Indigenous Peoples’ Day

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Basket, Mabel McKay

On this Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I think about Mabel McKay, Pomo basket weaver and medicine woman. Recently, I went to see an exhibition of her work at The Autry Museum in Los Angeles and was struck with the serenity and with the spirit of healing and strength her baskets exude. Greg Sarris’s biography of McKay, Weaving the Dream, recounts a lecture where a student asked her if it was her grandmother who taught her the art of basket weaving. Mabel responded: “It’s no such a thing art. It’s spirit…..I only follow my Dream. That’s how I learn.”

Art, spirit, and dreaming have always been linked for me, and I could feel that in Mabel’s work, even though it was all safely housed in environmentally controlled glass housings. Such work, such medicine people, like Mabel, have so much to teach the rest of the world. In an era of such profound disconnection from spirit, from the earth, from each other, these are people whose work can help weave us back into the fabric of life, back to a place where we can awaken and realize our place within the original web of connections.

The Alternative Orwellian Present

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2017

2017

“Threats to freedom of speech, writing and action, though often trivial in isolation, are cumulative in their effect and, unless checked, lead to a general disrespect for the rights of the citizen.” –George Orwell

 

Ample Make This Bed

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Ample Make This Bed

Ample Make This Bed

Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.

Emily Dickinson

Strong and Willing Hearts

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Fortune

Fortune

This is the first time a new year approaches where I’m feeling more trepidation than hope, but I will work hard to lean into hope. Not a believer in fortunes, particularly the random kind that come in cookies, I kept this one. There are things I need to accomplish this year, and things I know we will all face as individuals and as a nation. We will all need strong and willing hearts.

We all need to gather the fragments we will shore against our ruin, so at the end of it all we may chant, “shanti, shanti, shanti.” (from T.S. Elliot’s, “The Wasteland”)

Endings

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Endings

Endings

This year is closing on many somber notes, one note involving a trip to help with the aftermath of a death in the family. Old wounds open up. There are tears and some eyes that refuse tears. Healing laughter is shared while a cold rain is falling.