Transitions; through a lens

Time to write. Time to right. Right. Right On.
All my old friends aren't so friendly. All my old haunts are now haunting me.- St. Vincent

Yes, and to get the sweet relief. Why can I love? Without hesitation. To love a whole person. Being there without being asked. Because I know things. Many things. Because I have been taught. Taught to see and to feel. To be calm behind the fog and a cloud of smoke. To stay in the shadows and watch the human play. The actors in life on their stage. Doing their empty parts to keep it together. I know inside, there are thoughts. There are things. There are emotions. Not only what I am seeing. I can read that there is thinking. You aren't alone and sinking. Oh, to the horror. And in the process of their awakening, and the nurture I step to it with. I am alone. I am a passage. Following some strange light, that lies just past where I stood with open arms.

Living in Alice's World

To come into the world; like a baby. Being born into the unknown. The perfect transition was leaving Humboldt and going to live at Crater Lake, Oregon. Living at the park. Working a job with people excited to be there. The beginning had so much love and promise. These people felt like Family. In the sense that they looked out for each other. There was a lot of hugging. I was a very good Cook. Fierce, because I looked at it as a motion rather than a task. A part of a great machine; and I took the 'I' away from it. My wide eyes and my loving nature; became a sort of invitation to the cruel. My goddess body, a representation of fertility and creation turned into a shell that seemed to invite harm. I felt betrayed by my breasts and hid them. My long hair with the 27 dreds I had cut to be 'employable' left me naked. I had a mess of wavy black vulnerability. People touched my hair. Without my consent. People smelled me if I stood in a close space. Men who decided that they wanted to posses me for a night; tried with force. When I fought, I was slandered. I traded one stalker for another, and often. But, there was an expectation of flesh. To comply, was harmful, to deny did greater harm. I stopped wanting to contribute to the machine. My boss would stand there; and stare at me. Because I would move quickly and deftly; but the soul was gone. My broken heart, left me in a ghost like existence. I felt like a shadow. I was important. At that place; I was very important during work. I was the work. What I did, was become exhausted. Just like an amnesia patient, trying to get my senses back. Daily, there were times I did not know what day it was; or what time it was. I would sleep 2 hours or 5 hours. And back to it. Fueled by processed food that left me with a case of non ceasing bowel issues. Dehydrated. Sad. To combat this, I embarked on a superficial voyage of binge drinking. I was living within an never ending hangover.Largely because season hit the mid point; everyone changed. It was like Highlander the movie. 'There can be only One' the cooperative thinking and love was slowly drained out. The humanity was being bled out for the sake of having a good reference. To go on to the next 'gig' to get the stellar reference at any cost. I called it Lord of the Flies. It became, this. And I was not going to be Piggy.

The bohemians that I met, could only afford me the first verse of any Grateful Dead song; Could set up a campfire and it was just another place to medicate with cheap alcohol. The mindset, fell from loving to put braids in each other's hair; to wanting to scalp one another. It was horrific. I almost wanted to cut myself open to see if I was still human; I had forgotten if I bled or not. With no way to reach the outside; no phone and no internet....the days melded into one nap cycle that left me drained. I became a vegan. Because I could only think to eat remade salad dry. I was becoming ill from the alcohol and the stresses that were born from fatigue. I reflected; what am I really good at? I am good at doing what I am told. Yes, that is it. I want to make my boss happy. I love it when he tells me that I am needed; that I can handle it. That we are good people. That he loves me as a human, that I am going to be protected. That I have been accepted. But, he is growing tired of me. I saw it when I caught his attention; I was telling someone that I had a child and that I had been married; that I was not young, nor was I new. He heard that I had a child. He resents my child. He became angry when my child took a taxi 200 miles to find me. It was bothersome to the illusion; whatever it was,That I have a real existence. That I missed my little one. He was fascinated and laughed as he watched. He stood at an edge to watch me spiral out of my sphere. He wants parts of me; the spiritual red woman nature, the great hire on the application; the animal in the kitchen that creates and bites. The woman that behaves like him; throws herself into fire and laughs. The brutal wit that throws a towel and laughed when he cut the tip of his finger off.The woman that sits half cocked on a rock smoking a cigarette. Fed bullshit and trailing acid with a deep concentration on ants crawling. The girl that digs gems, and trims leaves. The tye dye skirt that walks by and hides behind Tshades. I disappeared from who I was when the snow melted away...became the pharmaceutical zombie that had an ill temper. He gave me long breaks to medicate. Disappearing with friends of his. Who, became loves of my heart. But, never with him directly. As close as he came to being with me was, to stand in the trees outside my room. Or to hear me being made love to; by one who wanted to make me feel. The rare moments that I bothered him with a reason;With no resolve. Only an empty act. That was the hardest part. The day I decided to leave; to salvage what was left of myself and heal myself. He became so angry. The thought that I could go and start over; that I had a real existence. That just as easily as I mattered to him; I could matter elsewhere. That I did matter.

Going to the Masters for Knowledge

How Southern Humboldt gave me back my heart and also broke it. That was the month that I spent in the hills. I met the first land partners from the 1960's and the children who were born of the original movement. I came from a Rural town in Oregon. A rather fast paced and furious place.The kind of place that if you failed to make the morning fire; you could freeze to death with temperatures at -0 on any given day. The kind of place where you were taught to set your heart aside and function because it is the practical thing to do.

I came from this furious environmental rat race and into the Redwood bosom of the emerald canopy.
The first principals of Buddhist beliefs came into place; 'Be where you are.' and also another teaching 'Be your own master.' these were principals that I learned to live closely with. A sort of healing toook place in those weeks that I looked up into the Ancient canopy. Where I learned to smell the earth; feel the ground beneath my feet. To bathe in rainwater on a hill side that looked down upon what was left of the Ancient Giants. I made a friend there, and she brought my heart back into my body. I had previously, lost any attachment to myself and did not realize it until I met a woman that lived off of the land. A woman who had made her place in the world. A woman that stood to protect the giant trees.

I met my best friend there. You can always say that you have a best friend that you have known forever; but what about when your soul resonates off of someone and you learn to sing? That is my special friend there. We sat drinking coffee and for the first time in a decade, a woman really talked to me.

I left, and every so often, my mind goes back to these strong women. The largest heart that I have ever felt. I took some beliefs with me. Since, I have had my heart broken by the outside. I did not realize the effect that the world had on me. I know what it is to participate on a cellular level with the world that encompasses all living things. I feel either everything or nothing at all. The balance to live outside of the Emerald Veil of love and walk among the monsters in the barren landscape that is beyond the treeline. I live in two worlds; I live in the world of feeling and intuition, yet I walk among the 'living dead' everyday. It is heartbreaking. Everyday that I am not in SoHum my heart is broken; But because I was there I have learned to fall in love with at least one thing or person everyday. An idea, a living thing, hope.

http://www.donoharm.us/index.html

If you don't know what the above statement implies; Please go to the site link above. There you may read how we can live in this world more soundly. The idea sprung from a well of collective individuals who sought to make a visible impact. The impact is astounding. I was on a trip and first encountered one of these stickers. Albeit, I went home and Googled.. Please share this.

The Real Humboldt

 

When someone says the word "Humboldt" is your thought the truth? Or have you bought into what the Media wants you to think. Do you really know anything about this Unique and Beautiful place?

The county/region is named after Alexander Von Humboldt.

Von Humboldt was a Naturalist.

There was a vision that was the propellent of those coming to California in the 1960's. It was a movement focused on living in the enviornment. Evolving and becoming a complete human being. Intellectually, Spiritually and Physically. To be healthy, to leave behind a legacy of shared values.

Developing the intellectual through study and discussion. Meetings of minds. A circle.

 

 

 

Here is the definition of a Naturalist:

nat·u·ral·ist/ˈnaCHərəlist/

Noun:

An expert in or student of natural history. A person who practices naturalism in art or literature.