Tag: queer

me and paco ride again

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i’ve started another adventure with paco.

and i’ve started a different job

before i start this i want to be clear about a few things. i did really enjoy housekeeping (mostly its hard work with little reward other than a job well done), i really enjoyed my manager and her assistant (i would do anything for them…really!), i also enjoyed those i work with. what i didn’t enjoy was the class issues that came with it and the condescending attitudes of others’ when i told them what i did to earn money.

so, ya, i quite my job.

well first i started a 2nd job bartending again. it’s been awhile since i’d done this type of work. at first i just thought i would do it for a day or 2 to help out. but then i remembered what i like about it.

i found myself making more money in less time. i had conversations with people and not just in my head or respond to whatever podcast i was listening to while working. i had actual in person real time conversations.

on top of it all, i wasn’t really getting in the hours i needed to since summer is slower up here and only making $15 bucks an hour (well we did get a 17% cost of living adjustment, which they called an across the board raise for everyone due to inflation, and p.s. its not a raise its a COLA, remember those? people would get them usually at the first of the year as a cost of living adjustment separate from one’s yearly wage based on performance).

[for more on the wage issues, so my latest post at deep thoughts hard feelings]

so after working my ass off at both jobs for awhile, i. quite the housekeeping gig. it wasn’t an easy decision. besides working with great people, my housing was also tied to that job. so quitting also meant being houseless.

housing is tough up here, like everywhere. pricing isn’t as bad as other places, but since there is hardly any inventory, its not just hard to find a place one can afford, but any place at all.

so i moved back into paco, the truck. she is great. last night we slept out on the mesa with all the stars. this morning we woke to an amazing sunrise and the chomping of big horn sheep nearby.

its a good life i get to live.

now, i have the time to write in the morning before work can sap my energy. and i can get in my fitness time and some reading before i’m too tired to think about anything except food and rest.

so here i am. embarking on a new adventure. i don’t know where this one will take me, but i feel good for the first time in a very long time. i don’t have nearly as much stress. i spend more time out doors, which i love. i have a little money in the bank. i work for a nice family. i found an amazing acupuncturist to help me with some injuries. and i am sleeping better than ever.

so yup. life is good. sure there are the usual life stressors, but now i feel all the better available to be present and flexible enough to face them.

anne rice helped me find my superpowers

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it is that time of year again, the season of the winter solstice. this year i really want to come into it much more prepared, to be more intentional with it than just a quick meditation, light a candle, and welcome the light to come. so i have been contemplating what it is i need to let go of to bring in what i want to move deeper into my life.

so, a couple of days ago i woke from my dreams with many things from my past that i can now see differently and therefore can let go of and also celebrate. i woke energized and charged with a sense of direction as i moved through my newish ways of beginning my days. all the things i do before i allow myself to touch devices that bring in the outside world. on this particular day, the first piece of news i read was that anne rice had transitioned from this world. she was 80 years old. she had a stroke. that was the only piece of news i read then as my mind was only full of all the ways the works of this writer had influenced my life, perhaps in ways i am just beginning to understand.

i don’t remember where i found her, but i think it was at a used book store. the first book i read was…well honestly i can’t remember if it was queen of the damned or her first book on her family of witches. when i find a writer that brings parts of me alive, i just start reading everything they have ever written. i do know that i read the vampire books, not in order. and yes, i did read her books under other names. books that were categorized on different degrees of erotica. books that were about so much more than sex, but about all the different ways we people can relate and potential reasons one may want to. eyes were open. mind was blown.

i stumbled on this writer, already popular in the gay community, as i was coming out and trying to understand what that meant. i knew it couldn’t be just about who i slept with or how i was when i was in a relationship or my love for vampires and witches. there had to be more to it than that. it was way before i would understand just how much i want to tear down the binaries of well everything. it was her writing more than anything else i was reading at the time, especially gay and lesbian writers, that being queer could mean that i moved and viewed the world with a different lens. that being queer is a type of superpower i can use when moving through the world. that by breaking this binary into pieces the world could explode in color, sound, smells, tastes, bodily sensations….the sensations are limitless.

her characters, no matter what realm they existed in, lived deeply. the ones who, at first seemed weak or vulnerable, were actually the strong ones, the ones who carried the others in challenging and difficult times. she showed that we, that i could hold these contradictions all at the same time. the way she wrote these characters into being inspired me to go outside of my comfort zones to find deeper more lasting comfort. not some false sense of security that capitalism offers. she helped me understand why i could not find comfort in the ways that i was told would bring joy and success. and that i am the only one who knows how to find them.

i have always been a type of loner. i deeply enjoy doing things by myself, but i think it was her characters that gave me permission to do the perceived dangerous things alone. i would go out dancing, alone to meet my friends. i would dance and dance…learning to express my young newly queer self. i would leave a happy sweaty mess. if it was one of those fortunate nights where the dj spun just the right tunes that i left exhausted and high from the beat and rhythm of it all. i’d leave just before closing and find a place to just walk the back alleys of deep ellum, exposition park, or turtle creek. i would listen to the night winding down. the smells of a hot summer day hopefully cooling down. i’d walk until my heart calmed or i found a fountain to cool myself, then i’d drive to a parking garage, climb to some rooftop, an abandoned building, or an empty construction site. anywhere that i could get up above it all and watch the sunrise, usually with the cure in the tape deck of my car as the soundtrack of the moment. i’d sit there with sweat still dripping down my neck, my shirt soaked, my muscles wrung out, happy. once the sun would hit my face, i would get up to face what was next. usually, a shower to get to class, maybe a breakfast date, hopefully, sleep.

but i think it was her characters that gave me permission to do this alone, and then later backpacking and bike touring solo. the things i’ve been told weren’t safe for women to do not just by themselves, but without men. from outdoor adventures to walking or biking my city’s streets alone late at night into the early morning. i did try to go with others a few times, but then i would find out later that they brought weapons to the places i find peace, or they would spend most of the time questioning our relative safety. so, i stopped bringing people with me. if they wanted to meet somewhere, cool, but, nope, i am a solo adventurer with the exception of very few people.

one of the many things i loved about anne rice’s stories is her attention to everything. her depth of research is astounding. when i first read cry to heaven, i could truly imagine the unique sounds that the castrati opera singers performed or the smells of the vienna canals. she was able to find the only recording of one of the last castrati singers ever made and was able to give great detail to the quality and depths of their voices. she could describe places i have been and have lived to such a degree that i knew exactly where she was talking about. i could smell the unique scents in the depths of heat in new orleans as well as the bone-chilling cold that could happen there when temperatures drop and humidity stays high, so i knew i could trust how she described experiences i have never had, and probably never will. she kind of became a new type of history teacher for me before i found howard zinn.

she has also taught me, in very deep levels, that a fascinating person can be very complicated holding deep contradictions in wonderfully beautiful ways. i always knew her as someone who wrote about vampires and children who were vampires and witches and the deep dark nights of mystery and the otherworldly. then one morning i woke in new orleans early, before all my friends that i had road-tripped with, so while they slept i went out for a cup of chicory coffee and walked the garden district. i found a cute bookstore and naturally went in. as i walked around i heard a voice off in the kid’s section, sweet a storytime!? sure was and who was reading to the children who were so enthralled in what was being read to them but the one and only anne rice! i was caught up in this experience as well. how can one go from writing exit to eden to reading to children? we are not meant to be put in boxes and labeled. we can be many things and we can hold many identities all at once. we get to move through this world appreciating and loving so many different aspects of the world around us. it is how i gave myself the space to love going to hear chamber music just as much as i love going to a hardcore punk show or industrial rave. i can love dark goth and energetic dance mixes. i can be complicated and dive into depths that even i don’t understand, and she helped me find those places because she also held that for herself and for her characters. i also learned here to separate the writer from the person, the artist from the human.

there was a point where i stopped reading her. where her stories went to places i was not prepared to go. it happens. i have had this experience with many teachers, and friends. people move to different places, and i found other writers who picked up and helped me find other worlds within me, other worlds to explore. her transition from this world to whatever is next, reminds me how much i am because so many others have risked, have been vulnerable, have challenged the way things are to imagine how things can be, how we can be, how we can relate to one another and live in a way that uplifts the possibilities as opposed to smother and suffocate them.

as i was about to finish this post, i found out that bell hooks also transitioned, then so did e.o. wilson.

i don’t know how to put into words how bell hooks influenced me, my thinking, my education, my time in the university setting, my inability to stay in higher education. two books by bell, teaching to transgress, and all about love influenced me deeply. there are so many common themes in both books. one almost inspired me to be a teacher, but instead helped me move out of institutional education. the other taught me what love could be, how to begin to move this one powerful word from a noun to a verb, inspiring me to also move from being a noun to being a verb.

bell hooks showed me by how she lived and wrote that it is possible, indeed necessary, to live what we affirm, that our lives must be lived as an example of our politics. that my life is not just a theory, but a life to be lived. i could go on and on about how she inspires my to this day on how i look at the world around me. she reminds me that moving into a life that views the world contrary to the institutional lens is a painful transition, that there will be internal and external complications. but there is also great joy especially when we find pals doing the same.

i can not imagine who i would be without so many writers, storytellers, singers and songwriters, movie makers, and artists of all sorts to open up the imagination of brilliant lives. i am forever grateful for all of them, especially the ones i get to call friends, comrades, coconspirators, accomplices, those willing to go down the dark alley, the unknown path to see what there is on the other side….

thank you all for i am much more alive because of every last one of you and that is a gift that can only be repaid by living the dream they inspired in me and to attempt to inspire others to do the same in their way.

may you all enjoy the coming light

headwaters and land acknowledgments

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seems like anywhere i have ever called home or at least rested for a spell, has had a body of water that soothed my wondering soul. some water feature that i could pour my troubles, my dreams, my fears, and my grief into all to be transformed into healing and envisioning. i have been fortunate enough to find the source, the headwaters, of most of these (once i knew that was a thing i could go find).

in the town i grew up in there was the cottonwood river. we had many adolescent angst chats. it was a place that i would find refuge when i didn’t know where else to go. mostly it was a place where no one knew to look for me. one day i did stumble into a classmate there. we ran in totally different circles, but always seemed to have each other’s back where we did overlap. we were both, unknowingly, dealing with similar situations and agreed that the water was much better therapy than the school councilor.

the next river i remember looming large in my life is the so called missouri river….the mighty mo. it separates the kansas and missouri sides of kansas city, the city i have probably spent the most days of my life so far. once i learned how to get down to it, you couldn’t keep me away…and again a place no one thought to look for me. i have yelled, cried, screamed, loved, snacked, happy houred, biked along side, camped near, and dreamed by this river. i’ve watched it flood the city and farmland. i’ve seen it eerily low in drought. this week i went to this river’s headwaters, where 3 rivers become one, moving north before it heads south again towards the mississippi river before flowing into the sea.

knowing i was only an hour and a half to this river’s beginning, i knew i would go there before leaving this area, but i postponed it knowing it was going to be emotional, problematic, beautiful, nurturing, and troubling. that i would be troubling the waters sorta speak.

this is where louis and clark followed the river from st. louis. this is where they stole sacagawea, and so many other people and so many beings found their way to the extinction protection list. i looked up on the native lands app to see who’s land this was stolen from. they list: apsaalooke (crow), salish kootenai (flathead), and cheyenne. i have also seen that shoshone-bannock, niimpiiuu (nez perce), and a few smaller bands of these tribes (these sovereign nations) have moved through this land, and i am sure many many have since it is considered part of a major northern route through this continent.

this venture lead by these 2 men…well i have no words. i have no love or awe of their journey, or the corp of discovery. they fall into the same category as columbus for me. and if it were not for indigenous people helping them out, they probably would have had a much different report to give jeffferson. in-fact, as i was pulling into the headwater park, i was listening to a story on public radio about a guy who was 1/2 native and 1/2 anglo of some kind and became a translator for the corp because he knew the sign language of many of the native tribes, or so it is said. louis and clark loved him so much for his graceful gestures he used to translate that they had him give the report to jefferson. after his job with the corp of discovery was finished he bragged that he was so loved by the ”indians” and could communicate so well with them that we was going to return to 3 rivers and resume trapping with no fear of the local ”indians”. upon his return to 3 rivers area (the headwaters of the missouri river), we was captured and excuted by those same “indians”. poetic justice perchance?

the moment i stepped out of paco, the truck, i could feel that this was a special place, that this was an amazing gathering spot for so many beings. i could envision the bison, the elk, the bears, as i watched a herd of deer bounce through the prairie. then i think of the beaver. i imagine this land and how it must miss the beavers with their dams that would help retain water, thinning the trees, creating habitat for fish for the bears and the eagles and the cattail. that this place was so huge so abundant, so open that it had to be a regular place to gather, to stock up, to trade, to commune. i mean, it is where i would want to meet my pals after making it though a winter with my smaller more intimate clan. a place to run, to tend to orchards, to harvest in prep for the next season.

to be honest, i was in awe to be in such an amazing place, also broken hearted thinking about how the supposed discovery of this land by the corp led to so much violence to the people to the land to the water (i naturally tasted the water and it was already tasting of gas and industry even though it was more clear tham i have ever seen it in missouri). i found many places to sit and gaze at all the rivers and tributaries that flowed into this one mighty river, the mountain ranges that hold the snow that feeds these waterways. it is an amazing and powerful place.

all this brings me to land acknowledgments. i don’t usually do them. i agree that they are the least we, as white folks, can do. but if they are so important for us to do, why are they at the end of our ig, twitter, blog, facebook…posts? shouldn’t we lead with this information, this orientation, instead of some kind of institutional version of an endnote? land acknowledgements without actual change to our behavior is still just a form of feel good pc culture that doesn’t really do anything.

now before people get all pissed at me, i support anyone who is doing anything, and i have certainly not done enough. that being said, we could all do so much better. we must work towards some kind of meaningful reparations. that it wasn’t just stolen land, and genocide. that recreation as resource extraction is also a form of violation to the land and water, a disruption of a balance of life. i have been listening to and reading indigenous activists on how empty land acknowlegments from white people feel. and when i listen to podcasts and interviews with bipoc folks, and land acknowledgements (as well as language, gender expression, anything they want us to know before a discussion begins) starts the conversation. it isn’t just at the end in the show notes or a side topic to how they recreate in the out of doors.

those of us that find refuge and safety in spaces without walls. where we can see the sky and hear the wolves. where we can still find clean water to drink from a waterfall, find enough wild greens for a meal and a friendly ground to rest. where you can remember that it is natural to walk side by side with the deer and elk and even the wolf or coyote that finds YOU safe to walk beside. to look into the eyes of a lone antelope while on a lone run in the foothills. to swim and bathe in a cold mountain stream along with a rainbow trout jumping for that buggy lunch.

i have no real answers to these questions, mostly just more questions and a few ideas. but i can remember when i realized that i wasn’t out to recreate, i was out to commune. it was the day i was on a hike along an amazing river. it was suppose to take me to a specific waterfall where i was to return and complete a certain set of stats. instead i found a nice place to sit and watch the birds move up and down the river. i listened to a woodpecker while watching fish jump. i watched one tree wave at me, knowing that was my aunt saying sit, listen, breathe, be

there was nothing to check off a list. nothing to complete. no agenda. i sat for hours. i read. i listened. i took a nap. i watched the clouds and the rolls of the waves as the light shifted until the cool shift told me it was time to move again, and find something more than snacks to eat. my heart was full. my spirit cleansed. i could face another day. in other words, i felt for just a moment what it is to belong. to be with

sounds of delight

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i woke in the middle of the night with the sound of wind blowing the trees outside my window in every direction. i’m not sure if it was the incoming storm that made me take notice or if it was the absence of silence. it is so quiet up here until a storm comes in. the wind really rolls up this valley, with the hope of bringing snow or moisture of some kind. today, it also blows in reflections of the soundscapes of my life over the past few years.

as i have moved from place to place and activity to activity these past 5 years or so, i’ve been struck by the sounds that i fall asleep to and the ones i wake to, and the ones that were companions through my days. as i begin re-reading undrowned by alexis pauline grumbs, and working through the ideas, the meditations she presents on black feminist lessons from marine mammals, i have also taken up the practice of waking early and listening to the darkness, in the darkness. what am i listening for? it depends. her practice is to listen for/to her ancestors. at the moment my practice is just to listen, to still my mischievous mind. what i have heard is all the thoughts, but when i do manage to get quiet i hear the elk eating the grass and flowers right outside my window. i hear the bull elk calling to whomever they call to. now i can hear the slight changes in their call depending on how separated the herd has become. this practice has also reminded me of the other beings i have heard through the years when i have been in this morning and evening practice that moves as the sun moves. i actually miss many of these beings deeply and have begun thinking of them as ancestors.

the first sound companions that come to mind were in oregon. i use to wake to a bunch of crows. the humans living in our house began to be able to tell a difference in the sounds certain crows made. one crow, in particular, was able to copy the beeping sound of a neighbor’s car as it was locked or unlocked. it had that beep down! i can’t say i miss them, but i remain more fascinated by crows than i previously was.

walking then biking down the pacific coast, the ocean was my constant companion. it was spring then summer and fall. i watched storms roll in and began to know that she was bringing storms or calm by the shifts in the sounds she created, the rhythm adjusting my rhythm. it was the mysterious near silence that often filled me with awe. one morning waking to fog rolling down the mountains of baja towards a smooth and calm ocean; the surfers sitting on boards on a sea as smooth as glass. the silence was thick. as thick as the fog. as thick as the coffee made by a local woman on the side of the road. thick as my head that wanted to keep going, but…well it made for a good day to mark the turnaround point of that venture.

the next big bike adventure, i don’t really remember the sounds of nature. i was in full suffer mode. the voices in my head followed me around the country. heat exhaustion, tick examinations, mental torture fests day in and day out as i wrestled with unprocessed emotions, grief, depression, thoughts and feelings from the past i don’t even know how many years. in retrospect, i can see i hadn’t dealt with a depression that had set in while still living in portland. the sounds i do hold close to me from that trip are all the conversations and visits i got to enjoy with close friends and oh so many strangers. without those moments, i don’t know where or how i would be now. sounds of community come in many tones. but also there were fireflies, lightning bugs, sparkle butts…whatever you want to call them, and as hard as i tried i could never hear the sounds of their flashing beauty that i have since learned is how they communicate. dusk filled with their messages flashing around the grasslands fills my mind and kinda makes me want to dance.

i think it was las cruces where the sounds of beings got me really going and connecting me to place. first, there was the family dog. i’d be awake waiting for the rest of the house to stir, and i would hear the little pitter-patter of the pup running along the tile to go outside. that sound always got my day moving with a smile. and then there were the birds of all kinds. but it was when i started spending every night out on public lands that connections connected.

i can still remember that first night sleeping out and hearing the coyotes as i began to drift off. eventually, i would learn how to hear their call and response across the valley, especially just after i would experience the sunset. then i would wake just as dawn cracked and there they would be again as i greeted the morning and sun. then it wouldn’t be long before i heard the magical amazing sounds of the desert quail. oh how i love hearing them as they moved around. as i learned the contours of the land, i could picture their fun shapes as they run through the sagebrush and up and down the landscape, disappearing into some bush, all in a row as the adults herded the young ones to safety.

these two beings, with their sounds connected me to the movements of the day. first, it was the sun’s movement. which as i paid more attention to how it moved across the sky by day, then, also by season as it made it’s way south and then back north along the ridge of the organ mountains as the seasons swung us in time. then i could feel my body doing much the same. i started to notice when the moon would rise and set and where. i could start to feel these cycles shifting in me. i would rise each day to greet the sun and be sure to watch her move over the western horizon. if i missed one or the other, i felt off. when i was able to catch all of it, the sun and moon rise and fall…well no matter how challenging the day was, i knew, i felt complete in ways i don’t know if i can explain. all of it complete because of the sounds of the other non-human beings around me. naturally mixed in there were the sounds of various birds migrating through as the seasons moved. the more i paid attention, the more that revealed itself: the sounds of lizards on rocks, the wind moving through a canyon, cows on blm land…

as i began the move to the worst job i’ve ever had, the coyote sounds were traded out for wild burros. i was camping for several days in central arizona and i knew that the area i was considering camping in was full of these wild beings. i began to really love waking to their braying in the early morning, and even if i woke in the middle of the night…they pretty much communicate all dang day, and i really enjoyed it. i had to leave when the sounds of atvs drowned out everything, including my random thoughts.

where we lived in arizona for the worst job ever (i know i need to write about this and i will) i rarely heard coyotes. we did see lots of my beloved desert quail, but they were so quiet. connections there with nature were challenging. i guess this is what happens to a landscape that has just been so extracted: mining, tourism, ranching…the sounds of nature that i do remember the most was the wings of the ravens when visiting the grand canyon, also, the one condor i did finally get to see glide across the sky. there was also the sound of wind…so much wind that brought so many dust devils. some of these fleeting vortexes would get so big and powerful they lifted some of the large canvas tents from their foundations or ripped the sides in half like a piece of paper.

next was montana, at the northern entrance to yellowstone, it had been fairly quiet. i walked along the amazing yellowstone river and its confluence with the gardiner river. i began to hear the shift in water levels, or the way the wind moves down the valley and across the water, or the fish jump, the birds’ wings as they fly in to catch a meal. i see and hear wildlife everywhere. but shortly after that first moment in early september, you know that moment that the sun has moved just enough that you witness shifts in light and shadows. this moment marks fall for me every year, not the calendar, but that moment i see that the light shifted. it is one of my favorite times of year. anyway, not long after that moment of movement, the elk, always present, took over the town. and just like that, it is rutting season. the bull elk are with the rest of the herds moving in this area, and they are very talkative. it is now their sounds that fill my days and nights. if i pay attention, i can hear them move around the valley. it is helping me connect with this shift in season. just before i left i was gifted with the sound, finally, of the howl of a yellowstone wolf. my one wish while here was to see or hear a wolf, and i got to experience both. talk about feeling connected!

it is these sounds that pull me in and connect me with the ebbs and flows of life. it is what keeps me from spinning out from the world that has felt in constant chaos. it slows me down and makes me pay attention. these connections fill me with a deeper sense of community. helps me answer my questions on who are my ancestors, and what are they trying to tell me. helps me feel part of something i can not name when i hear the massive cliffs lecture me on all the things. or when i hear the stories whisper in my ear from the wind. or the awe-inspired when i finally got to witness a wolf walk right by me as i prepared to walk the same trails they follow. these are the moments when i know i can greet my aunt, my grandparents, friends and lovers, people i’ve known in this life, and those i’ve never met, the animals who have walked with me, and pals i haven’t talked to for a while. a place that no matter how lost i feel in life, i know i am on a good path full of many who have passed before reminding me what a damn fine life i have.

these are the events that fill me with delight.

they have also filled me with the beginning hints of purpose and voice. these sounds bring to light the times i have been silent. when i have not used my voice, my experiences, my truths. there are many reasons for these silences, even when i shouted “silence = death” during the early days of the AIDS pandemic. even with all the times and ways i have chosen to “come out”. this work i have been doing in the dark silence is becoming my next big adventure and is what will be influencing the changes in the writing you will be finding here in the future. i hope you come along with me, as we are all connected.

pride…a complicated relationship

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pride

we have had our moments

my first pride parade was an accident, actually

i was on the university photojournalism crew. we were on our way to cover members of a popular hair metal band play in a fundraising softball game. we stoped to get some food and there it was, my first pride parade…houston texas. one of my instructors sitting in a lawn chair right across the street from me. we waved. we may or may not have had a special encounter one day as i was leaving the racquetball courts….

as time went on, and i came out more and more about more and more, i got involved in pride events from organizing to activism to arguments to disillusionment. the corportization and the capitalization of pride….

but tonight

tonight i went to a pride party in flagstaff. it was a bunch of drag queens, mostly from RuPaul’s drag show and vegas (a mear 3 hour away) and chris cox was the d.j.

drag queens are not my favorite entertainers. i just never really got it, still don’t to be honest.

but

they have always and forever been at the forefront of the queer liberation movement. they have raised more money for so fucking many causes. whenever anyone in the community needs money, it is the drag queens that get it done. and they are also the ones that get the shit for everything…assimilated gays and lesbians afraid of what the mainstream community will thing of them if they lead the parades or are visible anywhere but the bars. what if kids are there, people will get the wrong idea of “our” community…blah blah blah. fuck that. p.s. there were kids at this party, and they had a blast. they were even welcomed on stage to dance

do i wish that the music was not the same tired songs? yes, yes i do. do i i love to see people jump up and down and sing along? yes, yes i do.

also, most of the one’s i’ve watched are people of color, so there is that added to the mix of community dismissing. tonight, being the first Juneteenth celebrated as a national holiday, we had even more to celebrate and brought intersectionality to the pride table.

tonight i was finally able to dance like i haven’t danced in a very long time. i walked back to where i was staying drenched, my body wrung out. sweat dripping down my neck, off my hair and onto my face. i breathed deep. i smiled

tonight i remembered what it felt like to step into a queer bar where i didn’t (as much) have to figure out the normy social norms.

tonight i ignored the straight couples clinging to one another for dear life (it always seems to be the men with arms wrapped around the woman and i thought it was because they are afraid of them getting away, but maybe it is because they are actually afraid of their own temptation with so many good looking men around? but tonight i ignored them)

tonight my body remembered how to move

i bounced and twisted as my knee rose to my chest and my heal spun me around just as the other caught me to push me back the other direction. my arms my elbows pushed and pulled me. it was like a type of prayer feeling the rhythm and tension of the music. i have missed this. i have craved this

being in my body in a way that celabrates and is joyous in its movement.

tonight i am happy

tonight i am

sunrise

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i know it has been awhile since i have written anything here. it is not for the lack of adventures, not by a long way. i just haven’t known how to write about them. the desert changes me every time i take a breath of the magical air. the sand and grit gets into my pours. the light shifts how i see. all of it absorbed into my being…it changes my perspective. but i think i figured out a way to start talking about it, and i will let the sunris explain.

today paco, the truck, and i woke up in a different town for the first time in over a year (well except for a little backpacking trip to the gilas that may or may not included my 2nd encounter with search and rescue, but that is another story for another time).

i wanted a get away. a place i could get some writting done, dig deep into some research that i’ve been pecking at for awhile now, and sneak in a hot spring soak…..or 3. so i pointed the truck in a direction and drove for a little over an hour. and booked a little bungalow for a week. they call it a bungalow, it is a tiny little one room with the kitchen and bathroom all in the same space, but it is mine for the week and i am very happy.

in conjunction

so today i woke like i usually do, before the break of dawn, litterly. the sky hadn’t even changed from it’s mightnight blue yet. so i made some tea because, well i am a mear few steps from a fully loaded kitchen, and don’t have to break up the ice in my water jug. i take the steaming cup outside for some breaths as the sky shifts into a new day.

and for some reason, today, it hits me. how long have i been doing this, greeting the sun? when i tell people i’ve been up for hours, some have actually laughed at me, my silence could only mean i was asleep. them not realizing i’ve heard them get up, make the coffee, turn on the tv or radio. that i go to sleep in a way that allows me a glimpse of the sky, even if there is no way for me to see east, i watch the light shift. i lay there and think, stew, embrace the stillness, the quiet that i won’t find again for hours upon hours.

but today i am wondering when this started? i know it wasn’t those years in the pacific northwest where i went days without seeing the sun, just different shades of grey merging in and out of a darkness that never really got black or deep dark blue of the night. it certainly wasn’t all those years of tending bar, closing co-ops, late-night social times where i would see the sun rise as i finally ended my day.

sun-moonrise

that is a different kind of witness to the sunrise, watching it come up as i go down. it is almost like a relay race, or an exchange, ok you are here now, i can go. as if i just had to make sure there would be a day even if i failed to participate. and i was rarely alone in these moments. someone from the night’s adventures, maybe the whole crew. as if the rise of the sun could signal us to eat breakfast then pass out from exhaustion and glee.

no. this greeting is something completely different. something almost magical. mystical. i feel cheated if i miss it or the rare grey day hides the moment. there is something that grounds me in this moment of this greeting. i feel connected, at least for a moment, to the greater world, to my breath maybe? to the bird songs perhaps? to the coyotes howlng one final time before they scamper off? the owls that make the occasional appearance? the hope of rain in the clouds? the message in the wind? the deep booming silience found in the desert? to the something i can not name but am deeply indebted to for the magic of this world we get to inhabit?

what i am beginning to realize is that this is the moment that puts me firmly into my body. it makes me pay attention. i hear my breathing, wanting the breath to be clean air. i take the first drinks of water to break my fast of the night, and i want it to be clean water. i set my mind on these things so that the choices i make for the day are so that i and all the beings seen and not, heard and not, that we all have clean air, water, food. that we, as we end meditation with, be at ease, know peace, and be free from suffering.

sparks and rays

this practice of greeting the day to start my day, a new day of new potentials connects me to me, and thus me to my environment. this connection holds me accountable to my responsibility to hold up my end of the agreement of interconnectedness. and no matter what happens the rest of the day, i have this moment to hold me as a place of gratitude, relative safety, and a type of love. and i can not believe i get to receive this gift.

all this has infected how i move through my adventures these days, as well as how and what adventures i am choosing. and now i think i can write about them.

as always, thanks for reading

blue

ometeotl

fear the mind killer

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or silence = death.

this we learned in the 80s under a different plaque. our generation our queer generation learned that health, health care and human rights are intertwined. is it any wonder that we continue to refuse to remain silent. that we already know our silence, our complacency to obey = death?

i’ve been sporadically watching pose, and i can’t help but acknowledge so many similarities between the two pandemics. who uses safe practices, who fights for what, what gets shut down, delays in treatment and care, who does the care work, inept government….

we will wear masks we will social distance. we will care for our communities, but that does not mean we will obey. we have learned how to care how to protect and rebel at the same time.

since i started solo adventuring the one consistant question was about fear and safety: wasn’t i afraid, a woman alone is so vulnerable, would i carry a gun/knife/pepper spray, and so many what ifs. in response i would throw statistics around like women being safer the further they get from home. and men are more likely to experience “stranger danger”. and i would get funny unbelieving looks, like i lived in a whole other world. and now i totally agree with them. i do live in a whole other world. i learned that the fears they name say more about them.

i refuse to live in a world that controls peoples’ bodies, specifically non-straight-white-male bodies, the standard on which all else is measured and policed by. p.s. also a huge part of why i am vegan, their control of lives include all lives human and non-human, civilization vs nature.

as i write this, we are in at least our 5th month of a global pandemic, a huge economic depression, and people are rising up in the streets in protest of police violance: state sponsored corporate backed violence against the people of this country, specifically black and brown folks. the violence against people coming up from the global south is a whole other form of violence just as hanis and dispicable. and to be honest, this is just the kind of violence radical environmental and animal rights activists have been warning about since 9/11 and the enactment of the patriot act.

the common thread in all this that pulls at the fabric of the people is fear. if the powers that be get enough white folks to believe that their individual lives are in dangered by certain folks, or “our way of life” is in jeopardy by having certain people living amongst them, then they can control people on both sides of that fear line. if we live in fear of getting sick, or unable to feed and house ourselves and our families (however they are defined), of the police (and all other uniformed milatary like ice and homeland security). if we fear all these things, our basic ways of life really: health, safety, security then they can control us and force us to obey. or so they think.

and all this pisses me off!

it is the same tactic used to keep women, all who identify as female, from adventuring outside of their assigned place in the world. women aren’t suppose to love science and mathematics or travel the word and explore alone, or without men, or at all really. if we were encouraged to, our pant pockets would hold more than a tube of lipstick. we are also not suppose to love and support one another, but stay isolated and compete for each little morsel tossed at us, and be grateful for that crumb

this tactic of fear mongering mixed with lies and keeping everyone off balance and not knowing what to trust or who to trust, we know who not to for sure, but who can we turn to for good solid information to make the best decisions for our families, our communities. and when this lack of trust gets so widespread and so deep in rips our ability to be good and active citizens to pieces. we struggle to keep the worst out instead of the best in. and that, my friends is the end of democracy in action!

so what to do.

well this whole tirad started in my head in march when i couldn’t figure out why, in all the suggestions and guidlines from the cdc and who started coming out, i couldn’t find one article on suggested ways to build one’s immune system for this disease. so i started going back through my herb notes and other health resources for respiratory support. they were saying people who they thought were at risk for dying from covid, but not how to prevent it. aka we don’t have a pill to sell you yet, so stay afraid. so i started running again, keeping specific herbs and foods to support my immune system stocked, keep my anxiety down, and drinking lots of fluids. my routine has adjusted and changed as the seasons move. more than anything, i am doing all i can to keep my stress down, but my senses alert.

we don’t just need to build up our bodies, buy we also need to build up our local communities, local economies, our local water supplies, food chains (distribution, farmers/growers, small local stores, mercados). we need to remember the healing powers of movement, herbs, being in nature/a part of nature, food, water, the lessons of our ancestors. this moment in time has shown us not where we are weak, but who is most vulnerable, where we need to focus our resourceswe need to return to cooperative communities and let go of the false promises of capitalism. then maybe we can finally have the democracy we were told we have.

and we need to laugh as much and as often as possible

so, i dare say, take the power back! get healthy, stay healthy. and then when the cops chase us, we will have the strength to stand strong and force them back. the pandemic, the depression (they call a deep recession), the fights in the streets for black-lives/against the police state, climate chaos…all this is actually the perfect recipe for the revolution.

adventures with covid-19

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it may seem odd to think about living during a global pandemic as being an adventure, but its helped me move through it this way. it is an event that is changing how we organize our lives, interact with one another, and how we think about the ways we move through our lives: physically spacially spiritually thoughtfully intentionally, who we were before and who we hope to be after. how will the adventure effect us on the other side.

part of this being an adventure, perhaps, is choosing some kind of agancy in how i respond, aka choose my adventure. i am somewhat fortunate to, despite my great slacker tendencies, have a job in an essential business that is a co-op and not a corp. so i can still work and have a choice not to. i live in a state with a proactive governor who responded quickly, so there were/are resources available for people. hell i even bought a nice old truck just as businesses were being shut down. this huge piece of the adventure totally effects the choices i make as i continue in this adventure.

another aspect to this adventure in covid, for me, is i didn’t actually think i was going to experience this part of the climate crisis. sure i knew i would live to see the rise of the calamaties. i acknowledge that we are, and have been experiencing a great deal already: the rising seas, the increased intensity of storms and weather patterns, global political unrest. i guess i just didn’t think it would all start to happen all of a sudden so soon. i should have. i’ve been keeping track of this for long enough. i suspect the reader in me expected all the things to happen in chapters, or acts like a book or movie, not simultaneously…silly human.

a key part to how i am deciding my adventure is my level of privilege: a healthy (if a young 52 years), white, can pass as cis woman when people don’t identify me as male, i have a good grasp on having a healthy diet, access to clean water (for all the reasons this is important), fairly good mental and emotional health, have supportive people in my life… i have continued working so far, family took me in to recoup fund after bike tour so i have a roof over my head. and if weather really does play a part in this, we were already experiencing spring as it came to the southwest, so, that.

how is this situation impacting me? superficially i havent’ been hiking or exploring the area as much since places have closed down. i haven’t been able to go visit family in the spring. my skin is raw and cracked from hand washing and sanitizing. my thoughts have been derailed from projects to reflection and re-evaluating my health and well-being. the last thing i want to do is bring anything home to those who have graciously opened their home to me.

one thought loop i can’t get out of my head is reflecting back to the start of the hiv pandemic. who didn’t want to close the bath houses? or not wear condoms/practice safer sex? who was in denial? all the conspiracy theories and false narratives that fed fear and hatred. much of it continues today in various pockets. i don’t have any deep thoughts here, but i do recognize some serious similarities when i see white men not wanting to be told what to do.

my deeper thoughts are for the present future. now that i have woken up just a little more, i believe this virus will be with us for a while with or without an immunization, which who really trusts the government to inject anything into our bodies right now? and that immunization won’t be effective against the next big epidemic that comes our way, and one will. sooo wtf?!

well one day as i was walking, i remembered the words that came to me while camping by an alpine lake several years ago: “get lean, get clean, get strong”. i’ve pondered this several times, tossed it aside when inconvenient, but mostly ran away from it. but now? now i am embracing it, and it is probably the basis for how i am participating in this adventure.

almost as soon as this started around here, late february/early march, i started a running program. at first just getting out for a bit, then started the couch to 5k program, and this sunday the 10k program. it feels good to be running again. i don’t know how many times i’ve tried a new running program and been sidelined from an injury or pain. but this time everything has been good so far. well this week i had foot pain, so i am backing off a little….i’m susceptible to tight calves that lead to foot issues.

i’m cleaning up my diet a little more. it was pretty good. i haven’t had pizza or burritos since i left oregon (this is big, those were basic food groups for me). the only beer i’m consuming i get to-go from local breweries and limit my intake mostly because i’m one and drunk now). most of what i am cleaning up is what goes in my mind and heart. and this, i believe is what getting clean and strong is really about: clean thoughts and strong heart (lean is excess baggage and minimalist life not food and body so much). learning this is a heart/respiratory virus, i boosted foods, herbs, and activities that support my body, and continue to do the research.

i’ve learned to reach out to people when i feel the wave of an overwhelmed heart begin to shut me down and allow forms of ineffective fear creep in. i’ve made deals with a friend that we do this for one another. for the biggest fear i have around this? we won’t learn from it, as a culture. we will expect an ineffective failed state to give us a magic pill that makes everything go away, and that won’t help us one bit when the next pandemic blows into town on the wings of a virus that is typically kept in check with the delightful balancing act of biodiversity. my next great fear is that we will just go back to the old normal that continues to exploit the global resources that we have no business messing with the way we do.

but when these fears aren’t pinning me to the floor with only the stark white ceiling to respond to, i am excited and inspired for not just what comes next, but all the creative ways people are responding, acting, choosing their community adventure.

examples you ask? well how about biking and running communities doing virtual races/runs/rides? using these as fundraisers for community needs? at the co-op i chat with people (using physical distancing) that are getting groceries for neighbors/family/friends. i hear podcasts by herbalists that are sharing what they know about these kinds of illneses and what people can do for themselves and those in their community…so community action, that is what excites me. that we can do deeper community organizing and care work. to know what our neighbors need in a time of crisies, whatever that crisis is.

one action the federal government has inspired me to dig even deeper into, is local consumption. now, if you know me this is something that is always on my radar regardless of the adventure i am on: food, bike shops, bookstores, newspapers…so i have kind of made a deeper resolution to up my local game. i’ve been doing research on when i “need” certain things where will i get it.

so to sum it all up, like all adventures i embark on, this one too is about going deeper into myself to learn more about my personal edges. to learn more about myself and how i interact with the world i am a part of, the community that i am interdependent with, what skills i need to learn or become better at, or didn’t even know was a thing to know. these are the things i am excited to bring forward with me, what about you? what changes are you making that you hope to bring to post adventure?

time

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there was a moment this summer as i was contemplating if, indeed, time was flying while i was having fun or the tough days were dragging on. neither was true. time was just time and it felt natural (?) normal (?). i don’t know the word for it since time was created by time ass capitalist to measure and value labor (aka stolen time). so, since this is a leap year, and we just celebrated the extra day added to febuary, i though i would use this time to write about my thoughts on time.

whenever people hear about how i have chosen to live these past couple years, i get a range of responses, but a consistent one is “wow! you are living the dream!” and i must agree that i am. i am living my dream, for when they are white men with wife and child/children on a day hike, i really doubt that i am living the dream they imagine. i worked hard at carving out the many layers of living a life that gives me the space to be who i am as much and as often as possible, and part of that is a type of buying back my time. of owning my time. and in this process i have learned that the measurement of time by european capitalist methods is bullshit. i mean it serves a function and that function is bullshit. and i would like to point people to one of my current favorite books: a history of the world in 7 cheap things by raj patel and jason w. moore, a book i will be referencing a great deal in the foreseeable future.

let’s see if i can explain.

as a person who likes to hike/backpack/bike-tour on multi-day/week excursions (not thru-hike where i set an alarm to get up freaking early to make the miles to make the finish line by a finish day), i’ve found time moves (evolves? rotates?)…naturally. i wake as the sunrises, and fall into bed as the sun sets. sometimes a little earlier or later depending on which i wish to witness. or more simply, i sleep when i am tired. i eat when i am hungry, i race waterfalls, admire sunsets, and am amazed at every sunrise i get to greet…no clock needed. i have even been known to wake, pack-up camp just to decided to stay for another day and explore a side trail or listen to a river.

some days can be arduous, especially the full month + that i had heat exhaustion pretty much every-fucking-day, but they didn’t feel long, just exhausting. and those moments when the views blew my mind, and the water from a wild and scenic river was the sweetest water ever…they didn’t seem quick and fleeting…and the people i got to meet were a kind of elixir.

here is what i have observed, that time is just time. that thing we are told, and i have believed, that as we age time flies. or time flies when we are having fun. or a work day is just dragging on and on when it feels like drudgery. and mondays suck. but it doesn’t, or it doesn’t have to. my theory is that when we sell our labor to soul sucking jobs to pay for our lives in the hopes that when we get a vacation or we get to retire, and finally live our dreams. (p.s. i don’t know many in my generation and my socio-economic group, that believes we will get to retire and if i get to do what i want to make money, i don’t want to actually retire, but that is a different post)….wait where was i? when we get to live our lives as we want, with agency and without doing work for people who go against our values, morals, and sense of well-being, and we have the time and space (mentally, physically, emotionally) to do the things that excite us and feed our creative and spiritual nature…well time is just time. there is no need to measure it, sell it, borrow it from pto (i mean think of it, we have to borrow against pto-personal time off when we are sick, want to go to a family event, parents/aunts/uncles/grandparents/friends to school events for their kids, experience a solar eclipse, go on a bike trip…what the fuck, its our personal time all the time! you just pay us for some of it and then we get to eat and have a place to rest…) sigh.

but then i sit and meditate. ever sit and meditate for say 5 minutes? i follow my breath. i count in/out 1, in/out 2, etc then my mind is off and running down some rabbit hole of thought so i bring it back. one, two, three, four…just need to get to….shit! back to one… and those 5 minutes feel like hours. other times, i sit and my knees don’t hurt, i follow the breaths, i count to 10, and suddenly the bell sounds that 5 minutes are up. already? didn’t we just start? wow. so even all these times when doing something i choose to do (could be running, or writing, or whatever) measured time always seems different. even running a specific distance: one mile, 5, 10…) it should always feel the same, but it doesn’t. easy days go quick and challenges take forever….

my point? hmmm.

mindfulness. mindfulness is the point. it is always the point…(and “time” is maybe suppose to be measured on a larger scale as in seasons and solar rotations, phases of the moon and stars…

on this venture, time didn’t drag or fly or anything. i was doing what i want with my life and that is the point. sure, would i have liked more times with my friends? of course. would i have liked fewer moments of struggling with heat and elevation gain? yes. but i got to choose when to rest, when to stop for the day (as long as i had a place to pitch a tent), i got to choose the difference between pain and suffering. between how much i wanted to push myself in a given moment, or rest an extra day if i needed. i didn’t feel the need to go to work “sick” because i was out of pto or i needed the pto for a specific reason or i was out of pto because i was caring for a sick comrade.

this isn’t a piece of how capitalism sucks, but it does. we wouldn’t be measuring time if we didn’t need to sell it every since the feudal lords no longer allowed us peasants to grow/control the foods we plant on the lands we occupy.

i know, i know that capitalism is associated with democracy, but i regret to inform you that as far as labor goes, it is not. all we have is time, a life, this life and we must live it as we see best for us. the choices on how we live our lives needs to be ours and how we want and feel the need to contribute to our communities. and i am not talking about quantity of time we have with this life, but the quality.

i want my time to be measured by how i interact with nature and my community. like now is the time to plant….and harvest….and gather the medicine for….and to give thanks to the rain and sun and moon and all the moments that feed us and care for us and that acknowledges the transitions of our lives, not based on time but on when we are ready to walk, and to love, and to share knowledge, and to die. that we have never died too early or too late (i.e. suffered unnecessarily), but we lived our lives to the fullest. we live mindfully or perhaps it is heartfully.

so yeah, time shouldn’t be so complicated. if you have started a job and it feels like it is stealing your life and your time, quit! or go find another job then quit. well i guess i am choosing to live my life with limited funds, but wealthy beyond belief with experience and friends and family. the more i live the more i learn the less i “need” or maybe it is want.

the last 2 years sometimes felt like so much more than 2 years; they felt like a lifetime, because truly i have lived a full lifetime in these moments. i have changed in ways i can not imagine or explain. my patience for bullshit and excuses of ignorance for benefits is exhausting. but my love for life and relationships has expanded in ways i can not imagine. some of those relationships lasted for just a few hours, or a couple days, yet they have have fundamentally changed and my life will never be the same. and the people truly ranged from living on the streets to being financial advisors to the extremely wealthy, all of which have contributed to and reinforced my theories of the american economy.

so, back to time. i love measuring time by the sun and moon. by the tides. the windy season (as it is now in las cruces). the rainy season. the winter sports season. biking time (i.e. all the time), celebrations time, time for ceremony….none of which we need a clock or watch (what we used before cell phones), or a calendar. all we need is to pay attention. observe. be mindfull. or that is what i observe when i am mindfully paying attention to my life…

eugene one more time

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i returned to eugene just a couple days before the uber-popular holiday of thanksgiving, a holiday that for as long as i can remember has always troubled me. it doesn’t take a genius historian to recognize the lies, the fallacies, the roust of the story we have been told since we were wee ones. yet and but it seems so benign as far as american celebrations go…wanting to gather friends and family to give thanks. if that is the reason for the gathering, why was it always so damn stressful? why do grocery stores and markets depend so heavily on the capitalism that week and especially that wednesday before? and then there is black friday the day after…all so consumer and money driven. gather the crew and spend spend spend and the capitalists give thanks.

i feel like if i made this post during the depths of “the holiday season” people would shut down or get defensive, and there would be no discussion or giving of space to question why and how we celebrate what during this time of year, and as we are doing more questioning in this country about how and why we celabrate events such as columbus day and moving it to indigenous peoples day, we can do the same with the last thursday of november (a month to celebrate the people native to this land). and i have to say, my favorite moments for this time have been the many friends-givings i’ve gone to or hosted over the years.

this year, in eugen, was a pretty special one. i spent it with 2 people who have also been questioning how to mark this time of year; a time that has been marked by countless cultures through the ages for many reasons. it is also marking the ending of the adventure that started two and a half years ago when i left oregon, along the coast, sent off by these same 2 humans. this wasn’t planned, but that is how great moments come to be when i just let them, and it is in retrospect that i realize just how right it was for us to be together during this time.

we decided that we would try and go camp somewhere, make it just a simple celebration of all we have to be grateful for individually and collectively. one buddy found the last remaining cabin on the coast and they snagged it! yahoo! we just needed to make it over the coastal range where snow was called for. it was a cold morning, and we did see snow up on the peaks through the whole journey, but when we got over the costal range we came across a managed herd of elk in a meadow, a cleared space from ranchers come to settle the area back in the 1800s. we had a snack as we watched the herd graze, then it was off to the dunes and the ocean. it was sunny and that kind of warm/cold one can find along the shores of oregon. so we wondered in the sunshine, ate more snacks, watched the surfers, and smiled as the sun began to decend on the horizen indicated it was time to go check into the cabin and set up, start a fire of our own, before the sun moved across the horizon and out of sight. but not out of mind.

one of things i’ve been learning more about as i spent more time with these wonderful humans is about the sun and the moon, its movement and how different cultures have marked time, space, and ceremony by its phases and placement in the sky in relation to life on this planet. the solstice is one event that we all agree is meant to be acknowledged in some way, but what is it really marking? something we had been thinking was that both summer and winter solstice, in the western world mark the first of summer or winter, but really, when one considers the way the sun travels, it is the mid point of summer and winter. for example, the first day of winter marks the time the sun starts winning the battle over darkness and we get longer “days”. in the pacific northwest, this was vital to our mental health. so much to unlearn and re-educate myself on, for “traditional” cultures have acknowledged this movement of the sun and seasons differently, and i feel deeply moved to learn the ways of people who lived based on the land/place.

~~~

once our abode for the night was set up, we poured some wine and we all kind of went into ourselves. i contemplated all the ways i’ve concidered celebrating thanksgiving. once, i heard that it had been suggested that it be a fasting holiday instead of feasting, so i’ve considered that. i’ve read the thanksgiving “prayer” of the haudenosaunee (iroquois nation) while preparing food for folks to come over. i’ve spent the day in solitude, meditating. but how do i want to keep moving forward in how i mark the movements of time and of the seasons, for lately i have been considering that the only constant is movement not change, but that is another discussion for another time.

we did make a lovely simple meal together that night. we gathered around the heater in the cabin. we read (one worked on school projects), and we chatted until it was time to snuggle into our sleeping time. and i slept, i believe we all slept and dreamt deeply .

the morning brought a slow walk around the lake our cabin overlooked, staying in the sun as much as possible with our mugs of coffee. watching the sun hit the cold air as ducks swam out of the rising fog. we made it back just in time to pack up for check out, and it was off to find a sunny picnic table to make the pancakes and snausages (vegan sausage). we all took turns flipping flapjacks for ourself or one another, basking in the warmth and the view of another lake amongst the sandunes separating us from the pacific. and then it was time to point roscoe (the latest adventure vehicle in their lives) back to eugene for a(n) (anti) black friday party. it was a perfect celebration for us, for me. old friends. new friends. good times.

this was just so damn perfect on so many levels. i have taken this gift i have given myself, of walking away from one life, to contemplate how i really want to be in this world. i turned 50 during this time (a cold winter night alone in colorado before i made the wonderful friends i would soon know). i’ve visited the friends and family that have helped me and encouraged me to be me as long as i’ve known them. i have made so many new friends and gained a faith in so much beyond myself, but not in any organized faith. all things i will talk more about as i keep unpacking what these past 2-1/2 years have meant to me, the foundation this time has created for how i want to move in my life.

today i am finding a new place in the desert southwest in a small city on a few boarders with such open expansiveness that there is room to contemplate so much. and everywhere i go there is proof of all the people who have moved through these lands for centuries. i couldn’t be happier. what a wonderful place to keep working on decolonizing my life. one of the many ways i am doing this is by trying to read as many people of color as possible, mostly women and queer folks. same for the music i listen to, movies, and food too. one truth i have come to recognize, and am willing to talk “come out as” now is i am calling myself a writer, finally. one partner i had decades ago told me a would write a book one day. i though she was had no idea who i was. sure i could write little article to go with photos if no one else was available for the paper. now here i am working on a book, a story, that keeps getting bigger and bigger. than i can actually see as becoming a series. and there is more, another big big project, but i will wait to release that when it has more form.

some resources for ya, if you are considering the disconcerting feelings that come up specifically around thanksgiving (also known as thankstaking or the deeper truth of thankskilling, i’ll post some at the end. i am not saying we need to stop celebrating thanksgiving. i do think the roots are beautiful; to give thanks for all we have done to prepare for the cold months of limited resources that allows us to go in and repair, heal, create…it is a gift. even if we change nothing in how we gather, it is important to know what and why we are gathering…i think.

thanksgiving toolbox

anything by the tierra incognita media

read indigenous peoples history

follow indigenous people hike

these are just a few that can lead you down the interwebs to so much more. and if you have favorites, share them. let’s lift up their voices!