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?