Indian springs

My friend tells me
how the forest stretching,
as far as the eye can see,
resonates with primeval memories
from a time when earth’s realm
was plentiful
and it’s bounty
inexhaustible
generous and free.
He says this was the reign
of the tranquil lapis lazuli

I pay homage
to the contributions
my ancestors made
and the healing powers
of these mineral springs
and the treasures friendship brings.

High above

High above
on a switch back trail.
Drinking ice cold glacier ale.
There’s a half frozen lake
at twelve thousand feet
with smooth boulders to sit on
in a cathedral of jagged peaks.
The sky falls into shape.
Water rises up
to fill the space
and lap the shore
rising and falling
always full
always finding
a level of it’s own.
In a place so simple and pure
shards of bitter memory
form on my tongue
I spit them out and think
Those are what make things taste
so complicated and unclean.

North West Passage

The ice age is melting and the Arctic is turning into water. On some days temperatures can hover around 70 degrees fahrenheit ..turning ice shelves into tropical zones. For me, this conjures up images of smooth sailing, sunbathing on sandy beaches and swimming in emerald lagoons. But I’m a fucking idealist who needs to see things the way they are. What this really means is greater opportunity for fortune-seekers looking for trade routes to China. What is now home to Eskimos, who still hunt whales and live in igloos ..is about to become an international trade zone ..occupied by oil barons ..land developers ..and casino operators. I have the feeling we are looking at the next wild frontier. Now I picture myself sailing through the North West Passage like it was California during the gold rush ..shooting polar bears instead of buffaloes.

Breathing exercise

A simple breathing exercise for someone experiencing a flashback or a seizure due to post-traumatic-stress. It is meant to draw you away from the what’s going on inside your head and bring you back to the present moment by way of the breath. It is a good way to begin ‘grounding exercises’ most excellently described in the blog ‘PTSD and Me’ [link]

• Place your hand lightly on top of your stomach like a float.
• Breathe in slowly and deeeply ~ follow the breath ~ feel your stomach rise. Say out loud: “Breathing in ..rising.”
• Hold your breath ~ feel the pressure of the air in your stomach and chest. Repeat: “Holding my breath ..holding my breath”
• Breathe out slowly and loudly through your mouth ~ feel the breath leaving your throat and mouth ~ feel your stomach go down ~ listen to the sound of the breath leaving your mouth. Say: “Breathing out ..breathing out ..letting go ..letting go.”
• Experience a brief moment of stillness between breaths. Say: “Being still”.
• Breathe in and repeat the breathing process again for five to ten minutes.

Fiesta weekend

I’m hanging out with Jim and Diane on the sidewalk in front of Peets Coffee and Tea .. watching the historic parade (el desfile historico). A band of wild mustangs charge up the street like galloping banshees ..terrifying the kids on the curb in front of us. They're followed by a sign that says “adopt a horse program.” I go, yeah right .. and take a shot of commemorativo. Golden palominos, with silver saddles, strut by like they own the place. Another shot of commemorativo. Peruvian horses scurry by even though it looks like they’re galloping in place. I wonder if it’s the commemorativo. The kids laugh. I take another shot. The next group of horses look like midgets .. I ask Jim what commemorativo is. A cross between agave and mescal ..he says. I'm like ..no way. A herd of fire-breathing dragons, with flaring nostrils and hoofs as big as houses, comes tearing up the street ..scaring the daylights out of me. The kids laugh and Jim looks at me like “I told you so.”

Weekend anarchists

I run into a couple of girls who don’t look much older than eighteen, sitting on the wall outside of Trader Joes. They’ve got flowers in their hair and packs on their back. Nicole and Ellie. I ask them where they’re heading and they tell me they're unsure. Nicole explains how they are ‘anarchists’ ..and they’re going wherever that may lead. She certainly makes a well-articulated case. So, I ask them where they’ve been. Oh, San Francisco ..San Jose ..Monterey Bay. So I go “Heading south, are you?” (thinking ..what an obvious question) Nicole goes “Yep”. I tell them I think north is preferable (not to mention safer) than LA. They shrug. I tell them about places where they can camp in the woods around Santa Cruz and Big Sur. They were just there. When I mention the community of Esalen; Nicole says they found refuge there after she hurt her foot while hiking down a trail to the beach. In addition to being anarchists, they’re licensed massage therapists ..and were able to stay for a couple of days, giving massages in exchange for food and lodging (Esalen, among other things, is known for their massage program). How cool, I say ..bartering is certainly an anarchist thing to do. They didn’t want to stay there much longer however ..it was way too institutional for them. Ellie begins pacing ..then walks into Trader Joes. I continue talking with Nicole .. keeping my eye on Ellie as she strolls down the aisles, filling the pockets of her sweater with supplies. When I see that she’s about to leave without paying ..I go inside and convince her that putting it on a stranger’s America Express would definitely be an anarchist thing to do. Back outside, I give them directions to an ‘exchange’ where they can connect with rides. If that fails; there’s a well-lit youth hostel ..even a woman’s shelter, where they can safely spend the night ..moves that, I explain, are about as anarchist as any they’ll find. I think they agree and we part company. Now I’m wondering about them, stepping into the unknown, while I carefully fold clothes and put away groceries at home.

Traffic jam

I wake up with badly congested information-channels ~ I see shifting patterns of different colors entering an open window ~ and watch the walls dissolve into orange dots before they reach the ceiling. I sit up and swing my feet over the edge of a pillowy sensation I can comfortably rely on as my bed ~ but now the floor has dropped out of sight. I count the number of times this has happened before and figure the odds of landing with both feet on the floor are in my favor. I decide to play it safe ~ take one step at a time ~ stopping frequently to make sure I am where I’m accustomed to be, and not where I appear to be, because I know my senses are deceiving me. Downstairs, scattered waves of light travel in every direction ~ except through the channels of my visual receptors. I find something likely to be my CD player and punch it in the vicinity of the on/off switch. A punk rock CD, left in there from the night before, starts to blare. The light waves begin bouncing to the rhythm, and, like little drops of colored water ~ they enter into the proper channels and float down streams of sensory-energy ~ until they fall into pools of stored-memory ~ and form the image of what I’m supposed to see. Like adjusting the focus of a camera lens ~ it all becomes clear. I drop to my knees and pay homage to the deities of music ~ then crank up the volume and go in the kitchen to prepare myself a thermos of coffee. Looks like it’s going to be a good day.

Fear of stem cells

Written in response to an article in today's LA Times ~~>[link]

In general, I am not in favor of passing laws that block harmless activities simply because there’s a ‘possibility’ they may lead to more dangerous, and rightfully unlawful activities later on. That’s why I am definitely against banning stem-cell research, which has very real potential for doing good, out of fear of the unlikely event they lead to something you read about in science fiction magazines. I prefer that we set the boundary a little closer to the heinous outcome we fear, than to block genuine advances in medical science. Blocking progress in relieving human suffering would be the real crime here.

Medical marijuana

Written in response to an article in today's LA Times ~~>[link]

There have not been enough controlled studies of marijuana to make definitive claims about its harmful effects. The study, that you (the LATimes) report, cites evidence of tissue-loss in areas of the brain that, among other things, play a role in learning and memory. However, there is no mention of test results showing that memory-loss had, in fact, occurred. Without better information, reports chronicling the overall effects of marijuana can, at best, only suggest the possibility of harmful effects. Because marijuana is still classified as a controlled substance, it is not approved for medical research. As a result, there is still going to be a lot more smoke out there than science.

The case against Sotomayor

In hundreds of cases that Sotomayor has decided; no one has found that she was either racially or ethnically biased. So now Republicans are taking a less-informed approach and saying that what she did in the past is not a good indication of what she’ll do in the future. Republican Senator Jeff Sessions says that her past record has no bearing on how she’ll do because the cases she decided are not like the one’s that the Supreme Court decides. Instead, they think a better indication of how she’ll do is that one remark she made about ‘wise Latinas’ ..as though this instance is representative of all instances ..and proves that her decision-making has been, and always will be ..‘experienced-based and biased’. I’m sorry, but what this tells me about our Republican leaders is that their judgment making is seriously flawed. Apparently, their horizon only goes as far as people who agree with Roberts, Scalia, Thomas and Alito ..or Rush Limbaugh.

Other people's business

There’s a generator running in the canyon that sounds like a helicopter circling overhead. That’s exactly what I thought it was at first. I kept looking up with binoculars but couldn’t see anything. So, I walked around the neighborhood to see if I could find out what’s going on. Turns out a father and son are building a small house on the side of the canyon. Only problem is, they’re landlocked and haven’t got any electricity. So, in the meantime, it’s going to sound like a landing zone around here until they get connected to the grid. I ask them how they got a building permit without a utility easement in the first place. The plot thickens. They had one. It was on a pole going to, what looked like, an old miners shack that was here before. But, when the miner died; somebody took it down. Now their neighbors won’t let them run underground cables below ..and the City won’t let them hang wires above. I sympathize and tell them I think Santa Barbara is a hard place to get things done. They ask me where I live. When I point it out ..they start looking at a ‘site plan’ and discover that we share a border. Now they’re scrambling around looking for a pole they can connect to by passing below my property. A pole is hard to find because everyone else around here has underground utilities ..except for Dr Jones and his surrounding rentals. But, to hook-up there becomes a mechanical nightmare because they would have to slant drill underneath a creek ..then along my border with Dr Jones, for a distance of about 500 feet. Now they’re talking about it as though it were a done-deal. They snap off the generator and start making phone calls ..and I’m like ..hold on a minute. The plot thickens further. Turns out they already have an easement to get in and out of their property; there’s a road they share with the neighbors on the other side of the creek. In fact, they already have underground utilities they can hook-up to about 20 feet away from them on that road. The only problem is, it wasn’t spelled out legally .. so their neighbors are asking them for a king's ransom to do it. In reality, they already have the right to do it ..and they know it. But one of the neighbors is like, the head of Edison’s construction department, and he can push the work-order so far into the future; it’ll be decades before they get electricity. They know that too. So now they’re negotiating with him to see if they can get his price down somewhere below what it would cost them if they had to mount a legal battle. I learned something from this ..I found out what can happen when I stick my nose into other people’s business.

Lifestyle choice

We’re having a lively discussion at the baths tonight, talking about the marijuana dispensaries in town ..and laughing because we can all come up with reasons why we qualify for a prescription. A young athlete, who tweaked her hip while training, says she qualifies .. marijuana helps relax the muscles in her back ..the ones that she uses to compensate for it. Even her physical therapist recommends it. The couple sitting next to me have a valid concern; they say it lowers their ambition and makes it easier for them to blow-off going to the gym in the evening. Sounds like a good observation. Then a young doctor says that it should not be so readily available ..and legalization is really a bad idea “Marijuana is highly addictive” he says “ .. it’s pretty obvious from what I've seen in my practice”. Now, that's a compelling reason if I ever heard one. I tell him I did not know that ..and ask him what sort of withdrawal symptoms he sees (because I do know that the medical definition of ‘addiction’ requires withdrawal symptoms). He looks away and, in a far-off voice, says “Well, none really ..” then looks back and says “It does become part of your lifestyle though ..especially with people I’ve seen in California” Now that strikes a well-frayed nerve in me ..fortunately it’s one that I’m accustomed to people striking, so I’ve learned not to react so fast. I ask him where he’s from. “New York” he replies. I stand up, shake his hand and say “Welcome to the West Coast ..!” and sit back down while the others greet him in a similar manner. Then someone asks what he likes most about living here. “The wine country” he replies ..and holds up a thermos full of Chardonnay.

Numbskull

I wake up in a fuzzy place ..my vision is blurry ..my hands are numb ..and halfway through preparing breakfast, I forget what I’m doing. It takes longer than usual before I can re-connect the water, splashing over strawberries in my hands, with a bowl of yogurt and cup of coffee sitting on the table. The newspaper looks like someone deposited little drops of ink in water ..the words drift apart before I can decipher what they mean. Somehow, something must have penetrated because I’m left with a lingering impression. Now I’ve lost the impression. I skim back over the article to see if I can retrieve it ..because it just seems so damned important. Now it re-appears in the form of a half-ass opinion. I grab hold of pencil and paper so I can jot it down quickly. Otherwise, I’ll forget and do the same thing all over again.

Reconstructing the past

Most of the time I manage to stay pretty focused on what I’m doing, whether it’s reading or working around the house. From time to time, however, my thoughts will step in and take over. When that happens, I’ve learned to set aside what I’m doing, back away from the keyboard ..put the newspaper down, whatever, and see what they’re trying to say. Usually, it’s something about what may lie ahead ..such as who I’m going to see ..or what the conditions at the beach may be. This morning, however, they’ve taken a decidedly different tact and have knocked me somewhere back in the past ..and they’re challenging me to reconstruct events that took place there. I think I know what the problem is. Yesterday I put some of my old college textbooks in a virtual online ‘library’ (visual bookshelf) where I have most of my more interesting books. This morning I’m sitting here going “where did these old textbooks come from”. So now, for each one, I feel compelled to answer: what class was I in, what year was I in it, and what possible reason could I have for hanging on to it for so long that I can’t remember anything about it. What I discovered is interesting. It’s not the subject of the book, or the year it was published that matters ..it’s the people I was hanging out with ..or the girls I was seeing, that help me locate the information I’m looking for.

Summertime

I’m buzzing with anticipation. Even though I live with a conventional ‘roof’ over my head ..it is the first day of summer and, somewhere in my bones, summer is still an endless cycle of sleeping outdoors on the beach ..riding waves at dawn ..crashing parties at night ..and either hooking-up, or crashing on the beach until dawn. Then we’d wake up with coffee and granola bars from 7-eleven ..ride waves till noon ..and argue about whether we should stay or move on. Unless there’s a compelling offshore wind ..the surf at Balboa gets blown out by late morning. So it would be time to roll up our packs ..catch the ferry to Coast Highway ..and hitch a ride to Laguna Beach where there are sheltered coves and clean breaks all day long. There were also hidden coves with sandy beaches for us to crash on ..unless we hooked-up with some ‘hippie-chicks’ at Taco Bell ..or trust-funders staying at daddy’s beach house while he’s back home in Chicago ..or a youth group spending the week crammed into a two-room summer rental. Sometimes we’d just go to the Hare Krishna temple for a free dinner ..then head back to the coves and crash. Further down the coast is San Clemente with aqua blue surf, campsites, bonfires, tents and kegs of beer. Charlie usually carried a large stash of hash, which was often our ticket in.

Solstice festival

I roll outta’ bed way too late ..search my cabinets for breakfast supplies ..plan the day over yogurt and coffee ..and get interrupted by a phone call from the parade route where Jim is hollering “where the fuck are you ..?” I say I’ll catch up with him ..but I may have to blow off the parade and go directly to the park, where the festival is taking place. It’s like walking into a bazaar. I pass tents selling Indian tapestries, halter-tops, hand-made jewelry and black T-shirts with white skulls and iron crosses. I stop inside a tent carrying supplies for the mediation hall and listen to a guy make this cool humming sound by running a puja stick around the outside of a bronze bowl. I run into Jim sitting with a group of people from NORML ..and go “Heyyy, there’s some normal people here.” One guy is telling a story about how he and his buds used to crash on John Wayne’s boat while it sat vacant in the harbor ..another guy asks me if I’m with the band and I go “what ..?” The girl sitting next to me says she likes the Eagles ..and another guy is trying to remember the name of the singer who does “..I’m bad to the bone.” I blurt out “George Thorogood” ..then turn to the girl and ask her how she knows music from a band that broke up way before she was born (I ask stupid questions like that). “I just love the song Desperado” she beams, and I go “..guess rock ‘n roll will never die” and somebody shouts “I know that one .. Neil Young.” Then someone else goes “No ..you’re thinking of rust will never die” and I go “sleeps..” and he goes “What ..?” and I say “..rust never sleeps” and he says “that doesn’t make sense” and I tell him that I stopped making sense a long time ago ..and start drifting off in the direction of the sound coming from the drum circle, where I will dance to the beat until I stop caring whether or not I make any sense.

Going lunar

Overhead, crows are shouting ..and drowning out the music on my deck. I look up and see them clustered in the trees and scenes from the Hitchcock movie ‘The Birds’ flash by and I feel a twinge of ‘can that happen here’. Something tells me no so I howl back at them. There’s a momentary pause as they lift off .. cluster in another group of trees ..and crank up the volume. Crows are not my bird of choice to take with me if I ever had to live on a deserted island. I start reading an article in the news about future space colonies on the moon ..and mistake the term ‘reconnaissance orbiter’ for ‘renaissance orbiter’. For some reason, I think the word renaissance is more fitting. Then a movie scene from early-childhood comes to mind (from before we walked on the moon) .. where one of the astronauts goes crazy ..breaks away from the pack ..crosses over to the ‘sunny side’ and immediately disintegrates and turns into a skeleton. I cringe when I think about packing the kids and the dog and moving there. Now I'm worried that everything I know comes from either the movies or television shows.

Fiasco

I order a bucket of chicken ..but I don’t have enough cash on me and KFC doesn’t take credit cards. I’m too tired to go to the bank ATM so I use the one in-store ..and bring it down, twice. I’ve never used one before and the only time I ever used my debit card was by accident. So, the manager suggests I use the ATM at the liquor store on the corner ..it’s more like the one at the bank. I get lost on a street that I thought I knew well. I’m exhausted from hiking all day and putting off dinner until way too late. My clothes are dirty and my hair slipped it’s knot hours ago .. it hangs over my shoulders like oily dreadlocks. In other words, I look like a bum. I decide to go back and drive to the bank when I walk by the liquor store (which is not on the corner ..but down a side street several blocks away). Now I’m staring at the ATM dumbfounded. It says it takes American Express, but insists that I give it a pin number. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a pin number ..so I try to cancel the transaction ..causing the machine to freeze. The liquor storeowner looks at me in disgust ..there’s a surly line of customers waiting behind me. I try to explain but it comes out garbled. He threatens to call the cops. I ask if he’ll take a check for a bottle of glenlivet plus $20 cash back ..he comes around the counter shouting, ordering me out. Back on the street I feel hungry, exhausted and confused ..there’s a bucket of chicken waiting for me at KFC ..but they’ll be closed by the time I get there. I look up at the building beside me and discover I’m standing next to the Alta Mare restaurant .. displaying logos for Visa, MasterCard and American Express. I duck inside and order a big bucket of calamari, the fish-taco platter and a tall pitcher of beer. The waitress asks if I’m expecting anyone else and I say no ..in fact, I tell her to just bring the pitcher and forget about the glasses.

Coastal poem

I hike up to a shady grove
and sit beside a wandering stream.
Watch water splash over polished stones
of silver, red and gold
then disappear through the ferns
and whatever else that grows
under a canopy of redwood trees
somewhere above the coastal zone.

Letter to the editor

This is my letter in response to the LA Times article ~~>Two sides to Sonia Sotomayor

It sounds to me like you’re asking the question: Will judge Sotomayor’s college experience, advocating greater Latino representation, weigh more than 30 years of unbiased decision-making as a prosecutor and federal judge. It seems to me as though she has experience enough to know that the US Supreme Court is not Princeton University. However, she also has the experience and empathy required to be human as well as Supreme Court Judge. They're inseparable.

Fully alive

All around me

Lacey Mosley

NinJa

My neighbor is pointing at a group of trees and saying “..they just gotta’ go!” It feels like another part of me is about to be yanked out. I also found out Dez and Anastasia are moving back to LA. Boy, I sure hate seeing them go ..how sad. A principle of zen pops into my head .. ‘notice change’ ..followed by another ..‘notice reactions’. I decide to go for a walk and try to shake-off these feelings. The atmosphere on the street is festive ..lawn parties and beer kegs ..and the weekend isn’t quite upon us yet. It’s because Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction are playing at the Bowl. I can sense the energy ..makes me feel like a teenager again. The street is filled with kids dressed in black and white .. and splattered with orange and red. “Dazzling” says Señor Jim as he walks up from behind ..startling me ..and disappears down the street. I see one group weaving through the crowd .. hoping to get free tickets to see the show (the way I used to). Others are just looking for a free high (the way I used to). I’m getting high just standing here. A young couple tells me, in a serious manner, that they’re here mainly to see NIN. Jane’s Addiction is like, so old school, they say. Uh-huh (?) Some people don’t know who’s playing ..or what’s going on even ..but it doesn’t seem to matter much to them. They’re like “Where’s the party ..bro!”

Birdsongs

It’s like an aviary out here this morning. Guess the fire flushed the birds out of the hills. There are so many different singing groups ..it sounds like pandemonium. I can’t tell whether those are fighting words, mating calls or territorial disputes. I’m sure they can tell tho. I know birds have a highly developed system for bird songs. It helps them recognize members of their own species .. estimate the suitability of prospective mates ..and figure out when they’ve crossed territorial boundaries. They can even follow the beat of the music coming out of my speakers. I know my dog Andy can’t do that ..he doesn’t hear so well. But, he sure has a keen sense of smell. I have to break the smell barrier in order to get him to listen.