The Formless Within the Form

a wrangled heart

2010-04-02T18:13:00.000-07:00

i miss this place

i will be back

i will remember

tracks.

2009-11-11T21:31:00.000-08:00

1
to breathe.
a road is traded for the peace. escape to open, return to enfold.
clarity an encounter so unfamiliar. here, sitting, recognition of what is now. existing.

ya just gotta roll

2009-09-22T20:14:00.000-07:00

.
so......

the last 5 months.

i ripped myself into many, many tiny shreds.
you know, in the good way.
a VERY, very nice way.

and it left me a little hollow.
out of touch, out of shape, sort of lost, and incredibly humbled.

it's amazing how we simply adjust.. get up, do the work, let go of expectations
along with forgetting how to write, believe, manifest and exist. there's a beauty and and a sadness in it all. the simplicity shines through, it becomes common place to relinquish all grasping. when you're in it, that's it.

++++++++++++

i move through yoga class... all that cultivated fluidity, strength, balance, flexibility and ease has disappeared, and along with it flew the ego. i have an addiction to the feeling that comes with physical endurance, but i just can't find it anymore. and my body is so far gone, the mind erased.. i'm not sure how to get there again. THERE. on the moving continuum. THERE, where no final point exists, no goal, no HERE. jesus christ, i GET it. one only has to read so many books on buddhism to understand the here and now. the lettting go. the THIS MOMENT. but god damn if only there were times where i was reading those things for the very first time.

++++++++++++

i ain't got shit to say right now.
there are no manifestos,
no sad stories,
no breaking souls.

all i got is a big, fat life of LOOOOVEEE.
yep.

and giggles.

so, when life give you the giggles.... well, you gotta love that.

words are out. images are in.

peace, my loves.

barely waving

2009-08-23T09:59:00.000-07:00

(hi)

so i have this blog.. yes. a place where i used to write and write, spilling my soul, working over ideas, daydreaming out loud and dropping all the clatter that falls somewhere between bliss and heartache.

now i have no time. i think about scratching this site.. maybe in these few precious moments i should be taking a walk or reading a book. maybe i should hide this computer under the couch until the sun rises tomorrow and the madness starts all over again. but here i am, holding on. this blog, this space, has taken in so many of the words that i longed to share. on one hand, it seems to have done it's job and now i should simply say goodbye. and on the other... attachment.

ok

2009-07-26T12:22:00.000-07:00

And I do, believe.
What about you?
What do you believe in?

truth.
pure, sweet, strong.
straight up, please.

freedom.
in all, for all.
carried in our bones
with the will to own it at any time.

listening.
intently, with care.
because every story holds an entire universe,
and every single person has the right to be heard.

putting it all at risk.

*
I'm invincible
so are you
we do all the things
they say we can't do
we walk around
in the middle of the night
and if it's too far to walk
we just hitch a ride

people are inherently good.

travel. sometimes solo.

we got rings of dirt
around our necks
we talk like auctioneers
and we bounce like checks
we smell like shit
still, when we walk down the street
all the boys line up
to throw themselves at our feet

i believe in a love so strong that I forget how to breathe.

you should eat your greens.
lots and lots, all the time, all kinds.

music really does make the world go round.

strong, black coffee.

sunday mornings with sleepy grins,
the New York Times,
playtime in bed,
and those steel-cut oats is not just a fantasy.

it's a long long road
it's a big big world
we are wise wise women
we are giggling girls
we both carry a smile
to show when we're pleased
we both carry a switchblade
in our sleeves

getting dirty.

it is all possible.

there are times to play the game and use what you have.
you should probably make up your own rules though.

you have every right to disagree with me on anything.

every breath is a chance to try again.

grace.

your gut feeling is always right.
thinking too much only distorts what you already know.

tell you one thing
I'm gonna make noise when I go down
for ten square blocks
they're gonna know I died
all the goddesses will come up
to the ripped screen door
and say,
what do you want, dear?
and I'll say,
I want inside

one of these days I'll write paragraphs again.

failure.
determination.
intention.

tears.

you.

Prasad.
I believe wholeheartedly in what I do.

beauty is everywhere.

pen to paper.

silence.

* ani difranco words

please.

2009-07-18T13:43:00.000-07:00

.

believe in something

p.s...... images that will make you melt...

our realities.

2009-07-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

huddled in sweaters, under steel gray skies
absorbed in this city
my home

there is kindness, love, appreciation around every corner
the rains and the gray bring out the souls
as people dig dip to find the light from within

i see this one day, say this one day
and tomorrow ache to wander the streets
of faraway lands
to see

and to escape

to escape parts of this reality i have created
i feel the itch of packed bags, plane rides
the itch to be lost
and in lost reach home
the core
of this existence
remembrance
of why
who
am
i

much to love
love itself

this is my game
maybe you'll play along
to find someday, oneday
time
late mornings
crumpled bed linens
sweat
words
those faraway lands
where the days are long
the wine is rich
colors vibrant
and we see them all
every drip
shine
inch
the souls jump out
and our hearts become our skin
wrapped snugly in pure truth
and there is nothing
absolutely no thing
that could possibly be hidden
because the light pours
curling around
all love
turning
making
becoming
creating
from here to all
let us see beauty
where is the peace?
how do we live in peace
sharing the same world with starving children
turning pain into shiny black and white portraits
for others to witness
to draw compassion
i want to look at the world clearly
even with clouds
shine light through the fog
onto truth
we stand
and hold hands
the peace
here
now
you can have my heart
all beings
yours
it is
be kind, please
for the delicate days
it may shatter slightly
to rebuild the next
on strong foundation
ever evolving
loving
all

so here we are.

2009-06-09T22:24:00.000-07:00

There are moments when I look at the word "freedom" tattooed on my forearm and I think what the hell were you thinking, karen? did you actually think about that? seriously?

the answer... nope. not at all, really. I kinda just felt it, went with it.

The same way that all good decisions in life are made.

And then there are moments like my drive home today, with the windows down, surrounded by mountains and random waterfalls, barely remembering how to breathe because life is more brilliant than I can tell you. It can only be communicated by hugs and sighs and those looks... when you just know... that the world has spun and intersected perfectly for you. And you think mmmmmmm, i hope that every single person in the universe can feel this right now. and then how can I possibly make everyone feel this? because they just have to. and I can do that. jesus fucking christ, i have to figure out how to do that.

In those moments I remember the scrawl of "freedom" and I know exactly why it made sense to land precisely there. It is there for multiple reasons, but mostly to help me remember the days that play out just like this one.

her life.

2009-05-20T13:21:00.001-07:00

the first thing that comes to mind.... where did this arrive from? This slightly haunting memory that has worked its way into my days, my new sidekick, fingers intertwined, barely there yet continuously near. I grew up with her picture in the house. It was, and always will be, there. Now that I write those words I realize that the same photo, or another one of her will someday be in my house. She has to live on. My mother never wanted to forget. I imagine that she wanted Lynette to be a part of her children’s lives as well. She was the sister. The one I would never meet, the sister that my brother would never forget. The daughter that my mother never got to see grow up and the little girl that my father probably wants to kill himself over.

this is what I know of her. She had pale skin and light blond hair. Blue eyes.... I think she had blue eyes. This right here is nearly unbelievable seeing as how my parents, along with my brother and I have almost black hair and dark eyes. But she was different. Maybe she was already born to be a little angel.

i know that she was sullen, serious. Gosh, I don’t even remember what I know. I think that she didn’t like to have her picture taken, and by no means was she going to smile for the camera. I feel her delicacy. That is all I know. This was told to me while looking at her photograph, the one where she sits in a swing on the green, metal swing-set. The same set in which I played many years later. Here she sat, pissed off, either sombering up from a good cry or about to burst into one hell of a fit. I like her feisty nature. And I must tell you that I may be making half of this story up. I no longer trust these thoughts, these memories. So sketchy they are. All of this was talked about when I was a child, and while I can see that photo in my head it has been many years since truly looking at it.

my mother tells this story, not to me directly but I was standing there listening. We were in the church parking lot, summertime, and a little boy runs toward or out into the street. This is a country town so there are no busy highways, or much in the way of traffic at all, but understandably his mother was scared to death. She catches the boy. He is fine. Then my mother tells this woman the story of how Lynette ran towards that same street, or maybe it was a different one. My mother was too far away to catch her so she yells SNAKE and Lynette stops in her tracks, I have always remembered the story, that moment, summertime, church dresses. In it Lynette is beautiful and healthy, full of life, running in the sunshine. And my mother saved her.

years later I am helping my dad outside, still a child but maybe 8 or 10 at this point. We are working on something, who knows what, we were always working on one project or another. This wasn’t play with your toys or read books along side him work, this was shovel dirt, hold this pole, measure that... really lots of hold this, get that work. Not endearing kisses on the forehead and ruffled hair sort of work. Then one day I ran behind his truck while he was backing up. No real danger at hand, I was old enough to understand the speed / distance ratio of moving vehicles. But he caught a glimpse of me, jumped out and I saw this look of terror and emotion in his eyes. A look that I had never seen before and have never again witnessed since that moment. He simply told me to Never Do That - never get behind the truck when it was moving or when he couldn’t see me. I told my mother later on that day about his reaction. It is because of Lynette she said. It reminded him of Lynette.

she died because my father backed the truck over her body when she was 2 1/2 years old. He picked her up and took her body to the blue bathtub. The same tub where we all bathed for the next 25 or so years, the same tub that he still has to see every single day. He took her body there. Then he called Ruby’s house where my mother was attending a baby shower. She had probably come bearing homemade cookies and packages with pink ribbons. Thankfully she had just left and was already making her way home. I don’t know what happened after that, except that Lynette died. And my mother had the picture of her on the green swing-set blown up and it hangs on the wall forever and ever. While I did not know my parents then, I think that is when my dad lost the other half of his heart, when he ran over his own little blond angel.

so the years went on, but honestly I thing that they also stopped and that the time since is similar to dragging feet. I don’t believe that my dad ever recovered, nor do I find it at all reasonable to ask this of him. How do you see that image, the image of a wispy, blond, sullen darling covered in blood in the blue bathtub, everyday? How do you possibly live on with that amount of grief in your heart? Maybe others do, maybe they figure it out... breath long enough, find answers, see hope and the possibility of experiencing such a vast amount of love in the future. Or maybe they don’t, and instead they trudge through life halfway dead, heart set forever to off, waiting to die, waiting to just go away so that the rest of us can live a little lighter.

it was around 37 years ago that this happened. It was 27 years ago that I was born. Yet what I know is that the grief of this tragedy is no less real today then when I was 5 years old. Which leads me to believe that it can’t be any less fierce today then it was on the fateful day of Lynette’s death. Emotions have subsided. Reactions have long dulled, yet the story still survives and the sweet hereafter ain’t so juicy. It’s pungent and bitter and hard to re-tell. Yet it is real.

This is our life. My life. His life. Her life. Their life.
Lynette’s story. The way I remember it.
And this is for her.

kisses darling.

.shower / street.

2009-04-29T22:23:00.000-07:00

why i listen.

2009-04-25T23:10:00.000-07:00

"The band brings themselves to you in a continual state of sousing - with beer, sweat, the kind of body odor that women are still drawn to, cigarette smoke, adulation and a healthy cut of the heavy stuff that's rubbed deep into their fiber.

There's languish and strength in the words that rise from the pits of his body to fume out into the open air, slaking themselves of any saggy melancholy and indenturing themselves to a guy who's worn his skin a time or tow, gathered an ass-whupping on occasion and endured more than his fair share of broken hearts.

He has sexy down, but most definitely not in the way you're thinking. It's his for demonstrating the realism that can sneak up on you if you just let it fuck you up a little bit.

Their hands were clammy with oiliness and dirt, their nails were dark underneath. All of this means that they were in the finest form to play their music - they were their own music to a degree.

They do what they do not for anyone other than themselves, sort of like how the bellies of trees in Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire don't necessarily mean to turn the colors of indefinable splendor during the early fall months, but they do it anyway, without hesitation, giving it, all of it away for free."

I didn't write any of this. I guess that the point of a blog is to write your own stuff, huh? But man, somebody else did, and he (maybe she) wrote it damn well. And that's worth sharing. Words, we have to share them. Like love, every single genuine feeling, compassion and sorrows. Because we are all in this together.

you can read the entire article here.

borrowed words.

2009-04-23T13:46:00.000-07:00

Molly over at Orangette is in the process of opening a restaurant with her husband. Her and I are rowing side by side right now, my boat not so large or complicated, but still traveling through the same river of uncertain corners, sharp rocks that cause one to stall, and currents that constantly challenge one to either fight against them or to give in, simply getting pulled along by the forces of nature. I haven't written much about the process here, for a variety of reasons I suppose. For one, I'm tired. Two, I kind of like to keep this space open for creative energy and breaks from the days of trudging through. Three, things are uncertain and I learned a long time ago that is is best to keep your mouth shut until you actually have something to say. Four, it's hard to explain. I start talking about the process and it seems to come off like complaining, which by god, I am so NOT complaining. I'm overjoyed.. but the brain just keeps on processing and my days to celebrate have yet to arrive. Right now I just gratefully work. Our time is now. This very moment. This is where we dig in, and enjoy the process. The experience. This life.

But hey, what I wanted to tell you is that Molly summed up the feelings pretty damn well, so here are her words. They feel like mine, but I'm just borrowing them today, grateful that she knows just how to say it.

"It feels good. It feels good to be caught up in its momentum, pulled along by something so tangible and so big. But it also feels like diving into a murky pool, enormous and very deep, and I can’t see a damned thing. I know I have to jump in, and I want to jump in, but let me tell you, it is dark down there. I hope that doesn’t sound too depressing, because I don’t mean it that way. What I mean is that it’s consuming. It’s complete immersion. We move by feeling our way. And sometimes, every now and then, I get a glimpse of what it will look like in the end, when it’s finished and open and full of noise and food and fire in the oven, and it makes me so proud and so excited that I don’t know whether to grin, or sob, or both. And the afterglow of that lights the way through the muck for a while, until I get a glimpse again."

dreamy light.

2009-04-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

whatever you love, you are.

2009-04-18T20:24:00.000-07:00

I will write again, someday soon. Paragraphs even. You know, thoughtful stuff... derived from something I have read, swirled around with a conversation and then thought about quietly on long walks and bike rides. I say this to myself, for reassurance. But in the meantime I'm spending boatloads of time in the kitchen, a little bit of time with the camera, a few good handfuls of mornings sleeping in and nights that last into the wee hours. In between all that is a project or two that I'll share very soon. Oh, and some running in the sunshine today. One good life, indeed.

Today was recipe testing day, with some pleasing results. So, even if there's not much in the way of words right now, I figure images and food can fill the void rather nicely.

Let's see... there is Quiche.

some Carrot Muffins

Bourbon Apple Pie
(awaiting ice cream)

Apple Pie while reading!!

Grandma Pride's Sugar Cookies

my flower took it's last breath

and landed here

sleep well. nibble on cookies. go hug someone.
w/gratitude

self portrait # 2,649 - or - elevator

2009-04-15T19:12:00.001-07:00

tea break

2009-04-13T14:08:00.000-07:00

.
early last Tuesday morning THIS is what I found sneaking through my apartment...

springtime sunlight

ahhh.

i tucked a little flicker or it under a loose corner of my heart and have been asking it to stroll along with me ever since. sweet sunshine, doesn't seem to mind at all.

spinning wheels

2009-04-05T00:56:00.000-07:00

tired bones
how many hours, in a this lifetime, of waiting tables?
with some other purpose
carrying me though
to the afterhours
cash in pocket
extreme gratitude
the girl at the bar
new
never good with females
initially
sometimes ever
i migrate to the end
cruise with the men
whiskey, sweet smoke
simple talk
straight
ahhh
stay longer then is reasonable
moonlight pulls
bed
and here i sit
pb from the jar
tender, syrupy stories of recipes
dreams of scones, breakfast
hours at the stove
swirling incense around
knowing that tomorrow
again
there are tired souls to sooth
coffee
smiles
mine still worn
waiting
taking care
for someday
one day
another day

in haste, with heart.

2009-04-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

Answering busy to the question how are you? has always seemed a slight bit problematic to me. Is that really how we define what our mood is like, how we are feeling, what we are feeling... one can be busy yet still be elated, depressed, content, well, joyous, sick, contemplative, amused, frustrated, bored, fascinated, empty.

Busy does not define a state of worthiness, nor does it define an existence.
I think many have misunderstood.
I did for a long time.

Yet while I have grown to understand that being busy does not equal credibility,
I have found myself recently answering how are you with busy.

May I borrow your pinkie?

I link mine with yours,
swearing to stop that nonsense.

.... now onward.

Sleepy eyes have overshadowed the moments to write.
Open eyes have been seeing some beautiful things, beautiful objects.

click. click.

and while yes, I am sure that taking photos on an iphone while driving in this mess goes against all matters of reason... it was so damn pretty. I dumped the reason in the river.

a couple from the kitchen as well

xo*

blu. e. bleu. believe. u.

2009-03-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

.

SWAMPED in inspiration.

found in dusty corners, giggles, pools of rain droplets, a wadded sheet of paper, overheard conversations, musical notes sashaying through the air, a cup of joe, the feel of a sharpie, breath, cookies baking, imagery, a jar of oats, the sound of footsteps, life, stillness, circular paperclips, 3 splashes of orange, intertwining, bathrobes and high heels, that blue jar...

EVERYthing.

the music of this day.

2009-03-26T14:50:00.000-07:00

a softly spoken word, led to a song, and then traced a path to this one.
a favorite.
sing.

Don't worry mother
It'll be alright
And don't worry sister
Say your prayers and sleep tight
And it'll be fine
Lover of mine
It'll be just fine

And lend your voices only
To sounds of freedom
No longer lend your strength
To that which you wish
To be free from
Fill your lives
With love and bravery
And you shall lead
A life uncommon

I've heard your anguish
I've heard your hearts cry out
We are tired, we are weary
But we aren't worn out
Set down your chains
Until only faith remains
Set down your chains

There are plenty of people
Who pray for peace
But if praying were enough
It would've come to be
Let your words enslave no one
And the heavens will hush themselves
To hear our voices ring our clear
With sounds of freedom
Sounds of freedom

worn.

2009-03-17T23:09:00.000-07:00

light the incense from temples of Asia, i feel whole.

step on the mat, raise my arms, breath in, fold.
there is nowhere else to be.

early mornings spent in the kitchen. pots of simmering goodness. music. sauces. steaming oven. a cup of tea. chop onions, garlic, herbs. cookies to be made.

running. hiking. cycling.

in those arms.

... that is when it all makes sense.

and in those spaces between, i stumble. become frustrated. try, try so very hard, to make one or all of those my everyday life. the struggle rips my soul to shreds day upon day, until the salvation. i am so tired of fighting.

construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.

2009-03-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

.
I cannot recall what the dusty streets felt like beneath my feet a few weeks ago, nor do I know the itch of sweat running down the shoulder blades of sunburnt skin. The smell of incense still lingers in the air, yet the chatter of Malay is long gone. The anticipation, the nervousness of navigating buses and taxies, the clinging to my camera while traversing dark streets... I’m dumbfounded. Reeling in disbelief over my hastiness to forget.

At the same time, every tiny drop of life, both past and present, are making perfect sense. What those three weeks of travel left me with was a clear mind, an understanding that each waking moment is a day to start over, the ability to say goodbye - or to simply not say hello again. Going away taught this girl how to come back home. How to come home on a variety of levels. In those days of solitude I remembered what I loved. It became clear as day what I wanted and needed in my life, and what had to go. Simply letting slips happen finally made absolute sense. The noise shut off, my eyes were bright, I had all the time in the world.

The joy that awaited my return was twofold. There is this business, the dream that I have been constructing since childhood, ready to take on a form all it’s own, ready to take shape from both brilliant inspirations and tear-streaked exhaustion. A dream turning to reality that will sit precariously on the edges, bursting with exhilaration in the madness and grace of living. I haven’t a goddamn clue what is going to happen from this day to the next.

And as if that were not enough, a force ever stronger is stretching the dimensions of this heart, breaking all boundaries, shattering expectations, vision, ideals... making each living moment a new opportunity. There is this joy in my life that makes me a better person. I can’t quantify it, nor can I barely fathom it. I don’t know where it came from, or how it found me, or even what to with it. So I try to not do anything, only stay open. The energy creates it’s own movement, graciously twirling me along, sharing a whole universe of unexplored lights, sounds, movements and forces. The world in which these feet trip along suddenly falls away. I am left with the breath. With a smile. Tangled in a stare, wanting for nothing. This journey surpasses all that have come before.

I have wanted to write, to say something other than I am happy or babble about how I am floating in the ethers, but really all I have been doing is working or staring at a boy. There is yoga, always yoga, yet all I do while practicing is think about staring at a boy. Seriously. So what is there to write? When is there time to write? The only reason I find the time now is because I am babysitting two darling kids that are fast asleep and figured this would be a good time to play around with words, to try and step back in. That is what you are getting here, my attempt to find a little balance. A cautious, quivering step into the reality that lies between work and 10am mornings with sleepy grins and french presses of Stumptown coffee. I know that there is some sort of middle ground there... so I’ll take a peek. A little glimpse. It may take some time smoothly walk this tightrope, but it’s probably about the hour to take such a first step.

Two mornings ago came the inklings that this search of balance is quite possibly there for the taking. The sun started shining, the days are growing longer, a new light is settling on the city, and while driving into town this place I call home felt like it was MY city. Not mine in a possessive, greedy way. But mine in the sense that I understand it. I have grown comfortable and feel the arms of this home wrapping themselves around me in the most comforting hug, while whispering in my ear that it has both faith in desires and multitudes of inspiration and support to share. My city said that. It whispered sweet nothings. See, if your city sweet talks you, while planting soft kisses on your cheek and then exploding in double rainbows later that afternoon, you can not deny the fact that there is mutual attraction and we might as well clasp hands and hold on tight. This is my city. It likes my words, my ways, my optimism and passion. It doesn’t buckle at strong urges or mind a few punches from time to time. We are one in excitement, love, confusion and forces of both light in dark. We revel in the joy of saturation, no matter what the feeling because we both delight and grow on the edges. We interlace fingers and look all around, choosing the first direction, before later spinning on our heels to face the wind together. Because this is my city. This is where I share my breath.

+ + + + + +

Piled on my desk for past three week is a stack of books that I read while traveling. I thought about trying to sum them up here, to tell you about all their precious qualities, remarkable abilities, blah blah blah. But you know, let’s just say that books are one of the best things on this earth. We all know that, right? So here, a few words to tuck in your pocket on linty sheets of folded paper. A few to rub for inspiration.

When you’ve nothing else, construct ceremonies out of the air and breathe upon them.

No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one’s heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth is grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you.

He knew only that the child was his warrant.
He said: If his is not the word of God God never spoke.

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

She lent herself to immemorial human attitudes which we recognize by instinct as universal and true.

The prayers of all good people are good.

Because he talked so little, his words had a peculiar force; they were not worn dull from constant use. His prayers reflected what he was thinking at the time, and it was chiefly through them that we got to know his feelings and his view about things.

These boys had no practiced manner behind which they could retreat and hold people at a distance. They had only their hard fists to batter at the world with.

We knew the pain of winter wind rushing up your skirt, and the ache of keeping your knees together in class, and how drab and infuriating it was to jump rope while the boys played baseball. We could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or they they felt compelled to compliment each other, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or to tell each other how pretty we were. We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn’t fathom them at all. We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them. (from The Virgin Suicides)

i hope you feel it too.

2009-03-06T16:26:00.000-08:00

.

happy. that pretty much sums it up.

namaste, loves.
.

ugh.

2009-03-04T11:47:00.000-08:00

Was I just babbling about swimming in euphoria??

gloating. must be that I was gloating, a tad bit at least.

good old Karma, baby.

I just slid down the rainbow a little ways.

... reminding myself that I'm human

doesn't change the fact that I feel kinda shitty

kinda Selfish

right now.

spilled buckets.

2009-03-04T08:38:00.000-08:00

.

The steps I take are filled with a lightness these days. The pendulum swung, and now I walk, firmly grounded while continuing to float in a sea of euphoria. The things which require action are as clear as the morning sun, slanting through the blinds, landing in lines of energy across the warm bed. In action, the motions of life around remain their own. I participate with a disconnect to the chaos, watching, engulfed in this lightness, choosing what to step into, and choosing when to turn around.

The freedom is present in every single moment of our lives. We choose. That which does not serve us has to go. At the end of the day it is so very simple. Just Let Go. Choose the next way to step. Choose the direction. Step into it with lightness, with empty buckets in the palms of our hands, ready to be filled with all manners of colorful greatness. Then keep on walking, but don't forget to spin in circles. Feel free to loose some balance, to trip from time to time, to tip the buckets here and there, to shower the rest of the world with some of these brilliant colors. I'll watch over your rainbow if you don't mind keeping an eye on mine.

There have been plenty of words here in these past few weeks. Maybe I say that because I haven't had the time to write. Maybe I'm just writing in color this week. Regardless, let's put a hold on the written language and look around for a moment or two. It is light outside, somewhat warm; the sun is ready to tell us all that we need to know. So instead of words I'll share a few images that have captured me recently. I'm drawn to their light, to their fleeting quality. Here is my reminder to stay light.

processing

2009-02-25T16:34:00.000-08:00

.
.
reading is directed creation

*sartre
.
.

with praise to the ash and the grime.

2009-02-21T07:13:00.000-08:00

Sitting in the musty air of the Chiang Mai train station, waiting for #52 to zip me off to Bangkok. Off to a land of debauchery, red light districts and excessiveness. i sip on a chilly Singha and am reminded of a time in Costa Rica, waiting for the ferry, where we downed beer after beer, sucking every ounce of relaxation we could acquire from those 7 or so days.

In the past few years, up until now, all trips had become a great matter escape. Working myself past the point of exhaustion. By the time i boarded the place, hopped into the rv, set up the tent, packed up the car... i was done for, hadn't the energy for anything but to simply forget - before i could even begin to remember why. To remember that life IS beautiful. So far away i would have drifted. And dear lord i could be grouchy, demanding about my alone time, giving a stiff hand to visitors that wanted to explore the new lands together. i cringe at my behavior now, thinking back, while hoping to never again be so long gone before ever arriving.

+ + + + + + +

Undeniably spoiled, Extravantly spoiled - now i know. That overnight train to Beijing a few years back, the one with the air conditioned rooms, clean sheets, a car for smoking, a bar and restaurant - well, uh... that is what i had imagined all trains traveling across Asia were like. You know, just another lazy night with card games, hearty laughter and a little buzz to carry one through.

So, i'm adjusting... i knew when i selected the train without air conditioning and was told that i had the lower bunk... well, i knew then that i wasn't gettng a room to myself. What i did not realize was that the lower bunk meant the grimy seat i sit in now and that somebody else would be sitting in the other half of my bed until nightfall. i did not realize that my dinner would be this half can of cashews that i carry around and that if i wanted a buzz i should have brought the whiskey myself. So severy Westernized i am feeling at this moment. And Joyous. Pleast do not mistake these words as complaints. i am sitting here seeing the countyside with the windows wide open. The surrounding wall and benches are all seafoam green (celeste, as you would call it Dylan. i am surrounded by celeste, and reminded of that grand vintage couch from years past). No, do not feel sorry for me. i am just resituating my mind. Taking it down from the podium of luxury, delighting in the sweat and dust and the noise of the tracks. Sitting here, writing, with a sly little grin plasted across my face. Riding to Bangkok with monks sleeping very near by. I am taking the train.

+ + + + + + +

Ash on my face, dirt in my eyes, tangled nest of hair atop my head. It is dark now, the stars are out, the beds are coming down. i just watched the sunset to Radiohead's In Rainbows, riding along with my head out the window for the good part of 4 hours now, letting the wind and ash of time blow right through me, completely immersed with every single inch of coutryside that i could possibly see. This just might have been the most amazing experience of this entire journey. The windows close, but he doors are still open down the way, so the breeze doesn't have to end, not just yet.

And tonight, right before climbing up to bed to write this, it happened. I Fell - and got caught by the open arms of Asia once again. I am in deep now, and leaving is going to be painful. The train ride solidified that notion. It is the open doors and windows, the freedom that moves me. I could jump out those train doors at any moment, into the burning fields, and no one would give a damn. If i fall out the window, then that's my problem. You still get to be responsible for your actions here, and that is one of the greatest freedoms a human being can have. How well can you hold on? How well can you survive? It is happening, right now, one of the best moments of my life. So i'll walk to those open doors now, to say goobye, because i am learning to do that as well. Learning that maybe i don't have to be here to carry it along. Maybe my heart is big enough to do that job. Learning that an exact space in time sin't the most important thing anymore. And i am learning how to come back. Back to homes all over the world.

+ + + + + + +

Immediately, it grabs on. Layers of filth, congested air, chaotic streets, the god-awful stench...

I Like it Here.

The only way i can try to make sense of that statement is to say that Bangkok is Raw. The city does not hide it's true colors, nor is it apologizing. The decision is left up to you to either dig in or go home. The people aren't making nice and they just may try to steal your shit. They will most certainly try to coerce you out of your money - and into their Tuk Tuk.

Did you see the Golden Buddha yet?

yes.

What about the the Marble Buddha? The Lucky Buddha? Let me take you to see the lion the police are chasing. Where you go Lady? Lady, fancy dress for you? Lady, I'm talking to you!!

Stop to chat to most street folks and you'll fuck yourself over in no time. That bus coming down the road doesn't care if it runs you right on over. It's a matter of being ready to run or fight or simply stand your ground, and I greatly admire this. There is a mingling of history and growth all around. Buried under that grime is a Truth to it all, ever present.

I am Taken In.

+ + + + + + +

i relish in the (art?) of people watching

the sound turns off
save for the riffs of the guitar
dancing melodies

a man glances over

you thinking so much

a minute later

i don't mean to be rude, but you are writing too.
how so much writing and thinking in the morning?

i laugh. shrug the shoulders.

i got out of bed today to do just this

.

one brick. another.

2009-02-19T06:18:00.001-08:00

i had a dream you were 2 towns from me,
got to sleep spent the whole night running.

Walking about in the warm evening breeze.
It is now, finally, that i settle in.

Realize that somedays it is not necessary to seek out adventure. Sometimes it may simply be okay to settle.

Sometimes.

i want to grow something wild and unruly.

i learn so very much, being alone for so long. Oh, just imagine if i had tried to do this trip 6 months ago. What a different journey it would have been. The sadness would have had me crying around every corner, facing that lonliness a hundred times over. Yet now i can barely break the smile from my face, and i jump so lightheartedly from place to place. Now i search for the songs of lightness, of love and dreams and blissful wishes. i think about building a new life, brick by brick, layered strongly with the solid intentions. Held loosely but never losing their wide-eyed wandering heart. Filled with inspiration and fire. Burning ever intensely, with the raw emotions of life laying across it all, ready to hand off pieces at any moment. Growing gardens of ever more so the world can always come and pick of these delicate flowers. One brick at a time.

music for words.

2009-02-16T23:56:00.000-08:00

Janis Joplin sings Bobby Magee while i sit reading, writing, sipping a chilly beer in a stoned floored balcony of downtown Pai. The sunlight slips, turning the mountain tops various shades of red, blue, purple. i contemplate whether or not to rise from this comfortable place and go photograph while this gorgeous light makes itself known for such a slight period of time. But then Wish You Were Here comes on the radio, and i am fond of the 2 lost souls in the fishbowl, so i stay, decide to write, watch the people drift by.

i am reminded of that town where i spent my last two years in Michigan. i speak of it often i suppose, as it holds so many wonderful memories for me. Anyplace of that size, with a comfortable, expressive vibe always brings me back. For a time there was talk of spending a summer month there each year, which would be easy to do. i should return this summer, if at all possible. Going to Michigan is always a slight battle for me, because this town i speak of is where i want to spend my days, but my family resides elsewhere and they are the ones who really need me. Now it is Mr. Tamborine Man... i may never leave.

A motorcycle ride that i was dearly looking forward to never came about, so i traded the wind for the culture as i piled tightly into a small minibus to twist about the mountains, surrounded by people from all around the world. The greatest joy of this journey has been the experience of so many cultures coming together. Most of the time i simply sit and listen as folks interact, for there is so much to take it. And Indian man talks of how his travels in the States were not so easy, as the people he encountered were far from helpful, not giving him their attention but rather casting him off. I NEVER encouter anything of that sort here, or anywhere in the world. Instead, the people are so willing to invite you into their homes, talk, take care of you... hear about your land. It saddens me greatly to know that we in America so are so uninviting and i am not sure what to do about it all. i myself am scared to invite strangers to sleep on my couch...

Now it is the Piano Man, with a monk sitting across the street. While i would give my heart to believe that a monk and a priest are one in the same - and in one sense they are, us all being united souls; the divine in me, the divine in you - at the same time they are so different, the monk and priest. For the monk has never hassled me about the state of my soul, about how well i follow the "path", while the priest has done just that. I say, Man, I've heard it. Believe me, I've heard it for enough years to last me a lifetime. I've been there. Done that. Sure, I've been born again, maybe a few times at this rate, but I choose to come back. To Here. Because THIS is where it's at my friend. Right now, here. Shh, listen. You can hear it. that being said, i am reminding myself that in these past couple of weeks i have sat in ancient catholic churches, prayed, and felt just as much love circling around me as i did in any temple. All I ask is that you leave me be, Mr. Priest. Leave us all be, because if given the chance I do believe that the people can find their own way. The way for them. The way, or many ways, for each of our own unique, sublime souls.

In the darkness i look about for a place to have some dinner. And old hippy man from America sees my search and invites to me eat with him. After some convincing I said okay and proceeded to have the most wonderful dinner and conversation, hearing all about his travels, his life. We closed the restaurant down, as I am developing a rather strong habit of doing, and I sat there happy to finally have a nice dinner with someone on the road that wasn't, well, trying to crawl all over me as if i were some creature here for them to devourer, as if i were asking for anything other than conversation. So as I am thinking this, feeling a peace with humanity, the old man, OLD i tell you.. this is ridiculous. This old hippy man Brahma asks me if i would like to go for a walk, find a suite. He is serious. Completely. What the Fuck?? that's all, What the Fuck?? THIS, is the downfall of traveling alone. It just never ends.

this i hope.

2009-02-15T04:17:00.000-08:00

walking the streets of a evening market in Thailand, thousands of people strolling about. The country's national anthem is broadcasted over it all and every person stops. From street music to chitchat, it all silences. Hats are removed, feet stay firmly planted to the ground below. Those standing rise to their feet. The day stands still, save for the sound waves of the anthem floating through the air. In reverance, in respect, the people listen to this moment.

upon completion, i turn a corner, only to find t-shirts with the face of Barack Obama for sale. In Thailand. Even countries on the other side of the world can only hope that we are headed for change. Hope that someday it will no longer be a shame to let the word AMERICA pass from our lips. Just maybe, possibly, someday... we will have taken enough steps to slightly level out our horrible wrong doings. Maybe someday our country will say "I AM SORRY". and then maybe, someday, we can also stand in respect and pride for the anthem of the states. that i hope.

just bend. just fall.

2009-02-13T04:47:00.000-08:00

this evening i stop to hit keys on a the walk home from a yoga class. home to the top bunk in a dorm room (to which i am surprised to find strange men sleeping below me...) a dorm room of colorful walls, within an airy colorful guesthouse, down an alleyway in the city of temples.

Why am i writing? this was not the plan. why do i not miss cooking? yet, i do miss green juices, algae, spinach, kale, celery... Vegetables.
of all things, i am somewhat over the food here.
please, someone pass me a large salad.

WAIT. i take that back (the cooking part). i do miss it - and after two weeks i sort of miss working. not for others, but working for myself, making things happen, feeding people, contributing. I can only hope that this time away will allow more for me to give.

but this yoga class... the man teaching convinced me that it was just fine to place my forehead in the soles of my feet from a backbend.
Why not? okay. so i did. interesting.
is it always that easy i wonder, if i just let go?

he had the presence of a man that has spent a little too much time alone in India. maybe a little too much time alone in his yoga studio. he danced with us (me and the other girl in the class, from New Zealand) throwing us into more backbends, over and over again. his eyes, never quite making eye contact. his smile growing larger by the minute as he had the chance to express his overwhelming enthusiasm for yoga. within an hour the smile ceased to ever close, showing an abundance of teeth in every spoken word. afterwards he talked for another half an hour, just happy to have people to listen i imagine.

so we listened. and experienced. put our heads to our feet, got pulled and pushed and twisted and thrown backwards. hovering on the brink of his excitement, not quite ready to plunge.

maybe tomorrow.
yes, tomorrow.

an open heart.
.

until the shade behind your thoughts is not confused.

2009-02-12T04:44:00.000-08:00

moving about from place to place...
so lost, so unsure of what the hell I am doing,
where to go, who to trust...
yet it always works out. And works out well.

this traveling alone thing... I am grateful to be here, to be lost, to feel what it is like. There is nobody to piss off by taking my time or not caring where I happen to end up. Nobody to answer to. Yet there are also a great deal of boundaries - always on the lookout, always being cautious.

Don't travel too far, Don't stay out too late.

Now I just answer to myself, to my wits - putting a majorly strong wager on intuition. Not once has one of those gut feelings failed me though. All the big decisions in my life, all the Best decisions have come about that way.
In those moments when you just Know.

Rationalizing. god, it can be so evil. Always trying to make sense. And who is it that all this rationalizing making sense to? Because it never makes sense to me. Playing the game in the so called correct manner, the rational manner. it always brings about the urge to run.
run and run until I can Feel once again.

+ + + + + + +

The 90 year old man in Melaka.
He says travelers do not like to talk. Especially the French.
He killed 7 men in Japan. Please do not remind him of this again.
His son resides in Milwaukee.

He just wants to talk.

are you married?
traveling alone?
boyfriend?
why only 3 days in Malaysia?
what do you do?
have you tried the wonderful food here?
how old do you think I am?
where do you stay?
how old are you?

Have a nice trip. Nice to meet you. Good day.

+ + + + + + +

I buried my father, yet he keeps coming back. I think of my sister, the one I never met. She has never really been around before. Yet now, on the other side of the world, I feel her. I wonder about her. I think of my mother and try to keep in mind how scared she is at any possibility of losing me as well - while all I do is push the boundaries, straddle the lines of safety. And I think of my dad. He killed 2 people. Maybe more. Of course that is why he is so fucked up. His bloody daughter in his hands. Some days he has all of my sympathy, and still some days I try very hard to not feel hate for him.

Why such tragedy in his life? Why so much pain?
Why must he continue to pass that on?

I take it as my responsibility to undo the suffering he as caused others. It is me for him. We understand each other - in the most fucked up way. He knows I will take care of his dirty work. I think he knows. He knows I forgive him and that sometimes I feel the hate. We know. And it will be okay. I have to forgive him because I am not so sure that he as ever forgiven himself. Bloody daughter. The impression of a head in the windshield of the Cadillac. I can still see it. So young. Too young to understand then. Too young to possibly understand what that could have done to him.

I light the incense and offer up the prayers.
3 here. 3 there.

A kiss to the forehead.
A bowing of the heart.

To not forget. To not hold on.
To those that have passed. To those where my love remains.
To Grandmothers past and present.
To the Grandfather with the $5 bills.
To my mother. here, you get all that I hold.
To those here now.
To the ones leaving their mark, intense and unbelievable.
To the ones I have yet to meet.
To the mountains, the sea. yoga.
To the positive of the world. Explode in abundance.

3 kisses to all that is light.

+ + + + + + +

-- (words of Blind Pilot) --

...so don't move an inch,
don't move a single second.

until the shade behind your thoughts is not confused

because I felt your inch
I know the scent as well as any
clot in your guard
and all paints or pollen
brick in your mortar
petals to soaking
on the cracks
thicker or finer
milk in your water
black in your primer
wood in your brush
now I am your cloth

whatever you want
the best is upon us

its a finicky muse

with only potential
to choose

.

and upon arrival, she smiles.

2009-02-03T06:45:00.000-08:00

Today I finished reading Americano by Tyler Redmond. It is a tiny book that carries its weight in well written words of cherished interactions and the beautiful simplicity of one hard-working day. This final paragraph reminds me of the last words Keroac wrote in On The Road.

Here, for you...

"The mother is a powerful force. She can be felt in the wind, can suddenly overcome you with a click on the sinuses, when beauty turns to tear. And the father is just the same, though undaunted, and his protection at the onset of your years is disarming. O, the mother in you worried he was vain, and the father in you worried he was too soft, easily beaten. But I've always found the further left you go the more to the right you become. After all, the world is not flat, and neither are people. Benevolence could cover the earth, you know it distinctly when you were a child. And you know is still as a man, though faded, brought to life by half shut, dampened eyes, like the feeling of falling in love. And though it couldn't be said or stated you knew it was there, a feeling, like the one you first felt when time broke between day and night. It wasn't dawn and it wasn't dusk, but the tenderest and smallest moments, the deepest and most painful one."

The man who wrote this had traveled by train from New York to Portland to visit friends and see some music in the woods. I get the feeling that he is loyal to the core, always battling himself, an expert at watching and listening, and probably made for another century. What I know is that he is kind, soft-spoken, a father, a traveler and a wonderful writer. His presence sticks with me. We only met, shared a handful of words and swayed to music across coolers of beer and fields of grass. Swayed as the music pulled at our hearts. The story of two quiet people interacting.

+++++++

I am out on the road now. Writing much on paper. Thinking always, yet the thoughts are weightless, just existing, arising, disappearing. They're not searching for a home at the moment, for the home is in the wind. The canvas is blank, but I am sure that it will fill soon enough.

soapy hills.

2009-01-21T12:08:00.000-08:00

This blog developed out a last chance and a new reason to dive. It was a path to finding an answer, a much needed trail in a time of being so very lost, and a weekend of fun over rainy days spent in bed and a few soy lattes while searching for inspiration. That was the source, but what it has led to is something that I never could have imagined. It is now a reason to write, a way to send the thoughts out there, an inquisition of the soul and a study of the surrounding world.

People read this. People read these words. Saying that leaves me feeling so humbled. Sometime I just cannot believe that there are people who follow along here - follow along with my never-ending search for whatever is real and true, follow along as the idealism let’s itself be at the center - not buried, not hiding. There is a satisfaction in knowing that somebody else cares, knowing that just maybe little pieces of these words that tumble and strew are helping to form something good - maybe a good thought, maybe a little reminder, maybe a new piece of writing - but the satisfaction is something I never would have guessed could have evolved from the start of this little blog. I have no idea how many people read the Formless, yet there seem to be a lot of you, reading on your own time and then here and there letting me know that you follow along. And while the writing would continue regardless of any sort of audience, it is the strangest feeling to know that others are here. It is strange because what gets delivered here is free from the walls. The barriers are non-existent. The words that have strewn the pages of the Formless are a dumping of the soul, generally in moments of exhaustion, void of much reasoning, just begging to exist for the sake of my sanity and reasons that I have yet to understand. For some reason or another, they just need to be.
My gratitude to you, for caring, is tremendous.

There are weeks when it seems impossible to stop the writing, weeks when I have to pry myself away from the computer to get work done, fall into the pillow, or take in a breath of fresh air.

Then there are weeks, like now, when I can’t quite seem to pull a paragraph together for the life of me. Writing fills the spaces of both the middle ground and the lower end. That is what I have come to figure out. When the depths are deeper than I want to admit the writing turns into a way of crying with words. It gets dark - and world just doesn’t need any more darkness. Then when life is flying you away, just floating so blissfully and easily filling up the days and night, the words seem to become something like bubbling sounds mixed with laughter and sighs. There just are not any words that need to be said. Only smiles. It is the in-between times that need the words to fill up the space, and that’s when they come. Or maybe I am just bad at expressing myself in those time of extremes, maybe it’s just me that gets cut off. I am pretty sure that what happens is in some way good though. Our chances to observe are always there, and sometimes we need to just shut our mouths and open our eyes, because if you try you can feel it, you can feel the energy, and there is no denying it’s existence.

I find myself in a strange place right now, a new place. Standing on the edge of quite a few cliffs. This world I have created is about to do a summersault, and hopefully land on a big fat pile of crisp leaves that will take me into their depths and share their hugs for a very long time. Dreams that I have been dreaming of are right around the corner. You can be sure that I will share them with you, work through them with you, and let you know what if feel like to hug them right back if you will continue to share the journeys with me.
I am so throughly excited. so Ready. so Here.

beauty in their own right.

2009-01-16T22:34:00.000-08:00

running in Portland.

running in Michigan.

eat. pray. love.

2009-01-15T20:17:00.001-08:00

the book.
it is good.

a quick read.
worth your time.

here are a few of my favorites parts, the parts that stick.
i always read with a pen in hand, marking those parts that 'catch' me.

these are those.

I take myself on a 6 hour walk through town today.

The world had always been a more comfortable and welcoming place for me than it was for my sister, who pressed so sharply against life and who was hurt by it fairly hard sometimes in return.

It's the emotional recoil that kills you, the shock of stepping off the track of a conventional lifestyle and losing all the embracing comforts that keep so many people on that track forever.

[EGO] It doesn't serve you. Your ego's job isn't to serve you. Its only job is to keep itself in power. And right now, your ego's scared to death cuz it's about to get downsized. Your keep up this spiritual path, baby, and that bad boy's days are numbered. Pretty soon your ego will be out of work, and your heart'll be making all the decisions. So you ego's fighting for its life, playing with your mind, trying to assert its authority, trying to keep you cornered off in a holding pen away from the rest of the universe. Don't listen to it.

How do you not listen to it?

Ever try to take a toy away from a toddler? They don't like that, do they? They start kicking and screaming. Best way to take a toy away from a toddler is to distract the kid, give him something else to play with. Divert his attention. Instead of trying to forcefully take thoughts out of your mind, give your mind something better to play with. Something healthier.

Like what?

Like love. Like pure divine love.

Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it. If you don't, you will leak away your innate contentment. It's easy enough to pray when you're in distress but continuing to pray even when your crisis has passed is like a sealing process, helping your soul hold tight to its good attainments.

go read the book, if you please. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

xxoo, *k

rain... bikes... skinny love...

2009-01-12T14:44:00.000-08:00

Pentage Walk from j. dunn on Vimeo.

for just the sense to try.

2009-01-11T22:14:00.000-08:00

.
Dearest lesson of Patience,

Still, you continue to go after me.
How long have we been playing this - you chase, me run - game?

At least a year now I would guess. Long enough to call you out before you come running, but obviously not long enough for me to realize that you always win.

So, you know, it must be admitted (grudgingly) that it is actually you who has been even more patient with me.

My bull-headed mind has sent plenty of nasty thoughts your way. I've screamed and kicked at you, run from you, punched you with all my might, talked bad about you, and even tried to drown you in both sweat and alcohol. But you just sit there contently, smiling sweetly through it all while I so very slowly learn to accept you.

So listen here Patience - I have something to say.

This evening I went to Kirtan - strolled in kind of late but just in time to hear my dear friend Tally singing. So I sat there and sang and swayed and clapped and prayed - and I thought about you.

I realized that we need to change our relationship.
Okay, I need to change my relationship with you.

As a reminder, this is how our relationship has gone thus far.
I want something - work hard for it - diligently do all the things that I think are the right steps - then you come by and knock me on my ass. You come by and very swiftly (really Patience, you could learn to be more gentle), you come and rip the Ego right from my mind and soul.

I hang on TIGHT - manage to keep a piece for myself - and use it to get super fucking pissed at you.

Then sometime later, down the road, I go ahead and surrender that piece.
It's the only way I have found to be happy again.

Well, if you haven't noticed, that time lapse between the - you stealing and me surrendering - it has been getting shorter. We started out at like 3 months or so, but now we're down to somewhere between 30 minutes and 2 days (for the most part).

I'm onto you... the sooner I give in, the sooner you go away.
The sooner I can find the beauty in the moment.

Okay, so back to this change in relationship that we were chatting about. I am going to play your game! I am going to kill you with boatloads of kindness, love, adoration, compassion and smiles - the same way I do any other grumpy mutherfucker that crosses my path.

By the way, I am now imagining, Patience, that you are male. I treat the bitchy ladies differently - they get ignored (which of course, OF COURSE, as I write this I realize that we might have a whole other smelly bag of worms to deal with) - but anyway, I have had great luck using this tactic on the grumpy male population - so for the sake of ease - let's continue to believe that you are male.

Are you getting lost? I am.

So, back on track...
I LOVE you Patience. You rule. You rock my world and whatever you say goes.
You are my God Of The Month.

With this new attitude, I'm wondering if you will let me stick a handstand....
okay, Shit, BACK OFF! I'm just kidding - well, sort of... I love you!!!! : )

so this is the new year...

2009-01-07T16:14:00.000-08:00

Resolutions are not really my thing. Those people for whom they work, bravo. I always want to do, change, be, resolve and create more than is humanly possible. But I know this, and I know that if I resolve to bring even a handful of these ideas into reality, one or two or all of them will inevitably fall by the wayside. Because this is the way of life. We just sort of put forth the intention, do what we can to head in that direction, and the rest... well, it will just happen. Or it won't. Or it will all break down and something your brain never even dreamed of will come along and be the best thing that ever happened to you. I think that resolutions can sometimes be like closing doors.

example - Resolve: "I will run everyday before work" and then... well, one of those mornings, the coffee smells really good, and there is some good company, and then one of the best conversations you have had in a very, very long time, followed by a walk in the rain, and so forth. If you had stuck with that resolution you may have just ended up with a cramp in your side.

So while I do not make resolutions, sometime around my birthday and the beginning of the year I do start to make a list of things I would like to a part of my life in the coming year, and maybe some things that I would like to leave behind. Here is what I wrote last year:

"The new year - age 26 begins. This is the year for change and growth. It is the year when everything that I have been dreaming of is going to come to fruition (EVERYTHING karen?? see, I dream BIG) I will slow down. I will immerse myself in yoga as a form exercise, relaxation and mental freedom. I will allow that peace to travel to all parts of my body. I will LET GO of the anxiety that I hold regarding others opinions. Freedom. Freedom to fly and freedom to do whatever it if that I so desire. I will break free from all the craziness of life - do what it is that I want to do. Hide away for the winter and make this business plan happen! Take care of my body. Be true to myself and lesson the drinking. Relax, Breathe, Simplify. Find happiness in just being present. Travel. Send letters. Find that calm, slow place again. That is the coming year. It is about making Prasad happen. Finding happiness, calmness and that right place. Creating equality and tranquility. Releasing inhibitions and following my dreams. Happy 26th birthday Karen Pride."

Looking back, I think I did pretty well. I have definitely immersed myself in yoga. I feel more at peace then I remember feeling in the past years - or ever. I'm traveling next month and Prasad is SO very close to functioning fully. I spend more time doing the things I love and have managed to slowed down a bit. The word "freedom" even ended up tattooed on my forearm. All in all , not bad. I can handle this.

Yet, this past year also brought with it more change than I could have ever imagined. For one, my life fell to pieces. My relationship dissolved and I contributed to making a mess of other peoples lives as well. I suffered through some depression, a good case of broken heartedness, and managed to hit one of the lowest points ever. There were more tears then I care to remember and my lesson with patience was IMMENSE. You know, you've read it here. These aren't the sort of things we can predict. These are things that made the phrase "roll with the punches" come into existence.

But the year is OVER. And not just in calendar form. I am pretty sure that the bad parts have come to an end. It has been an uphill ride the last couple of months - and this is one ride that I don't plan on jumping off from anytime soon.

Here we have it, 2009. So what is is year about? What do I prophesies?

(by the way, I am writing this with a nasty cold, feeling not so hot and looking even worse. like I said, life will kick you on your ass as soon as you try to control it. i always seem to be a living example of this)

also, this is copied from some writing I did a few weeks back - here goes:

- take my vitamins
- early to rise
- some sort of schedule would be nice
- lots of yoga
- master that handstand
- lost of running, hiking, climbing, cycling
- get to bed early
- take time to relax
- be productive
- follow my financial goals
- limit caffeine
- take swimming lessons so I can learn to surf
- learn to salsa, samba, and dance...
- maybe capoeira?
- make art again
- work on the book that I'm have been dreaming of
- get to Europe
- buy another house???
- hold everything loosely

All in all, this year is about being more open, more loving, growing, living the best possible life on a daily basis and then letting is all go at the end of the day. Start over the next.

Prasad. It's happening. It's real. Right now Prasad is a day by day process, finishing up the details, sucking up all my money, exciting and frightening, but mostly exciting...

That seems to be it. This past year has been about learning to not make too many plans. Better to just live it.

These photos are a glimpse into what I have been up to the past couple of weeks.

Some of the people I love.

They're good at keeping me humble.

sweet 09 to you.

kisses, *k

dad's house.

2008-12-31T12:50:00.000-08:00

complaints, memories, yawns and love.

2008-12-30T14:31:00.000-08:00

A hefty yoga mat and muddy running shoes tied up in a plastic bag and then tied to outside of my carry-on. That is what I hauled across this country in hopes of maintaining some sort of sanity during this trip. But those shoes, they are still sitting by the door, waiting for even one adventure. It is just too cold, icy, windy or rainy. And the yoga, well, the closest studios are 30 miles away and have decided to close down until sometime in January. I had all the best intentions of practicing on my own, and while I am still determined as can be to do this at least once during this trip, as of yet the yoga mat has yet to be unrolled.

I’m complaining. It’s funny how I don’t quite realize such things until finally writing them down. But it’s true. A week in the Midwest? Yep, it is about as much fun as that sentence sounds. I miss my city. These days are long. Very, very long.

My brother, niece, nephew and I all went to church with my mother (and father and sister) today. It is the same church that I was attending since 2 weeks after being born and continued to attend until leaving this town. The songs are all the same, the people the same, the messages of burning in hell if I give into temptation (and lots of shit like that) - all the same. The whole time I was sitting in that church the thoughts passing through my head went something like “jesus fucking christ, you have to be fucking kidding me, god damn it lady - shut up!, how is it that I remember every single song but can’t remember where to find a damn thing in this bible.” This went on for the entire service, and while by no means do I sit here feeling proud of these thoughts, I suppose I’m not feeling ashamed enough to keep them to myself. (Thankfully, my dear mother has no idea how to access this blog, so hurt feelings will be of no consequence).

+++++ one day and a half later, I went running. Or at least I tried. One week of no exercise, alcohol laden evenings, a coffee pot that is ALWAYS on, and an extreme lack of vegetables has made for a real problem when trying to run. I suppose it would be much more truthful to call this run what it really was, a nice long, relaxing, sunshine filled walk. Whatever, it’s Christmas, right? Yes, I will try and convince myself that being lazy at this time of year is just fine. I’m trying, or at least thinking about it, making excuses... And thinking about how I will make up for all this idleness upon my return home to Portland.

+++++ another day passes. I really am ready to be back in Portland. People move unbelievably SLOW here. I can’t stop yawning. I must be yawning a couple hundred times a day. My brain is so under-stimulated. And if one more person asks me AGAIN why it is that I eat meat now, but still won’t eat the greasy salami or the factory farmed chicken, and then proceeds to say “oh my, the girl who was VEGAN just a year ago” (which of course led to a nonstop flow of accusations and inquisitions)... well, if this continues, I won’t do anything of course, except to keep my mouth shut and vow to stay away from this part of the country for a long as possible. But for fucks sake people, can we not think of SOMETHING else to talk about?????

That’s not what I sat down here to write about though.
I sat down to tell you what it is that I love about the country.

There is still a huge, loving bundle of nostalgia that I unwrap every time I picture a cornfield, or hear some country music. This nostalgia is very much related to what I have come to realize was my first true adventure. This is how it goes. I fell in love, love, love at 16 with a super hot, dark haired, bad tempered, rude as hell farmer boy. And he fell just as hard for me. So from age 16 to 19 I can recall nothing but amazing moments that were spent with this gorgeous guy. He introduced me to farm life, and I fell head over heels in love with that as well. Suddenly, the country seemed like a good place to call home. He taught me how to hunt, make amazing tacos, watch football for hours on end and fall asleep in his arms and how to get so muddy form four-wheeling that it was absolutely necessary to wash outside with the hose before entering any house. He took me to proms in a truck and showed me how to feed baby cows with a bottle. He showed me what it was like to actually like ones family. We would smoke cigars together and race our cars on the back country roads. He pulled my car out of snow ditches with a tractor and let me ride along on his tractor while working the fields (he didn’t let me drive though). We got caught in his mom’s van with not much on in the way of clothing, I bought him a puppy, and we spent a lot of nights laying in various fields with those beautiful country stars overhead.

This could go on and on. Like I said... the bad moments, I have no recollection.
He gave me the country, and I will never forget the way those winds feel.
It is those memories that bring me back here.

nowadays.

2008-12-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

Here is another one from the pile, written on 12.23 while sitting in the Minnesota airport.

An adorably scruffy little boy with dusty curls, blue eyes and big snow boots points out the window, so innocently asking, “Mommy, is that our airplane?”.

It has been twenty-seven hours since the last breath of fresh air. Only 9 more hours (if all goes as planned) before the next breath. The New York Time, USA Today, travel books, this writing, cups of coffee and tea, and a whole slew of books that I have been dragging along on my back slowly work away the minutes. The most snow in Portland in the last 40 years is what I overheard. I’ll go ahead and bet that statement was an exaggeration to some extent, but underlying it must be some sort of truth. And while it is easy to sit and whine about my current situation, which would include a major lack of sleep that has led to puffy, blurred eyes hidden beneath a rather festive looking hat (I took a picture but will save you not so pretty image that it delivered) and the burning desire for both a shower and some sort or workout, I would rather tell you about how impressed I have become by my fellow travelers. There are folks that were stuck in the airport or a couple of days before leaving Portland, taking 2 am taxis and having to sleep on the floor with their children in tow. There are people that do not have the luxury of a 9 day visit and will shortly be boarding a plane home once they make it to their families. There are people who didn’t pack generous amounts of tasty, organic food like I did and will have to live off of airport crap for an extended period of time.

But were these folks complaining? Heavens no. And if one started to let a little whine slip out, they were quickly reminded with a laugh that the weather was breathtakingly beautiful, and hey, at least there is beer at the airport. Even the children remained calm. All of this niceness is leaving me a little confused. Where have the angry screamers and demanding passengers all gone? They must all be stuck in the Chicago airport, or... possibly... just maybe....
there has been a major shift in disposition this holiday season.

It’s nice. I don’t really want to muddle with the whys and hows and how long will this last questions. It is seeming a little too good to be true. Maybe it is the snow. Maybe blue isn’t actually the most calming color, but instead white, and then when snow appears, instant mellow. Maybe there is something in the de-icer that left every passenger a little stoned.

And you know, in true Karen fashion, there is a little part of me that is enjoying this extended airport stay. No, I do not like being here, or that feeling of dryness that creeps up into one’s nose after a period of sucking in all this stale air; but I like the experience, the discomfort of it all. Nowadays (what a great word) most of us live such luxury lives. Heat, air-conditioning, any form of entertainment we can dream of, whiskey on the rocks or a hot toddy to warm us up at night, yin yoga or power vinyasa today, comfortable beds and plush couches, the grilled salmon or the tempeh... it just goes on and on. How often do most of us encounter any matter of true discomfort, or any discomfort at all that we won’t be able to cure within a matter of minutes. I’m willing to bet that the majority of folks reading this have not spent a night curled up in some doorway out in the cold, or have ever known what it is like to truly feel hunger. It is a feeling that I have never known, and hopefully never will without consciously choosing to put myself in that place. This here is about as close as I will probably ever come to such a situation. So while sleeping on the airport floor for another night does not sound so appealing, I still have my green tea and seaweed rice cakes, along with the company of pleasantly chemically stoned travelers to carry me through these next 9 hours or so.

a little Imagine.

2008-12-27T06:11:00.000-08:00

I am in Michigan now, which happens to mean that internet access is shaky in most places. See, the cows, they just don't spend much time on these computer things. This morning I am visiting a friend and am able to steal a few minutes before heading off to breakfast. So here is a little piece for you, written on the plane ride a few days ago. It may take a few days to get up to speed here, but you can rest assured that much writing has been taking place, and that new camera I have been talking about, it's getting a good workout, (even if most of the photos happen to be of aunts and grandmas around a christmas tree). Hoping your holiday has been beautiful. cheers, *k

How do people manage to write while being crammed into these tiny plane quarters?

Is there not there something absurd about how we type memos and blogs, do accounting work, organize files and all manners of that sort while flying flying 35,000 ft or so above the ground?
It’s all so surreal if you really stop to think about it. Here I am sitting with this fabulous computer, an entire library of music to choose from on my ipod, and the ability to travel wherever I feel like with the swipe of a credit card and a handy passport. These days of future. We’re living in them, and I seriously cannot imagine what travel is going to be like 50 years from now.

It leaves me wondering if we have met our edge. How much further can we possibly push this planet before it just caves in one day? How much more disconnected can we possibly become? The concept of looking someone squarely in the eyes is slowly fading away. We don’t see each other anymore. These days, the beauty of a conversation doesn’t necessarily even hold a voice, we gave that away for the opportunity to text message. It’s not the technology that I find fault in, it is how we, the human creatures of the is planet, have so easily let go that which carries with it true emotion. But why? What have we become so scared of? If is fear that has us hiding out behind the screens? We live so earnestly in our little boxes, carving out a sacred space in our cars and in our homes, dwindling away the hours with the feeling that we are getting things accomplished, but I’m starting to think we might actually be losing out.

Losing out on the connections that can only be created by sharing emotion with one another.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

Instead of waiting for the connections to present themselves, there is no reason why we can’t be aiding in their creation. And maybe even saving a piece of our souls and preserving a slice of beauty in this world. It’s simple, you see. You just have to make a decision. Make a phone call instead of sending a text message, stop by to visit someone, give a genuine hug, remember that as humans we carry around a consciousness and a set of emotions, and it would be a pure shame to lose that.

Maybe instead of collapsing the world will revert.
Crazy concept? I’m thinking John Lennon right now.
A little Imagine.

This all stems from a conversation that I had on this plane with the lady snoring next to me right now. We were talking about travel, and how our families are all over the place, and how it didn’t used to be that way. We are living in the age where it is so, so simple to go wherever we want. So we do. And the sense of family gets lost, if it ever happened to exist in the first place.

But all of these sweet lady’s nieces are learning to sew some of their own clothing now, people are beginning to feel the need to grow some of their own food again, the economy, the weather, those things that we have perceived as obstacles, they are making the world slow down a bit. Maybe the next generation will take it upon themselves to recognize the hastiness of their parents (my generation) and choose to settle in again. Maybe they will gather their siblings from all over the country or world and decide to curl up in one common place. Maybe they will have Sunday dinners and spanish coffees in the evenings while discussing how crazy their parents were for sending so many emails and running around all over the place.

I guess we will see. Whichever way, I am starting to see some change in my perspective. That plan I had for life... it’s not so clear anymore, and I say that with a smile on my face. The things that I thought I wanted, or didn’t want, the life that I imagined, or had built up based upon other circumstances, it is all a little blurry these days. And a little more clear at the same time. Maybe it’s just an age thing. And then this is where the words stop flowing, because although there is so much that could be said, it just doesn’t feel necessary to hypothesize too much, and there is not much to say because I’m just not so sure. So let’s keep it simple. Give someone your full attention. Really take a listen to what they have to say, and choose to really care and realize that this moment just may be a little more meaningful than your to-do list. I’ll by trying.

look. look. look.

2008-12-20T19:28:00.000-08:00

Oh my good lord! It took some time, well actually lots of time and a few glasses of wine, but FINALLY there is a flickr account out there of my very own. What good is that? Shit, I'm not really sure. I guess it means that you can check out my life anytime you so please and I feel a bit more organized. And once I start really photographing again there will be a place to share some images. And family, this is really great for you. Click, order, get prints in the mail. Drag to your desktop, whatever. So here you go. If you're looking for ways to kill some time and feel like browsing my life... go for it.

Now go take some pictures yourself. And then share.

smiles,

*k

and then she started her life. again.

2008-12-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

sheesh, I'm tired. And probably should have gone to bed long ago. But instead I'm sitting here in my warm bed, feeling the need to tell you that I BOUGHT A CAMERA TONIGHT. It has been a long time coming. Years. My art got put on hold for far, far too long. Meetings, menus, recipes, mortgages... things like that, I let them steal all the time in the world. I let them steal my happiness, my sense of freedom, trips of adventure, my ability to love and my energy to care. I was barely holding on for so damn long.

It snowed two nights ago here in Portland. And it's cold. Not midwest cold, but pretty fucking cold for Portland. Everything is still covered in ice and snow, and while I'm laughing out loud that the the city shuts down for conditions such as these, and that people drive 5 miles per hour when it snows, the cold winds have given me a good excuse to hide out in my apartment and really just be here. I bought a couple of photos albums and set to work putting all the old pics from my younger years in this beautiful place. There a LOT of pictures. And then that process had me looking though ALL of the old photo albums, of which there are many. Then more pictures starting making their way onto my wall and then I started dreaming about what it was like when I spent time with my camera. I remembered how it tilted my sense of the world, and how every little line and whisper of light contained within it an entire world. Oh yes, I remembered. And now, I don't want to forget. Photography grabbed me. Hell most art and design grabs me if I let it, but photography has been the medium of choice so far. As the years go on, there will be many more ways of creation, but for now, I'd like to take it back to the camera.

The hours in the darkroom were some of the best times of my life. Yes, they were quiet and stinky and filled with chemicals that made my fingers burn. But they were magic. Playing with light led to all sorts of wonderful creations. And many happy accidents. And then, upon moving to Portland I lost the time and access to a such hours in the darkroom. Instead I studied business, and got serious about life. Serious in a not so much fun sort of way. And although I still wanted to take pictures, I lacked the time along with darkroom. And to tell you the truth, I think it is only now that I have dissolved most of my dislike for the digital world. It's such a trick to play on yourself, right? Learn the process of creating it all by hand, and then turn to the computer. You can argue with me that it's still creation by hand, and I'll probably agree with you for the most part, but let's just be honest. In my gut, it's still different. Clicking buttons just doesn't seem as real. It's the same reason that I still like to print out all of my photographs. It is the chance to MAKE something. When you can hold it in your hand, hang it on a wall, or even build a wall... that snatches my heart more than a flickr account. And shit, I'll have a flickr in a few days, but still, it's different. And while I would like to say that one is not better than the other, I can't do so yet, because I'm just not sure that is true. An opinion, yes. But it's mine.

I'm dreaming of art shows. Of printing out pictures, mounting them and then putting them on display somewhere. I'm dreaming of joining that world again. There must be some space for such a thing around all the food. And the yoga and running. Art walks are in my very near future. With dresses, and heals and dancing and kisses. I don't want to be so tough anymore. Melting a bit seems like a very good idea. There will be mornings of brilliantly soft light, with a camera strap around my neck and a mug of green tea very near by. And time for dinner parties in the evening. Summer walks and winter fires. A picture every day. And music. Always music. I'm dreaming and not letting it go this time.

You'll see the evidence here. Although I very rarely make promises, I'm tempted now. As a chance to hold on. But really, it's more about letting go. Art is what happens. We really can never make it happen. We just have to let it carry us, and come as it pleases, like the words, and everything great. Lose a little control. Yes Karen, take your hands off the wheel, even for just a minute. Let it carry you. Just create.

gratitude.

2008-12-12T11:03:00.000-08:00

This note was hanging on the wall at the Blossoming Lotus cafe yesterday. I hope you can make out what it says and that this person's gratitude will inspire you to remember compassion and do what you can to make another's day a little better. I hope that I will remember this letter, and be able to do the same.

The person who wrote this sleeps in front of the Lawrence Gallery each evening, one door down from the cafe. A few months ago I was there early in the morning sweeping up cigarette butts and general liter from the sidewalk. He was gathering up his things for the day and asked if he could borrow my broom for a couple of minutes. I then watched as he rolled up his belongings and precisely swept out any dirt or trash from the area where he had been sleeping. I'm sure that this wasn't even his mess that he was cleaning up. That moment softened my heart for days, but slowly of course we all get sucked back into our own plane of existence and forget these times when the lessons so simply present themselves. Thankfully, this man choose to express his appreciation to the folks at the cafe for helping him out, and in turn I thank him for giving us all a reminder that this life is about so much more then we tend to focus on each day.

in the grey.

2008-12-08T08:56:00.000-08:00

humility ~ pride

the space in between
the formless
it is where the truth lies
and finding form
it lives as grace and ease

a delicate balance of
.pride and humility.

all in the mix.

2008-12-07T14:59:00.001-08:00

Something about too much mindless work combined with the madness of this time of year. That holiday season thing. It’s leaving me bone dry of words, sort of just running to fill in the gaps while still making progress. I tried to ignore Christmas this year, simply fly out to see the family, turn it into a relaxing vacation without all the cookies, gifts, dinners, and that general holiday spin that has a way of taking over everything.

Somewhere, between a couple of years ago and the next few, I’ll find my own rhythm for this season. I’ve come to realize that there is absolutely no harm in celebrating, in diving right into the festivities in a way that spreads lots of love and laughter. But this year, and the past couple, have been so filled with work that there just isn’t time to stop. Nor do I want to stop right now.

In making plans, I’ve yet to carve out that space where the big projects go on hold. Okay, that’s wrong. I totally carve out that space, in the summer. Winter is work time, and summer is about easing up on the work to get outside and play. So now it is a couple weeks away from this wild Christmas and New Years celebration, and just today I am realizing that it might be time to take a rest. Let a couple of days actually be for planning, make some gifts and get my shit together to travel home.

But you know what I want to be working on? This.

My food trailer. It needs a paint job, some scrubbing, signs made, character, equipment, a home, permits, licenses, a plan for what the hell I plan to sell and where all this food is going to come from, a stove, quickbooks, insurance and probably a hundred or so other things, all before January 30th. Baby steps, right? Like I’ve said before, this past year has been a lesson in patience. Moving one step at a time and trying my best to do it well the first time around. We’re getting there.

And speaking of this past year.... god, I am so ready to forget it. It’s been a lesson and hell, many good points mixed with multitudes of not so good days. And while the end of a calendar year, and the end of my 26th year on this earth, don’t really mean that much since time goes on without a care whatsoever for what we have to say, I’m taking this chance to live differently in the year to come. I’m taking the hopeful, the positive, the passionate and the honest with me and leaving the rest to fade on away. It is time to stop looking so hard, stop thinking so much, and just be here. Now. Look around. What do you see? What are you going to do Today? This moment. It’s all we have. I knew that once, but somehow, somewhere, it fell.

By the way, did you happen to catch the brilliant sunset last evening?

weekend.

2008-11-29T19:46:00.000-08:00

finn and abby's thanksgiving prep list.

then i got to hang with some goats.

layers.

2008-11-29T14:08:00.000-08:00

On Thanskgiving morning, tired and a little worn from late nights of previous days, I rolled on into hot yoga class. The idea of starting my holiday off with this was super appealing from the start, and then as I realized that the class would be filled to the brim, with all these people offering up their precious hours and some pieces of their soul, I found myself looking forward to this hour and a half more and more. So many folks, in one room, sweating together and offering intention... oh, all of that is just too much. It makes the edges of my heart crinkle up in fits of excitement. You just KNOW that this is going to be a good day. No matter how tired you are, by the end of the class it has all just faded away.

And in this class, right near the end, I could start to feel some of the layers peeling off. And in these moment I could also feel how heavy these layers had become. And just how deep they are.

And yet, after sitting with this for a moment It became apparent that maybe all these layers weren't so new after all. Maybe they hadn't just started to show up in the twilight hours, slipping around those things surrounding my life, sneaking, tiptoeing in. Slyly hiding out until one day their footsteps made too much noise, and I would finally take notice. Nope, maybe this isn't what happened.

Maybe, possibly, instead, my awareness is growing, and I'm actually opening up. Opening up to a space where I can see and feel some of what has been built up. Maybe in being more open, can one actually see how closed off they are. It's like the whole idea of the more you know, the deeper you study something, the more you realize that you really know nothing. The world of knowledge becomes larger. If you had seen this world of knowledge from the beginning, you would have been so overwhelmed that to dive in just a bit would have been too much. Too much to see, to feel, to surrender at that moment. If we give to much, to fast, can you help but to end up empty? Is that a possibility? Can you really surrender, or give, too much? Shit, I don't know.

What I do know is that the countryside, the mountains, woods, hills, meadows, the mud and the cliffs, the tree and moss and beautifully fresh air. These things take away more layers, in the fastest and least painful way, then anything else. Being in that environment, for a couple of days, even just a few hours, makes everything okay for quite some time. It's a place I don't go often enough these past couple of years, but this next year has to be different. The deep woods, camping trips, long hikes, muddy runs... they have all been on hold for the past couple of years while I focused on working. But no more. It's time to bring all of this back into life. Work on the balance and clear out some more of those layers. Maybe even all of the old ones. They will keep on growing, yes, and there is always going to be work in finding an open heart. But to see the path. I don't know. It's feeling pretty doable right now.

wait. please, hold on. i'm catching up. *k

2008-11-23T23:39:00.000-08:00

.

Focus. Sit. Feel. Meditate. Be HERE. now. This Moment.
The past, the Future,it's all in your head. This is it.

Breathe. That feeling, that breath, That is your life. Right Now.
Sit tall. Taller. be open.
arriving.

now breath in all the pain, the sorrow, the anger, the frustration, all the shit.

hold on. hold it in.

wait.

now let it all, out in a slow breath, of calmness, ease, peace. surrender. transform it.

now do it again. and Again. and keep on going.
the tears stream down.
So Much to let go.

and then, What? the problem. huh.
Somehow, there became a body, a mind, empty of sorrow.
she can't remember why she cried.
it's just gone.

- and that. That is why -
- Why she spends so many hours, in so many positions, on that brown Yoga mat -

* and this. (look below) it explains why She adores portland.
these are the trails beneath her running shoes
on NOVEMBER 23, in Portland.

rainy days, early mornings. *k

2008-11-21T21:21:00.000-08:00

look at how the light is dancing with the water on the windshield in that first shot. magical. i have always loved driving throughout the night and in the early hours of the morning when the light is just starting to take hold. if you can manage to be up, and actually present at that time of day, there is just so much to see. the world is still quiet while the majority of people are trying to rustle themselves out of bed. at this time of day, all that beauty of stillness and grace is like a little gift. and the right music, played in these early hours, can do no other then set one up for a wonderful day.

last night. *k

2008-11-16T10:03:00.000-08:00

last night we lost her. with many, many tears we had to let her go. she was old, and had lived longer then Danes are supposed to live. i like to think that she stayed around so long to teach me some lessons, but i still wasn't ready to see her go. i could have slept right there next to her that night, but i think that i needed her more then she needed me. she was gone, and free from pain and all that anxiety that she always carried around. now she can finally calm down. truly relax and stop worrying about protecting us silly people. it was time, but it doesn't make me miss her any less. i'm pretty sure that i can speak for Dylan as well in saying that.

oh, the joy of waiting tables today *k

2008-11-15T18:26:00.000-08:00

If you are a cranky old man, who no longer has anything to talk about with your wife while you have your coffee, and you now hate the world for some reason or another, keep it to yourself Mister or eat your damn breakfast at home. This girl waiting on you, she has plenty of problems of her own and she's not serving greasy bacon and cleaning bathrooms for the hell of it. DO NOT throw your arms up in the air and ask exactly how much longer it is going to take to cook a couple of eggs. And stop staring her down with your pissed off frown every time she passes by your table. It will not make your food cook any faster and she is not going to pamper your sorry ass or indulge your ego. Do you realize that she is fantasizing about throwing that omelet in your face while she serves it to your table with a smile and refills your coffee?

truth is, *k

2008-11-10T09:34:00.000-08:00

truth is I miss having someone else at home when I arrive each day. The loneliness has faded, the emptiness inside has been filling up with love, gratitude, passion and the force of life rather nicely, and I feel more at ease with myself then ever before in this lifetime. Yet, when I walk through the door of home each day, there is this little in sinking in the gut that happens, it surprises me each time, because until I get home it feels like the shift from empty to full has taken place. And then I am reminded, for a moment, that it's just me now. So I better make a good companion of myself, treat myself well, entertain my soul and take this space of time and freedom to dive deeply into the depths of my spirit.

But the truth is, the truth is I miss your company.

at the heart, from the heart, can you hear the sound of life? *k

2008-11-09T22:10:00.000-08:00

There is something at the very center of each of us for which we pull ourselves out of bed each morning, day after day. It's the light that is who you are, void of names and labels, it just is. Our essence is individual, completely unique in nature, and we must know it, bow down to it, honor it, trust it and follow it. To be at one with the light that makes us who we are is to live fully in our life. Being in harmony with the essence is not going to come without it's own load of hard work, sacrifices, lessons, patience and frustration. But there are people out there that will go to all ends in order to live authentically in that true nature. They make their own rules, they try time and time again to figure out how to make it all work, and they keep truth at the heart of the matter. These people inspire me.

Riding my bike this evening, in the dark and semi-cold weather, a powerful realization slipped into my mind. It has to do with the fact that I was not born to work for other people. No, I am here to create something, many things, but something that has all of this fiery passion throbbing at it's center, that is made of and fosters creativity and something that makes money so I never have to rely on someone else to pay my health insurance. I was born to develop something so full of integrity, quality, honesty and love that it draws people in, some place where community will gather and feed off of one another, trying our very best to take care of this dear earth, and maybe even to heal it and ourselves into one co-existing entity, with only the positive to let flood out into the world. To work for somebody, I have been learning how to do that for 11 years now, and I think that I am very well versed in such. The time has been put it, and very, very shortly I will cease to do that anymore.

But the realization, the one on the bike, it came in a moment of quick honesty, with much less complication then ever before. I realized that it doesn't matter how big the project is anymore, how much attention it will get or how it will lead me to a cookbook or being in Food and Wine magazine. All that matters now are the things written in the paragraph before this. It matters that I own the business, be it tiny or big, that my passion is 100% thrown into it and that I love, love, love the business with from the depths of my heart. And it matters, maybe more than any other reason, that this business is creating positive change.

That bike ride led me to a celebratory Kirtan at the Bhaktishop. This is something that I love so deeply. Yet I'm tired now, and out of words to describe it's power and grace, so I think that I will save the description of such a night for some other time and simply let the songs carry me in to sleep this evening.

goodnight kisses.

over my head in notes and documents *k

2008-11-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

Working, working, working..... and so not wanting to do this work. Keep it simple, open a food cart, spend the winter drinking wine and painting the thing with friends, dreaming about all the great stuff we will sell out of it, all the amazing folks that we'll meet and how we will still fit in time to climb at the gym, ride bikes and practice yoga.

--- or ----

Open a full on cafe. Never leave it. Get over my head in debt and spend the next few years not practicing yoga, riding my bike, camping, hiking, traveling, climbing, running with my dog, reading, and spending quality time with people???? At least as much or as often as I want to be doing these things. All to have a restaurant.... and a food cart, and then maybe another??? To eventually make money doing the restaurant and food thing I love??? Yeah, question marks. Because it is all a question. What the hell am I getting myself into? Maybe too much, maybe something unbelievably beautiful. That's the unknown folks. Do I go there, or not?

And yeah, I really do think that life is awesome, and we are all so blessed to be able to experience it, to learn these lessons no matter how long it takes or how many times they must be presented to us, to change our minds and try all sorts of different paths. We do create our own destiny.

Many times it feels as though I only throw out the dilemmas here... it's just that writing is the gateway to figuring things out, which means that is what you get, the dilemmas. But on a big scale, it's happiness and loving life, because this fall is just so damn gorgeous!!!

evening observation *k

2008-10-29T20:35:00.000-07:00

the 2 greatest lessons i have learned in business this past year and a half:

never, never, never underestimate the potential of others. with support, someone to believe in them, encouragement, strong expectations, guidance, love and understanding, people will rise to the challenge. in being too quick to assume that one does not possess the ability to fill a job or complete a task, you are simply building the walls around them and limiting their potential. instead, take the chance and believe in your employees.

really, truly care about those that work for you. get to know their fears, strengths, weaknesses, passions, reasons for living, what makes them smile, what they dream about, care about, and the things that make them crazy. hold respect for all of these traits that make them a wonderful individual. embrace this individual for all of these unique characteristics and really give a shit about them. check in every day, and do what you can to help out and be a friend. never assume that their worries have no value.

i think this applies. it is from the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower:

"I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won't tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn't change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad."

crumble to fly *k

2008-10-27T21:45:00.000-07:00

There is always that struggle between things that need to be done and the things that one would prefer to be doing. I do believe that the secret to a life happily lived comes in the matter of learning how to eliminate this struggle. Then the question becomes, does one have to face these issues, work through them and play the game for a matter of time in order to figure out how to find that middle ground? I do think so, and as much as I try to stay away from that rational part of my brain that just proceeds to fuck everything up, I can't deny that fact that we all, including me, have to face the shit in life in order to reach that bliss. It's the sweet and the sour. Always one for the other. A bland life is not anywhere near what I have created.

A few months back, I crumbled to a point that I'm still recovering from and scared to death to face again. This business that I have always wanted, dreamed of and worked so damn hard for, just was not going to happen. Not then. And to tell you the truth, it may have been the first time in my life that I didn't end up with that which I wanted. It's true. I hold a belief, so tightly and true, that if you really give a shit about something, anything, and are willing to put in the work, it becomes reality. This time around, it didn't happen.

A relationship had never put to me to pieces, a job, a death, a desire, nothing. But a phone call from some anonymous banker, saying that my loan just was not going to happen, it killed me. The tears did not know how to stop and my energy was depleted. It flew away in the summer breeze. I could not take care of anything, hold on to anything, or care about anything or anyone. This dream of the business had risen above anything else in my life. Shit, even my dog was neglected of my attention, not to mention that sweet boy that let me cry into his arms but received an empty, cold pillow when it came time to do the same for him. Yes, maybe my priorities are fucked, yet this is what comes naturally, and to contrive a feeling, well, that just wrong. And TRUTH, it's at the heart of it all. I know how to breathe, to meditate, to make my mind fly away and my body become one with the earth, but to keep this peace, I am just that crumbled, wandering child. Curled up in bed, pillow filled with tears, ready to go. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just be oblivious, just get by, flake out, float through life, not have a care in the world??? Because I sure do, and I know that would feel even worse.

So let's take a straight path to reality. I have an AMAZING business opportunity lying at my feet. It's there, pretty much for my taking. It doesn't even have strings attached. (if only i could waltz my way into a personal relationship that read like this...). So all I need to do is write a business plan right now. But all I WANT to do is play with light (like these photos), go explore the woods, get lost in yoga class, become really great friends with my camera again, paint, cook and kiss and play and dream. NOT, go back to the business stuff. Not yet.

I'm home tonight to work, and I just can't drag myself back to that plan. It's scary. If I end up back in bed, curled up and crumbled, I just don't know if I can take that yet. I'm so damn scared to go back there, because I haven't even fully made it through the first time around yet. I know, without any doubt, that all the best things in life are the most frightenting and the hardest, but for the sake of sanity, I'm not ready yet. The older I get, the more I want to put life on hold. Go to sleep, drown into the breathtaking winter ocean, jump and never land, for just a few weeks or months. Take a break. And then do the life thing again. Until someday I get it right. "right" somehow translating into happy, in love, passionate, and full of energy. Ready to explore, able to take the risks, and living life fully by saying farewell to that rational part of my brain, because the truth doesn't need to walk the line, it is the line, the middle, already. And god, I am so ready to go there.

a bitter farewell *k

2008-10-21T22:31:00.000-07:00

Coffee. For many years, well over a decade, it has been my comforting blanket. Soothing me while I browsed through stack of books at Powell's, warming me up during bitter cold walks with the dog, drifting though the air in the early morning hours, and always being the perfect companion to any dessert (and you know I adore dessert).

So for reasons stated above, it seemed like a good idea to brew a French Press of glorious Stumptown coffee at 6:30 this morning and then continue to drink 2 very large mugs of the stuff. And then a few hours later, when asked if I would like something to drink during a meeting, it felt only natural to respond, "yes please, a cup of coffee would be nice" even though I was already shaky and sweating from the first 2 cups. Yet after all this caffeine, combined with very little food, I was a wreck. Walking into the Blossoming Lotus to help cure myself with some fresh juice and a sandwich, my brain felt as though I was completely stoned and my heart was racing. And as much as I hate to admit it, my body just can't take the coffee anymore.

Not that the twitching, the headache or the racing heart led me to face the bitter reality of my coffee problem, it took a yoga class to finally teach me this lesson. This class I speak of may have just been the worst yoga class I have ever taken. Not because the instructor was bad (she was brilliant) and not because the music sucked, or the person next to me smelled. No, none of those. It was horrible because I was shaking, weak, light headed, unbalanced, dizzy and in total pain. In what could have been considered a restorative class, I couldn't make it though most of the postures. This never happens. It was completely sad. I had to leave the class, at which point I almost blacked-out in the hallway, to sit on the bathroom floor while downing cold water and letting the blood flow back into my brain. Warrior 2? Whatever, I couldn't even stand up for more then a couple of minutes at a time. It was in that class, as I progressively got more and more ill, that I came to realize coffee had to go. So I'm done. And I'm kind of pissed. It's come down to choosing between yoga and coffee in my life. Simple and true. Can't a girl have a couple of vices in her life? Sheesh.

tuesday morning sun *k

2008-10-15T21:59:00.000-07:00

a Jonathan Reynolds inspiration *k

2008-10-13T21:01:00.000-07:00

It is in those moments of pure surrender that truth gets a chance to shine. When the urge to hold has grown so painful and weary that it seems as though we no longer have any other option other then to just let go, that's when freedom truly starts to seep in. In taking the time to really look inside and face ourselves, we realize that to run is only going to make the hole deeper.

It's one of those lessons that one knows, that has been read about over and over again, stated in a million different ways in all of the most wonderful texts, spoken of by the great spiritual teachers of the world. It's found in the glare of the full moon, in the sway of a beautiful song, in the crisp air of a fall morning and the steam billowing off of that first cup of tea. In all those moments when we felt more at peace and connected then ever before. It's easy to think back to all those times. For me the stillness is found at the end of a long run, in waking to the sun in one's face in the middle of a field, in the pouring down rain during a bike ride, in someone's arms. And lately, more often then not, it is found on the mat. To spend an entire day, and then the next, practicing yoga does not seem like an absurd notion right not. Each time it is a lesson in finding stillness and a challenge to carry that with me off of the mat. Nothing has ever taught so much or offered such a level of salvation. The past three days I have found myself in tears while in class. I take this as indication that the walls are breaking down. My strength to hold on, to hold it all together, is slowly dripping away. I have never been able to just strip it down myself, make the decision and then step into the world a free and naked soul, with my heart on my sleeve and the passion bubbling over for all to see. Yet that is where I have wanted to go for so long now.

It is easy to see the problem here when the intentions are turned into words. There is a problem in the fact that I only find that peace in physical movement or in the company of another. There is a problem of control in trying to choose exactly when and what it is that I will surrender. Somewhere the bridge must be crossed between tranquility on the mat or during a run and the shift between the ever evolving tranquility, emptiness, loneliness and struggle of just being.

While I have come to believe that enlightenment is simply a matter of choosing to wake up, the problem comes with deciding that one is going to wake up but then continuing to grasp onto some of those old comforts. To just let it all go is scary. In a way that seems ridiculous when I really think about it, yet is truly the case, I am honestly scared to death of just letting the control slip away. It's like choosing to wake up is going to leave me empty handed. I can't even explain it really. Sometimes it takes on a financial struggle, like if I just let it all go I won't have the willpower to work anymore and then I will eventually find myself on the street. I know that it's actually about finding the bliss in every moment, whether it is work or play, I just have yet to figure out how to apply it. Somewhere between that first meditation in a college philosophy class, to the walk on the Great Wall, to the incense filled temples in Lhasa, to the journey that has found it's way on the yoga mat, I know that my heart has grown. I know that every day the compassion gets a little stronger and the surrender a little deeper. We are all on a path, heading somewhere of our choosing, and will probably still be taking baby steps when we are 85 years old.

I've believed for years that I was free, but it is only now, in these days that I have all to myself, with the time to really choose how it is that I will spend my day, that I am realizing how attached I am to those old comforts. It's not the life that I want. And it is the life that I must face and whittle away at, releasing myself from the past and taking those infant steps into a new world. One of freedom and truth and tears that fall onto the yoga mat.

so, I have been cooking... *k

2008-10-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

.

a lot lately. And while I promise not to make this into a food blog (one of those will soon be started elsewhere), I am feeling quite happy about rediscovering the joy of being in the kitchen. See, cooking is that thing I do, the thing I love and have sort of built a life around. Yet, sadly, sometimes the urge to cook and the creativity of it all just floats away. And them I'm not happy. It's a simple equation. But the love is back!! I'm not longer cooking in the kitchens of restaurants that are not my own, and while there is a big part of that which truly 'gets' me, it also, over time, takes away a big chunk of my inspiration. I think that sort of works for most things. If we do that which we adore 100% of the time, eventually it becomes work. I don't want to cook to pay my bills. I want to cooks because I love it, and then, hopefully, the money will come by doing what you love. I believe it's true. It just takes some effort, strategy, time and patience. Patience has been the biggest lesson for me this year.

Well, the plan was just to post a few photos, but instead there I go, writing and writing, again. So here you are, a little glimpse into my world this past weekend...

then, there were cinnamon rolls to be made.

now come on over for dinner.

in the stillness *k

2008-10-06T00:49:00.000-07:00

.
The ocean, at night, in the dark months, only the moonlight to play tricks with the crashing waves, it’s cold, fresh, sharp, clouds constantly threatening to burst at any moment, fierce wind, with a roar that is so full of infinite life. Yet it’s somber and silent, still, with an open heart to rush away every single worry. In it’s presence, the moment is instantly light. Breathing becomes so easy, so simple. I can feel myself disappearing into the fury of the water, tumbling and playing for days, years, to a point where time doesn’t even exist. The ocean, in my humble opinion, is best experienced on these cold, rain filled months.

It loves a solitary soul. Or maybe a set of lovers. At the most a handful of friends surrounding a fire, feeding off of one another and getting lost in conversations and connections. Oregon winters so graciously deliver such a chilly, rainy ocean. I could spend weeks here in the winter. Curled up in some tiny cabin near the water, fireplace, books, soups, wine, tea, another warm body. Ah, thats the ocean in my soul.

salty • sweet *k

2008-10-01T23:44:00.000-07:00

There is an urge to write. Something brings it on, something, anything. Be it the song abruptly coming through the speakers that transports to the direct moment where tranquility was nowhere to be found and sadness was suffocating. Or coming across a gasping Italian food blog, with blunt words and smashing recipes, only to read, be invited to sit on her couch and hear that she has been drowning in depression throughout the glorious summer, covering it up with lush pastas and gooey chocolate cakes, cooking in hopes to burn up the tears in the fire. From there, onward led to a beautiful and brash woman's truthful account of her baby sons death. Earlier came photos of new lovers. Chocolate tarts to prepare and soup to be stewed. The best chocolate-peanut butter-coffee-banana shake ever to be consumed. And yoga, dear, sweet yoga. My trustworthy, loyal friend. Always bringing out the good and taking away with you a slice of the toxic. What would I do without you?

Things are changing, always changing, but now they are changing so fast it's hard to keep up. Old habits and beliefs are giving way to the crisp, dancing colors. Forget the dawning of spring, fall is when the new year really begins. It's so refreshing to take life in a new direction, while at the same time returning to my roots. Many things feel that way. I want to be surrounded by strength. resilience. straightforward honesty. hard workers. crudeness. loud music. dancers. raw hearts. smiles and loud laughter. fuck the bullshit and tiptoeing around. to hell with the making others feel comfortable while sacrificing the realness of the moment. I'll be damned if you expect me to kiss your ass while you talk down to others. Self-righteousness, sometimes it's just too much. It's time to make our own way. Learn and share and listen, but don't ever, ever, ever tell me that you are in someway better because of your moral decisions. I don't want to keep my mouth shut and smile politely anymore.

cinnamon tea *k

2008-09-27T14:22:00.001-07:00

signs are pointing to the fact that I am getting more and more accustomed to this whole sleeping alone thing. nope, still don't like it, but I did wake up at noon today. NOON. It has been months since that has happened. It's past 2 now and I'm still sipping my 'morning' tea, way behind on all that stuff was is supposed to get done today. love it.

inhale *k

2008-09-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

oh, this song.... listen & dissolve.

sensual?
the lustful fig.

and this here? this will leave a blissful smile across my face for days. so many yogis, practicing for peace in the middle of the city. it was cloudy, then the sun made it's way for for our salutes and blessings, and then the rain, pouring down as so many bodies laughed out loud and flooded their hearts to the world, the divine, each other, friends, enemies, families and peace.

there is no mistaking it. i am so blessed. so in love with Portland. so in love with life. inspired. no longer drained. there is change to be made, peace to be sculpted, laughter to share, silence and stillness to sit with, and always, always, always , an idealistic soul that believes, even if it sometimes gets buried or forgets.

in the dawn.

jai.

satya *k

2008-09-19T15:31:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the grass, sipping on Jasmine Green tea, with an orchard to my left, hot tub in front of me, a beautiful barn filled with yogis behind me, and the most amazing kitchen I have ever cooked in to my right. Life is delicious. Coming here, I knew there would be plenty of downtime which I planned to fill with reading, writing, running and yoga. Well, the yoga and running stuck, but in the rest of that time I have found myself gazing at the trees that surround me, or simply walking through the orchard, delighting at the sight of the figs getting soft, the plums turning darker shades of purple moment by moment, and the little frogs that curl up in the leaves of the flowers. Daily it occurs to me that I should write, so here I am, a few days later, just letting something slip out on the keyboard (sadly, the days of paper are slowly dwindling, if we let them).

I have nothing profound to throw out there. These days have been spent learning about the moment, breathing deeply, and slowly healing. It's amazing that it takes the space to heal to actually realize that you are broken. Not shattered. But broken, yes.

In this, the thought that continuously floats to the surface, is truth. Authenticity. Satya. Of course this relates to the spoken word, but truth also to oneself, to our body, truth about our limitations, our weakness, our strength. Truth about how we want to shape our life, and what we are willing to allow in our days, being truthful about whether they will help or hinder. And truth to not be scared, to take those chances, speak with confidence, trust ourselves, and be discriminating in who else we will trust. The truth in oneself to be alone, while also truthfully letting go and surrendering, with our hearts spilling so lusciously open for all those moments of love.

I have a secret. It probably sounds so small to most people, yet there are others who will be so offended by this secret that they may not speak to me again, or think that I am just some shallow sell-out. It's silly, I know. Ah, and there will also be a couple of folks out there thinking, "there she goes again, always changing her mind, never sticking with anything, maybe someday she'll learn". To that I will say, it's about change, and learning. As we learn we change and adapt. And how do we know what works if we never give it a try?

So you want to know my secret? I eat some dairy. And I ate fish 3 times in the past couple of weeks. I'm toying with the idea of other meat. No chicken, or turkey, and certainly not foi gras, but maybe some beef or some bison. Just a bit. Here and there. You know what it is? Eating a bit of dairy opened my world way up for dining out. And I LOVE experiencing restaurants, supporting chefs, checking out their daily creations and thinking about what they chose to put on their menu. And women chefs, I bow down to you. The years of harshness in a "man's kitchen". The sweat, and low pay and long hours, over that hot stove, burn marks all down your arms, sizzling oil snapping upward in your face. I know how hard that is, and how much you love it. I want to eat your food. Even if it is a slice of grass fed cow, you filled it with your dedication and love. And you need people that appreciate the surrender to keep on doing what you do. I want to come to your restaurant.

Now don't get me wrong, the plants sustain me. A hefty daily dose of greens and fruit, my heart goes out to you. This is what I want to share with other people. Yet, when I want to share a couple of precious hours, vibrant conversation and wine that tastes like fresh, dewy kisses, I don't want to do that with a plate of chips and guacamole or a greasy vegan reuben sandwich. There is no Pure Food & Wine in Portland, and no Millenium. I am over the pizza without the cheese. Folks, nutritional yeast is not a substitute, or even good for that matter. I'll still make vegan and raw food any night of the week if you want to come to dinner. You are invited.

This is my confession. A movement towards truth, simple as it may sound. Namaste, my loves.

Thoughts for the day :D

2008-09-16T08:42:00.001-07:00

Looking at the world through such a lens makes one thing clear: Despite our mansions and our roadways, our designer jeans and our iPhones, human beings have made very little. Instead we've transmuted stored energy into temporary value in exchange for long-term waste. All of the growth that our politicians seek to perpetuate is not growth at all.

cheers *k

2008-09-10T21:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday dragged on in the best way possible. Riding all over town in the slight chill of early fall air, breakfast with a good friend, hours gathering and writing recipes, fried okra for dinner, an evening run in the park, tea, wine, books... almost all in the quietness of my home. Well, quiet aside from the music that is always playing.

This day included work, the kind that trades going to a job at a certain time for a paycheck, yet it also played out in blissful way. The morning ride was so chilly it had me wishing I had worn gloves and something other than a skirt, and yet these mornings are the kind I love the most. You should be prepared, dear reader, to know that I'll probably be crooning about my endless love of fall for the next couple of months. There is nothing else like it.

Such happiness has brought upon the urge to share it here, if only to begin to take some fresh footsteps over the slight onslaught of misery that enveloped the past few weeks. As the leaves begin to change, the willingness to see this world through another angle is beginning to creep in. It's time to take more walks, curl up with books, bake some bread and brew big pots of stew, pull out the camera once again, get plenty of sleep and dive back into yoga. There's the recipe for this girls happiness. We should probably also throw in a couple of good camping trips and hikes, some great music shows, a handful of dinner parties and top it off with good conversations over whiskey, tea or wine. Yes, that right there is tapping into my version of dreamland.

The sweet is beginning to override the sour. I can feel it. I is lovely.

Something else that is lovely is One Pot. If you love food and music, unconventionality, conversation, shared meals, idealism, and believe in doing things on your own terms, check out One Pot. Future collaboration ideas are twitching in my brain.

Cheers to the fall,

*k

26 and naive *k

2008-09-08T02:00:00.000-07:00

knowing what goes on this page has been tough to figure out the last few weeks, hence the lack of new material. the Formless was created as a place to put the words, thoughts, creative expressions and truths, along with a place to help foster reflections and take notice of all that gets lost in our world while constantly playing the game of trying to keep up. and while truth is at the heart of all matters, deciding exactly what to share with the world when the truth is messy has left me unsure. life is different now, and each new day is a process of learning how to live it in a new way. and while change is the one thing that keeps me willing to stay in the game, this change has been unsettling. it is taking longer to adapt. and in that adaptation comes a lot of not so pretty truths.

so while writing is probably what i should have been doing, sending confusion and moments of sadness, frustration or just downright negative energy out into the world is not where i want to go. there is already way to much of that floating through the air we breathe.

and while not every day or moment has necessarily been bad, to focus on the good parts and write as though life constantly feels like that perfect bike ride last week, or the lazy early morning walk of a beautiful fall day.... well, that just doesn't seem right. i could have easily written pages about how, in these days of confusion, i have found myself falling in love with Portland all over again, or about how the music has made itself known all over again, taking away the emptiness and providing a place to tumble wildly into.

yet to play upon these times of ecstasy seems to me like we're glossing over the truth. the truth that i have been so damn tired for weeks now, yet here i am at 2:3o in the morning, unable to sleep through the night. i thought that if i sat down to write, the direction of where to go would make itself known. and right now, in this moment, all i really know is that i have no idea what direction anything is going to go. at least that's a starting point, right? realizing where you sit in space before drawing up any ideas of where life will take you?

these pages will start filling up again and i suppose that they will make their way on their own terms. being a strong believer in not forcing anything leaves this being the only way to let life unfold. i am excited to see what happens. and i am hoping to do it better this time around. although life is obviously a continuation, i always see it more in blocks of change. each time we take it outside of our comfort zone offers the opportunity to decide how to proceed onward. i feel so young again. 26 and naive. having to remind myself that i am not moving backwards in time, but rather taking a break to refresh and go at life with some new, much needed, energy.

endings have never come easily to me when i write. they always seemed contrived. i think because there really isn't an end to anything. some folks leave something like a "final thought" or a witty remark. when i am done writing i am done. and then i sit here for a few minutes thinking about how to say that gracefully. all i can come up with is Goodnight.

Go ahead, break dance already - :D

2008-08-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

As I rode over the hawthrone bridge this morning I saw some wild human movements happening on a platform above the water. After a double take I realized it was some kids break dancing at sun rise. How can you not stop and take that one in? I pulled over and watched from above as a group of kids got down with their hip hop selves. Turns out they were shooting some kind of video. Pretty rad. Moral of the story is keep your eyes open to the beautiful little nuggets of the day.

this night, this day *k

2008-08-16T21:37:00.000-07:00

first washes of emptiness.
the shared memories.
splitting one life back to two.

do you run and forget... or simply sit with it.

sit with the sadness, with the music being the only thing filling the space where you currently breathe.

i want to feel it. let it slowly drip in.

2008-08-12T19:36:00.000-07:00

XXX the manifesto is dead XXX

this life, this love is done.

3 sides *k

2008-08-10T14:45:00.000-07:00

the best way to contemplate what to do next with your life? drive away from the city, ride through the winding streets of hood river and beyond, stare at the hills and mountains and all of those glorious trails that are just begging you to lace up the hiking boots and then roll out your sleeping bag under the stars as daylight surrenders. the answer becomes obvious. this place saves me time and time again. why not make it a home? a little house outside of town in the gorge and a small house right in the midst of madness in the city.

once i discovered the force of the water of the great lakes, and the way that storms roll in over the seas, taking over whatever plans you may have had, because my friends, something more powerful is here for you to experience. once i discovered that at the tender age of 18 or so, and once i realized that there was a whole lot of life to experience outside of the farm, and that it didn't matter how in love i was, i had to run away. once all that took place i developed this dream of a life that i thought was just too damn good to ever become reality.

this dream consisted of a home where water crashed in merciless waves on one side, rolling hills and fields of countryside and farmland took over another side, and the third side held a thriving city with never-ending culture and inspiration, art, idealists, music, unabashed love and rawness.

i would think, if only... if only i could create this life the wandering spirit may actually find a way to settle. while i am still unsure if the desire to just run away will ever cease, it seems like a good idea to give it a try. this weekend i realized that this dream home, with all sorts of life on all sides, was already here. i am living it. the only thing that needs to be done is to make it better. open restaurants in both towns. buy houses in both towns. drive to the ocean when the crashing of the water is all that will bring me back. let the waves take over, beating my body into submission of the elements, run and climb and hike and ride over all the beautiful land, sit and meditate in the fields, practice yoga on the top of a mountain, ride through the traffic of the city, breathe in all the art and share hugs with these freedom loving, idealistic, rebellious and sensitive souls. create a couple of restaurants that truly give a shit about those that choose to work for me. give people a space to know that they are needed, loved and cared for. send smiles to all of the customers and share stories with those that i may never see again in my life. this is it. this is what i was born to create. for now.

later on we'll see about a retreat center, a space of for healing and renewal somewhere up in the hills, with yoga and natural whole foods, people to listen and skies to take in all of ones prayers. but for now, it's the life with 3 sides, time and freedom to travel, love, light, good food, yoga, runs, rides, hikes, climbs and dancing. the constant striving to keep an open heart and learn from all those that cross my path. liberation from expectations. yes, liberation from expectations.

now it's a simple matter of finding patience with the timing. simple right??? patience??? sure, i can handle that.

Pickathon 08 *k

2008-08-08T12:15:00.000-07:00

One week ago today I was heading over to Pendarvis Farms for good ole' Pickathon, a roots indie music festival, small in size with loads of soulful country style music and dancing galore. It was a wonderful weekend, surrounded by tons of friends and family and even more amazing people to meet along the way. If only it had lasted an entire week.... Most of the time I shy away from planning life too far in advance or anticipating future moments, since the here and now is what we usually end up missing when we do such a thing. I'm putting that rule aside for now though and making the bold statement that you will most definitely find me back at that farm next August, swaying in the sun while snacking on fresh, wild blackberries, because times like that are just too good to miss.

So here are just a few of my favorite photos and moments from the past week. You can check out all of the shots on our flickr page here.

night run *k

2008-07-25T23:26:00.000-07:00

The streets are quiet. Empty of cars. The wind just chilly enough to whisper over the sweat, providing those little rushes of fresh life. Legs are strong and feather light this evening, ready to go for hours, letting the mind escape, find some peace and a temporary home in all that passes. A resurgence of love for the city, stimulating the mind without holding on too tight.

words that stay *k

2008-07-14T17:46:00.000-07:00

Two old loves have been strolling through my head for the past couple of days. Unsure of where they came from, I gladly welcome their presence. The words of Kerouac and music of Buddy guy. Not much can be said here, each is damn perfect without the help of any of us. So take listen, or even better, read some Kerouac while listening to Buddy, because that my friend is purely beautiful.

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now that children must be crying in the land where they let children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old...

Presents from Ma

2008-07-13T14:54:00.000-07:00

My mother always has a thing for history and this years b-day gift brought a collection of interesting thoughts and ideas. The package included some fine threads from my very early days, sorry I didn't take any photographs of them. Along side the pimp old clothes where some shots of my childhood. Looking back at old photographs of yourself always brings you to a very special place of memories and ideas. Come join me and stroll through these photographs.

A few more photos can be found here.

I reach 30 and next minute my brother turns a victorious 21

2008-07-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

Every birthday has been a celebration in some form or fashion. This season brought about a digit change, from young to old in my mind. I had not been looking forward to the change for a few weeks. Even though I know it's just a simple number and doesn't mean much I hate losing hope or control of my vitality. I always want to play and live hard and never get slowed down by my age or ability. To me the 30's are a sign of just that.

The amazing part is the day after my 30th was my brother Neebs had his 21st b-day. In celebration we headed up to Mt. Hood and did a little camping at 8-mile creek. Neebs, Besa, two dogs and myself had a great time lounging in the sun and exploring the surrounding trails. We drank our fair share of beers, cooked some food on the fire and told tales of the past and future. Great weekend, for turning the big whopping 30.

::: MORE PHOTOS HERE :::

eat peace *k

2008-07-09T21:56:00.000-07:00

found on the back of a car...

if the concept of perfection were actually a truth,
i imagine this to be the perfect start to any working day.

evenings like this are a blessing.
music throughout the house while cooking and sipping a chilly beer.

cheers Marshall.

visual journeys *k

2008-07-04T21:59:00.000-07:00

We hit the road to Victoria, BC and the Olympic National Forest for a few days last week. Indeed, it was a much needed escape from the crazy busy existence of life. Camping and sleeping in the back of the car is the simplicity that keeps me alive, all that one needs, packed up on four wheels and ready to go anywhere. And although I am itching harder then ever to just keep on going, here we are back in Portland with the breath of life all packed up into tidy images, memories that will slowly fade over time, and the experiences of something new to put a little perspective into our daily steps. Dedicated to the road and to you, take a look.

to be grounded *k

2008-07-03T00:06:00.000-07:00

Out in the desert there exists a stunning woman named Karina who paints, writes, cooks and lives an authentic life in which no label is needed. She writes this blog called A Painter's Kitchen. Her writing travels the lines of poetry, confessionals, images, paintings, recipes and other thoughtful forms, void completely of all bullshit. She speaks the truth, not giving a damn if the truth is dirty, and generally it is. Her words beautifully meld one with another, dancing across the page, yet they are raw. People have surely been offended, confused, saddened and left feeling like they need to help this woman, take some sort of pity on her and tell her that it will all be shiny and pretty tomorrow if only she would just cheer up, let it go, forgive, move on, look on the bright side, practice ignorance, stop thinking so much, relax, not take those thoughts so seriously, just deal... it goes on and on.

God I love this woman. The truth that she puts on a plate for the reader to do with what they will is more often than not describing in detail the never-ending thoughts that twirl through my own brain. She is 54 and I feel more connected to her than just about any friend and most certainly any family member. This post of hers was written in the last couple of days. I can't really sum it up for you, it has a bit to do with freedom and hitting the road, yet it much more than just that. In seeing so much of myself in this woman, it truly makes me wonder if there will ever be a point in life that settling down in some way will seem like the right thing to do. Not the thing that you brain tells you is responsible or reasonable, but the kind of settling down that is guided by the soul. Will I ever stop battling tears every few weeks or months simply because doing the same thing over and over truly sets of sparks of anger and taps on the surface of depression?

Reading the honesty in A Painter's Kitchen leaves me to believe that the answer is no. I feel things, everything, too strongly to become complacent. The highs are sublime, going on for long periods of time in which life suddenly seems to be coming together in ways that one never could have dreamed imaginable. Except that I have dreamed them this way because the idealist inside is always on the prowl, thankfully. And then the lows, the empty weeks when words are hard to come by, artistic vision has gone blind, communication is null and generally I hate whatever my job may be at that time. I have been beginning to wonder if I will ever stop being bored to anger at any job that I hold for more than a year, even if it is the restaurant that I have dreamed about for many years, or the time when I will no longer go to work everyday but will rather bounce back and forth from the kitchen to the art studio, whatever form that may take.

The only path that seems to offer hope of not facing such devastating boredom is continuous travel. The road is most certainly my true home. The idealist in me continues to say that I will figure out a way to walk this path, yet facing the lesson of patience makes me want to rip down the walls or pound on them until every last drop of energy is long gone and I lay withered on the ground, gasping, spent.

Oh what a calm appearance you'll find on the daily exterior. Twisting it all around inside while maintaining all that is expected in a sturdy, smiling form. Expected of who? Not quite sure but keeping life all pretty looking is so damn simple while taking the years to figure out how to let the inside find its freedom. In another post Karina talks about how some people have the gift of grounding. Her husband is this way. She can spiral and spin, yet he knows when to let her go and how to help bring her back. This intrigues me to no end.

Simply it is now one in the morning and I am tired.

Yep...

2008-06-23T23:27:00.000-07:00

The 2008 world naked bike ride was fun.

send your prayers to the sun *k

2008-06-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

This is becoming one of my favorite days of the year. How beautiful to turn our smiles upward and celebrate the sun, the start of summer as we know it, the brilliant star that sheds its light, energy and life onto all of us and all of nature. What could be a better way to honor the sun and send blessings to all than to practice yoga? How about practicing yoga in the park, surrounded by many other yogis, all throwing down 108 surya namaskaras, joyfully and gratefully. That's what my morning looked like, and I wish there were pictures to share (actually there will be in a few days, and I am purchasing a camera in the next couple of days as well, putting myself back on track to discovering that joy of seeing life in segments, intentionally focusing). Dylan even joined in for yoga frolicking in the grass. I am inspired.

The day continued in bendy bliss at Yoga Pearl as I took an afternoon workshop that helped to send me on the path of getting a foot, and maybe someday both, behind my head. How useful is that really? I don't know, but having loose, flowing joints and a strong body is like discovering the fountain of youth, and practicing yoga always leaves me happy, grounded, free and inch by inch a more compassionate human being.

I hope you all rejoiced in the sun on some level. Don't forget to keep the middle path flowing, find some moderation in everything, and love those cold rainy days just a much as the heat sweltering 100 degree days and the "perfect" warm, sun filled endless days of summer.

My friend Asa wrote this here last year of the Solstice and I do believe that it is worth sharing. Let go a bit this summer, let if flow. Let if all flow. Happy summer solstice loves, namaste to you. jai.

"good evening ladies and gentlemen,
lets thank the good people at the catholic church for the gregorian calendar and all agknowledge that based upon this time keeping table that it is technically summer!
and the longest day of the year. That means day time tv will air longer, more time to stare directly at the sun, extra hours to get daytime drunk, and if you're driving west then you just might get to your destination before the fat ol sun in the sky touches down past the roof line and sends you off the road in a fire ball.
But this celebration is a bit premature as it is just past the stroke of midnite, and technically it won't be summer till the clock strikes noon. So, may all of you out there in cyberville be prepared, whatever timezone you may exist nay matter, just raise your mojitos, coronas, or mikes hard lemonade high to the sky and say FUCK YEAH!!!!
Keep the intoxication in full swing and the charcoal briquettes blazing, let one night stands become afternoon stands, abandon daily bathing cuz an hour later it will have been useless, stop traffic with block parties, uncap fire hydrants, occupy rooftops, never wear socks, cut your jeans off, pee in the pool, bust out the hawaiin shirts, call in sick, get seven pairs of shades, loiter, hit home runs, sell lemonade, don't do any reading, and get and god damn sunburn!!!!!!
HAPPY FUCKIN SUMMER!!!!!!!!!
to those in the five oh five this need not apply as im sure summer started like three months ago.
to the rest, kick ass and take some names!
asa "can't-wait-to-crash-my-ten-year-reunion" spades"

it is the entire universe *k

2008-06-09T19:14:00.000-07:00

what does it mean when you start a book on christmas and finish it in june? well, it definitely doesn't mean that the booked sucked or i never would have made it to the final page. the time elapse has something to do my current inability to spend more than 20 minutes at a time relaxing and reading, along with the fact that the book was so damn beautiful that to file it away on the bookshelf would just be heartwrenching.

so i'll share it with you. some of the underlined, scribbled upon, starred sentences, words and paragraphs that i don't want to let sit on that bookshelf, but instead carry forward and spread.
but what if you realized - in your bones and in your guts - that there was ultimately no way of distinguishing between yourself and your brother?

...each moment presents a new born universe...

truth speaks to us directly without words. there can be no image of truth. truth can't be captured in an image or a phrase or a word. thus, in trying to take hold of Truth, we naturally encounter paradox and confusion.

if it's truth we're after, we'll find that we cannot start with any assumptions or concepts whatsoever. instead, we must approach the world with bare, naked attention, seeing it without any mental bias - without concepts, beliefs, preconceptions, presumptions, or expectations.

there's no trail to this place. we're already here. all of us. if it's winter, one must have a mind of winter - indeed, one must be winter - to be here. that is, not thinking of spring, not longing for summer, for something that doesn't exist now, here. this mind isn't reaching for some other place. and if it's summer, one must have a mind of summer. there is no other place. we're forever here.

our problem stems from our deeply held assumption that the words you, me, i and it refer to some real aspect of actual experience.

the sound of the bell is thus not "the sound of the bell." it is the entire universe.

we think we go home to the same room, house, or apartment every night. but this is not the full picture; it's merely how we've conceptualized our experience. every night indeed, every moment - is a different experience: a different you, a different house, a different pet or roommate or spouse or child. each meal is a meal never eaten before, in a world that's not the same as last night or even the moment before. to just see is to release the tight grip we unwittingly place on everything we think. you have never read a word before now. just see that this is so, and taste freedom.

if you really want to wake up, then just wake up.

whatever you hold to, let it go. step into this moment. come back to just this. it takes some effort. but come back, come back, come back to just this. just see what you've been ignoring for so long.

this post could go on and on. i always read with a pen in my right hand and throughout this book it was used over and over again. i urge you to pick up the book. BUDDHISM IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK by Steve Hagen. read it and fall in love with nothingness.

and thanks erich, for the gift.

money eats souls *k

2008-06-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

that is why it has been so long since i have been able to write. the money quest leaves my soul vacant and the mind either empty or endlessly twirling with business thoughts. all it will take is one person with the funds to find belief in my passion...but the path to that person...torturous. waking up everyday to face the challenge of finding money just eats away at my creative, loving, blissful, energetic bones. yet, it just has to come about because it leads to the place that i was born to be. i can't stop from asking myself why that hell can't someone in my family have some money? why has life always had to be such a goddamn challenge? god, i sound like such a whiner when i read that. and if the money had just been handed to me, or even been a little easier to come across, i wouldn't be nearly as thankful for the gift. so i'll just keep at it a little longer, and if anyone wants to loan me a couple hundred thousand bucks to buy this restaurant i wholeheartedly promise to give back every cent and then some.

it's funny. i have had one of the worst days, mostly due my own mental perception of the life flows at this time. but here i sit writing it down in order to release
and you know what happens, my partner builds a fire in our new fire pit, mows the lawn, there is rice on the stove, good wine for me to sip on, a super happy dog and even some tiki torches. definitely feel like a whiner now.

kirtan at the bhaktishop was last night. i swear to you that place saves me. i sat down in the midst of all these beautiful voices and people chanting and singing about loving every damn person and thing, bowing down, giving thanks to those who brought forth the yogic tradition, and really just giving a shit. it made me cry. if i really was free like a the little children running around i would have just sobbed. all in all, i really don't think that i am a fan of life. all this tragedy in exchange for all this ecstasy. and in the in-between moments i get bored, because they are fucking dull and i would rather be feeling each high or low. i completely understand why all the amazing artists, writers, musicians, dreamers and lovers kill themselves at some point. if you don't know how to get any higher, why not end it in the most tragic form?

but you know what, i think the rice is done. and i'm hungry. simply. time to end. namaste.

My Dog Got Raped!

2008-05-19T16:57:00.000-07:00

While walking my sweet old Meshka dog yesterday this little guy started following us and pulled out his red rocket and continuously humped my dog for a good 10 minutes. This pup named "king" tried to sniff her butt, but couldn't even stand high enough to get his nose up there. I think he was looking for the biggest piece of ass he could find.

Amazing Mural Video

2008-05-19T14:34:00.000-07:00

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

weekend of camping :D

2008-05-11T20:40:00.000-07:00

Some friend and I made it out to Hornings Hideout for a spring time weekend getaway. We saw more tweakers than the heart desires, met some new hippy folk and told some amazing stories around the campfire. Here's some shots to sum it up.

a no headed man.

This is a bald eagle, yes, it is, don't question it. It flew over the stage while Mason was spinning some obama words over the jam band. It was quite amazing. The bird went to lake looking for dinner. It was a pretty special moment.

Found some cool colored plugs.

I love this dreamy shot of Mary.

Marshall pregnant at the fire.

Solo hula hoop dancer in the middle of the night.

Then the night came with raging fire and illuminating delights.

Found this keen observation in the morning outside of paxton's tent. Not sure what happened here but the tent is hardly standing and a certain yellow piece of rubber was ribbed for her pleasure.

More photos can be found here.

when it hits you :D

2008-05-11T20:36:00.000-07:00

I took the camera out this weekend and found this shot of Karen and the pup, well half of her. I love seeing the unexpected and realizing how beautiful and amazing Karen is.

heightened reality *k

2008-05-10T00:38:00.000-07:00

rooftops and heights really get me. they create a completely new perspective even if you have been in the same place hundreds of time from ground level. all of a sudden you can see it for what it really is as opposed to this place that you have a certain form of interaction with. in standing on a rooftop you get to step outside of the world for a time being. it's akin to the moments that i believe are nirvana, those times when you can walk around in the world, interacting, experiencing, yet somewhat outside of it all, the sound is almost muted and you can watch and truly see what is happening without getting caught in the trap of it all. i only get these moments from time to time right not, i am trapped within, but being on a rooftop (especially at night) simulates that experience and brings a little awakening to my soul.

it has been a wonderful couple of days. the moments of life are aligning greatly. i took a power yoga class yesterday that freed a portion of my light. it was intense, pushing my body beyond where it knows how to take itself. the sweat just poured out, releasing all of the toxins and pent up stress. classes like stay with me for days, making everything a little sweeter and truth a known rather than a search.

today i took my bike out to sauvie island and rode along side the fields of vegetables, dust, cows and stillness. sometimes i get too caught up in this city life and forget that the country is within reach whenever i need it, waiting and ready to feed my soul and clear my head. sometimes i miss the country so much. there is nothing that compares to the way time passes slowly and the honesty that lives in the fields and dirt roads.

poison *k

2008-05-07T21:49:00.000-07:00

i've never had strong ties with my family. my mother didn't hold me and tell me she loved me when i was young, my father wasn't of the mental state to play any game other than checkers or solitare. we bonded over that and televised basketball games. my sister was abused as an infant by her biological father (she is adopted) and will never reach the mental capacity beyond that of a five year old. i could continue but it may just sound scary. the upside is that i understand why things are this way and really don't hold anyone responsible for my view of the world. my mother is a lovely, sincere woman who has lived through much more shit than the majority of us. my father...well a couple of years ago i came to the glaring conclusion that it would serve the world better if he was no longer alive. most of all my mother would be free and he would actually be in a state of peace. is this totally self-fulfilling to write about? probably, but it's my blog which can loosely be interpreted as a mental dumping ground. right now i am frustrated because my father has chosen to let the large load of money he has been hoarding away for years and years while living in an infested rotting trailer go to the government and hospitals when some disease actually does wreck havoc over his body and removes him from the face of this planet. what he has chosen not to do is invest a cent of that money into his daughters lifelong dreams. maybe thats just the way karma works for wishing your father were dead. i don't know. what i do know is that my mother is going to pray for me which means if god gives a shit he might magically, uh sorry, miraculously drop a boatload sum of dough on my doorstep one morning. this is so horrible cynical that it is making me giggle. so unlike me. it's not as thought i think it's the end of the goddamn world or that i even deserve anyone else's money, i'm just semi disgusted at the way i have defended my father all these years and that he doesn't give a shit about what i do, or have an ounce of respect for path i have chosen in life. as i write this i am already defending him in my mind. but you know what, fuck him. fuck him and the horrible years of abusive bullshit that he has poured onto my mother. and fuck the damn christian mentality that has made her believe she is supposed to continue to live with this man because she said "till death do us part" i can't think about this anymore and there is nothing witty to write. the man is poison and i hope that someday i will learn to truly free myself from all of it. i'm sorry if i just depressed you. go outside and breath in deeply. you will feel much better.

aWaKe *k

2008-05-07T01:13:00.000-07:00

it is 1:13am. i fell into bed at 7:30, just plain spent, more mentally than physically. now i'm sipping on calming, bedtime tea to try and lull me back into that cozy bliss. my heart goes out to those that deal with this on a regular basis. it's such a horrible joke that the more stressed out one becomes and the more the mind spins and refuses to shut off, the harder it is to get the restful sleep that heals the stressed nerves and brings the mind back to neutral. stress is such a nasty, nasty thing. it causes a whole myriad of horribleness to happen upon the body. sometimes i find it frustratingly ironic that my passion to heal the world though nourishing our bodies is causing so much stress in the way i pursue it that i am probably not truly healthy. i load up on organic greens, whole grains, beans, teas, supplements from all sorts of ancient lands, shots of ginger and vinegar, fresh juices...anything utterly healthy is what i thrive on but stress sneaks its way in and wrecks havoc. and stress loves coffee and cookies of course. working across the way from a yoga studio i see all of these yoga teachers, acupuncturists, massage therapists and naturopaths walking around shining and happy, and i wonder what it would be like to work in a world whose purpose is to help the stressed find some peace. would i be much better of if i were to step away from the fucked up, stressed out, alcoholic and drug induced land of restaurant business and devote myself rather to a life of healing through physical and mental means? possibly. i guess i have time though. even if i stepped away from the restaurant biz in 10 years i would only be 36 - still plenty of time left for leading hiking trips across the country and starting a health retreat home somewhere out in the sticks. i could just spend my days cooking for those that need to heal in a calming environment instead of cooking for those that are running late to work while soaking caffeine into their veins. or i can just keep writing these thoughts to the world and lulling myself to sleep this way. the teacup is empty.

Children are Funny :D

2008-05-02T09:13:00.001-07:00

Never really wanted one of my own but they can be pretty funny. This is a drawing that Karen's niece did for me. A splendid drawing of me riding my yakima bike, backwards while playing my banjo. Notice the wonderful shape of the beard, she nailed that one, quite an observation on that little one. My wheels are watermelons which I told her I used to love drawing when I was her age.

Ego *k

2008-04-27T16:54:00.000-07:00

the concept of the ego has been tiptoeing around my mind for quite a few years now. It is at the center of Buddhist philosophy, which has changed my life more than any other philosophy thus far, yet I could never truly find understanding of this concept. I could play with it, have it make sense in certain circumstances and discussions, write circles around it, twirl the outer strings around my fingers, but never really take it in as a whole. The purpose, destination of sorts, in this thought structure surrounding much eastern philosophical thinking is to become egoless - totally lose the ego because it is what keeps us trapped in samsara, the cyclical existence of endless suffering. The problem that I would always encounter is that I took the idea of egolessness to mean that you only can act for others. I thought that to truly reach a state of being that is not attached to the ego you could no longer do the things in life that bring about personal pleasure. Of course doing good for others is absolutely beautiful and necessary and how we all take care of one another and function as a united land of love and peace, but to do this all the time, to never be acting for yourself is something that I just could not do. It is something that I did not want to do. How could you go through life without pursuing your passions? A life free of these immense pleasures is not a life worth living. This idea felt very selfish to me, and still does as I write it, but truth be told I want to do exactly what I do in this one short life. Granted, I want to do all this personally gratifying stuff without causing harm to others, but at the end of the day it is probably more about making myself feel good. Now I have this big picture thought of bringing joy, healing, and an abundance of love to the world through the restaurants I envision and I want to spread as much happiness and positive energy out to the world as I possibly can, but that's not egolessness.

And then there's this other thought that one can not truly take care others unless you first take care of yourself. I believe this to so completely true for all people and in some way this idea played in with the ego thing, yet all in all I was still at a loss.

Then here is what happened. I have this really bad relationship with this woman I must deal with for my job. Communicating with her just pushes me to my limits. Not many people get to me this way, but to be completely honest I do not think or say very nice things about this person. After a couple months of dealing with this semi-hateful relationship I take some time off from work and have been able to reground myself (to an extent...of course there's always something new to test the levels of compassion and open-heartedness) and in this I stepped back from my selfish center and realized that the problem I have with this woman is exactly that, my problem. This is my own obstacle to deal with, my own twisted perception, and I am the only one that can find peace for myself within it. So one morning I am in desperate need of an intense yoga session prior to work. This person I speak of is teaching the class that fits my needs. So I suck it up and go to her class. This class was one of the best I have ever experienced, so intense, strong, fast, hot - I came out of the class shaking. This is the type of class that rocks my world. I enjoy and need to be broken down. You break down the barriers to where you can barely stand, forget whatever you think you know, and then rebuild. Beautiful (and sweaty).

I'm in the bathroom afterwards, rushing to get ready for work, and finally I fucking understand. Years of thought and reaching for it, and in the strangest of moments the understanding of the ego is there, just floating on through my mind. Becoming free of ego is lose the separation factor. There is no you and I, no me and the outside world, no group of friends that understand and a bunch of silly, ignorant folks. We are one with each other, you are just as much a part of that person you find to be a downright impossible bitch. To lose the separation is to lose the ego. All we have is this moment now, and in this moment we are all flowing together, all part of one another, all connected. It doesn't matter if I am sitting here writing for my enjoyment or in the kitchen creating recipes for others - doing what I personally love, it's about a sense of realization, and honest realization to live free from the separation. The separation of self and others that causes all of that suffering. I give thanks to the woman that helped to bring it all together for me. All of those battles we encounter in life are the best chances we have to grow as individuals. One of my favorite artists writes "what are regrets...just lessons we haven't learned yet". Facing a battle, instead of running which is my general preference, is what led me to finally understand the ego concept. Now all i have is gratitude to this woman to putting such a challenge before me.

“Ego is a structure that is erected by a neurotic individual who is a member of a neurotic culture against the facts of the matter. And culture, which we put on like an overcoat, is the collectivized consensus about what sort of neurotic behaviors are acceptable.” -Terrance McKenna

Video Snapshots

2008-04-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

Ran into a new way to shoot snapshots. tv based, low rez and dirty, loving the ribbing effect from the wave length of the tv.

Self Portrait

2008-04-24T12:39:00.000-07:00

because love and awakening is freedom *k

2008-04-20T22:34:00.000-07:00

The Bhaktishop, a brand new yoga studio of love, opened it doors tonight and filled the room with beautiful souls singing praises to the divine. Needless to say, I am living in the clouds tonight, and ready to fall blissfully into a dream filled sleep. But before I do, because I love each and every one of you that that read the words I blabber off on this site, I have to tell you to go check out the Bhaktishop. It will change your life. Yoga will change your life, and you can find it in many places and in a variety of ways, but if your itching for something new, the Bhaktishop knows how to bring it. Just go, check it out a few times. It will make you happy, you will spread that happy, lovin' spirit to the world, and the energy of love and peace on this earth will multiply.

It has been a good day. There is much ahead but right now the focus is there. My time on the mat makes is all possible. I have no more words, just sleepy eyes.

Namaste. I love you.

no title seems fitting *k

2008-04-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

This week has been an intense one. It's been a long time coming, but finally I have given myself the gift of time to make these dreams become reality. And you know, sometimes when you actually come face to face with it, have done your research, put in the hours, gone through the torment and the calmness of mind, and are at the point to make it happen or just get sucked up in this life, there is a moment of realization. When you finally think you know something is the moment you realize you know nothing. This shit is hard, and fun, and hard. I am calling in the forces. Those that have gone before me, have the experience, persevered though the good decisions and the bad...I need your help now. Help me find the way to share the love of food, the healing nature of food and the community that it has the power to create. It's a path to ultimate love, freedom, and harmony. Creating the union of those that share the correlating paths and have the space in their heart to help bring peace to this land...that's what it's all about. You may say it's just food, but you know what, it's so more than that. It is a space to develop this notion of freedom from those that are bringing control over us, and a space to share dialog, visions, manifestos, revolutionary thoughts and actions for change. The better you take care of your own body, the less dependent you will ever have to be on others, or this god forsaken health care system, and that my friends is a step towards freedom.

There have been good conversations all throughout this week. The kind of conversations that send a spin on your life, on your flow of thoughts and rip open the trail of light to a new perspective. God I love conversations. I love listening to people. There is so much to be heard. We need to share our thoughts and unite. Figure out where we are this moment now and where we are heading. and why.