Métis

To the New World from over the sea
upon the Mayflower came the Pilgrim in me

An English beginning followed by French, Irish, Welsh, German and Swedish
American Indian blood binding with this

European born ancestral lines of time
a blood that flows through me but does not define
ME
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

From Michael’s Island
comes the Ojibwe in me-the Aishinaabag
in my grandmother through my mother’s side
blood carried with pride

from mother too comes
Pennacook Abenaki
through my grandfather an adoptee

By way of Minnesota a long time ago
through my father’s line does flow
blood belonging to the Nehiyaw- The Cree
it flows, all of this blood, through me

American Indian born ancestral lines of time
a blood that flows through me but does not define
ME
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

Between two worlds I stand
with two views of this New World-this beautiful land
How do you choose the side on which you stand?

We are HUMAN together
Creating this inclement weather
People of Red
People of Yellow
People of Black
People of White
People that fight

I have turquoise eyes and white skin
I Identify with the white world- the white kin
but mixed blood, this Métis, is a conflict within

I understand where I come from
because it is what I am- what I have become
yet it does not define me
who I am, who I am meant to be

HUMAN

There is no crime
in being a human in this world in this time
We can be human together
and survive this inclement weather

I stand with a knowledge and perspective
of both sides and beyond
it is up to me how I choose to respond
to a world full of hate
We are human-a form of bipedal primate
with a higher intelligence that tells us NOT TO HATE

We have the same face
We are one race

HUMAN


We all stand with a knowledge and perspective
of all sides and beyond
it is up to us how we choose to respond

Relative of White
Relative of Black
Relative of Yellow
Relative of Red
Relatives of each other

Colors of our skin maybe different

but the color of our blood is the same
our life force our inner flame
burns always Red
and I now understand the word Métis can be shed

There is no such thing as mixed blood in a HUMAN soul
we are a humanity we all comprise the WHOLE
©2009 L. Warren

Quick History Lesson regarding this poem: Generally in academic circles, the term Métis can be used to refer to any combination of persons of mixed Native American and European heritage, although historical definitions for Métis remain. Canada's Indian and Northern Affairs broadly define Métis as those persons of mixed First Nation and European ancestry. The Métis (from French Métis - any person of mixed ancestry) are people of mixed ancestry, such as Nehiyaw (or Anishinaabe) and French, English, or Scottish heritage. According to Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, the Métis were historically the children of French fur traders and Nehiyaw women or, from unions of English or Scottish traders and northern Dene women (Anglo- Métis).

Triangles of Frau Lou

Oh, Louise Andreas-Salome did you put the trios in ménage trios?
Of you, of your mind, I am so in awe.
You the intellectual whore so misunderstood.
Oh Frau Lou to be like you, I wish I could!

What becomes of the female mind
when intelligence is to become so entwined?
A dangerous woman does it make?
Even Freud feared to be caught in your wake.

Oh, Frau Lou a lover of many men of great mind,
holder of a youthful beauty so pure it could blind.
The triangles of Frau Lou could once dangerously bind,
many a men of great mind.

Hendrik Gillot, Paul Ree, Friedrich Nietzsche, Frederick Carl Andreas,
George Ledebour, Frank Wedekind, Arthur Schnitzler,
Rainer Maria Rilke, Paul Bjerre, Vietor Tausk,
Adler, Carl Jung, Arnold Zweig,
Friedrich Pineless, Sigmund Freud and so many more,
fell under the charm of you, the intellectual whore.
Some loved you, some lusted after you.

Some did neither of both, but all respected you.

You, a keen observer of human nature with an indifference to moral convention,
with a burning desire for intellectual ascension.
You, whose sexuality and intellectual pursuits struggled in suspension.
Oh, Frau Lou your prose, your writings continue to hold my attention.

Louise Andreas-Salome, you found a brother hidden in every man,
only because you wished to live like a man.
A modern day tomboy of your time the women sought to ban.
You, a mastermind of female intelligence with a brilliant plan.

Frau Lou with your Pythagorean friendships and your insatiable intellectual curiosity
challenged the gender roles of your day with such ferocity.
You were Friedrich Nietzsche’s twin-flame and most painful atrocity.
You played a role in turning his mind into a mental monstrosity.

Oh, Frau Lou a lover of many men of great mind,
holder of a youthful beauty so pure it could blind.
The triangles of Frau Lou could once dangerously bind,
many a men of great mind.

A Hedda Gabler in living skin,

the two of you so much a kin.
The similarities seen even by Ibsen,
when he made his famous female protagonist your near twin.

Louise Andreas-Salome did you every psychoanalyze yourself?
Where you happy with yourself?
Did you ever find pride and contentment with yourself?
I have found the one great thing missing in your many works was yourself.

You once said, “Two are at one only when they remain two.”
Did you truly believe this to be true?
Your marriage unconsummated was not so unlike your brilliant works so devoid of you.
The distance between you and all you loved was a truth that was long over due.

I couldn’t help but take notice of your unspoken hurt.
You had empathy for others you would not subvert.
Yet you had an inability to recognize your own hurt,
your own loneliness, your own pain, to yourself you were inert.

Pain is a pleasurable part of life,
a necessary liberating strife.
You knew this well because you studied it with your very own life,

you lived your life with this strife.

Did you ever truly love at all?
Your detailed writings on sex and sexuality could enthrall,
but sex is just sex without love after all.
Were you never so lucky to ever have known true love at all?
(the green is the part I am still working)

Yes, but of course, you were your Romeo Rainer’s moonlight,
and the two of you made up for everything there wasn’t time for in one night.
Fourteen years your junior, oh, Frau Lou how reality does bite.
Your passionate love for him, though not meant to last, did burn bright.

Miss Louise Andreas- Salome, Miss Frau Lou
Truth tells me the triangles bound only you,
within time, within your mind, and your soul, you were bound by you,
within the triangles belonging to Frau Lou.
©2009 L.Warren

Political Rant Derived From the Contagiously False Ideals of Human Lemmings

*I am really depressed as of lately (Holiday Depression I suppose) and I am fed up with people so excuse my rather misanthropic and antigovernment inclined invective. What does it really matter anyways? I am just one small minute person in the sands of time, a mere fragment of silica in the grand scheme of things. No, I suppose in your mind my writing here is just a grotesque floccinaucinihilipilification! And Yes, I only chose to use this word to deliberately upset those of you who suffer from acute hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobi!

I remember a time in history when writing was a form of magic that was once readily accepted and developed as a method for affecting reality…alas the true writers and gifted poets are dead and the rest of us who try to be can’t measure up because no one dares to read the words or hear the ones spoken by such “misfits” who don’t conform to society’s creed!*

Blind following the blind like always-lemmings they are. Those who believe Obama to be some saint are no different than those who believe Bush to be a religious righteous man worth voting for. This is my vehement rant on the political agenda of our “WESTERN” society. A society that runs on the gears of an industrious materialistic world that has little care for the human experience and holds little value and regard for life, whether that life be human or otherwise. We are a collection of crooked people with crooked values, with crooked morals, and crooked views who dance ever so crookedly to the beautifully disenchanted crooked tunes of Government infrastructures. A tortured humanity.

Governments with agenda’s cleverly disguised as genuine Robin Hood ideals meant to help all and save all. Those Government monsters who speak with such beautiful words, so enticing they are, so easily persuasive they are for the minds of people who are “adjusted”(err indoctrinated) to follow and never lead or think for themselves. We live in societies where people are not a priority and this is the truth, even if you wish not to believe it. Next time you go to the mall think about that when you go to make your next purchase of select designer items… do you really need all that? Our world runs on materialistic greed! There is a child down in the alley outside without a winter coat and holes in his shoes…right here in OUR country-and on millions of street corners across the world!

Every last one of them…those people…Beau Monde wannabes, more concerned with keeping up with the Jones. How many young ladies do you see walking around with $300 Ugg Boots and Northface Jackets with their Coach purses and Gucci sun glasses? How many young men do you see walking around with the latest Apple I-phones or purchasing their expensive game systems, computers, and cars? All the while many of them barely making the minimum payment on their credit cards. Absolute disregard for personal responsibility, but why should they care, the Government is going to “fix” it right? The Government promises so much…and we feed right into this…hook-line-and-sinker…silly little fish.

We have become nothing but a bunch of spoiled children wanting someone else (Government) to take care of us. This isn’t the definition of socialism as I once knew it! What of the smug people with small salaries buying the most expensive houses they could on a zero down inflatable mortgages with absolute disregard to the bubble effect this would cause? Did they honestly think they would be able to afford those houses once the monthly payment increased? No, they didn’t care, because the Government would be there ready and waiting. Yeah that’s right, cleanup up on aisle 10!

Come on, didn’t you know, it is cool to be the one who has everything? That is our goal in life, to have “things”. Materialistic virtue is what we all live for, yeah, we will consider helping others, only after we have acquired all it is we want! Even the First Lady knows this with all twenty-six of her “servants”! The annual cost to taxpayers for such unprecedented attention is approximately $1,750,000 without taking into account the expense of the lavish benefit packages afforded to every attendant.

Little did American voters realize the call for “change” would result in the establishment of an Obama oligarchy. (http://www.canadafreepress.com/index.php/article/13827) Are the Obamas really any different than any other presidential family? Politicians are and always will be completely interchangeable…one and the same…1+1=1 in the world of politics. Let us not forget the plethora of brainwashed “dummies” marching forth from top accredited universities around the world, forming their “opinions”, their “conclusions” and their “ideals” on indoctrinated thought passed on through curriculums within the public fool (I meant school-really I did) systems!

Also the next time you feel the need to help others by donating, can you not be like the majority who asks for a tax return? Heaven forbid you do something gracious and not expect a “favor” in return. What message does that send? Do something good for others as long as you get something out of it and see benefit from helping someone in need? The benefit should merely be the fact that you felt good about doing something great for someone in a desperate situation! I work with a handful of kids each day who live lives in a horrible reality that very few of us could ever imagine. This is wrong, and those very “Governments” that promise so much do very little in the GRAND SCHEME of things!

We have all collectively lost our awareness of our own essence and have otherwise allowed ourselves to become a pawn in someone else’s version of the game called life. Manipulating and managing the reality from behind the scenes is an age-old practice perfected by political and religious institutes over the grand expanse of human existence. People as a whole collective are the only ones who can make things happen who can make change. They don’t need to rely on Government or Religious infrastructures to initiate change. They can do this for themselves if they are willing to work on the same page…if they are willing to do something on their own, willing to go against the “normal” way of doing things. Willing to think for themselves and do for themselves for a change!

People need to wake up rather than support the fraudulent intentions of all acts of war. Threats of war and the creation of enemies serve to keep the masses under control by falsely arousing fearful emotions. War instigates unhealthy social chaos; it releases emotional repression based on feelings of victimhood and disempowerment. It is up to us as “humans” to understand our awareness and our attention to this awareness will determine the version of the world we wish to create! Do we want a peaceful world or do we want to follow the fashionable crowd further down into the depths of materialistic greed the feeds into power and conflict? WAKE UP for a change and think for yourself and consider this world and all the OTHER people who live and share in the human experience.
All of us have collectively lost our grasp of reality…myself included. Can we ever find it again?

There I am done with my rant! I suppose I should welcome any verbal berating that should come by way… as I like to think I have an open mind and intelligent enough to placate healthy discourse!

The third-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking with the majority. The second-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking with the minority. The first-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking.

Isometric Isomorphism

This poem will probably make absolutely no sense to anyone other than myself. I had a dream last night that I was standing in front of a shattered mirror screaming at the top of my lungs over and over again, "Isometric Isomorphism, Isometric Isomorphism!" This is just a weird poem inspired by a weird dream. I think I understand it but I am not sure if anyone else will!

Everyday I wake up to a one dimensional world...

human monotony
religion and politics together-a mind stunting neoteny
what travesty
people blind, not able to see outside and beyond indoctrinated reality
losing piece by piece their absolute totality
disillusioned by their stunted mentality

The Euclidean March I call it
prefected by political propaganda and holy writ

Humanity walks a very thin line
without knowledge of real time

Human monotony limiting us to one dimension
our intellect and consciousness are kept from ascension
handicapping our mind
making the truth so very hard to find

Humanity not thinking beyond one dimension barely seeing two
let alone three or four
or the possibility of there ever being more
no longer having the drive to explore
for a truth they would most certainly adore

They continue this one dimensional thinking
never rethinking
just one dimensional flat thinking

Thinking only inside out and never outside and beyond
just content trying to be part of the beau monde,
that never ceasing pathetic materialistic quest
of which the truly intelligent are never impressed

for the intelligent are always searching
and always researching

continuing to look for all the answers
they are the never tiring intellectual dancers

while the others are stuck in their false reality
that forecasts a certain fatality

Each person trapped on their own embedded layer
unable to see the truth of the universal multilayer

Stuck we are in a complex system of an isometric isomorphism
searching for our hyperbolic quaternion-our magic prism
we are stuck between untruth and truth in a hellish schism

Lucky I have been, for I have gazed through the optical prism
into a world that goes on infinitely outside the hellish schism
I have learned that when ordinary three dimensions of space combine
they form a single dimension of time
a waltz called Minkowski's Spacetime

a four dimensional manifold
a place where many dimensions of possibility unfold
a reality that is a true site to behold

The mindless mass of humanity can have their one dimensional world
I have held the knowledge of the truth unfurled
I have seen the truthful real world

I would rather waltz with Minkowski while singing his tune
than march with Euclidean to his doom

"Space by itself
and time by itself
are doomed
to fade away
into mere shadows
unless they dance
together in unison
preserving their
Independent Reality"

Einstein knew it, so too did Lorentz and Poincare

Chasing after Truth, Time, and Space for eternity shall by a wild affair!

It Doesn’t Rhyme

The dawn light embalms a nameless husk

She looks an awful lot like me except for the smile

My loneliness echoes on into the coming dusk

If only I have somewhere to go

I am sitting alone in an industrious world

Staring into the flame of a candle

I’ve closed my mind about the past

Open doors do not always lead to new beginnings

Open doors do not always lead home

This is not my home and I shout to empty walls

While those sad songs keep playing

Set on repeat, again and again; looping

Running over every moment through my mind

Old thoughts, hopes, and dreams lost
I know they wouldn’t last

Just more transparent ordinary hours

I am wishing on stars I have never seen

Believing one day the sun will rise again

I wait in vain for a dawn that may not come

And remain still a nameless husk

Walking amongst million of others

Just like me

Seeking their own identity

No longer wanting to be nameless

Reality shrieks- I am just another face in the crowd

SCREAMINGbetweenLINES

She the BEAUTIFUL marionette
dances on silver fabled STRINGS
to the tune OF
his LIES

MAYBE next year
HE’LL marry her

Five years
a PROMISE ring
bound HER finger

WHITE flag
stained with stale blood
red as ROSES
SHE never RECEIVED
only THORNS instead
PIERCING parables
of love

A story FABLED
from the beginning

five years flew by
a long time holds onto
nothing but
an empty PROMISE

time SAVES
all but
NONE
at least
not HER

WASTED moments
in DESPAIR
the FRACTURES vein
THROUGH a broken mirror
five YEARS bad luck

SHATTERED complexions
WITH many eyes
staring back
at HER expressionless gaze
the true REFLECTION
OF her heart

the hour glass
never did hold
TIME

silica chases silica
on the WHISPERING
winds OF eternity

A once false hope
now whispers TRUTH
with CERTAINTY

he loves her
but is not in love
with her

similarly
her heart ECHOES
the same sentiment
amongst SILENT beats

one marionette string
now breaks
under the tensions
of VERACITY

her tears WASHING
away THE blurred vision
of a FANTASY
she ONCE
BELIEVED

on the horizon
a CLEAN slate

SHE IS STUCK
too hard to go forward
not worth going back

NOT KNOWING
how to begin again
HOW TO START OVER
remaining strings now dissolve
BUT A MARIONETTE NO LONGER!

©2009 L.Warren

Unto the Edge of Edges

Here I am again standing in a familiar spot. My mind and heart are neither here nor there, but running about feverishly everywhere- in too many different directions for me to keep up. I have been here before, many times before. I stand here at this point near the beginning which is the very same point found near the ending. I know that without a beginning there can be no ending and without an ending there is no beginning. Time divides where an object or an area begins and ends. Time is the brink between that which is here and there, past and present, life and death, endings and beginnings. Time is the edgeless point that defines where everything is forever and forever is at the edge of all edges.

I am stuck at this point not sure which direction to take. Do I step forward into a new beginning or do I step back into the familiar territory of an old ending? How could two different directions, two different steps be so different and yet the same? Chances do not present themselves without risks being taken and regrets come to full power when opportunities are missed. There can be no beginnings or endings without risks being taken and opportunities being seized or let go.

Some follow their hearts and some follow their minds, but me, I wait for that right time. A time when my mind catches up to my heart, that very moment when both come to together and meet me on the very spot I stand right now. Opportunity that presents itself during such an alignment as heart and mind is certainly worth taking. It is a rare occurrence, I know, if logic and emotion were ever to meet harmoniously in the middle-never say never, there is always a possibility for wonderful occurrences to happen. Surely a meeting such as this is a promise of finally being able to step forward and capture a moment of forever.

Jumping Off Bridges with the 29th Prime and Sonnet 109

My mind has been working feverishly at contemplating many of my usual conceptual complexities. Laws of synchronicities and coincidences, recurrence, soul mates, Gematria occurrences, and the likes all are par for the course when it comes to the many musing that whirl about in my head. Last night I found myself considering the number 109 and I really not sure why. I think it started when I was researching some ideas I had come across in regards to soul mates. I stumbled upon a web page where the author discusses a Love Sequence based on the Fibonacci equation sequences. His concept was at first difficult to grasp and I admit my math skills are trivial at best, but he spent countless hours researching graphing and charting his ideas. His findings were interesting and a bit exaggerated but they aroused my curiosity enough to cause me research his concepts further.

The number 109 has a lot of symbolism to it, both in the occult world, masonry, Bible, Torah, and other religious text. It is the 29th prime number as well as being a Chen Prime. 109 is a Prime Number. In math concepts 109 can be Partitioned 55 times with each term no larger than 2. The Number 109 can be Partitioned 1045 times with each term no larger than 3. It is a Centered Triangular Number as well as a Centered 18-gonal Number. The number 109 is also a Centered 36-gonal Number.

109 is also a very unique number because it is also a relevant number with in the Fibonacci series in which case 109 displays the forward and backward sequences and this is further exemplified by the fact that it is a repeating decimal fraction with 108 characters! We are able to see the beginning of the Fibonacci sequence in the LAST 6 digits of the decimal equivalent of 1/109, appearing in REVERSE order starting from the END of the decimal. (i.e., 0,1,1,2,3,5, 8 appears as ...853211). We can take each Fibonacci number, divide it by 10 raised to the power of 109 MINUS its position in the Fibonacci sequence (starting with 0) and add them all together, you get the reciprocal of 109.I know I am probably going out on a limb here as I explore the relevancies of this theory. We can further see a uniqueness in the number 109 when we take another Fibonacci number and divide it by 10 raised to the power of its position in the Fibonacci sequence and add and subtract each alternate term together you get .00917431 which is yet the reciprocal of 109 again. Interesting!

In Chemistry Atomic number 109 represents the chemical element Meitnerium, which is a synthetic element that is produced in small quantities by high-energy ion bombardment, making it a radioactive transuranic element. Then there are specific meanings applied to the number 109 within Gematria that also prove to be very interesting. Within Hebrew Gematria the number 109 has come to hold a number of significant meanings; "Brother of a King", Brother of a Gift", “to be about to take or lay hold of”, “to break forth, to be bright”, "Yah Redeems", "Appointment”, “to eat or devour”, “a store-house, granary”, “quiet, stillness; comfort or ease; settlement (in life or marriage); quietly; resting place”, “a sheath; a body (as the soul's sheath)”, “to be dark”, and “to cover or hide”, are a few of those meanings I have researched. There still is a lot more symbolism that pertains to the number 109 in Masonic codes, and other religious texts, but I will spare you the trouble of having to read all of that. I am sure there are now many of you either baffled or utterly convinced by now that I am insane.

The very fact of the matter is that despite all the verbose paragraphs preceding this one, there was a reason to the relevancy of my interest in the number 109 and it has once again to do with synchronicity and coincidence. I could have obliterated all the paragraphs before this one, but it wouldn’t have been as fun to write. There is also a certain twisted humor for me, in the thought of all you actually trying to read what I have written and making sense of it. During my studies of that number 109 I “accidentally” found William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 109. Sonnet 109 is extremely symbolic to me in regards to the current themes of “temptation, original sin, and love loss” that have been reoccurring in my blogs. I have also been heavily influenced by what has been going on in the media in regards to Tiger Wood’s ordeal. Frankly it has really bothered me, so please keep that in consideration as you read this blog and some of the ones that precede this.

Sonnet 109

O never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good.
  For nothing this wide universe I call,
  Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

I have always loved this particular Sonnet and the deeper meaning I see in it. I am surprised I didn’t recall it when I first began pondering on the number 109. Again, it is coincidence that I would happen to revisit this piece again, this time with a renewed interest. I admit that I was quit piqued the very first time I read this poem back during my freshman year of college. The understanding I had of this poem at this time was that the poet was revealing how his feelings for a “lover” cool when he is away. Allowing him to partake in many infidelities and he admits that he knows it is wrong but cannot help himself yet proclaims that his love for his “rose” has been strengthened on account of his error or as he calls, his stain.

I should also make note that the particular professor I had during this course was an extreme feminist, naturally she was inclined to persuade our thinking in her direction of thought. She was constantly bashing men every chance she got and Shakespeare sure made it easy with these particular sonnet. I think it is relevant to point her “fem-Nazi” sentiment because later on in my college years I came across the same sonnet this time during a philosophy class being taught by a professor who was openly bisexual. This is interesting because he was one of those who believed that Shakespeare was bisexual if not homosexual and all the sonnets from 109-112 pay homage to Shakespeare’s erotic interest in men, and thus likely to persuade our thoughts in that direction. This dynamic of how your mind and way of thinking is influenced by how it is taught to you and by who is very interesting to me. I can definitely relate this aspect to how religious leaders influence our thoughts in regards to religion and spirituality.

Having matured quite a bit more from those “college” days I am inclined to take a different stance on the poem entirely but still agree that the underlying them of infidelity and sin play a significant role. I believe that the poet is merely comparing and contrasting his innocent youth with his stained adulthood. In the age of innocence he knew right and wrong and was taught to fear the possible consequences of his actions. In adulthood his innocence was no longer protected and temptation was there. Being away from home he made choices that he knew to be wrong but he identifies with them as being a part of his nature- human nature, almost as though he is using this as valediction for his actions. This thought additionally plays into my whole concept of temptation and original sin which I have written about a lot in lieu. The poet is merely apologizing to himself though not asking for forgiveness and the rose is merely a symbol for his innocent youth.

Lines 3-4: = 'It would be as easy for me to separate myself from myself as it would be for me to separate myself from you (my true self- his youth), i.e., it would be impossible'.

Line 5. my home of love - the beloved place to which I always return; my base; my essential being; the core of love, which is my starting and ending point-ranged = wandered, (a euphemism for promiscuity).

Line 6. like him that travels - the phrase may be taken (promiscuously) with what proceeds and what follows.

Think about your youth and how protected and guarded you were in your thinking. Perhaps you were indoctrinated by very religious parents with overbearing fundamental ideals that they passed on to you or used them to set fear in your mind. I remember my youth and the promises I made to myself regarding being a good wholesome person, most of those ideas being enhanced by my parents teachings as well as religious/spiritual beliefs that I was taught. When adulthood came I did break many of these set guidelines I had for myself, but in doing so I learned more about myself, and though I came to regret some of those decisions I certainly didn’t feel as though I needed forgiveness for them. While there are some choices I will forever be guilty about making I am still left thinking if I would be a different person today had I not taken those risks, had I not been tempted to act upon urges.

I still miss that innocence I once had and know that it is in that thought that I still have a “home” where I can seek comfort and security when the world around me gets to unbearable. I still have that bit of youth and with it a certain innocence that is still there deep within me that helps me deal with my adulthood complexities. Like the poet in Sonnet 109, I have sinned and I am stained and I realize that my in “stains” have made me a better person. I have never cheated on a loved one but I have cheated on myself…we all are guilty of that! We must also understand that there is still an innocent rose somewhere deep within all of us that calls us home and comforts us.

Yet the whole trouble I have with this sonnet that it allows me to see my own willingness to accept my sins and in a sense wear my “stain” proudly. Yet the irony here is this bothers me in itself because if everyone were to so willingly accept their mistakes and not seek forgiveness but wear their stains proudly like badges of honor, is this not bad? It is like that age old analogy of “jumping off bridges” if you see one person do it, does it make it all right for you to do it too? So, as you can see it tears me in two and I am left now with more questions than I had when I first started writing this.

Accepting sins thus makes them okay and lessens the weight of guilt and remorse, which can be a dangerous way to live one’s life. I picture the spoiled child whose mother tells him she is not going to give him his lollipop if he doesn’t behave, the child doesn’t behave because he knows his mom will still give him the lollipop. Therefore he has learned nothing in regards to control urges and tantrums because he still gets what he wants in the end. This child grows up to become an adult who goes about doing what he wants in the world with little regard to his behavior and the feelings of others, it’s okay in the end as long as he still gets what he wants.

When ascertaining these deductions of mine I know I must keep in mind that this is entirely subjective thinking on my part and that each person may have their own interpretation of Sonnet 109. I am sure there are some of you who feel I have gone way out on a limb, which I probably have, because that is where my mind likes to take me. Analyzing poetry is like analyzing a painting and the way you interpret it depends solely on how that work is interacting with you.

This concept of analysis is dependent upon the highly personal relationship and dialogue that goes on between an observer and this particular sonnet. In short, having said all of that, I now conclude this lengthy blog here, although I am still contemplating that leap from the proverbial bridge with the 29th Prime and Sonnet 109! There is still much to be learned about the number 109.

A Morning Musing #1

The Serpentine Mind
Disentangles
From branches of confusion
Uncoils its knowldge to greet the dawn

And sees
In growing light

Great colored, feathered wings
That grew unnoticed in its sleep

Understanding perfectly
In a single rush of joy

It flies above the ancient promises
Beyond where the forest lies
To the sea
The open sea

As rings around the Morning Star
Light corridors through the air

-Quetzalcoatl

Cheese and Wine; Afflictions of an AD/HD Mind

Like cheese and wine, children need time to develop
©2007 L.Warren

“One, two, three, four, I think I can make it to one hundred this time, five, six, seven, I hope he’ll notice how hard I am trying to pay attention. Eight, nine, ten, I am sitting on my hands so I won’t fidget, eleven, twelve, thirteen, I have my feet wrapped around my chair legs so I won’t tap my toes. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, my mom will be so proud of me today, seven, I miss my dog, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, I’m…….”

Lyndsey, Lyndsey, earth to Lyndsey, can you tell the class how I arrived at this answer for the multiplication problem on the board?” Mr. Brooker’s voice entirely shattered the concentration effort I was so completely focused on. I looked blankly at the blackboard, having no clue that we were even in the midst of a multiplication lesson. Panic, fear, and the crippling grip of being totally inescapably overwhelmed stunted any attempt I would try to make to gain control of the situation I was in. I was doomed! I shutdown, I didn’t respond, I sat their looking dumbfounded and praying to God that everyone in the class would stop looking at me. At that moment all I wanted to do was disappear somewhere far away and cry. Mr. Brooker, as always, like so many of my other teachers, merely shook his head in disappointment and said, “Is there anyone who can explain it to us, perhaps someone who was paying attention?” The sarcasm in his tone cut my young soul in two.

I had told myself to keep my eyes on the teacher, to see if I could do so for one hundred seconds, that way he would surely see that I was truly paying attention. The problem was, I needed to concentrate so completely on the task that I didn’t even comprehend a darn thing Mr. Brooker was teaching. Instruction eluded me again, as it always did. This happened a lot during my schooling it happened a lot outside my schooling in fact the simple truth of the matter is it happened all the time.

This inescapable reality of mine left me bitter with resentment, left me feeling like I was stupid, a failure, left me feeling like I was different and left out from everybody else. Why couldn’t I get it, why couldn’t I understand and focus on what the teachers were teaching the class? How did everyone else do this? How did they manage? How come they were able to control their thoughts and feelings and stay focused? Why wasn’t I just like everybody else? A deep-seeded self-hatred began to take root a hatred that would become a large part of my early foundation, a hatred that would take all the energy I could muster- everything I had in me, to control and attempt to overcome much later in my life. A struggle that for the most part, was a silent struggle and no one around me, even those closest to me, would have any idea of what was truly going on within me. It hurt so much, to be so misunderstood, especially as a small child!

The very thing that troubled my childhood so terribly and still causes me anguish today, has a name and it is a name that causes teachers to roll their eyes when they get their class lists at the beginning of the year, saying things like, “good grief I have to have that child in my class! She can’t focus and he can’t sit still! My class is going to be hell this year because of “that” child!” It causes parents to react in denial at school conferences and make excuses for their child’s behavior and lack of attention, excuses that sometimes keeps their very child from getting the very help he or she needs to succeed in school. No one wants to be different and no parent wants to hear their child is different. It is a thing that is quickly “fixed” with strong medications often before any attempts are made to try and deal with it naturally-tragically this occurs at a young age. This horrible awful thing has a name, its Attention Deficit Disorder and a more extreme version of it is called Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Inattentive Type.

During my childhood the whole concept of AD/HD was relatively new and still virtually unheard of by the mainstream. Children like me were not understood and many teachers and parents were continually frustrated by us. I remember spending a great deal of time standing on the wall at recess because I had lost my “playtime” privileges because of bad behavior or my inattentiveness. I don’t even remember many of the malicious things I had done to merit the frequent wall visits all I remember is standing on the wall and watching the other children having fun. I remember an elementary math teacher of mine was so upset with my inattentiveness that she had me go sit in a dark storage room located behind her classroom, just so she didn’t have to deal with me-she even shut the door. Once in middle school I spent an entire month by myself eating my lunch on the stage that faced the cafeteria in front of all my peers while they ate their lunches, talk about being ostracized!

You are probably reading this and thinking that I must have been a hellion when I was a child, but that is not the case. In all actuality I was extremely shy, rarely made eye contact with anyone, and tried my best to not bring any attention to myself. In fact I spent so much time concentrating on not being noticed that I neglected the valuable instruction time. Group work was my favorite thing in the world, as it allowed me to blend in and take a back seat while the other kids did the work. Though I never took part in the oral presentations or the discussions, I was highly artistic and creative along with being a good writer so I was usually the one asked to make the posters and write the report once all the other students put the notes together. I excelled in art and English during my schooling and thoroughly enjoyed those subjects. Art allowed me to escape my reality and writing gave me a silent voice that easily flowed between the lines of my notebooks- a much needed release. I did get good grades in schools but they came at a high price. My parents sent me to tutors and programs like Sylvan Learning so I could get a "double dose" of instruction to make sure I made up for what I missed in school.

AD/HD made my childhood complicated and the complications it caused became the foundation I grew up on. Unfortunately it shaped the person I would become. Fortunately, it shaped the person I am today. I say fortunately because the very thing that drove me so mad throughout my life has also been the very thing that brings purpose and meaning to my life. I loved art before I could walk having grown up with a mother who was landscape and seascape painter in addition to being an educator. The mere act of creating brought a certain comfort to me that helped me cope with my AD/HD.

I continue to love art today because it is my escape from an everyday reality that often leaves me overwhelmed and anxiety ridden. Art allows me the freedom to experience fully, reflect freely, and represent my inner voice and feelings without fear. The act of being creative is incredibly healing and this is something I instantly connected with as a child. I am very shy in person and the truth is that even though I am open in my writing (another creative outlet for me) I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to speak to anyone I don’t really know in person. I find it easier to text and email friends than dealing with face-to-face conversations. I was asked recently why I decided to get a Masters in Art Education and go into teaching. My response was short, simple, and to the point, “It was because I hated school and I wanted to bring enjoyment to those who struggle today, like I once did!” AD/HD is where I found a love of art, a love for animals, and a love for working with children.

I love working with children because they are easy to talk to and so forgiving, not so unlike animals. The healing power of art is what led me to many discoveries about myself and human nature. Art helped me step outside of myself and become more accepting of myself and this is something I so desperately want the children I work with to experience! Art allows us to connect with our state of mind that is intensely conscious of both inner experience and of the prompting of the outer world. The creation of art is not based in fear or wariness of the world but in wonder and awareness of the potential to act and interact with the world.

Art gives us the courage to allow our anxieties to release themselves. Carl Rodgers spent many years studying creativity and during his studies he identified anxiety as a necessary component of the creative process-as the maker takes responsibility for formulating and working through a problem (1961). Anxiety is something I know all too well. Anxiety is often the bane of my existence and complicates my daily activities has been a devastating root of evil in my personal and romantic relationships. It is something I struggle to deal with continually.

Aside from art I found an affinity for animals especially dogs and horses because of my AD/HD. I connected with them instantly as a young child, never worried about what they thought of me, I could be me. Most kids, especially high school kids, wanted to “hang-out” and be “social”, but not me. I found my first job at a local riding stable when I was still in middle school and was working “under the table” usually in trade for riding lessons up through high school. I worked at the barn every morning before school and spent my whole weekend there. Mucking stalls, feeding, and riding and enjoying the quiet solitude I found amongst my equine friends. It was such a therapeutic experience and I became very close with many of the horses that were labeled “difficult” and my bond with them didn’t go unnoticed by the trainers there, who frequently allowed me to work these horses.

While working with these horses and the trainers I was taught many training techniques that I would find myself later modifying to use in my classroom with my own students-the human kind. During graduate school I began training “troubled horses” usually horses I found abused and broken at the local racetracks of MD and VA. Working with these horses also led me to discover that human emotion wasn’t so different from the emotions I found in my horses. I began to notice the signs of abuse and neglect in many of the children I worked with and I instantly felt that there was something I could do to make their lives better. That “something” was and will continue to be art!

Rogers, C.R. (1961) Toward a theory of creativity. In On becoming a person. New York: Houghton Mifflin

Lithospheric Limbo the Earth Dance

The earth is a living breathing entity, the foundation of life, the very essence of the collective whole which encompasses the very need it has to be respected as such. She is constantly changing and evolving. Some of what we, humanity does, will in fact bear the consequences of influencing and hastening these changes. But humanity is not entirely to blame, despite what our collective ego’s like to believe, or what our crooked politicians like to preach in order to sway the voting populace.

No, humans are not to be blamed entirely or be deemed responsible for all of the changes that are continually happening in the world around us. At least, this is how I perceive these changes from my dabbling in Earth Science studies and my “logical” understanding of cause and effect, Law and Order, and of Chaos Theory. What was once desert is now ocean floor, forest now wetlands, plains now rain forest, etc, etc, etc. The earth lives moment by moment in cycles- cycles of time, always evolving, never ceasing. We humans cannot control this, try as we might we are not Gods, we will never be capable of harnessing Nature. The only thing we can truly harness is the knowledge of living with her in a symbiotic harmonious relationship.

So, as we, a collective humanity, spend much time debating and contemplating Global Warming and our destruction over earth’s natural resources, shouldn’t we also focus on living with earth’s changes and how to lessen the effect we have on those changes, especially the naturally occurring ones? Let us not waste precious time contemplating how to control that which is beyond our control, we need to let go of our egos! Logic also tells me that we cannot control nature; for she has her own will her own predetermined course and she will continue to run her course with or without us.

Nature is a large thread within the web of Time. Time and Nature are very much alike both play an integral role within the infinite scheme of life. Nature, like Time, will forever be a virgin to captivity, just out of our reach, well beyond our control. Nature only humbles and allows herself to be manipulated to a degree, but never is she willing to give herself over entirely. Should we push her too far, she will push us back, and the question remains, to what brink will she push us towards? Should we continue the down our current path of trying to be in constant control of her, what lesson will she teach us? What message will she send and will they be more violent than those she has already sent?

Nature has her ways, she ultimately decides which species survives and which do not, so far she has been ever kind to a failing humanity. She is in control of her being and can we as humans accept this? Can we live with this? In the grand scheme of things she has been very vigilant and accommodating with her changes and continually evolving nature. The glaciers are melting, the tides are rising, erosion patterns continue, tectonic plates are ever shifting, the inevitable is happening all around us, every day, every minute, ever second, as Time continues on it ways.The earthhas already begun her accommodations for the largest changes she has in store for herself. So as temperatures change across the earth and tides rise Africa prepares for the birth of its newest ocean.The earth has her own plans you see and there isn’t anything mere humans can do about it. The earth is a beautiful creature, repect her as such!© 2009 L.Warren

The Edge of Forver (part 1)

The edge of forever lies somewhere between everywhere, here, and there, at the heart of a fulcrum where the beginning without an end can be found. Every soul is bound here and will be forever, this is the way it always has been; from my perspective. I know this to be true and in the writing that will follow I will share some of the experiences I have encountered that have influenced me to find some degree of truth in my beliefs. While I find myself questioning religions, I do thoroughly enjoy studying them. I do also believe there is a higher power that surrounds us, there is something great just out there beyond our reach, beyond our level of understanding, is it the Divine? I do not know. It is the not knowing that allows me to believe in the possibility......and it is the belief that gives me hope, a purpose, and the focus that keeps me asking questions-searching for truth and meaning......

We Are All But Threads of a Web(Part1)

"Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect." Chief Seattle

There once was young mother who moved her family to a quaint New England town, the same town she grew up in. She always loved New England and after having lived everywhere inbetween east, west, noth, and south, she and her husband wanted a permanent place to call home, where they would be close to family and friends, especially the grand parents.
While running errands in the center of town she met a woman named Sue who had two twin daughters the same age as her daughter. They became friends instantly and their friendship would become a foundation on which life's realities, truths, and perspectives would be built; a friendship that would save a life while bringing an element of faith back to the very life saved- all because of two promises that were made between the two friends.
During the fourth year of their friendship Sue was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. The other woman spent hours by her bedside each day with a growing sense of disbelief that any God would be so cruel as to take the life of a young mother away from her family and those she loved. The woman began to question God, religion, her beliefs and in her a harsh and bitter resentment grew.
During Sue's last week of life, Sue told the woman that she was very upset with the woman's anomosities and resentments toward, God, faith, religion, and spirituality in general. She made it clear that these sentiments the woman now held were deeply hurting her. Sue looked sternly and directly in that woman's eyes and proclaimed that there was a rhyme and reason behind all events in one's life and she believed there was more to life than just the physical plane of existence. She knew she had a path to follow and a destiny laid out before her and that her cancer was just a small piece of a much larger picture. She accepted this as truth and wanted the women to accept it as well.
She asked the woman to believe her, under the condition they both make two promises-one to each other. Sue promised the woman that after she died she would show the woman a sign of other infinite possibilities, a sign that would forever allow the woman to believe in something again and find a comforting joy in the mystery of life. She told the lady that you find ulitmate meaning in life when given something to believe in and it was important for the woman to know that as truth.
The woman was skeptical but agreed and inquired about the promise she was to make to Sue. Sue took the woman's hand and told her that she simply wanted the woman to promise her that she would live her life to her fullest potential, be a wonderful mother, a loving wife, find joy in everything she was to do, and most importantly she wanted her to promise she would get a breast exam anually every year.
The woman laughed uncomfortably and stated she didn't see why that last part was necessary because there was no history of cancer of any kind in her family. Sue adamently demanded that it was neccessary and told her she was going to do it without question. Sue handed the woman a beautiful glass christmas ornament she had made and said she made one for each of ther friends during the time she spent bedridden. Her final words, "I want you to think of me and remember the promises we made each year you decorate your christmas tree and know that I love you dearly and will cherish your friendship forever, whatever forever maybe, and don't forget to look for the signs I will send you, I promise."

Sue died three days later and on the morning of that very day the other woman had come down the stairs into her family room to find her 8 year old Christmas Cactus to be with a single bloom. The woman in her heart of hearts knew that her beloved friend must have passed. The plant had never flowered once in all the previous 8 years the woman had owned it and the plant would continued to bare a single flower on each day a loved one would pass, including the family dog, the woman took this to be a sign from her friend. Coincidence? I am not so inclined to believe which brings me on to the next promise made between the two women.....

Two days after a certain Thanksgiving the woman, now much older, was decorating the Christmas tree with her family. This family had a long standing tradition of picking out a tree a and decorating it during the Thanksgivng holiday week. The woman happened upon the beautiful glass ornament Sue made and upon touching it began crying hysterically. Her daughter, who was home from college that week for the holiday, having never seen her mother cry so hard, took her own mother in her arms to comfort her, begging her to tell her what was wrong.

The woman between gasps of breathes began repeating over and over again, that she had never kept her promise she made with Sue. Her daughter, husband, and son had no idea what the woman was talking about but her husband assured her that whatever promise she had made to her friend it wasn't too late to keep it. Two weeks before Christmas the woman went to the doctors for a breast exam, where it was discovered she had breast cancer. The doctors told her she was extremely lucky she came when she did because it was an early detection and therefore her chances of recovering were excellent. The doctor inquired about what had motivated her to come in since women without family histories of cancer were less likely to come in. She reponded, "I made a promise a long time ago and I intend to keep it."

The woman had a lumpectomy along with lymph node dissection and year long radiation therapy. The woman is now nearly 9 years in remission and I couldn't be happier, for this woman is my mother and her story is true. Choose to believe or not, Perhaps it is all coincidence, perhaps not. That is the beauty of the mystery of life.

The Waiting Game & Finding Love

Our society is fast paced and goal orientated and love does suffer because of this. The pace continues to quicken as technology aids in advancing our lifestyle. Divorce rates are high and growing exponentially and our children are suffering because of this. We are far too quick with our decision making which makes us highly impulsive, especially when it comes to falling in love. The vast majority of us only knows lust and do not know how to be in love. We have been condition to believe that we “fall” in love, get married, and start a family. This conditioning along with our fast-paced goal orientated lifestyle has become a deep seeded evil in our quest to find a deeply loving and meaningful relationship with someone. Our life-style is suffocating the love out of us and has turned us into people who only know how to “do” in love and not “be” in love!

We are all not so different, as humans we share an existence that is similar. We are born into the word and spend a lifetime pursuing truth. During this pursuit we make astonishing discoveries about ourselves, others, human nature, and life. We are desperately trying to figure out the meaning of our lives. What are we suppose to be doing with the limited amount of time we have in this body to accomplish what it is that we need to accomplish? Some of us know exactly what it is that we want to accomplish, while others become the wanderers drifting along for awhile before they find their niche- some never do find it. I have come to consider myself a wanderer and see no shame in it, perhaps I am drifting the right way, perhaps not, but it is a chance I am willing to take.

Just as there is a quest to discovering life there is also a quest to discovering love. Some of us get a lucky break and find true love right off. Some of us find ourselves “impulsively” settling with what we have even though it is not what we need or truly want, but we settle anyways. Some of us never give up hope and continue through a lifetime trying to find that “one”. It is a journey and for some it is never found, not during this lifetime that is the way fate can play its hand. It is what it is. My truth in this matter is that I know I have not found what I am looking for and I am not willing to settle until I know for sure.

Sure I would like to have a family but at what cost? Do I settle with someone I am not entirely happy with just to have children? Surely not, because it would not be fair to my children and it would not be fair to my partner. I firmly believe that too many young people jump into the throws of lust and desire, get married, have kids, and then separate because it has become an impulsive choice influenced by an impulsive world. I have many friends who married in their early to mid twenties, had some children and are now divorced. In conversation with them I often learn that they felt like the “had” to get married because that is what society and “religious dogma” tells them.

If I had I gotten married in my mid twenties I know I would be in the same place many of my friends are in now. Honestly, there was a point in time where I considered marrying my first long term boyfriend because I too, thought it was what I suppose to do. I am so glad that possibility never came to fruition. Too many women and men think this is what they are suppose to do; they get married, become the “good wife” or “good husband”, and start a family. It had always been like this, it has been programmed in us, but times have changed, no longer are we living the “Leave It to Beaver” lifestyle- that lifestyle died out not long after the sitcom.

Cost of living has increased exuberantly and this now means starting a family is a huge financial undertaking, and as we all know, money and finance combine to be one of the main forces of destruction in a marriage. We have not changed our thinking and perspectives to this realization and many people continue to pursue a family lifestyle that just doesn’t exist for the vast population (unless you are made of money). Many mothers would love to have the option of being a stay at home mom, but realty dishes up a cruel taste of needing a second income to maintain a “normal” lifestyle- to be able to give your kids what they need. Husbands and wives around the world are making enormous sacrifices for their kids, sometimes at a detriment to themselves and their relationship. This creates discord, resentment, and often, chaos and destruction in a marriage.

Few men I know were ever ready to have a family back in their twenties and the ones who thought they were are now divorced facing the bitter reality that they have now found their life partner but are “stuck” with past commitments. I know that sounds horrible but I understand the resentment completely. During a recent conversation with a friend of mine told me that no matter how much he loves his children with his first wife, he still wishes he never settled and married especially when he knew she wasn’t the “one” for him. Now he has found the “one” and is happier than ever and even expecting a child with her, but still harbors a deep resentment about his first marriage and guilt over being a distant father with his first kids. I personally do not want to ever know what that feels like. We can judge someone all we want, but truth is we never know what that person is experiencing on a personal level.

I am glad that I did not get married young and I am glad I am not a parent yet. I know for certain now that I was not mature enough at that time for that decision. People are living longer healthier lives (for the most part) and some say thirty has become the new twenty, so with this perspective I know what it is that I am looking for now. I have been in my fair share of relationships to ascertain what it is that I need. I also am mature enough to understand that I have yet to know what love is. I have learned that you can love someone while not being “in love”. I know few people who have been successful “in love”. I have written before about my aunt and uncle and their love, each truly believing that they are each others’ soul mate. When you are around them you can feel the love between them. Love that is pure and innocent is something many of us have not found yet and many of us never will. Love is very hard to find and that is a certain truth that none of us should ever be blind to. Don’t settle on impulse and lust, wait and you will see, hopefully if you are a lucky one, what it is like to truly know love.

Tell Me What It Is
Come--tell me what love is.
Love--that fickle idea of man--
That eludes and escapes those who wish to define it.
Love is the rainbow at the storms end.
The final chord in the grand syphony.
The unwritten stanza that can communicate a message--
Universally.
It is the finale to the fireworks on the Fourth of July--
Another Riddle of the Sphinx,
and always--eternally--Life's greatest mystery.
Unexpected, unpredictable--and bringer of joy or--
Heartbreak.
You are the complete of the puzzle-- And the puzzle itself.
Come--tell me what love is--
and tell my heart why it tears itself from my grasp...
And mourn with me that the colors and notes have faded away--


before I could find some paper.

Circadian Rhythm

I have been incessantly working for the past 3 hours on my newest Illustration Friday piece that deals with the concept of wrapped. For those of you who do not know, "Illustration Friday is a weekly creative outlet/participatory art exhibit for illustrators and artists of all skill levels. It was designed to challenge participants creatively." Not only is it a great experience but it is one that enables you to build on skill, concepts, networking, and your building your portfolio. Think of it as a visual poetry reading.

I had been struggling with an idea for a couple of days but none of the ideas that came to me really spoke enough to inspire me to push forth and bring them into "reality", that is until my mother called. I am emotionally coming to terms with a difficulty relationship and yet she felt the need to remind me that my own biological clock is ticking and she would really like to have a grandchild before she dies. Do all mothers do this? Kevin and I have been together for a looonnng time yet marriage is a very scary concept for him, for some reason. I want to get married, settle down and have a family!

I think relationships are especially difficult for creative people. I know people don't get me.......I think way too much and analyze everything, I am odd and out of the box, disappear deep within myself, and need long moments of alone time to create my art and write. I am not going to apologize for it, I am who I am.

However by the end of the phone call I was in tears and really upset. Instead of bottling up the emotional assault of this issue, I decided to use it and turn it into a quick illustration study. So instead of drawing something all "wrapped up" or "entwined" I decided to take this real life dilemma that I have been dealing with and feeling really consumed by and "wrapped" up in and put a visual spin on it!

Enjoy..........She is the spouse of Father Time, she is the biological clock, she is Circadian Rhythm :o) and she is totally not done in my typical rendering style...and I am not sure if I am going to keep the numbers. There still is a few areas that need some work but for now I post her as she is.

Quincunx

In astrology we know a quincunx as a planetary alignment where two planets are 150 degrees from each other. The planets involved in a quincunx do not share the same quality or element and have very little in common with each other. The three words most commonly associated with the astrological Quincunx are; irritation, annoyance, and adjustment. Now, if I am correctly interpreting astrology’s definition right, then I swear I am stuck in a quincunx.

There must be some bizarre planetary alignments going on right now- that is the only possible explanation I can have for the over-abundance of irritations, annoyances, and adjustments that I currently find in my life. Of course this all stems from the fact that I am frustrated with my lack of creative adventure and spontaneity this summer. I have nearly three months to myself and my own artistic endeavors but I am finding it hard to break out and get a body of work done. That isn’t to say that I haven’t finished a handful of pieces, because I have, I just don’t have the “drive” that I normally have and have found it difficult to really dig deep down inside myself and connect with that energy. Have I lost my perspective perhaps?

As a creative person I understand that I will never fit into the category of what is deemed as average or normal. Creative people’s mind-workings can be compared to those of a bi-polar manic depressive as we are often beyond happy with artistic success, or have our hearts broken in frustration and disappointment. The creative highs we get can be dizzying, blinding, exhilarating and the lows can be deep, dark, and seemingly insurmountable. Creative careers are both rewarding and tormenting and yet true lovers of their craft continue onward.

I know that when I am having a great day and the creative juices are flowing well, I am most elated to have been given the gift of creativity. Then I get to thinking, what if I didn’t know this feeling of the creative high? What would my life be like? I wonder how many other artists, musicians, writers, poets, crafters, etc, have ever wondered this very same thought. I know some of my most joyous moments have been found among artistic successes and for that I am grateful and most appreciative.

I do struggle with those ominous dark days with grey clouds that linger so closely to my head that I struggle to put my brush to canvas. The days when I am down and just want to disappear to a place where the world cannot find me, I can be so overwhelmed with the “to dos” and the “should dos” that my tears won’t stop and the panic attack is so real that it takes my breath away. However, despite the panic attacks and the tears I still continue down my creative path and never give up. I haven’t yet, wished to be someone else who has a life that is quiet and predictable and God forbid “a bit normal”. No, I think that sort of existence is one where I would surely perish.

All of us “creative” souls are blessed with the amazing ability to be able to hear the music in everything. The music plays louder and much more melodic to us than to anyone else. We will strive to pursue a project or an artful task and we do not consider a piece finished until it sings to us…and perhaps only to us. That is the gift and the burden we share as creative spirits and artistic souls. After having written all this gobbledygook I have now come to realize that perhaps the way my life is best described is by the mathematical definition of the word quincunx. I am the single dot in the middle of four corner points which represent the four things in my life that I love most……..art, family, education, and animals.

A Literary Movement Less Observed & Barely Given a Name

“House of Dawn” by Navarro Scott Momaday, if you haven’t read it, I highly suggest you pick it up and start. I have read it three times and now after having recently read “History of the Ojibway People” written by my own relative, William Whipple Warren, for the fourth time, I have found myself in deep contemplation about many amazing works of literature by America’s indigenous that have been passed by and overlooked by the self-proclaimed literary elites. Why? Because these writers hold such a riveting truth about circumstances from the past and present that it is only necessary to keep them silenced? Is it a racial thing? Just what is the main reason there is so little emphasis placed on the literary stance of the indigenous peoples of North America?

It is not my intention to demean the eminent writers and poets who have found their respective homes among the great literary movements of our times. No, my intention is to place a fraction of blame on the supercilious scholars of the literary world, who, with their bombastic lectures on literary criticism have had a hand in establishing the popularity or lack of, of a given movement, author,or poet- they collectively hold a power that is not so unlike the media's power in today’s political arena.

Let it be known that I am not saying those literary movements, writers, or poets are not deserving of their merit, I am just merely suggesting that perhaps they wouldn’t be as “favored” if the literary critics and scholars hadn’t placed so much emphasis upon them in the first place. Any intelligent free-thinking individual is well aware of the fact that people always follow what they perceive as being popular or in style at the moment and the mavericks are always criticized and chastised for their so-called unconventional ways.

There are a great many writers and poets who slip through the cracks, whose eloquent words go barely unnoticed due to these circumstances. My main focus in this rather verbose diatribe is on American Literature and its obvious lack of a certain indigenous voice that deserves to be recognized on a grand scale. There are many notable movements within American Literature and yet I am saddened by the fact that there is relatively no emphasis in American Literature placed on the writings by America’s indigenous people, past and or present. I find this to be a humiliating ignominious dismissal of honorable writing talent, a denial of a writing talent that can play an integral albeit vital role within the realm of American Literature.

Navarro Scott Momaday is really still the only Native writer who has received distinguished merit in the literary world and he first did so with his book, “House Made of Dawn”, which won him the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction back in 1969. If you have not read this book, and consider yourself a well-read person, I say once again that you get a copy as soon as you are able to.

Despite all of Momaday’s writing success there still hasn’t been much done to bring the works of other indigenous writers to the forefront. I also see this trend within the art, music, and acting, realms as well, which again, is very unfortunate. Even Black writers, poets, actors, musicians, as a collective whole see more success than Native Americans within these creative fields. My question is why is it so hard for the Native writers, artists, muscians, actors to get noticed? I still cannot find a specific answer to this question to better help me understand this reality and if anyone out there has a clue or opinion to this, then please by all means, enlighten me.

The indigenous cultures of North America have stories of old oral traditions that are being captured by pen, brush, and instrument by a plethora of very talented indigenous writers, poets, artists, and even musicians, and yet they slip by barely noticed by the collective masses. Native American culture is steeped in oral tradition and the younger native generations are just now realizing that this oral tradition does need to be captured and contained within pages of bound books and codes of websites. It is the only way to save what should never be forgotten. There is a history deep-rooted here in this great North American continent that needs to be explored and remembered and the indigenous cultures are the only ones capable of bringing these stories to life-to share their experiences and truths. I have grown tired of seeing “non-natives” writing about Native American cultures, stories, traditions, and songs. It is a huge travesty to see writers who are not Native American writing about the "true Native experience" when they themselves are not Native. I also want to see more Native American literature being offered in English courses at the high school level and I want to see literature that is written by Native Americans themselves.

I have heard many literary scholars and critics make the accusation that Native American’s did not have a substantial English-language education until the mid to late nineties and that is the reason behind why indigenous writers are not recognized as highly within the literary world. This is a mendacious claim at best and one that is the malefactor behind the lack of notoriety indigenous writers in America are getting. I am sure it does play a partial role but I am more inclined to believe that a political role has the upper hand in this matter. Let me remind you that my relative, William Whipple Warren, wrote an amazing literary account of his time in the early 1800s. The book he wrote, “History of the Ojibway People” wasn’t published until after his death in 1885 but the book is still published today and has been used at the college level in “few” Native American studies programs.

The worth of William Warren’s book is great and I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in Native American Literature, culture, and history. I am not biased in recommending this book because he is a relative, I really truly believe it to be an honest account of the reality of the times. What I have always found astounding about his book is it opens doors to understanding the racism of that time period and the inner struggle the author had with being of “mixed-blood”. His father was white and his mother was French-Ojibway, he lived in both worlds in a time when one world was virtually devouring the other. To read his account of the changes and the occurrences that was happening around him really enlightens the reader to his difficult reality- perhaps a reality responsible for the decline of his health and cutting him down so early in life. William Whipple Warren had many plans to write more books and wanted desperately to write a book that documented and captured the culture of the Ojibway people before their “forced assimilation".

Much of what he wrote was tailored to suite the “Christian-minded” Anglo-Saxon “immigrants” on advice of his own “white” friends, who told him that Christian people would not be able to understand the spiritual beliefs or customs of the native people. In reality we all know what was meant by that sentiment, as we all know how “not-so” understanding Christians have been towards other religions and beliefs in the past-and present. Large portions of his book were indeed changed so it would be more widely accepted. This no-doubt upset him greatly because he wanted the truth to be told, as any good writer does. His experience was real and he wanted that reality to be shared in a hope that it would be understood. But that could not happen, he was ahead of his time, and I believe it was this knowledge that broke him so indescribably so.

I do know that a literary critic by the name of Kenneth Lincoln was the first to ever make an attempt to label the Native American Literary movement and he called it the Native American Renaissance in a book he wrote by that same name. However it was a name that was never utilized by the rest of the scholars of the literary world, instead they did what they did best-they criticized it. They even went so-far-as to say that the name had vexing implications and had disparaging connotations, and I am not so inclined to agree.

I personally believe that Kenneth Lincoln’s book is a seminal work that has opened doors ever so slightly into a realm of writing that deserves a name and deserves to be widely recognized as a specific literary movement. I am left pondering one essential question…if the critics and the almighty literary scholars found the name, Native American Renaissance, so demeaning, then why haven’t they come up with a better one? It has been over 20 years since Kenneth Lincoln coined a name and yet no one has tried since.

Just what is keeping the scholars and critics from acknowledging Native American writers on a grander scale? While I continue to ponder this question I will go about my time reading books by Navarro Scott Momaday, Joseph Bruchac, Douglas M. George Kanentiio, James Welch, Gerald Vizenor, Leslie Marmon Silko, Simon J. Ortiz, Nila Northsun, Louise Erdrich, Joy Harjo, Duane Niatum, Paula Gunn Allen……………..

I’ll leave you with your Cavalier Poets, your authors of Romanticism, Transcendentalism, Naturalism, Symbolism, Modernism; you can study writers of The Lost Generation, read poetry and prose from Imaginism or of Oulipo, or of any other movement if you so choose, but do not forget there are other writers out there, Native American or otherwise, who have words worthy of your attention that slip on by without notice, and it is such a shame. One thing is for sure, the written word is bound in time between leather and cardboard, so when we are all collectively ready to read beyond what we know as “great” literature, those books will be there waiting, perhaps a little dusty, but they will be there…………….and we will learn a great deal.

The Words That Set Me Free

I walked to a peaceful place where I could be alone.

I walked to the place where I could write a poem, or two, or three.

It was then I realised that there was something more than just me.

The words were at my place, untouched by time,

filling an emptiness I had felt before.

But that went away, and even more, I could picture myself above a tree,

In this secreat place, where I hover

like a bird above the words

that set me free.

Entropy

The future hides another time, another place.

Evoke it might the question of the human race.

Oh, nothing much it could have been: we may suppose

Quite savage, but with grace it passed, as all things must

And all things will--A flash of light in time and space

Creation, evolution bound attracts, repels polarity.

And everywhere is flight, the rush away from singularity.

As eons come and eons passAnd space doth trickle through the glass

The constant only change can be to seek a balance.

What matters total entropy when all that isAnd all that was a cycle must complete.

The cycle starts and ends, and starts in singularity.

Within this vast and cosmic scheme the spirit moves.

The force creates, evolves--and there is man,

That creature called the human race.Will it have time to keep its place?

Has it enough intelligence?

Or was it just--

A flash of light in time and space?

Άρείων (Areion)

Poseidon, Poseidon

You have captivated me since I was a child.

I have loved you and your many names always:

Enosichthon,
Seischthon,
Ennosigaios,
Neptune,
E-NE-SI-DA-O-NE,
PO-SE-DA-WO-NE

Brother of Zeus and Hades

I have loved your grace and respected your temper

feared your might and power

Tumultuous blue thundering waves against soft sand shore

Alas, I must confess to you, I love Areion, your son even more.

With thunder beneath his hooves, Areion made off with me heart

and from him I shall never part.

Areion, Areion

Son of the Sea,

with grace, temper, might, and power

not so unlike your father's.

I have loved you since I was a child.

The Dry Spell

The walls are tumbling in. I can’t breathe. I am upside down, inside out, I can’t find myself. Perplexed, confused, and scared, and seeing no end. Sanity slips ever so quickly from my grasp. I am losing myself, “Momma Hen, Momma Hen, the fox has taken your baby again…………………………..”

First off let me say that I have been in a slump lately and honestly the very last place I want to be right now is in my studio. I feel completely stuck and the creative juices just aren’t flowing as readily as I would like them to be. I know my blogs and recent posting have a lot of people wondering what on earth is going on with this poor artist; well a lot has been going on and I have had some trouble coping, but I am coping- however slowly that might be. I am stuck in a rut, a creative dry-spell. Something all my artist and music friends can surely relate to and understand where I am coming from!

I have, by all accounts, totally shut down and am currently riding a massive wave of depression. This is the worse amount of depression I have ever suffered and it has hit like a ton of bricks. It has occurred to me that I haven’t had a chance to “get away” for over four years and those who know me well, know that I don’t stick around in one place for very long. Sometimes I regret having bought a house in Virginia, actually if I must be blunt and honest, it isn’t just sometimes that I regret it, it is all the time.

I am not use to having “roots” anywhere other than New England, my childhood home-between land and sea. I have since 2002 liked the freedom of being able to get up and move whenever I have that urge. Perhaps this is just the Sagittarius nature of my character speaking at the moment, but none-the-less I have a great desire to go “somewhere”. I have decided that since I have nearly the next three months to myself I am going to abscond to a place where I can relax, collect my thoughts, and take a refreshing moment to pick up the shattered pieces of my life.…….New England calls and the ocean calls loudest!

I miss home terribly and I am beginning to think that Virginia is completely inescapable and that is partly due to its enormous size. I am used to being able to hop in the car and drive 45 minutes and be in another state, as is such the case when you live in the New England area. I can drive an hour from my home in CT and be in Boston, two hours from my home in CT going in another direction and I can be in Vermont skiing. Then of course an hour in yet another direction and I am in Rhode Island, here in Virginia, an hour gets me to the Grocery store. I miss my small quaint towns where everyone knows everyone and they aren’t living at the speed of light, like they do here in NOVA outside of DC.

I apologize to my endearing friends, whether I know you in reality or this cyber world. You have had a hand in helping me through some rough patches and you are all there to support my art and my creative ideas. Thanks for the phone calls, the text messages, those emails, and some wonderfully uplifting music that has been sent my way; you have all played an inspiring role in my life. Thank you all! Please know that if it wasn’t for you all I probably have greater trouble climbing out of this ominous black hole.

I did actually pick up a pencil and draw today so maybe I will find my old self soon!

Perspicacious Circumlocution

Stolid I am not, overly opposite in fact I am.......Misunderstood again, as always, where is the balance I seek? Evasive, as usual, balance eludes me-yet again. Proteus, the noble sea god king, comes to assist me in conquering and controlling my rational mind-conjuring a protean existence that so readily allows me to prevaricate from the truths of the new human reality. One that allows me to understand what it means to be an artist- what it means to be of the creative mindset. An egregiously wayward process to live one’s life some might say, but therein lays the great travesty of it all.

The artists, the writers, the poets, the musicians, have become the few remaining creative souls surviving within a lost humanity. They know all too well of the importance of being protean. The world has become a breeding ground for the pallid bipedal primate species known as Homo sapiens. A species who takes pride in being capable of abstract reasoning, language skills, introspections, problem solving, and the ability to manipulate tools

Yet humans have collectively become blind to the fact they have manipulated themselves-manipulated each other, into a vacuous state of being. Through mendacious political systems and supercilious religious organizations that both use persuasion to promote their malevolent ideals that repress and control the human experience. They squeeze the very essence of free thought and expression out of the collective masses. Life has become nothing more than an ephemeral moment for the feeble minded many.

It is the sagacious creative souls- the artists, the writers, the poets, the musicians who have the prescient and mercurial ability to understand what it is they must create and compose to elicit a much needed living response in a dying humanity. Creativity and imagination will resuscitate humanity’s heart and keep it beating and in tune with life's wondrous rhythm.

Having taken the time to say all of this, I wonder still if I am so misunderstood? I believe I am finding my footing, my balance, my firm grasp on this world during this life, finding what it is I need to succeed with the talent that was graciously given to me by the divine. I am among the lucky ones, don't you see? Not so mundane are those who hold the keys to the power of creative influence.

It was Henry Miller who said, “The future we create, whereas the past can only be recreated. As for the constantly vanishing point called the present, that fulcrum which simultaneously melts into past and future, only those who deal with the eternal know and live in it, acknowledging it to be all. At the outbreak of the war, art was by universal agreement at perilously low ebb. So was life, one might say. The artist, always in advance of his time, could register nothing but death and destruction. Art...that very creative quality which unfortunately seems vital only in times of destruction.”

Einstein's quotes are, as always, most inspirational to me:

"Imagination is more important than knowledge."

"A man's ethical behavior should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death."

"The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear of death, and blind faith, but through striving after rational knowledge."

"A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty."

La Corta Salida

Usted vino a mí con una cálida sonrisa y un futuro brillante

Y he celebrado con un solo corazón

Tomé la libertad de usted, y cambió su forma de vida

Pero usted todavía me amaba.

Que construyó su vida alrededor de mí y traté de comprender mis caminos

Usted aprendió mis sentimientos y la forma de hacer el mejor de ellos

Usted sabía cuándo celebrar conmigo y cuando que me deje ir

Cómo me hacen sonreír y cuando quiero llorar

Usted me amó y me encantó de nuevo

Te digo esto porque me importa, porque Te quiero, cariño.

Ha llegado el momento de que me vaya, por razones que se desconocen

Dejando que es difícil de hacer, pero mis sentimientos se debe demostrar

Sólo sé que estás allí

Y sólo puedo encontrar lejos de dejar mis sentimientos y mis sentidos parte

Le pido de nuevo, por favor trate de comprender

Mis sentimientos y mi manera

Los problemas no se ustedes, pero los de mi propio

Y como un niño que se escapó.

Update

My Blogs are currently down right now. I will be reposting them shortly! Sorry for the inconvenience.