battle for reasons they're not told and lies they believe, we are at war with our own countrymen because of the same lies. Only we don't have bullets, pepper spray, tear gas, riot gear, and batons. Those of you still scratching your heads, saying, "You 99% camps...we still don't get it"? You may not understand, but the 1% does, and they're scared. And as always, they administer hate as a treatment for what they fear. They are sending our own countrymen after us. And not for the reasons you're being fed by the media.

I can't imagine being rousted out of my warm sleeping spot by someone behind a riot shield, wearing full protection, identity obscured by a mask. How scary. Are sleeping peacemongerers really that dangerous? Beside the point is that our First Amendment tells us we can peaceably assemble. And now we're having that right not only ignored, but raped away from us in the middle of the night by men with weapons. In what operating system is this right? What kind of mind would acquiesce to those kind of orders? Law enforcement officers are just as lucky as the rest of the country to have a job these days, but where is the line of integrity drawn?

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. War has NEVER worked. Isn't it time we tried peace? Speaking for my camp, we do an excellent job of that, and I'm fairly certain that we truly are the 99%...our camps are like those of the others. Peaceful. Non-violent. Not deserving to be evicted from the parks we paid for, but worse, we are being physically assaulted in the process. I say "we" in solidarity, as the police here have been most gracious. We would hope that their jobs have been maybe even a tad easier since we include the homeless in our community, helping them stay off the streets to some degree. I can't imagine a single reason that the police might be justified in tearing apart our camp, especially armed to the hilt against unarmed citizens who do well just to stay warm against the winter cold.

Have you not felt the great civil unrest? Have you not realized that every revolution has to start somewhere, and this is it? Even in places like Bellingham, "the City of Subdued Excitement", population 80,000ish, there is a shift occurring. People are waking up to the injustice we have experienced not only ourselves, but to the wrongs done to our friends and family, our communities and small merchants, the mom-n-pop shops and restaurants that I am coming to love more and more as I work on blog posts and research from the comfort of a place where I can get a cuppa and borrow some 'lectric juice for my phone (and now my laptop). There is no comparison to sitting in a building with a near-100-year history, writing about the revolution that is happening right in front of my nose and yours than, say, blogging from a McDonalds tucked away in a Wal-Mart. These small businesses are the 99%, as well, too often in competition with the big corporations...and losing. Shame, that. And now the police are attacking us because we're trying to defend their way of living. What is the world coming to when the very citizens who sometimes shop these independent establishments protect the country from the citizens who run them? With bullets. I don't get it. Never will. So I will stay on this side and fight with peace.

Some of these posts will be scattered, as I have only the resources to be sporadic; if a post doesn't flow, my apologies. I often have to abandon one train of thought because another one is coming in behind it so quickly that it shoves it off the track. And on that note, I have some books to read on yurts. I've always wanted one...I never thought I'd be building my own to winter a war. Blessings to the oppressors, may their eyes be opened. May they realize that they are one step away from being us. Om shanti.

I freakin' love this woman; the message on her shirt is one I fell in love with years ago, and bless her for allowing her kidlets to be a part of history.

Here's the doozy of a post...as promised over a year ago.

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 19:23:00 +0000

I dunno what happened; the year got away from me without a post. I hope that this one will make up for it.

If anyone ever told me that I'd be a spokesperson for anything, there was a time when quiet, shy, reserved me wouldn't even have the nerve to laugh in their face. Now, however, not only am I a spokesperson, I represent a revolution!

I am the 99%. I am what democracy looks like. I "twinkle" when I like something. In the cold and the rain and the wet and the wind of an early winter, I am living in a tent in a camp with electricity from a generator that is run for only a few hours a day. And I've never been happier. How could that possibly be?

It all started just over a month ago, when I was compelled to march with in solidarity with the Occupy Wall Street movement in my local community of Bellingham, Washington. I was swept into something much bigger, meeting new best friends and friends I've had again and again in this wild, wacky, and mysterious cosmos. I've experienced magic in this little rag-tag camp of amazing young people and dynamic individuals who make up oh, so much more than the sum of their parts. We are changing things. Changing ourselves. Becoming the change we wish to see in the world. And it all seems to blossom and grow, flourishing with the nurturing of the Oneness of the camp.

That's not to say that living here is all Bavarian Bismarcks from Rocket Donuts and a lovely cuppa tea from Woods (where cold revolutionaries go to charge their cell phones and other 'lectronics). It's hard work to keep the Occupy movement going, as it is primarily double in scope for me; creating an awareness of the situation with the banks and corporations in order to bring about the necessary separation of the greed and corruption of the 1% from our democratic process, and to keep the camp running...to avoid losing valuable members of our community. To be sure my new family has enough to eat and dry socks and "austerity blankets", the blankets most of us wear about our shoulders as an additional layer against the cold that settled into camp as soon as we did. Layers are our friends. I am determined to make long johns (thermal underwear) a staple in every woman's winter wardrobe.

We do phenomenal things here. We are feeding, clothing, and sheltering the homeless. We are dealing with scary-ass situations with peace and love. Compassion and non-violence. The diversity in our camp is rainbows and thunderstorms and sunshine. Meadows and badlands. Oceans and deserts. And yet, somehow, with all the little niggly things you'll encounter in any and every family, we have come together to support one another completely as we, the Whole, support the other Occupy movements that are popping up all over the globe. Thank Cow! We're way past due for a decent revolution. And that is indeed what this is. Welcome to an inside seat to what it's like to be changing the government, just as our ancestors did when it became necessary to right the injustices of the corrupt.

Stay tuned as I blog what it's like to be on the front lines of a peaceful war against the lies, the greed, the slavery, the dumbing-down, the selfishness of those who perpetuate hate and fear. I am a love-based Being, determined to win this fight to create a better world for my granddaughter, for my Mother Earth, and for you. Doing that is the hard thing that requires the sacrifices I am honoured to make with my new comrades at our camp, Noisy Waters, in Bellingham. Namaste'.

I know, I know...

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 04:50:00 +0000

A new post is coming. It will probably be a doozy, glooming over how July should be wiped from the annals of history forever. Or at least mine. 'Twas a sad, painful, difficult month. September brings a whirlwind of planning. October brings a road trip with my brother and father; half-way 'cross the country to deliver a particular gramma to a granddaughter she's never met.

Wait a minute...just a note to say a post is coming soon doesn't look like this. I've been hijacked by my muse who is clamoring for my attention on another writing project. Auf Weider Bye-Bye.

Help! I'm being oppressed!

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 07:34:00 +0000

I have had two Christian friends both lash out at my beliefs in the past week. I have respected their dogmatic system of beliefs that, while they seem to work for the people if they truly live by their faith, are definitely not true for me. The respect isn't a reciprocal thing, however. Because of what I believe, my two friends pray hard for my soul which they know is doomed to Hell if I don't see the error of my ways. I humbly thank them for their prayers; we could all use the good energy. :)

Dude...I've been to Hell. And back. And now I'm in Heaven. Why? How? Because I choose to create the heavenly reality I want to experience. I do. Not a God in the sky who can only be proven by the Bible, a book written, censored, hidden, controlled, and manipulated by Man. All I wanna do is walk this here path...the one that still has Jesus' footprints on it. Okay?

I notice I lost a follower or two after my last post, too. My apologies if I accidentally offended anyone, but such is life. My philosophy, my faith in what I believe is just as strong and true for me as yours is for you. If I can accept and respect the differences in what we believe, why can't [a theoretical] you?

"Blinders, blinders everywhere, but not a thought to think." ~Tee King

I am Buddha, I am Jesus, I am Gandhi

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 03:59:00 +0000

...or was, a little while ago. I was on the phone with someone very special to my heart who is presently suffering. I was so connected to him across the miles that there was no distance. In the moment, I realized that the advice I gave...the teachings I have learned from Buddha and Jesus and Gandhi...put me on the same path that they walked while teaching their truths. In that light, I am Buddha. I am Jesus. I am Gandhi. I say this with the utmost humility and the highest regard for your beliefs if they truly work for you.

I told this love in my life a very lot of things, and even mentioned that I wish I were writing it down, as the words were flowing fast and furiously. Deep, philosophical stuff that I hope he grokked; stuff I've learned that has made what was once a very miserable life at times (there are always glimpses of happiness between the dark spots) an amazingly grateful, content life (with an infrequent shower of sadness...usually self pity).

I don't want to push my beliefs on anyone in the way I've seen "religious" people/groups. I think religion is dangerous thing, but I won't go into that here. I just wish I'd had a chance to write down the loving suggestions flowing from me so freely into him; he was distracted by his suffering, I know, and this time of despair, immediately after a heart got bwoked, no words will make sense, unless you stay with them in every moment. In this manner, the present sad experience will eventually become a non-judgmental memory.

For example, I used a metaphor of a child with a broken toy (I'm being literary here, people, so I won't say "bwoked" which is one way I express myself differently). He curses the toy for breaking and calls it names. All of the blame of how the toy was broken was transferred to a thing that has no soul, no will, no ability to consciously break apart. The child transferred the blame of breaking an inanimate object.

When the child becomes an adult and thinks back on the toy, chances are that he will say, oh! how he loved it and how sad he was when it broke (rarely, "not when I broke it", if you follow my train of consciousness). But still, the anger is gone, there's no real animosity, just a fond memory of an illusion of a story you created long ago, then picked back up years later. No longer is he upset about it...the experience is nothing more than one of looking back in a storybook with mental snapshots scattered throughout.

Now, imagine how much easier life would be if you could let go of all those thoughts of cursing someone, or blaming someone, or just being angry needlessly. As soon as a complaint or bitchy thought arises, watch it as it falls without giving it any attention. Just leave it alone. Eventually, the thought won't arise as often, and in time, you may even think back on it fondly. The experience has turned into a memory. Maybe even a happy memory.

I hope you find some truth here. I love you, Kiddo. Come see me.

What color is your funk?

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 22:58:00 +0000

My funk, my manner of living, is usually a nice cheery pink hue. Not neon or hot pink, not so pale a pink you can barely see it, but just a nice rosy, blushing shade of pink. Usually. For the past week, though, my palette has been replaced with one of hues of blue. Dark blue. Moody blue.

Getting out to ride my lovely bicycle should help with that, right? Well, yes...it should. Except, over the course of this past winter and these days of spring blooming around me, I have been having more and more difficulty maintaining the energy to ride. I get so very winded and my heart sometimes feels as if it is going to explode, it beats so fast and furiously, even on an easier ride. It's not as if I'm getting more and more out of shape by not riding more often, either; in fact, I've been dropping weight too quickly without exercising.

I went to the doctor last week to get the results of some tests he had ordered a few weeks prior. I was expecting the usual: an abnormally high clotting factor amongst the other niggling medical issues with which Lupus has gifted me. I was neither expecting nor ready for the news I received, news which explained the fatigue and shortness of breath, the increased arrhythmia and pounding heartbeep. Though I won't have a diagnosis until I have more tests run next month, my doctor and I now know that the right side of my heart just isn't keeping up.

Lupus has affected so many of my organs. I won't go into all the details, but I guess I really shouldn't be as surprised as I am that something like this is going on. I've known there were slight problems for years...sporadic issues that have come and gone, but have basically been either ignored by my medical team because I couldn't produce the symptoms in their presence, or I just never followed through because of my extreme hesitancy to get caught in that net of seeing one doctor after another and taking this pill to counter the side effects of that pill, etc. again.

In the back of my mind, I have filed away the worry that, someday, I won't be able to ride again. My adult body wasn't built for a bicycle, with the surgeried leg bones and bum organs, but my spirit soars when I ride, so I make the necessary compromise. And normally, my body shuts up when my spirit takes the lead. However comma...lately, riding has been such a physical challenge that I can hear the squeaks and wheezes and creaks and snaps and rattles my body makes as it pedals so fiercely to go just a few miles. And I realize, I'm not ready to stop riding. The distance between myself and my one time goal of riding a century (100 miles) is increasing day by day. Bicycle touring, something I still hope to do this summer (like my friends Sven and Doro, cyclists from Germany who are pedaling from South America to Alaska), is going to be considerably more formidable than I first thought, and the extended trips I dreamed of taking are most likely nothing more than a sweet dream now.

I haven't forgotten all that I teach, the lessons of choosing happiness, of accepting and letting go...but I am having trouble letting go of this one. Not only did the news of a broken heart hit me where it hurts, but it came at a time when I've been hoping to fall in love again...hoping to fill my heart with love of a different kind this time 'round. Not a "White Knight" kind of adoration, but a connection to someone who wants to share a journey of the spirit, something I've never looked for before. I'll say it...I wanna be in love. I miss it terribly, and somehow, I think I'm supposed to fall in love right about now. Not that I'm counting on it, but wouldn't it be something if the right fella came along and, just like that, my broken heart would mend? Love can be a magical, mysterious thing, a healing thing. And if my heart can't be fixed, well...I wouldn't mind skipping a heartbeep for the right reasons... like a tender word or an unexpected kiss full of passion.

In any case, between the news of the heart and being lonely, I hit a wall. Hard. I quit riding except to get my mail, if I left my flat at all. I quit writing. I quit reading Facebook, where my friends live. I'd find myself just sitting, not thinking and not doing, but not in the beneficial non-thinking, non-doing manner of meditation. Just a numb, "What the hell do I do now, and how long do I wait before someone shows me the way out of this suck-fest?"

However comma...I heard my Voice today, the one that Ego has been covering up with deafeningly silent cries of "woe is me" and "why me?" I say silent, because, other than a very few people, I haven't told anyone my news. I just disappeared because I don't know what to say, and I don't want to sound like a hypocrite because I haven't been following the advice I so often give. And I do NOT want to be a medical statistic as opposed to my true Self. I am trying my damndest to be positive, to accept that this is just a part of that great wheel turning. Today, while I am still lonely, at least the sun shone where it hadn't for a week...into my bwoked heart. And it didn't hurt quite so badly as it did yesterday.

I did ride yesterday and today. Not far, and it wasn't easy, and I got really wet in the rain, and riding against the wind had my heart beeping to beat the band...but one of those wheels is gonna spin regardless of whether I choose to take a ride on it or not. I think I'll go for the ride and see where it takes me. After all, the views of the past few years have been utterly amazing...

I'm slowly getting back to me. In the meantime, does anyone know what color to mix with blue to get pink?

Tim Tam Slam...or meditation on a cookie

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 06:37:00 +0000

For best results, start the video below and let it completely buffer before you start reading. If things of an erotic nature disturb you, please close this tab/window now. While probably completely safe for most work environments, some may find the content of this post objectionable. My apologies, but I've given fair warning. Forewarned is fore-armed. With love and daisies. For those of you still here, start the video when it's buffered. It will probably end before you finish reading. Yeah...I tried to pare it back, but the words wouldn't stop and wouldn't be edited out.
I turn off the lights and light a single scented candle, the one that is reminiscent of a burning fireplace. Cuppa hot tea? Check. Tim Tam biscuit (cookie)? Check. The good headphones instead of the earbuds that won't stay in my itsy-bitsy ears? Check. E.S Posthumus' "Aris e" (from their new Makara album) cued and ready to go? Check. I think I'm ready. I click play.

I slide off my socks and stretch my bare feet, wiggling my toes. Ooooh, that does feel nice. I sit back in the papasan nest, carefully holding the cup in one hand as it warms my cool fingertips and a bickie (cookie; yes, my vocabulary is eclectic, culturally diverse, and sometimes, even, very made up, like my world) in the other hand. Stretching out my legs feels good; I rest them on a pillow on the ancient steamer trunk I use as a desk/table/storage for subversive civil disobedience fliers for a peace protest (just making sure you're paying attention). As my eyes trace my candle-shadowed surroundings and I begin to well and truly groove with the magical, celestial music, I sink into the chair, very relaxed and comfortable. Am I ready to turn One?

I take the wee smallest nibble of an upper corner of my Tim Tam biscuit. Chocolate-covered chocolate biscuit with...{unexpected anticipatory pause with fancy brackets}...creamy chocolate filling. Mmm...this is tasty. Then, I flip it top to bottom and bite off the diagonal corner. Nice, if not delectable. I have the attention of my taste buds, which are beginning to ping and spark, wondering if mayhaps there's more coming, and mayhaps it's even better stuff. Ya never know, it's happened before.

Slowly, carefully, I raise my cup to meet my bickie, and use it as a straw. I suck the tea slowly and steadily into my mouth until I begin to feel the bickie begin to cave and give in under the pressure of the gentle grasp of my thumb and fingers. At this point, I lower my cup and shove the whole Tim Tam into my eagerly-waiting mouth. As soon as I slide my lips closed around this concoction that is ever-so-quickly having its molecules melted, it literally just explodes. It instantly transforms from the solid it was into these gooey, triple-chocolatey waves that just kind of swell and roll around in my mouth, teasing my tongue and caressing my palate. Simultaneously, the music also swells into this magnificently tense pause before going orgasmic, turning mercuric, finding even the hidden-away hidey-holes of my Being. There are fireworks shooting almost violently into a sky so dark, even with the brightest-ever stars twinkling my wonder. I am melting into this sweet pool of stickiness. My taste buds are now changing the frequency of their vibration and are indistinguishable from the atoms, those nearly-empty containers of g*d, with whoom they are dancing and mingling and intertwining and becoming yummily and foreverly quantumly entangled. I am spinning and twirling, grooving and celebrating my divine Amness, naked and true.

And now these tastes and sounds and feelings and sensations swirl and dance around and into me before gobbling me up and swallowing me and separating my soul from my body while its toes begin to curl, its fingers clutch tightly the quilt on the papasan, and its back lightly arches.

I'm gone. I don't exist. There's no chocolate. There's no Tim Tam. There's no music. There's no tea. There's no sleepy, purring cat curled up next to me. There are no thoughts from me. There is no me. There is only this One perception of everything being so completely perfect at this moment that it truly doesn't matter what happened in the last moment nor what may happen in the next because this moment is perfect and why the hell would I want to go anywhere else? This is all there is. This perfect nothingness that contains an empty everything.

Singularity. In this very moment, I am One.

I am abandonedly lost and lost with abandon and time does not exist and I believe that because my bicycle buddy, Einstein, said so, so there is no time and nothing is wrong and I want this to last forever. Wait..."I want"? Who said that? And who is thinking "How long is forever?" The height of the orgasmic musical note decreases, and I hear the next note so gently whisper into the room to try and sustain me here just an iota longer. But the next musical notes are already on the stage, gently playing me back into my empty body lying down there in the papasan.

All of a sudden, I am gently aware of my curled toes and fingers and of my heart beating and my chest moving as I breathe. The shadowed surroundings come into focus again and I hear the almost-liturgical strains of the next track, "Saint Matthew Passionate". No wonder it sounds monk-tested and giant cathedral-approved. But passionate? Oooh...ladles and jellyspoons, you have no idea. Methinks Matthew was peeking through the window.

Oh.My.g*d.That.Was.So.Awesome.I.Almost.Want.A.Cigarette.And.Now.I.Need.A.Snuggle.

Cloudy with a chance of altered reality

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 03:16:00 +0000

Suddenly, I was caught in a downpour of twisted perception...

...and a sudden gust of skewed perspective blew me away.

Happy Un-turkey day

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 11:56:00 +0000

May all beings have happiness and its causes.
May all beings be free from suffering and its causes.
May all beings never be separated from the happiness which is free from suffering.
May all beings abide in equanimity, free from both attachment and detachment.

Namaste'.

Blog Action Day ~ Climate Change

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 04:41:00 +0000

Today, October 15, is officially "Blog Action Day", and the topic is "Climate Change".

I don't have a lot to say on the subject. That's not to say I don't feel strongly about it, but I've never written in-depth about it. Why? Where do I start? With those drilling for oil and blowing the tops off of mountains to obtain coal? With factories ignoring loosely-regulated and loophole-ridden tomes of governmental laws?

I think I'll start closer to home than those faceless names, companies, corporations, governments, etc. In fact, let's start at home. What if everyday people stopped buying new things they didn't need? Things they could either do without or could buy in a resale establishment (thrift shops, yard sales, etc.)? What if they stopped driving huge SUVs the half-mile to the store for a gallon of milk that comes from an unknown dairy, salad ingredients from Chile, and a pound of hamburger that was raised on a factory farm 1,500 miles away? What if they consistently used reusable bags to carry home these goods? What if they made a conscious effort not only to reuse things as many times as possible, but possibly repurpose them once these things outlive their natural life?

Our lives are uber convenient due to the torrent of products we buy as a suggestion, subtle or otherwise, of corporate ads by which we're bombarded. You've bought many of the products being pushed...how long did your happy factor last? Are you reminded of it every time you use that brand new gadget (iPhone with the Happiness app installed excluded)? How many times have we all heard ourselves utter, "It's the simple things that matter."? If we know this, then why are our lives so complicated and cluttered...why are we in debt and envious of those who have more than we do? Why do we feel the need to replace items before they're well and truly obsolete, and why do we behave as sheep, buying into these ad campaigns? What happened to making do because it was the logical thing to do? When did it become okay to be so wasteful? And let's not forget careless! When you buy these new pretty-pretties, where do the old ones go? Do you think about what happens to them after the garbage truck has swallowed and crunched them beyond recognition?

Anyone can write a post with suggestions on how to reduce their carbon footprint. My blog post, ultimately, is just to ask you the hard question, instead. What are you willing to give up for the health of the planet? This applies only to those who believe there is a climate change...I continue to be flabbergasted by those who say it's a made-up phenomenon; that our actions really don't have the consequences claimed by "eco-liberals". Or worse, that these consequences are so far away in the grand scheme of things that it's okay to continue on our path for now. Hogwash.

Climate change? It's all around. Polar bears clinging to vestiges of icebergs who will soon die from drowning because they're too weak to swim to the next iceberg that is too far away. Extreme weather. The disappearance of glaciers. More and more children who suffer from asthma and other environmental health issues. Where will it end?

It won't. Not unless we end it. Ask yourself the hard questions, then look for the right answers. The easy way is rarely the best way...and it often keeps us from the path that offers the roses that we're supposed to stop and smell along the way. Better smell 'em now...they may not grow tomorrow.

There...one "Blog Action Day" post, one minute before midnight. I may edit it later. I may not. Namaste'.

A couple of lessons about gratitude from me and my pal, Rumi

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 09:58:00 +0000

I have thrombophlebitis in my arm, which is a very painful, inflamed, swollen blood vein. It's plainly visible by looking at it; the skin is red and blue and purple, and raised, and to touch the skin, it feels as if there's a tiny bungee cord under there, taut and rubbery. And hot. And so painful that even visualizing touching it makes it hurt. Okay, enough with the symptoms, because it sounds pathetic and whiny, and I've had my pity party already and moved on.

Sometimes caused as a result of clotting, sometimes of injuries (not unlike the injuries I sustained on Monday by putting my heavy bicycle on the bus and falling over it whilst loading it into and unloading it from the estranger's van). I would estimate this to to be the fifth time I've had phlebitis in this same place alone, not to mention many single-phlebitis incidents (plebe-itis? *groan*) in a few other spots.

I called to make a doctor's appointment; the fact that I had the embolism in April and am not currently being treated with coumadin because my doctor insisted I see a rheumatologist, a gastroenterologist, and a pulmonolgist before he would continue to treat me with blood-thinners would be cause to see me sooner, I would think, but so far, so good. I understand where he's coming from...I know he would probably feel partially responsible if something beside a clot gets me. But he doesn't seem to understand that I will sign whatever I have to sign to keep him free of liability, completely and of my own free will, because I don't want to be treated for all the other stuff...treated to death. I vowed to treat the clots, but I will not fall down another rabbit hole, chasing empty promises and experiments that have only served to make my body more tired or fighting yet another symptom caused by a medication. I know what mild medications I need. If this doctor won't treat me respecting my wishes, I'll make an appointment to the only other doctor, who practices inb the same building and whom I haven't seen. My doctor plans to retire in the very near future, so this would be inevitable if my doctor doesn't have a replacement. And this could very much be "Cicely, Alaska" as easily as it couldn't be "Mayberry, RFD". We have some quirky residents, and I've experienced an energy in the air that you might expect to watch on "Northern Exposure". And I am practically in Canada, which is almost in Alaska and I can see Russia from there. [pardon me while I get a mint for my fingers; they have a bad taste in their mouth after typing that].

Give me my bicycle and get out of my way or ride along with me. I may not go far, but in the shape I'm in, it doesn't take much to get an aerobic workout, and I have fun watching the moment go by...go by...go by. Eating healthy, being active, having a positive attitude, and making the changes to better the quality of my life...these things will do more to improve my health than the majority of medications prescribed. Add to the mix mmeditation (of all types) and taking natural, trusted, proven remedies for what ails ya whenever possible; the quality of life improves. And it's like discovering Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance all over again; the search for Quality, what exactly is it, and why do we want it so damn badly? Are we chasing something better than what we can even experience outside of this moment, perfect in its abundancy no matter where we are or what economic class we're in? What anchors are we dragging, what decisions are we avoiding, what things, real or imagined, are pulling us from our prospective paths? Compassion enables us to forgive, even if the benefactors are unaware. "The voice inside your head that always tells the truth" (thank you, Late Night with TV's Craig Ferguson for that term; I hope you're reading) tells us that it doesn't matter...things can only matter if we let them. Learning this has bought me time more than once. Indeed, the things I've learned have even reversed some of the effects of the past. Mikki and I were talking about burning karma during his recent visit; I assume I was owning and resolving my past so fully as to negate any further karma I would receive as a result of doing who-knows-what, who-knows-when...but sometimes, you are connected to people who know who and when...and why...just as easily as you see the same in them. That's a mad rush. And that, along with the thing or person or experience that gave me such a gift, are things to which I am eternally grateful, even if they don't last. Perhaps especially because they don't last.

There is no angel so sublime, He whispered. Who can be granted for one moment what is granted you forever. And I hung my head, astounded. ~Rumi

Be grateful for what you've got and take better care of it because you may need it some day. ~Tee

Undressing (get your heads out of the gutter)

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 20:35:00 +0000

No blog today, but instead, a poem by Rumi, a 13th-century Persian poet. He, along with Hafiz, never fails to inspire me; his words ring true and I often see them precisely when I need to. I have learned this lesson, but I have loved ones...friends and family alike, who have yet to know this truth. I hope that Rumi's words will light their path as brightly as they have mine. Namaste'.

Undressing

Learn the alchemy true human beings know; the moment you accept what troubles you've been given, the door will open.

Welcome difficulty as a familiar comrade. Joke with torment brought by the Friend.

Sorrows are the rags of old clothes and jackets that serve to cover, then are taken off. That undressing, and the naked body underneath, is the sweetness that comes after grief.

Why I am a vegetarian

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 08:46:00 +0000

I posted a rather icky picture on Facebook last night. My bicycle ride earlier took me to a cornfield next to the eagle tree (see my earlier posts about bald eagles) where I happened to find a little, dead mouse, not so much decomposed as half-missing by being eaten. By wasps. I'm sure other creatures have had their feast, as well. I was first taken aback by the rather horrid image of it all, especially because I am very drawn to rodents and have had many as pets. Unfortunately, my allergies to them over the years have grown to the point where keeping them is impossible. In any case, I saw a photo opportunity that young boys will find "Coooool!", curmudgeons will think, "Good riddance!" and the squeamish won't even look at a second time after glancing and squealing, "Ewwwwww!"

My sadness for this wee thing very quickly turned to blessings for its little life, sending it whatever energy its consciousness needed in case it was hanging around, confused. You know, his soul, his energy. Not his wasp-ravaged body. And I took pictures, because I saw the beauty in this mouse's body offering sustenance to who-knows how many other creatures. I saw it as a very compassionate, Buddhist thing to do, whatever that means. I'm not a Buddhist, but I dig the philosophy on a subatomic level. Seriously. It's all quantum, but that's another blog for another time. And one of these days, I'm going to owe my humble group of readers an an awful lot of posts; I keep mentioning that there are important tangents to my stories.

After posting the image, I received a private message from one of my friends. I've decided to post it here to explain why I'm a vegetarian.

Good day to you! I want to ask you a question about vegetarianism, in relation to your picture of the wasps feeding on the dead mouse. I don't criticize your choice not to eat meat. But how do you reconcile your view of the mouse as 'serving' while the wasps feed on its flesh? Is it the fact that the mouse was not raised expressly for slaughter, but instead ended up where it did through a natural chain of events? I'm curious.

I think it is a powerful picture, in that it shows a side of nature that more squeamish folks would like to pretend don't exist. It's not beautiful as in "oh what a pretty sunset", but it shows the essence of one of life's many cycles, and how life feeds on life. There's lots of people who don't get that aspect.

What's funny is that those squeamish folks hold what I call the "Disney" view of nature: All the animals live in harmony, talking squirrels, cuddly runnybabbits, etc. But then Disney goes and makes "The Lion King" in which Mufasa explains to Simba that the gazelles eat the grass, the lions eat the gazelles, and when they die, they eventually come back as grass and feed the gazelles. Kind of simplified, but there it is in a nutshell.

Like I said, I'm just curious what your take on it was. Thanks for getting my brain stimulated first thing in the morning. Well, that and the coffee I just poured down my throat. That, too.

This was my reply.

I have choices; I can sprout my beans and eat them. I can grow my own food. I can take my money and go to the store and buy food. If I really *had* to, I could beg for food (or the money to buy it) on the streets. Or, I could buy a hamburger, but because there are so many other foods that don't involve the cessation of life before its natural course played out, I choose not to eat meat. I don't believe that raising meat on a factory farm is a natural course, and even the act of raising the animals can cause more harm than good to the entire planet.

My ways of acquiring sustenance are numerous and diverse because my intellect is more evolved than that of the wasps or the mouse or Mufasa. I choose not to be a part of that particular circle of life, although I do hope that, if there's anything left of me to feed on after I'm cremated and scattered, that I can serve that purpose.

And yes, the mouse was not raised expressly as food...to be mistreated (or even treated well) and led blindly through a life that will end at the hands of someone who isn't even thinking about what its life may have meant or could have been. The animal that killed the mouse probably wasn't able to make that choice. I say probably because, if the mouse was killed as sport alone, there will be a different karma for the one doing the slaying than if the mouse had been killed because the predator was hungry...and/or had hungry baby mouths to fill at home. I can think above that and find ways to feed my body without harming a life, something my truth tells me is not right for me.

This does not mean I condemn those who choose to eat meat. It's not my place to do so, so if you want some of the smoked Boston Butt [the estranger] is serving today after smoking it all day yesterday at his place, be there for dinner. He eats late. Very late. You might actually have time to get there while there's some left. As with everything else, our current choices are very, very different. His don't fit me, but they're right for him. I can only be responsible for what I do, and that includes being sure I don't make the rules and laws regarding what is and isn't right for anyone else. You can visit my place for dessert or a proper cuppa afterward. ;)

Only a small percentage of my Facebook friends know how attached I am to meeses, so I'm sure you can probably imagine how difficult it was for me to take those pics. I can see exactly in them what I described in the caption, but what I didn't say is that I still feel sadness for the fear, panic, and pain the mouse may have experienced before it died, no matter whether it died by teeth or disease or being stomped on by something much bigger. But, I know that this is the way things go; to find beauty in such a scene yesterday *was* a powerfully moving experience. There is a Buddhist teaching that has students dwell on real human corpses in various degrees of decomposition. I really never "got" that until yesterday. I don't wholly understand it, but I got a glimpse into how valuable it is to see both sides of the coin, the dark and the light, what happens right after our bodies stop being a living thing. Being sad for the body is a human trait, though I also believe it also belongs to some animals who authentically mourn the death or absence of a loved one. I certainly don't want to be responsible for the death of a creature with such sentience, and I don't believe any of us can make the call as to which animals or even which species have that "knowing".

I hope this helps. It's refreshing when people will ask me these questions rather than tell me that there is absolutely NO freakin' way that there's any difference between the wasps eating that mouse and having Boston Butt for dinner. I feel the difference, and that is enough. Thank you for taking the time to ask, Jason. Namaste'.

Calling all readers! Calling all readers!

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 05:21:00 +0000

I would like to know the answer to a question to which, if you choose, you must be honest. Perhaps not brutally so, as I am a sensitive soul...

I'm sure there's a way to add an anonymous poll on here, but since I don't see one and am not presently inclined to go looking for code with which to tinker...(damn OCD; the spelling and grammar will be impeccable while the punctuation shows the creative license because I try to address my readers as if I were speaking; my punctuation reflects that). Now, how's that for OCD? < /stream of consciousness>

Back to my question. Would you be comfortable answering a question about me? I realize that I probably come across as a real Moonbeam or Earth Mother, as some would call me, a real hippie. Others might say I'm a whack job and think that, truly, there must be something wrong with me. The way I see myself, or at least my perception of myself, is a free spirit, liberated and semi-enlightened, happy because, even if I can't explain the answers, I know the answers.

Please tell me...what is your perception of me? Off the wall crazy? Stoned off my arse (a real possibility when the ischemia is screamia-ing), Connected to All in the most groovy way? Way past ripe for the funny farmer's market? Hey, I just made that up as I was typing it. Pretty clever, eh? Now that's multitasking. However comma, I digress. Be honest, but remember, I have a tender ~~heart~~ ~~soul~~ consciousness. How do you percieve me? I would ask how you see me, but that's another kettle of fish-shaped crackers (I'm a vegetarian) for another time. If you don't feel you know me well enough to have an opinion, read back through several posts...watch the videos. If that's not me, I don't know who else could possibly be having this much fun. Base your answer on that.

This post brought to you courtesy of the accidental students I encountered this evening and experienced a divine connection as a result. A Bodhisattva (in any belief [I do not mean religion]) must first learn to teach before she can teach to learn. Namaste'.

Choose to be happy

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 17:37:00 +0000

Just a little stream-of-consciousness video inspired by the gratitude for a cheap yard sale find and the illumination it gave me. Have a blissful day.

Burning Man or bust...

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 09:24:00 +0000

I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me until just now...just an hour or so ago...that I need to go to Burning Man. I mean, I really want to go. I dig it. I get the burning of the false self, the falling away of ego. I've been there, and strive to stay there. I do an admirable job, I think. Certainly enough to know that happiness is a choice, and that by making decisions based on what my compassion says is the best outcome for all, I continue to walk towards that happiness. I know that the only steps that amount to anything are the ones I take right now; I'd best be awake and aware and present enough in the moment to make them count. Like everything, they're only as permanent as a footprint on a windy Nevada playa in August/September.

They have community bicycles. And I can bring my own bean sprouts and live on them for pennies. How many thumbs up can we give that?

Today, I shall ride.

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 19:04:00 +0000

It's time to get this blog back to bicycles. Today, I shall ride. There are wild blackberries to pick, if my timing is accurate; I can pick some now and freeze them until my parents are able to make a visit; my papa loves wild blackberries. I have a geocache to check on. But mostly, my soul has been clamoring to take a ride, begging my body to rest only just enough to have the energy to pedal fast enough to blow my "Life is Good" cap right off of my head.

My health hasn't been what it should be lately, and finding the energy to ride isn't always easy. However comma...I find that, when I break past that fatigue the ego is telling me is insurmountable, and get on my bicycle, while I'm not overcoming the issues, I'm temporarily putting them on the shelf, allowing my spirit to be free to enjoy the moment of wind rushing by.

I subscribe to a lot of sites dedicated to cycling. While most of these focus on speed and sport, I ride for different reasons (I did not follow the Tour de France). For the awakened experience, first and foremost. I see so much more riding 10-15 miles per hour than I do in a speeding vehicle encasing me and obscuring my view. And let's face it, there are some spectacular views here. I have learned to live my daily life in the same manner as I see the world from my bicycle; unrushed, present, blissful, and full of possibilities. And my body appreciates the gentle workout. Without the repeated impact of compromised leg bones meeting the ground, my gams don't argue with me [much] and when they do, I don't listen. Not while I'm on my bicycle. I'm too busy adjusting my attitude and sending blessings to the cows and eagles and bugs I pass.

Today, I shall ride. Namaste'.

All I want for Christmas...

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 09:41:00 +0000

"It is not by appearances that you are fettered but by craving." ~Tilopa, instructing his student, Naropa (both are historic figures in Buddhist texts)

There was a time when, because of my appearance, I was quite reluctant to go out in public; even confrontation with someone friendly was enough to make me want to cover my mouth and leave without saying a word. Not because of anything they'd said or done, mind you, but because my teeth are a mess. They always have been, but because I've been to SO many dentists to [attempt to] fix the problems that started when I was a wee young thing, I'm mortally terrified of dentists and I'm done going. Unless it's a dire emergency, like the time I had to dig out a permanent filling by myself with a needle after the dentist completed work on a tooth. It was either that or find a gun and a bullet. Luckily, I got the filling out, the pressure was released, and I never went back to that dentist (but I never got my $750 back, either). I do not have success with anyone in any dental office. I know they can smell my fear; it's hard to miss when it's a thick, heavy fog of pokey tools, atrocious odors, and sounds of mechanical devices so torturous that I can't even begin to describe them (and my stomach is churning, just typing this).

Because I've spent thousands of dollars on teeth I no longer have (pulled weeks after a root canal because it didn't take, etc.), I'm not comfortable with my appearance. And who would be? What are two top features others notice first about people? What do they find attractive? Their eyes and their smile. I'm often told I have nice eyes...is this because people are too embarrassed for me to comment to the negative on my mouth? "Dude...what happened to your teeth? Meth?" I don't think I look the meth addict, but I do know they often have very bad teeth, as well. Mayhaps it would be better if someone were to be that direct. At least then, I'd have the opportunity to explain that, through no action or fault of my own or any other, my teeth are mine to accept. Whether or not anyone else can isn't and shouldn't be of any concern to me.

So, what do my teeth (or the lack thereof; I can't wear dentures) have to do with Tilopa's lesson? In the past, because I didn't look "acceptable" by having a nice, shiny, straight, white smile like the majority, I was ashamed to meet anyone. I craved this appearance so badly, thinking it just wasn't fair for so many others to have it when I never would. I'm a 46-year-old woman, and I've never once in my life worn lipstick because I don't want to draw attention to my mouth, where my teeth live. In the past, I didn't go out of my way to meet and talk with new people. I wanted so badly to look differently, but because I didn't, I let it affect my life. I hermited myself away, with precious little contact with anyone but my immediate family and one friend. My craving for a better appearance kept me hidden, not my appearance itself.

One of the first lessons I learned in Buddhism (I'm teaching myself since I'm not close to a dharma hall; a text here, a video there, etc.) is acceptance. Acceptance is liberation. Acceptance of situations you can't change. Things you can't have. Stuff you don't want. Things you're afraid of. To be able to accept those facts (except, it seems, dentists) and be happy...or at least content and unruffled about it...well, that was life-altering in a quite surprising and fortuitous way. For example, I have pain in my bones from too many surgeries and in my organs from more surgeries and a disease that has not been kind to them. Accepting that once, over two years ago, didn't make it a magic cure-all, however. Acceptance must happen repeatedly, in every moment. I take a step, I notice the pain, I accept it as being something I can't change, release any attachment to it, and move on to the next step. I look in the mirror, don't like what I see, then acknowledge that this is my lot in life, with no bias or contempt (and surprisingly, sometimes with compassion and love) to affect my reflection. My appearance isn't pleasant, I know this, but I'm not my appearance any more than I am my unsteady gait. Because I no longer crave better leg bones or healthy teeth, my life has a lot more room for bliss. And joy. And talking with people. Making friends. And riding a bicycle. Even singing karaoke with a friend in front of a much larger crowd in which I'm usually much less comfortable, with people taking pictures, no less.

The craving for a pretty appearance used to keep me from making friends or talking to strangers. The fact that I can go out now with the same appearance as before and talk to people is a taste of freedom. It's like my report card, grading my progress on how far down my chosen path I've come. Sure, it would be nice, I imagine, to have a winning smile, but I believe my happy spirit is a more than adequate trade.

Another Buddhist lesson I learned early on is that our bodies are merely our vehicles. I drive a lemon. I'm okay with that...are you?

"There's a common misunderstanding that the best way to live is to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable." ~Pema Chodron

The Feeling of Words

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 21:13:00 +0000

Like most establishments, Goodwill Thrift Stores play music over its loudspeakers to keep its shoppers happy and boppin' down the aisles, looking for vintage textiles, retro styles, and ankle weights and garden sprinklers (okay, maybe that last one is just me). My estranged husband and I were there browsing (you can't go in a place like that and not look at a bit of everything). We were both enjoying the music (and indeed, he was whistling along, something I can't do) but long after it had been played, we still couldn't remember who sang, "Take on Me". The only thing that kept coming back to me was "Wham!" but I knew that was wrong, even if it "felt" right.

I liken this phenomenon, this feeling of words that are similar in meaning or action, to synesthesia, which is "a neurologically based phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway", according to Wikipedia. Some synesthites taste various flavors when hearing certain sounds. Others see words as having different colors and shapes. I can't always describe the almost physical sensation I get when something like this happens (it happens a lot) but I use the "ability" for lots of things. To visualize in my mind the size or weight of something...some words just weigh heavier and look bigger than others. Or appear more bold or dainty. I can often also recall words that won't come to me because a particular letter will stand out; if I'm with someone and we're both in this predicament (like trying to remember who sang "Take on Me"), I'll let them know clues I'm getting. "I see a prominent R", because I will, almost as sure as if it had stepped forward from a line-up, put its knuckles on its hips, puffed out its chest and announced, "I am Here." And often, the word will put itself together that way until I can see it and exclaim, "a-ha!", as I did when I called my estranged husband this morning. No, really..."a-ha" is the name of the band who sand the song "Take on Me". If I say "Wham!" and "a-ha" even now, I get the strong sense of the short burst of power behind it more than I do the word, which is what I was experiencing yesterday.

've told people for years that I'm wired funny. Add this phenomenon to the physical body of someone who is a supertaster, someone who refuses to let most foods mix because the flavors (or colors, textures, etc.) simply aren't compatible. Sweet AND sour together? *retch* And when you offer me your "little bit spicy" hotsauce, don't be surprised when I turn it down as the fire-starter that it is for me. When everything I experience is rolled into a ball and displayed, it amounts to creating a fairly flaky individual, eccentric, exact in her tastes and dislikes, with a goofy, exuberant enthusiasm for her pet causes. Because I am compelled not only by words, but by the sensations these words present, I'm more likely to see the deeper meaning in things. Music just might be bigger to me...at least certain types. I hear the most blissful piece of music ever performed, in my opinion, "Oraanu Pi" by E.S. Posthumus, and see and feel and can almost touch the flights of fancy, glimmers of light and flashes of glitter, swimming around and dive-bombing me. This is just an peek into my world, how I see the living of life...my reality will vary so differently than yours that, by now, you're probably shaking your head and thinking, "What a fruitcake".

Is synesthesia present in everyone, but laten in most, unfortunately? I say unfortunately because once I embraced and decided to actually see these bouncing letters, beams of dancing, colored lights, and weighted words, my life bloomed like a tropical garden, full and lush and alive with scent, movement, color, light...Life. Ya know, I don't think five or six senses are enough. Grow your own if you can. I did.

Is it just a coincidence that "Take on Me" brings a character caught in a 2D world to life in our dimension? Eh...I'm not going to make the connection. Just shut up and enjoy the videos.

Ah Ha - Take On Me

And, for future reference, will you guys please remember that, when my time comes, I want my ashes to be scattered somewhere around Mt. Baker while "Oraanu Pi" is playing. Loudly. And blissfully. Namaste'.

You're So Vein

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Wed, 06 May 2009 21:55:00 +0000

I have several blog sites all over the interwebal universe. A post here, one there, and then they all would sit in cyberspace, gathering cosmic dust, waiting for me to come back and attack the keys of my computer in my erratic yet zippy hunt-and-peck method. This is the one...the blog with which I'll continue recounting my life experiences. And, geeminy, have there have been plenty of experiences since last I posted. In February. Where does the time go?

Let's start with a post about the crappy stuff and get it out of the way. You know...like getting the bad news first so the good news is even better. And then I'll be able to post later on the more positive, happy things going on around me after I get this out of my system.

The award for Major Suckiness goes to the pulmonary embolism that landed me in the hospital very recently. Just when you think things are stable and that you own your health, WHAM! And I ignored the silly thing. For three days, I had the most awful stitch-like pain on inhaling even a tiny breath. We've all had them...temporary "catches" of something inside us around our air bags (lungs) that break free quickly. Except this wasn't going away. I would lie in my bed at night and try to get comfortable, try to find a position in which I could lie where I could just breathe. You simply can't appreciate a single, deep, cleansing breath...like the ones you use in meditation (you can imagine how that went) until you can't take one. And I'd panic. And cry. I was all alone (by choice), except for my cat who did everything in her power to comfort me, bless her. I'd think about calling someone to chat with, to try and distract my mind from the vice around my lung, but who wants their phone to ring at three o'clock in the morning? Eventually, I'd find I could curl up tightly and kind of rock myself to sleep for an hour or so. And I'd get up and try to live my life normally, accepting that I had this pain and trying to let it go. Trouble is, it wouldn't let go of me.

Ya see, I had this feeling that I was having an allergic reaction to a new medication my doctor prescribed for migraines and when it wasn't helping, he doubled the dose. When I began having the pain, I googled this "wonder drug", and sure enough...it contains a small amount of sulfa. I attributed the pain to what isn't a real allergic reaction to sulfa, but a severe and serious side effect that literally burns my muscles and makes them contract involuntarily. It knocked me out of commission once for six months. I figured that, because I stopped taking it, the pain would eventually decrease.

Try riding a bike to the post office or grocery store. I did. I lived my life and did my thing and still went to watch the eagles down the road. I ignored the pain that refused to go away until...well...I just couldn't ignore it anymore. I asked my wonderful blessing of a neighbor if she would be willing to take me to the emergency room. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long to be treated. Once I informed the intake person that I'd had a PE in the past, it wasn't long before I was on a gurney hooked up to an IV. Ahhh...sweet relief of morphine and valium rushing through my veins, finally giving me a break from the panic and pain of not being able to get that deep breath. Then came all those tests: EKG, Doppler ultrasound, X-Rays, MRIs. Then came the diagnosis...yep, it was an embolism. I started to cry. I have tried so hard for so long to stay out of this medical loop. One doctor sending me to another, and then to another, and before I know it, I'm following all these directions and taking all these pills, and just getting lost in all of it. I broke that cycle when I left South Carolina and began my metamorphosis.

No, I don't believe I'm immortal or invincible. I realize that my health is still sorely compromised by lupus and the ravages it's inflicted on my organs and circulatory system. But I learned not to let it turn me into...a patient, a sick woman, a fragile, frail being. That's not who I am! For a very long time, though, it was. And that's why this hit me so hard. It took me completely by surprise at a time in my life when I was enjoying another metamorphosis separate from my own, the arrival of spring after a very long and difficult winter, physically and financially, that just went on and on and on. Now the rhodies are blooming, the cherry blossoms are showering their petals everywhere, and bees are already finding those apple blossoms and doing their map dance to show their fellow bees where a plethora of pollen can be found. The smell of lilacs is in the air, everywhere. The snow is retreating from the not-so-distant hills; the trees, having shrugged off the winter, are twirling in the shadow and light that you can't see when the snow blankets those hills. I was ramping up to ride my bike for miles and miles so I could accomplish my goal of being able to ride 20 miles in a day by the end of the summer. And now, I'm "allowed" to ride short distances as long as I don't exert myself.

Believe it or not, Little Miss Pollyanna Me even sees the blessing here. For years, I've been on and off (mostly off) coumadin, a blood thinner used in rat poison (they die of internal bleeding...how sad is that?). I've been on doses so high that it required me to wear a MedicAlert bracelet to announce to one and all that I'm a clotty little bugger. This was a true wake-up call, with bells and whistles and gongs telling me that, damn it, I KNOW I have things to do. I finally know who I am and I'm learning what life is truly all about, and I'm gonna blow it if I don't continue to take rat poison for the rest of my life. Okay, I get it. I surrender. Ooh...since I'm in the Stream-of-Consciousness zone, I can say that, when I typed those words, "I surrender", I got a giddy little goosebumply feeling. I give in. I accept. And then I go on. I gather myself up and try to play catch up to where I felt I was supposed to be by now. However, I know it's going to take a little while to get there. The Something has spoken, telling me to slow down, that perhaps I was going just a little faster than I should.
And once again, I'll have a collection of medicine bottles of various doses of pretty little colored pills lined up on a shelf. I concede to having blood drawn two or three times a week because the vitamin K in the bean sprouts and broccoli I consume in mass quantities alters the efficacy and daily dosage of the coumadin. Being a vegetarian creates all kinds of additional problems for those with clotting disorders. My doctor asked me while I was in the hospital, "How devoted to your being a vegetarian are you?" My neighbor bought me a spider catcher so I can catch those creepy little monsters that scare the begeebers out of me and let them go outside of my flat, my space. I have no right to take a life deliberately, with intention, whether by smacking a fly on the wall or eating a hamburger. All life is sacred. And in that vein (pun intended), not taking my medication is akin to taking my own life slowly. Or suddenly. The clots are still there, though a bit smaller. If I'd waited one more day to be seen, to start treatment to reduce the size of the clots damaging my lung and leg, and possibly veins in other places, I wouldn't be here to type this stream-of-consciousness tome. I suppose I could have just written, "I haven't posted in a while. I had a blood clot in my lung that scared me into taking medicine so I can continue riding my bike and enjoying the beauty of this world and typing long blog posts."

Nah. That's not my style.

An Experiment in Reality

noreply@blogger.com (Tee) — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 05:24:00 +0000

I was sitting in a very old chair that has traveled with me all over the world (I plan to write a post about it soon), feeling grateful for its ever-present presence in my life. And then I realized I was in a sunbeam. And then I noticed the dust specks whirling about. Already blissed out by an experience of abundance and peace after sitting in meditation, I picked up my camera and began to ramble stream-of-consciously about the nature of our reality. It's all about perception; how do we choose to view our life, and what do we wish to see?

I'm a bit blissed now, pharmaceutically-free, but wanted to share this insight of my life with my friends and family. Regardless of the situation, I'm finding that I can still find peace, even if it currently presents itself in intermittent showers. Or little flecks of dust. Namaste'.

p.s. Please pardon the mess; my flat usually isn't so crowded and cluttered, but I recently received a delivery of things that I love dearly, which contributes to my feeling of gratitude for all that is. My flat is small enough that it requires some creative arrangement which is, at the moment, a bit difficult for reasons I won't go into right now. It might be a story for another time...