The Confessional
Share knowledge, ideas, and opinions.
Say hi to unknown friends and helpful strangers.
Confess your humanity and be enlightened by public discourse.
Confessional Archives
5/31/2009 – 8/31/2009
9/24/2009 – 5/29/2010
Share knowledge, ideas, and opinions.
Say hi to unknown friends and helpful strangers.
Confess your humanity and be enlightened by public discourse.
Confessional Archives
5/31/2009 – 8/31/2009
9/24/2009 – 5/29/2010
Sharin’ – Wish Costco would’ve spent $22 million on educatin’ our kids!
Sayin’ – Hi to all those on the Edge!
Confessin’ – I didn’t vote yesterday; I’m a PGPer!
Enlighten me, y’all!
PGPer?
That’s Pacific Green Partier. Don’t miss the convention on Nov. 19 in Portland! We’ll be choosing (by instant runoff vote) a candidate for District 1 Congress to fight the bozos from the Rs and Ds.
Sharin’ from The Confessional archives:
Billy
5/31/2009
This is a thing that I wrote and obviously I’m having trouble with the format but this is what I can share now.
It has been a year since I was diagnosed with bladder cancer and congestive heart failure. The doctors said my heart condition would prevent them from operating. I decided to let western medicine try to deal with it and spent months dealing with the VA. Wonderful nurses and doctors, shameful administration. We went round and around until one day a doctor said I had to sign a pledge not to sell my pain pills, like I was what they called a drug seeker. It was an insult to every Vet who was asking for their help, which is not an easy thing for most Vets. I walked away and won’t ask again until things change.
I stopped living and began dying. On Thanksgiving surrounded by people I love and love me, I stopped breathing I had given everyone to never call 911 again, but I changed my mind and they got me to the hospital, barely alive. Four pints of blood lost, kidneys shutting down and all sorts of things. I was told they thought they lost me several times, but after five days I demanded to be sent home. The community had been there everyday giving me love that amazed me and when I got home, people had organized four hour shifts to cook, clean, take me to toilet and be there for whatever I needed. I behaved badly in the hospital and at home, but they didn’t seem to notice.
After a few weeks my sister Judi came over from Hawaii during the snow storm we all remember vividly and spent ten days doing her healing magic and I began to live again. The community gave her love and helped her help me. Things began to get better with good days and bad days. Hospice sent Joesph Stevenson, who we all know and love to take over and he was the guy I asked for things and they got done. Things again had their ups and downs but he was busy making what we could do happen. I finally decided to stop taking all the pills except baby aspirin and the pain pills. My son James began to figure out a diet and exercise plan that would work for me. Nancy Burton agreed to help me deal with things using food and we are clearing up the reoccurring bladder infections with watermelon. It works fast and easy and expect it to clear up things by next week. Kathryn & Dave Riesch put together a CD of me playing with some of the best musicians in the Northwest and you can check it out on CD Baby. I will write more later.
Bless Billy. What was the date on this entry, Bob?
Look again!
Sharing more from the archives:
Billy
5/31/2009
safe at home
I was declared terminal and our beloved Oregon gave me the right to death with dignity, enrolled me in the Oregon Health Plan, gave me permission to grow pot, enrolled me in Hospice, started to send me checks and give me food stamps. Being in Hospice care means they think you have six months to live. I can’t say how much they do for people at the end of life.
Last night, I put together mashed potatoes and butternut squash (that was given to us as part of a huge harvest from a friend) mixed with butter and pepper, and it was delicious! I didn’t know, but evidently it’s a pretty common combination. People use garlic, other spices, and even other kinds of squash and sweet potatoes in this dish. It seems to me a great way to mix some of the mainstays of the harvest, and get more nutrition into the meat and potatoes meals!
This is the first time I have seen you two (Watt & Rabbi) on the confessional in the last ten years I have been reading or posting. Thank you for updating it. It supplies a safe comforting environment for many locals and new guests to share their truths and stories. Blessings~
Hi, Starfish. Welcome back. Look for confessional archives to bring us up to date soon. I’m new at this, but learning fast…
Rabbi~ Welcome New Friend.
Please dig further in the archives. Blessings~
Hi Starfish: I’m diggin’ — look up top!
Keep digging… the treasures are years deeper.
Thanks starfish!
As the website evolves we hope to incorporate an archive for comments and posts from the original Upper Left Edge. So much wisdom, beauty, and wit there.
Here’s to keeping the dream alive!
Watt: Welcome New Friend.
This is a place of innocence, sweet surrender, truth, a place where you may bare your soul willingly and without judgement. A shelter of peace in the cold storm of life. A sanctuary.
Blessings~
Glad to see all is up and flowing.
Great job . . . Watt & Bob !!
Anything I can do to help is always on the table.
You’ve helped a great deal already, Jeff. Thanks!
Still missing my brothers, Billy & Michael.
Thinking about them at least once a day.
Sometimes kindly and the converse.
Damn, I wished . . . . . . .
Me too, friend. Me too.
Just stoppin’ by to say “hello” and that I am looking forward to seeing what is happening in this community.
Hey Mel!
Can’t believe I missed your comment. Would have immediately said how glad I am that you’ve joined this seedling community.
Hope you had a good Thanksgiving.
I just found out about the Republican gambit of linking approval to build the Keystone XL pipeline to a tax cut extension, which is linked to a possible government shutdown. Another case of political blackmail, with the environment to suffer. I’m just so mad!!
I plan to post on this subject in the near future on the Edge. But here in the confessional, I just wanted to confess my anger and frustration with the political games played by the Republicans.
The whole notion of an extension of tax cuts is ridiculous if you ask me (another confession), and I would be just as happy if they weren’t passed. But the notion that Canadian tar sands oil is better than Venezuelan oil is even more ridiculous. I confess, I’d better stop now, so I don’t get too upset and start blathering.
Comment away, oh people of the Edge!
Yep. Another corporate crap sandwich from Republicans. Will Dems munch it down, as they have so many times I’ve lost count?
I confess I just heard about Oprah Winfrey’s salute to fossil fuel fascism (see link below). Old news, I know.
Lord help us, please! That’s a heartfelt holiday prayer.
Look forward to your post, friend.
http://www.desmogblog.com/open-letter-oprah-winfrey-ethical-oil-ads
Yes, the Democrats have swallowed the poison pill. Disgusting!
Beneath the brands of today’s political leadership:
1) Democrats stand for next to nothing. Their words are empty.
2) Republicans stand by their guns, and are gunning down Creation for Mammon.
We shall see if Obama’s words are as empty during an election year as they have been during the first three years of his presidency.
From an article by David Dayen, one of my favorite bloggers at firedoglake.com:
http://news.firedoglake.com/2011/12/16/republicans-demand-to-kill-the-keystone-xl-pipeline/
Yeah, I read that in other articles too. It would probably pass the test of making a decision within 60 days. Piss off the Republicans and still get the tax cuts extended. But then they will be doing it all again, and the Republicans will come up with another absurd bargaining chip. Obama and the Democrats need to transform into intelligent beings and figure all this out beforehand, and play accordingly. We’ll see…
Hopefully the moderators will help my botched links above? LOL! The two movies are “Buck” and “Reel Injun” Just so you know. LOL!
-m
Hot dawg! Thanks for jumping in, Brother Matthew!
Couldn’t find your earlier links. Perhaps you included them in comments made elsewhere that somehow got lost in the sauce.
I did find a link to “Reel Injun,” and look forward to watching it in the coming days. Looks very intriguing, and in synch with our talk a few weeks ago in Tennessee. Sort of reminds me of of one of our favorite books — “Hillbillyland: What the Movies Did to the Mountains and What the Mountains Did to the Movies” by J.W. Williamson.
Looking forward to more talk.
http://www.reelinjunthemovie.com/site/
Happy Chanakah!
http://youtu.be/vzoGCG8w8Wc
Oy! Next they’ll be wearing panty hose!
Gentile confession: I looked up “oy” to make sure I was in the ballpark. Found an interesting factoid. Mirriam-Webster online dates the first document use of “oy” at 1892.
Question: what’s that on your fellow rabbi’s head? Looks like a wedge of cheese.
I had the impression that the “confessional” was going to be local in nature. Sorta like “Cannon Beach Weather” with an adult supervisor. Not that you and Rabbi Bob don’t have anything interesting to say, but what about closing the school, the problems at the PD and all the other local stuff that we need a forum for?
Excellent question, Cap! Thanks for asking.
I want this website to feature a productive forum for local issues. We may need to change the format of The Confessional in order to make that happen. This was the best we could come up with to get the ball rolling. Obviously, it’s still a work in progress.
Here’s my pledge to work on improvements and hopefully implement them early in the New Year.
I will be very interested to see how this confessional progresses…
As a (self proclaimed) long time reader and user of, and contributor to, the confessional (granted, not as long as many), I had grown attached to how whimsical it was. It wasn’t a “forum,” and it didn’t have to be a “conversation.”
As Billy had scribed it, it was for all sorts of anything, and it was mostly used for musings, passings, fluid ideas and didn’t have a “monitored,” or “guided” feeling at all. People would leave well wishes to each other, post writings, post quotes, post things un-discernible (yet somehow still profound), and I greatly appreciated that. It was unlike anything else I was able to be a part of. So often, “forums” become “lead” by a few, and topics begin to become overrun with politics, debates, etc. I really loved how the confessional was, somehow, free of that.
This new form is, well, new, and just may take time for me to adjust to. All things change; nothing is permanent, so I surely don’t want to cling unnecessarily to something in the past, if it is no longer to be. But, if there is a small chance at putting a single person’s perspective out there, I just wanted to say that I liked the feeling of freedom, and the wonderful experience of serendipity that I have found in The Confessional for years. It, and the camaraderie I experienced, have had a great impact in my current presence. Yet, perhaps I am clinging …
Something different happened on the way to the aforementioned “forum.” A wizened washboard player took me aside and suggested we make a separate place for “Local Threads” on the website. So I did.
After commenting on those threads, hopefully any who thirst for more fluid musings will return here to The Confessional and partake of whatever exchange there is to offer; be it poetry, prose, or strange bits of synchronicity copied off napkins.
Shalom, Ms. Stumbleine. Be not worried by the administrative voice that sometimes pushes itself in front of all the other voices that live inside me.
Thanks, again, Watt! I see that spirit is alive and well here, and truly that is what is important.
Thanks for listening to me; it means a lot.
Fire away, cap. I don’t think the school should be closed. Kids should be able to walk to elementary school. I grew up in the 60s and 70s, when busing was a big deal. I had to take a city bus to high school, but walked to elementary and junior high. I’m also really angry at the lack of funding for schools in general, when military, public safety (aka jails) and private top corporate salaries are through the roof.
Not sure what PD means. I’ll weigh in if you lay out the problem.
I’d like to think that the confessional can be broader than just Cannon Beach. But the community that comprises the ULE should make this forum more about this part of Oregon than other places, or at least about the people who live here.
What do you think of wave energy? I’m about to write an article in HIPFiSH about it, and would like to know local people’s opinions. Especially if you are against LNG.
I wanted to second the idea specific thread site for discussing the location of the school. During the last go around about finding a school site, the community wasn’t able to reach a consensus, which is why the District went with moving the CB school (along with the other four schools in the tsunami inundation zone) up to a safe site near Seaside Heights. This is really a discussion about our priorities as a community.
Let me try this again…
maybe perhaps this link will work better for the Reel Injun film. In my first botched attempt at sharing this link, I said exactly that about Hillbillyland! It really does remind me of that book very much except of course with Indians instead of hillbillies… Worth your time if you ever get to it. Best take away ever, “we’re human beings.”
The other link was to Buck the movie. Another one that was very good on a very personal level for me, but I think that it is a very good watch for anyone and everyone.
more soon, I’ve got some things cooking that I’d like to share. Thanks for the warm welcome!
-m
She grasped at the limelight;
Climbing, clawing, clutching, cloistering nothing,
But giving up all that kept her “self,” from running away from itself.
* * * * *
She inhaled the promises;
Swearing, sweating, swilling, sweltering sex,
And justification wore many pretty masks.
* * * * *
She arose, awakened;
Without shame, fear, regret, or attachment,
She walked with surety,
Having shed those emperor’s clothes.
Thank you for your words, Ms. Stumbleine. Poetry will always be an essential part of life at the Edge. Heck, even hack bards like me sometimes give it a try.
http://www.upperleftedge.com/2011/10/22/sometimes-a-great-notion/
Thanks, Watt!
Yours is elevated, yet approachable, and I could see many of your images very soundly. Thanks for sharing, and your trip sounded amazing. I read much of your writing, via the BBQ list, and enjoyed it very much. Thanks for all you’re doing here at the Edge; I am thankful, and I enjoy your writing.
Blessings!
Poetry, Politics and Perspective
I just found this video on youtube of someone attempting to share some wisdom and really wanted to share it here. If and when you have thirty minutes or so, sit down, give it a look, and think.
A clear-thinking human being John Trudell speaks in Detroit.
I love this human being!
much love and happy holidays upper left edge, I’m thinking of you.
-m
Happy Holidays all! Hope to have meaningful contributions soon.
Glenna
Had a great conversation with my German friend Volker today, about physics (he worked at CERN as a grad student). I asked him how wi-fi works, and some basic questions about particle physics. The answers were fascinating. Turns out wi-fi works by converting your file into modulations of a radio wave, and software on your device enters into a dialogue with the data, and only accepts packets of data that match the original data at the source. Cool, eh? Volker says the upshot of this is that the improvements in wireless communication are mostly a function of software, not hardware. Modems are basically the same as they have been for years. Keep the software coming!
On the particle physics front, I asked Volker the difference between smashing protons into each other and looking at an atom, let’s say, under an extremely powerful microscope. Volker said that the Higg’s boson experiment at CERN, for instance, is actually crashing a proton into an anti-proton, resulting in pure energy, which decays into particles as it “cools”. This sort of collision produces energy, which is what scientists believe happened just after the Big Bang, so the experiment is actually dealing with things from the past, not the present.
Volker also told me that quarks, though discovered awhile ago, are not fully understand, even today. Quarks are involved in the strong force, not well understood, that keeps protons together in the nucleus of atoms. I thought the strong force was well understood, so this was another revelation.
We talked about a lot more, but Volker steered me to the Feymann Lectures, given in 1964, but still relevant today. I started watching them, and his accent is classic. Worth watching. They’re on YouTube, but this version has cool tools:
http://research.microsoft.com/apps/tools/tuva/index.html
Don’t be shy about continuing the conversation about particle physics. It’s actually really cool!
Hey Rabbi Bob,
I really like the Feymann Lectures link, I really like the viewer as well, thanks for sharing that I have not seen either of these before. I’m looking forward to spending more time there in the near future.
After reading your post here I went back and found a couple of talks that I think might be right up your alley…
Murray Gell-Mann on beauty and truth in physics
I really enjoy his analogy of an onion…
and
Patricia Burchat sheds light on dark matter
I really like what she does with the bottom of a wine glass…
I enjoy listening to brilliantly smart people, especially when they are able to ‘reach-back’ and employ relatable concepts to help dense people like myself grasp onto these far-out concepts.
Good topic!
Good Morning UpperLeftEdge,
I wanted to share a couple of nuggets that are meaningful to me. I hope that you can find something in these perspectives that appeals to you as well.
“There is a great treasure of knowledge stored in the folk cultures of the world. And folk wisdom is, of course, mixed with folk ignorance–even as today our “civilization” is made up of a mixture of ignorance and wisdom. If we are ever to attain the height and splendor of a society in which all people have the opportunity to grow and flower to their fullest, it will be due to our ability to sort the wisdom from the ignorance of all cultures in all times and to blend what we find into better ways of living”
-Wm. S. Coperthwaite May, 1977
“If the boring of water pipes (in solid Elm wood) by hand strikes us as a laborious and uneconomic process, our present practice of digging up coal and iron ore, transporting them great distances to blast furnaces and ironworks, and then carrying the finished cast-iron pipes to their final resting place, would have appeared equally absurd to the old carpenters, who could produce pipes from trees growing on the spot… Pipes laid down in London in the New River Scheme of 1613 were found to be perfectly sound when unearthed at Holborn in 1930.”
-H.L. Edlin
and the last one for today,
“The question is whether we are to be tourists or participants in our heritage, I am interested in the question because I believe it to be an eminently practical one: I do not believe that tourists can preserve anything, including themselves, for very long. And one of the tragedies of the modern world is that it has made us tourists of our own destiny. It has taught us to turn to the past for diversion rather than instruction. It has taught us to look into our inheritance for curiosities rather than patterns.”
–Wendel Berry
And if you’re interested, all three of these quotes come from one of my favorite books, “Country Woodcraft” by Drew Langsner
Much Love UpperLeftEdge,
-Matthew
True words, from one of my favorite writers. Thank you for sharing them, Matthew.
Here on the coast of Oregon we have a love/hate relationship with tourists. Sometimes we forget how today’s world has made us all tourists, in the sense that Berry describes. Our challenge is to recycle the best of local cultures and re-root ourselves to this miraculous planet, place by place.
Hey Villagers!
Come get your chamber music fix at the Coaster, Tuesday, Jan. 3rd @ 7:30 pm.
A very talented trio of musicians is coming from both coasts to perform in a great concert including music from some of your favorite composers.
Check out http://www.tolovanaartscolony.org for more details.
Tickets are available at the Coaster Theatre, Copies & Fax, Jupiter’s Books or by calling 503-368-7222 or 503-436-2000.
See you all there!!
Do it for the kids. Watch “Gasland: The Documentary,” a film by Josh Fox, winner of a special jury prize — Best U.S. Documentary Feature.
This is a film about how natural gas companies extract their product, a process called “fracking.” An earthquake in Ohio that is now in the news has been caused by fhis process. This is an opportunity for people to become conscious of the facts.
Do we want more damage? No fracking way.
http://www.gaslandthemovie.com/
Hey there, UpperLeftEdge people,
I was in bed last night, reading a book I bought from this teeny little bookstore I couldn’t remember the name of, despite having just been there hours before. As I was doing this, a little card fell out. Jupiter’s Rare & Used Books, right! That place. And I was thinking how badly I would rather be there than here (Vancouver, WA) at the moment. And on the back of this little card was a website, so… I’m here now!
I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, but…This is a confessional, yes? So I’m supposed to confess! Well, here goes:
I come to Cannon Beach nearly every year. I come with my mother and sometimes a friend of mine tags along. My mom likes to stay in the nicer hotels, where, ‘ocean view’ doesn’t mean, ‘mostly parking lot and a little window of sea in the background,’. She likes to sit on the balcony, drink some red wine and think. I personally don’t care where I stay, and balconies are swell and all, but the actual experience of head-to-toe sandiness is better
.
The trip goes like this: Come to the beach, go to the hotel and drop off all the stuff we have, drive into town, Mom goes to eat and drink somewhere, and my friend and I walk around and either buy stuff or immediately go play in the sand or water. Get first to second stage hypothermia from swimming in a freezing ocean for x amount of hours, walk back to Bill’s Tavern where my mom thinks we are weird and, ‘too funny’, head back to the hotel in misery, go BACK into town and eat dinner, maybe have a fire on the beach with s’mores and all that, rinse and repeat for a whole weekend.
This trip was different. It was the first time I’d not only driven to but stayed in Cannon Beach by myself. I had made the decision that morning (I am quite impulsive), and somehow was staying at the Wayside Inn for two nights, thanks to the financial assistance of my mother and grandmother. If it were any other reason than the one I have, this trip wouldn’t have happened. This was a pity trip.
My good friend Aaron killed himself in October. He jumped from the 205 bridge to his watery death and on New Year’s my friend Jennifer did the same. Personally, I, despite me HATING the phrase, have suffered from moderate to severe depression since I was around twelve years old. I was doing okay, and suddenly it seemed like all my friends were dying and my life was going down the pooper real fast. I’ve also been suicidal since I was fifteen. Everyone thought this was some sort of time-to-die trip. So of course, I received calls and texts aplenty, usually reading, ‘you okay?’ or, ‘don’t do anything rash’ from people who assume they actually knew me. My mother insisted that I call her every once and a while to tell her what I’d done so far. By this she meant, ‘I need to know you aren’t dead’. Understandable. I spent each night taking my anti-anxiety pills and crying into my pillow, hoping the family with kids upstairs can’t hear me.
This trip was also different because I didn’t spend my time making terrible sand castles with a Spongebob bucket I found, pretend to be a pirate, even at 18, or talk about how totally convinced I am that mermaids exist, because, ‘look how big it is! I bet Ariel is totally watching us right now, up here where we walk and run and stay in the sun’. I walked on the beach alone, cold, end of February, the thoughts of pirates still on the back of my mind, but mostly thinking about death. My death, my friends death, the death of those three seagulls I saw or how that one seagull was totally being a cannibal. I also thought about how the sea foam is completely different in the summer… It actually looks GREENly gross, and it isn’t white or fluffy like the sea foam now.
I also thought about how absolutely ridiculous this all was. How every time I’m home, I’m surrounded by people who are convinced that money and things and just SHIT (sorry about the language…) is important. How somehow getting a job that pays well and going to school to earn a fancy degree all means happiness and success. I thought about how I think the same thing when I’m there.
And I was standing, and my shoes are wet, and the tide was REALLY close, and everyone’s left the beach but I’m still here, my pockets are full of broken shells, and my skin is cold and my heart feels heavy and sick, and God doesn’t exist but man does, and my friends are dead, and I’m crying and it’s dead quiet because the tide is pulling back because a big wave is readying itself, there’s rain, and I wonder if the wave will be big enough to take me away, and I think, ‘I’m alive.’ I’m alive and this is what’s important. This being… Everything and nothing at all. Everything is the world and nothing at all is this moment. This moment is nothing at all except a moment where the tide is pulling back only to push itself closer to the rocks that are the seawall. And the wave is big, but it doesn’t touch me. The water doesn’t touch me. Not yet.
And I walk and walk until the seawall and the tide are too close for comfort. And I’ve never walked this far on the beach before. It’s prettier away from the hotels, away from the people and the degrees and the jobs. And I think I could just live like this forever. I could write a book that will sit on the bottom of a shelf and get dusty and make people sneeze, but never look down. And I can buy food from the store here, and I can get a job and just stay and tell no one where I’ve gone. Like a secret. Because my friends are dead and I want to be dead and I hate seeing that thing in peoples eyes when they look at me and feel bad for me, and ask if I’m okay, as if I am going to smile and say yes. And I always do. I like being a little bit of nothing on the beach, like the jagged things in my pockets. I like being a nothing, I like being a moment.
And I walk back. And the tide decided to leave me be for a while and I call my friend to tell her how much fun I’m having and I lie and say how I wish she were here with me. And I think to myself how this feeling won’t last. And how am I supposed to just leave today and go back to more sadness and degrees and jobs and why can’t I just be here forever? Why can’t a moment of nothingness last forever? But I get in my car and I drive to that bookstore, and I buy a book because a boy I like likes it. The owner is calling people to invite them to come over on Sunday, for dinner or something, and I laugh a little. And I try to look like I’m actually searching for something, but I’m really just standing, breathing. I’m breathing deeply, because the smell of old books is like heaven to me, and I keep sneezing, but I don’t care. And I breathe some more and think, I like this nothing, I like this moment, here, in this corner of a bookstore with this chair that says, Time Out, a creepy little teddy bear and the owner whose gone to get some warm water or something.
And I grab the book and stand at the counter, and there’s something wrong with the register, and I’m smiling because I can stay in the moment a little bit longer. And the tide is far away now. And I almost ask, ‘what made you want to be here forever?’ but it comes out, ‘how long have you lived here?’ Because the owner is from the south. And we talk a bit, but it’s time for me to go, and the second I walk out the door, the moment has faded. And I cross the street, get in my car an drive home, where the tide is even farther away and nothingness moments are far more seldom. But I’m still alive.
Reading this was one of the best things that happened to me all week. Next time someone asks if you’re a writer, Mariah, I suggest you say “hell yes.”
Ha, well, thank you. I appreciate that.
Mariah,
This is an extremely powerful, authentic soul piece, I am honored to read it. It resonates deeply, and its messages and healing properties extend far beyond the confines of a page. I am a friend of Watt’s, and after reading this, felt a strong intuition to reach out to you in some way. If you go to a web site called dreamchange.org, and click on “presenters” you can learn a little about me….
Again, thank you for sharing the truth and power in this piece…. you have a Gift…
Vincent Santo Ferrau
Hello there, Vincent!
You…Have been doing some impressive things. Ha, I felt a bit overwhelmed reading it all. I think it’s beautiful, the way you’ve reached out to help people.
Is it weird to say that a year ago my ideal life was being a Taoist with some Buddhist tendencies, living my life helping others?
I’m flattered that both you and Watt think I have some sort of…Gift, and I vastly appreciate the feedback, so thank you.
Nah, it’s never weird to seek knowledge that may become wisdom, in the living of it…To align yourself in Oneness, beyond the illusion of separation. To endeavor to touch the Heart of Compassion…. Nah, so not weird….In many traditions it would seem odd, not to do these things…but we each have our path and our learning curves….
I (Spirit Allowing) will be heading to China to meet with a Taoist Master and wander…..If i can ever be of assistance to you, just ask….
And You Do have a Gift….. It is apparent beyond miles and meeting….
All the Best,
Vincent
Because I couldn’t just, ‘lol’.
Yesterday a man gave me a flower. I didn’t know him, not his name, I can’t even recall his face and I didn’t even realize he was speaking to me until I heard him call me, ‘miss’ just over my shoulder. He handed me the flower, it was small and purple and the man smiled and I thanked him. It smelt like pink lemonade and inwardly I felt warm. No one had ever just…Given me a flower and a smile before. I watched as he crossed the street and gave a flower to another woman, who smiled and thanked him as well, took in the sweet smell of the petals as the man just seemed to disappear into his yard again.
Today another man gave me a paper and a book. And I stood in his bookshop and I thanked him, and this feeling, like a heavy wave rolled over me. Not just the honor, which I stated, but something I couldn’t name, not until I had left the store and made my way to the beach – yet again. Within the pages of this paper and the words of this book was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. And not only was this sensation from the physical gifts I was given, but from the words and actions of this man. He told me histories, of people and a place, he told me stories, he laughed, showed me a picture, drank his coffee, spoke when I couldn’t, and called me a writer, which made me blush. And it was then I knew, even if I couldn’t recall the word, but I felt important. I felt worthwhile. And even those two words can’t sum up the magnitude in which I felt them. It wasn’t JUST the words he said or the things he gave me, but the way in which they were presented. Sincerity and gratitude were behind it all. But it was time for me to leave, feeling good and happy, to do what I came to the beach to do – walk and think.
I passed the place where I witnessed a log ripped from its spot, pulled by the hands of the tide, recalling how I thought of death, and why I wanted to be in this place so badly. Cannon Beach – to me – seems so unchanged, so unaltered from my childhood memories. And I, like that log, was stuck, too far from the others to be safe from the water. The tide came and pulled me away, taking the sand out from beneath me, testing to see how far I’ll roll, and now, it’s giving me a new place to rest – at least for the moment.
I put my hands on the rocks as I passed them. The curve of their shape drowning out the sound of the waves in the distance, turning the constant voice of the ocean into a near whispering murmur. I walked around them, over them, seeing a side of them I’d never looked at, from the seas point of view. Some were so rough, life growing on every inch, green and brown and black. Others were far more barren, but they were cold, smooth and fragile under my fingertips. Yet, they were all cracked, they all had lines pressed together, some didn’t match up, with lumped edges, while others fit like the pieces of a puzzle. The water had done it all.
I was mad for a while. Age doesn’t mean wisdom, I thought and glared. Beauty doesn’t mean peace and vast doesn’t mean endless. Power doesn’t give you – ocean – the right to erode some rocks to perfect, unlivable smoothness and leave others riddled with bumpy life. And I childishly thought…What gives water the right to do what it does? It takes, so much. It pulls the logs into it and it takes lives with the same eager touch. It washes over, and it forces under and sometimes, the worst of times, it doesn’t move at all, doesn’t take and doesn’t give.
When you stand next to the sea, you don’t feel big. You don’t feel important, or worthwhile, or even human. You feel like a small speck on a scale so large your presence isn’t even registered. At first this was a comfort. To feel like nothing, like your mistakes and your life are just soaring under the radar, unessential. But today it felt infuriating. Like the voice so caught in my throat, or the words along with that voice. I wanted to be essential, to something, to anything – and the waves, the tide, crashing and bubbling along weren’t there to pull me in today, or to sing their unending song, or be beautiful in the sunlight just burning through the clouds, they were there to tell me it’s time. Time to do what I can to feel alive again, to pull myself from the great mouth of the sea and onto land.
Today the Pacific Ocean gave me an idea. Something just as warm feeling as a purple flower from a stranger, or a sense of impact/importance from a man I’d met only twice. I thanked her and I smiled at her gift, because she is wise and beautiful, full of power and her existence may not be vast, but her message is. Her gift may have been spoken only to me, but her voice still laps and calls onto the shores and into the ears of countless lives, though it may be sweet and calm or unrelenting in its sound, her message to you will be clear when you set aside your feelings and listen. Today the Pacific Ocean taught me I need to BE as opposed to exist. I need to DO as opposed to not. I need to WRITE as opposed to blushing when called a writer. I need to SPEAK.
Thanks for both of your insightful pieces. Read this one yesterday morning and it was a wonderful way to start my week. Hope to read more of your thoughts in the future.
Stopped by to share an observation. A Cannon Beach police observation. I was heading home tonight, driving 20, staying in my lane, lights were on due to it being dark, passed a CB police car. I rounded the corner coming to a stop sign, came to a complete stop and looked in my rearview mirror to notice that the officer had turned their car around to follow me. OK. I go a little further and pull into my little parking lot. As I walk out to cross the street and head home I notice the cop car there again. Once again it had turned around and was sitting off to the side. As soon as the officer saw me they pulled out and watched me a bit to see where I was going. Since I was breaking no laws and we ARE in Cannon Beach I find this behavior a little troubling.
I probably feel this way because there have been other incidents with them. One night I was driving some friends home after a movie night. I was at the stop sign across from Mo’s and there was a cop sitting there. I think just knowing a cop is around causes all of us to watch our speedometers a little closer. So I watched my speed, making sure I was right on the dot, as I drove Hemlock then turned at Sunset and drove up past the RV park to drop my friend off. The officer followed me all through town and when I headed up the dead end road the officer pulled off and turned around so he could catch me coming back. As I got to that point he didn’t turn his overhead lights on but he rolled his window down and asked what I was up to that night. Well, just dropping my friend off. He then wanted to know why I took the route I did. Why, he asked, did I take Hemlock instead of the 101 since it would have been faster. I was very taken a back by this and meekly explained that I live here and Hemlock was simply the route I choose to take. After sticking to that questioning a few moments longer (making sure I knew 101 would have been quicker) he then threw in, “You need to watch your speed next time. You were going a little fast.” *laughing* Really?! I watched my speedometer the entire time and did not go over the limit even once. The Cannon Beach police officer looked me in the face and lied to me to make up for harrassing me for driving on Hemlock.
There was no personal interaction tonight. Just following me around. In a peaceful community like Cannon Beach I understand that there really is nothing better to do with their time, but this behavior is upsetting to me.
One would think Cannon Beach officers would be especially sensitive to community relations in the wake of the departure of their former chief. I’ve been helped many times by local folks in uniform. Most strike me as very conscientious people who would never want the misjudgment of a few to tarnish the department’s reputation.
Years ago I served as a volunteer on the Cannon Beach community policing team. It was our job to bring the kind of feedback you have offered here to the department’s attention. If you are comfortable, I suggest you compose a letter to the department for their records. Stop by the bookshop sometime when I’m there if you want to talk about this more.
Sometimes the best remedy is open communication.
Thank you, Watt. It bothered me enough last night that I will write that letter. I’ll definitely stop by the shop to go over my thoughts with you.
This is quite concerning to me. I don’t like it one bit. Could it really be out of boredom? Our state of affairs, the world over, sees its way to trickle down to even the smallest of crevices of the world.
Police forces are gearing up, in a militant style, even small cities are being practically given combat weapons, even small tanks, for pennies on the dollar (wish I had the article link in hand). It worries me that our small town’s uniformed officials are clearly becoming so blatant in their “policing.”
Growing up in CB, I’ve seen the police force in many different ways, and with many different types of personalities on the force. I have never had a truly harassing encounter, but I was never followed for long durations either. I would like to think they are still the small town force that I grew up with, but clearly, that is not the case.
Bothersome. Worrisome.
I met a woman today for coffee. She was a stranger who reached out to me and confessed some of her most heart-felt thoughts during an hour of conversation. One of the things she shared with me was the lyrics to an Elton John song I’ve never heard before. After listening to the song and having a read of all the confessions here, I was inspired to write a confession of my own.
It’s been almost six months since my husband, James and I moved to Maui. While it is true I have not missed, nor have I thought much of, the weather along the Oregon coast, I have missed Cannon Beach a lot more than I thought I might. With the passing of time, one gains perspective and appreciation for what one has let go of. I understand that surrender is an ever-evolving, life-long process, but I honestly thought I would become more proficient as I moved along in age. I am a beginner every day.
As I go about finding my way here on this tiny island out in the middle of the Pacific, the memories of my time spent in that sweet town with the big rock provide me comfort and confidence. I believe in two weeks’ time when I return to Cannon Beach for just a day, I’ll know how much I’ve missed the place I called home for ten years. My greatest hope is I will see many familiar faces and will have plenty of opportunities to connect with my former neighbors and say hello. My greatest fear is I will see no one I know and no one sees me.
I wonder if being seen by another, really seen for who we are, is what we all deeply want for ourselves and for our world right now. I strongly suspect it is.
Here are the lyrics to Elton John’s song:
The words I have to say May well be simple but they’re true. Until you give your love, There’s nothing more that we can do. Love is the opening door. Love is what we came here for. No one could offer you more. Do you know what I mean? Have your eyes really seen? You say it’s very hard To leave behind the life we knew, But there’s no other way And now it’s really up to you Love is the key we must turn. Truth is the flame we must burn. Freedom the lesson we must learn Do you know what I mean? Have your eyes really seen?
So good to “see” your voice here, Lisa.
Your comment redoubles my prayer for this site to be a place where readers and writers help each other listen. Being deeply heard for who we are is a challenge for us visually-dependent creatures.
Can words stitched together on the screen tune us in to some of the same kinds of truths we confess in person?
We shall see. I think this medium has some advantages, beyond the obvious limitations. Maybe written communication can help us transcend the social packaging that brands our brains and marks our insecurities.
I also want to include an Elton John link for you. It took me a while to find one that seems like it’s in the ballpark. Not sure where that ballpark is located, given Bernie Taupin’s lyrics. But the process has been fun.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NPJ4cfElxA&feature=related
Feeling as if the whole shit house is a tumblin’ down … Take me to the river … wash these dirty hands of mine …
She runs like the river after the April rains,
Over flowing. Ever ebbing. Pushing, pushing,
through the wet, leaching mud; with each step,
It sucks saturated (in) sanity (in), leaving her with
Nothing. For naught.
She sobs like the storm clouds,
Loudly. Never ending. Rocking, rocking,
in the wash of the open faced, omniscient moon; with each tear,
it magnifies her (un) placed (un) heavenly beauty, reminding the God of
Eternity. For only a moment.
She breathed fire, like the sun,
Through all known time. Continuous, yet
transitory, but never fearing what was to come, or
Longing for what was; with each breath,
she gained peace with interconnectivity, with self, giving her
Freedom.
For you, Ms. Stumbleine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oda_T-eYcxc
Reading your beautiful poem recalled one of my all-time favorite songs — “She” by Holly Near (with John McCutcheon on banjo). Searching for that song led me to this link. The drumming is amazing.
I’m also grateful for your poetry as a work of art unto itself, in need of no comparisons.
I have to say (with a sad chuckle…there’s an oxymoron for you…or is it just that I’m the moron) that when I heard about a US military man gunning down a bunch of women and children in a shooting rampage in Afghanistan, “So what’s new? We Americans do this every once in a while in our own school yards and other public places.”
On the other hand, I think it’s only logical (another oxymoron) for a person who has endured that many combat tours, to “snap” and do something seemingly irrational.
This is especially a product of the kind of war that our ruling corporate elites have continuously gotten us into in building and overextending the American empire, something they have been hard at work doing virtually since the end of WW2. See the works of Canadian diplomat and Cal Berkeley emeritus professor, Peter Dale Scott on this subject. I’m presently plodding through his “American War Machine.” In Afghanistan we are dealing with an occupation, rather than a typical war, with battle lines. The very nature of occupations, which is more like police work and ferreting out inevitable resistance (who likes to be occupied by troops of a foreign country, let alone a global empire), inevitably leads to these kinds of horrors. They do so regularly in the Israeli occupation of Palestinian lands. Thousands of years ago, when the Jews were in the position of the Palestinians and Rome occupied their land, similar atrocities occurred. All empires eventually exhaust themselves in imperial overstretch and crumble from within.
“Little Boxes” covered by ‘Walk Off the Earth’… Just something that I really love and wanted to share. Hope you enjoy.
-Matthew
Amazing cover, Matthew. I love this group. Here’s another clip you’ve probably seen. Wanted to share with others.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVOFqfROwrA&feature=relmfu
I am amazed at this group “Walk Off the Earth” as well. The comment I see most often is that their covers are better than the originals. I agree. I noticed that the link to “Somebody That I Used to Know” is no longer there, so try this one… Somebody That I Used to Know
and now for something completely different…
Hurra Torpedo covers “Total Eclipse of the Heart” this reminds me of a skit on the Muppet Show, it makes me laugh every time and thought I would share/confess…
Here are some Passover YouTube videos/songs. Enjoy!
The Best Seder in the USA (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCy4-_DaacI)
I’m Going to a Seder (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugzCSigEcCc&list=PL435AD94A890B9E21&index=1)
I Will Survive – Pesach Cleaning Song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAU2c2QH5oY)
Passover Rhapsody (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRWNrk7FxG4)
Recently I heard a singer songwriter named Bhi Bhiman interviewed by Robin Young on NPR’s Here and Now. His beautiful cross-cultural fusion went straight to my heart.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQUP_flquqQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aP58DOi9eQ&feature=relmfu
I like Bhi also. I played his song Kimchee Line on my radio show a while back. You can download it for free at his website and have a listen. I’m going to see if I can make my iTunes music list available for people to browse. Would give people an idea of my tastes and might be interesting…