A message I received early this morning from Starcross Community in Sonoma County, California

Dear Friends of Starcross, We think there is something our friends should know. It was a hot evening, Wednesday, August 14, 2019, when a peaceful group of almost 500 people with NEVER AGAIN ACTION gathered to demonstrate outside of the Wyatt Detention Facility in Central Falls, Rhode Island. Since March 2019 local activists have been calling for the closure of this private, quasi-public prison that has been acting as an ICE detention center for hundreds of immigrants. On Wednesday, just before 10 pm a truck, unprovoked, swerved forcefully toward a line of protesters who were seated peacefully blocking the entrance to the facility parking lot, singing songs and talking. The driver was identified as a captain of the corrections employees of the Wyatt Detention Center. He drove into the group—sending people screaming and scattering for their safety.  The truck jolted forward again, hitting some folks, while other protesters gathered to surround the vehicle. Some moments later, the driver of the truck was joined by other correctional employees who came from inside the facility, to confront and forcefully move out of the way those who were a part of the nonviolent civil disobedience. In a mere matter of minutes, people were suddenly and unexpectedly pepper sprayed by the guards as protesters scrambled to flee the immediate area. Many were affected as people fell to the ground in pain. Several individuals needed to be taken to the hospital—one for an injured leg and all for extreme effects from the debilitating pepper spray.  All were later released. This news has been carried internationally by the BBC along with national news outlets, such as NPR. Brother Toby says he is sickened by how close the event in Rhode Island came to the 2017 white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, where a participant drove a car over and back over nonviolent counter-demonstrator, Heather Heyer, murdering her. Among these peaceful protesters were two of Starcross’ long-time friends and advisers, Cathy and Lee Clasper-Torch. Lee is an ordained minister and a retired professor of Religion and Philosophy, who works closely with civil disobedience and nonviolent action groups in Rhode Island. Cathy is a professional musician, and daughter of Paul Clasper, a friend who was instrumental in the establishment of Starcross half a century ago. He was someone who was greatly influenced by his many years living in Asia, building bridges between Western and Eastern spirituality, a path Cathy and Lee have followed. Their daughter Chloe, has recently begun working here with us at Starcross. In the days following this news, Lee and Cathy wrote to us, sharing their experiences. Lee, who was hit by the pepper spray in an attempt to protect others explained,  “We were there in large part on behalf of the children.” Cathy added, “We'll all be there again.  I feel so strongly that our presence, now as Elders and keepers of so many memories/so much cultural knowledge and experience, have an important role to play simply in presence and witness.” Just before the demonstration on Wednesday, August 14th, Aaron Regunberg a young organizer of the movement, and former Representative for the State of Rhode Island, wrote about the upcoming protest at the Wyatt Detention Facility, “Once, a young girl wrote in her diary, “Terrible things are happening outside. At any time of night and day, poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes… Families are torn apart: men, women and children are separated. Children come home from school to find their parents have disappeared.” It sounds like this could have been written in 2019. But it wasn't - it was written by Anne Frank in 1943. That's why we are coming together on Wednesday to repeat that Never Again means Never Again for everyone.” In next Friday’s reflection Brother Toby is asking, “Has America reached the point where it doesn’t really care about its kids anymore?” It’s clear that while there are many in power who do not, there are a multitude among us, that care very, very much. This is a time when we must speak up, speak out, and in solidarity with protesters as those did last Wednesday evening in Rhode Island, and with many people around our nation, who assert,  “Never Again means Never Again for everyone.”

We are in a crisis and it doesn’t seem as if its getting better. We may all feel ourselves, where our friends Cathy and Lee were on the 14th. It’s important to remember that we are not alone. As St. Francis would have closed, “Pax et bonum” -- Peace and all good things to you.”

Then this appeared in my email box: https://soundcloud.com/brainpicker/wendell-berry-questionnaire-amanda-palmer

Linda Rees: Tapestry Weaver

One of the first people I met when I moved to Bellingham, Washington, was Linda Rees.  She and her family lived several houses down the street from where I first lived in Bellingham.  Not knowing that she was my neighbor, I bought one of her early tapestries.  You can see that tapestry and read the story connected with it here.

Since last spring a small group of her friends in conjunction with the Whatcom Weaver's Guild have been working together so that Linda's tapestries can be featured by the Whatcom Weaver's Guild in the Wool Room at the Northwest Washington Fair and then at the Jansen Art Center, both in Lynden, Washington.  These photos were taken by one of Linda's friends who took her to the fair to see her tapestries exhibited.  In the photograph with Linda is Carol Berry, the current president of the Whatcom Weaver's Guild, who did a great deal of footwork to make it possible for Linda's work to be shown at the fair and the Jansen Art Center.

Linda began weaving tapestries 50 years ago, the year her daughter was born.  For most of those 50 years, she woke up early in order to weave, including the years when she had full-time employment.  In the past few years, she found it more and more difficult to figure out how to warp the loom herself, and friends who weave stepped in to do that for her.  In the past year, it became clear that her cognitive difficulties had increased to the point that she needed to move to an assisted living residence, and this past spring she moved to a memory care residence.  Although she finds most activities of daily living to be challenging, her passion for tapestry weaving and her enjoyment of family and friends is intact.  Her sense of humor is delightful.  She laughs heartily.  She has always been aware of and upset by the troubles in the world and until the past few years always held a volunteer position in whichever community she was living in, wanting to do what she could to make a positive difference in the world.

Her tapestries will be featured at and for sale through the Jansen Art Center, beginning in September, if anyone is interested in purchasing one of her beautiful tapestries. 

"These are hard won lessons spoken by people who have been there and are not crushed."

(Because I didn't have time to sit down and listen in one sitting, I listened over several days.)

Honoring James Okubo from WWU Video on Vimeo.

Revisited

(Just in case anyone didn't listen to this on Sabine's blog)

"... so we can change the world ..."

The volunteers who organized the Farmworkers March for Dignity arrived at the designated meeting placed before 4 a.m.  With sunrise approaching at 5:47, the marchers gathered near the U.S. Customs and Border Protection building in Ferndale, WA, for a brief ceremony and mística*. 

There was a reading of the United Farm Workers Prayer:

Show me the suffering of the most miserable, so I may know my people’s plight.
Free me to pray for others, for you are present in every person.
Help me to take responsibility for my own life, so that I can be free at last.
Grant me courage to serve others, for in service there is true life.
Give me honesty and patience, so that I can work with other workers.
Bring forth song and celebration, so that the Spirit will be alive among us.
Let the Spirit flourish and grow, so that we will never tire of the struggle.
Let us remember those who have died for justice, for they have given us life.
Help us love even those who hate us, so we can change the world.
Amen.

Following that, a young woman carried what I would call a smudge pot within and throughout the circle of people, after which one person sang and then everyone joined in the singing of this song:

We were instructed to form a single line so that we could walk safely on the country roads which have very little shoulder.  In the small crowd of all ages which then moved into single line, there was at least one toddler, carried by his mother.  At 1.6 miles was the first rest stop, which had been set up outside at the side of the two-lane country road.  There was a table with breakfast option of a chorizo/egg burrito or a vegan burrito), with donations accepted.  Extraordinary volunteer effort goes into organizing a march of this kind.  There were medics and a portable restroom which moved from rest stop to rest stop.  

At the first rest stop, a tiny boy walked tentatively, full of curiosity, as his mother watched closely over him and the adults stood eating their burritos and talking quietly in the early morning light of rural Whatcom County.

*a ceremony used by movements in Latin America to ground and express their work through spiritual, artistic, and cultural traditions.

"We believe that another world is possible ..."

From Community to Community:

"Join farmworker leaders from Community to Community (C2C) and Familias Unidas por la Justicia (FUJ) in an historic march in rural Whatcom County. The march starts with a sunrise ceremony and mística at Customs and Border Patrol facility in Ferndale, and will proceed past several worksites where H2A workers have been contracted. Then march south on Meridian to Bakerview Rd in Bellingham.


This will be a day long reflection on a day in the life of a farmworker; from the time they start work until their day ends. Walk with us on country roads past acres of raspberry and blueberry fields where the fresh berries that are stocked on your grocery shelves are harvested. See the key component of the local agricultural economy, view corporate and NON-organic mono-agriculture fields and reflect on climate change, a contracted captive labor force, our local food system, community building and labor issues in Whatcom County from a farmworker perspective. We will end around 3pm with our vision of a healthy food system, fair and good for workers and eaters; at C2C's Jardín de Agroecología on Bakerview with a vigil, food and celebration, speakers, and music."

"... Made up my mind and I won't turn around ..." (Mavis Staples in Dublin on June 23, 2019)

A view of Lake Whatcom from Lake Whatcom Boulevard at around 8:00 a.m. on August 2, 2019.

Eye shield after cataract surgery on July 30, 2019.  The eye shield was removed at the ophthalmologist's office on the day after surgery, but I have to put it back on at night for a week after the surgery as well as put drops in my eyes daily for a month.


















                                                                 
Wildflower seed mix blooming on my porch.

My father's Norwegian / English / German mother and my mother's German / English / Irish mother.

Oboe turns 14 years old in August.

It's good to be able to read your blogs again now that the cataracts in my right eye have been removed.  Thank you for visiting my blog and for your kind thoughts while I was away.

Hope to be blogging again soon

Due to a debilitating cold that began on July 4 and a lower back strain at the same time and limited ability to read and write due to a cataract in my right eye and an inadequate reading prescription  for my left eye, it's been several weeks since I posted here or commented at anyone's blog.  I haven't been able to keep up with my blog reading.  My cataract surgery has finally been scheduled for next Tuesday.  I had to cancel it a first time in February, again in May, and then in early July until the cold had run its course.  It will be a relief to be able to see clearly again and rejoin our community of bloggers.

Sending love to all in the meantime. 

Reading An Extraordinary Book On Interdependence Day 2019

Page 327

"... Even a wounded world is feeding us.  Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy.  I choose joy over despair.  Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift ..."

Page 377

"... I throw myself on the ground, pounding my firsts and grieving the assault on my medicine woods.  I don't know how to defeat the monster.  I have no arsenal of weapons, no legions of fighters like those who followed Nanabozho into battle.  I am not a warrior.  I was raised by Strawberries, who even now are budding at my feet.  Amid the Violets.  And Yarrow.  And Asters and Goldenrod that are just emerging, and the blades of Sweetgrass shining in the sun.  In that moment, I know that I am not alone.  I lie in the meadow surrounded by the legions who do stand with me.  I may not know what to do, but they do, giving of their medicine gifts as they always do, to sustain the world.  We are not powerless against the Windigo, they say.  Remember that we already have everything we need.  And so -- we conspire ..."

A reading from Braiding Sweetgrass:

Mandala #43: Hansa (Swan) for Kevin

Mandala #43's ground is a letter that my artist and musician friend, Kevin, signed on June 27, 1989, when he was still able to use a typewriter.  He had been diagnosed with ALS a few years earlier and wanted his letter to be sent to his friends and loved ones after his death.  As the ALS progressed, his speech could be understood only by the one closest to him.  He died on June 25, 1991.  It was only after my friend, Deven (Kevin's wife) died unexpectedly this last February that I realized Kevin's major role in leading me to do a series of mandalas in recent years.  His final paintings were monumental mandalas.  Kevin and Deven were unwavering in their enthusiasm for my art work during a time when I felt inadequate and uncertain and lost in so many ways.

My goal once again this year is to complete 12 mandalas.  My first mandala was for Deven.  Now it is July, and my second mandala is for Kevin. 

Meditation on Mother Earth:



The Cart The strap that holds the cart in rein Has been let loose by wearing thin By wearing thin, by biting through The shift in power leans to you And the cart is on a wheel I've wept with joy for the things I've done And I've wept as hard for what I left undone For what I left undone For what I couldn't deem mine For what I thought was yours And so I drew the line And the cart is on a wheel And the wheel is on a hill I heard someone fall I saw another one flail I saw an arm dig deep Where there was no rail Well there is no rail And there's no 'because' Though the body be strong The Spirit is law And the cart is on a wheel And the wheel is on a hill And the hill is shifting sand And inside these laws we stand. If we are lives and souls to keep If we are Love, I hope we do not sleep I hope we do not sleep I hope we stay our ground Hold fast to the Mother as she turns us 'round. 'Cause the cart is on a wheel And the wheel is on a hill And the hill is shifting sand And inside these laws we stand. Hold fast to the Mother...hold fast.

(Song and lyrics by Ferron)

"These Are The Words" / Patti Smith song from 2018 written at the request of Wim Wenders

Awake everyone, the dawn has come
Life is streaming from the sun
A garden blessed, the bird that sings
Nature gives us everything

Awake everyone, the time has come
To mend, to tend, our common home
To give our thanks, sow our seeds
Extend the hand to those in need

When the soul yearns for love
It comes flowing from above
Mercy, hope, humility
These are the words to live by every day

Walls will crumble, we arise
To work as one, abide, provide
Mercy, hope, humility
These are the words we whisper in our sleep

When in doubt the nights are long
Wear the smile, wear the sun
To comfort us when alone
Holding your heart, love will come

Walls will crumble as we abide
Restore the house, we shall provide
Love, compassion, unity
These are the words to live by every day

Awake everyone, the time has come
Life is streaming from the sun
Mercy, hope, humanity
These are the words
These are the words
These are the words

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qsTDcF7zKdY

Jingle Dress Dance / All of us who live in the Americas are living in Indian Country / Whatcom means "noisy water"

The Google doodle today celebrates the Jingle Dress Dance.  On my way home this morning, traffic was stopped for Whatcom County road repairs.  I took this photo:

Watch the Jingle Dress Dance:



Learn about the Jingle Dress tradition:

Tall Tales / Stories That Could Be True / "... the circus is in town ...) / All the light

We phantoms are assembled at the end of the Rolling Thunder tour.

We started out trying to recover America.

We discovered a certain amount of truth about ourselves.

Old friends who thought their loves had been lost were able to get together and, uh, face each other eye to eye and sing over an electrical microphone to please the desires of myriad young yearners who had been seeking some kind of union and community and saw therein an image of that community.

…

You who saw it all or saw flashes or fragments, take from us some example, try and get yourselves together, clean up your act, find your community, pick up on some kind of redemption of your own consciousness, become more mindful of your own friends, your own work, your own proper meditation, your own proper art, your own beauty. Go out and make it for your own eternity.

(am's note: Allen Ginsberg is shown speaking these words at the end of the film.  He then bows in the Buddhist manner)

Click to read this:

Dylan is confronting us with the difference between the stated idea of America and the present reality of it, in the process asking why, after 200 years, we still haven’t gotten our shit together. The question stands.

(am's note:  Now, in 2019, it's 243 years since 1776. My income doesn't allow for me to subscribe to Netflix.  I am grateful to a friend who made it possible for me to watch "Rolling Thunder Revue:  A Bob Dylan Story")

A Ritual to Read to Each Other

BY William E. Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am

and I don't know the kind of person you are

a pattern that others made may prevail in the world

and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,

a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break

sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood

storming out to play through the broken dike.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,

but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,

I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty

to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,

a remote important region in all who talk:

though we could fool each other, we should consider—

lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,

or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;

the signals we give — yes or no, or maybe —

should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

A view of our beautiful earth and our beautiful sky from my porch, and then there is:

"All The Light We Cannot See." 

Heartening

Celida Moran from DDCSP@UW Conservation Scholars on Vimeo.

Inspired by 37 Paddington and Ellamae Simmons

Wide-eyed 
And listening,
I walk.
Intent.
Looking at everything.
Rarely understanding anything.

Hey world:
You are a puzzle.
With no piece in place.
Every day I bring my own puzzle piece
With me
As I walk
As I wait

As I work with friends on a project that will culminate in two exhibits of selected tapestries from one of our friends who wove for 50 years before losing her ability to weave due to cognitive difficulties, the time I usually have for blogging is limited.  Thank you to everyone who responded to my post connected to this year's Memorial Day.  I felt so alone in the year the man I loved served as a helicopter mechanic in Vietnam and felt alone for nearly 20 years after the war ended.  I spent as much time as I could at the ocean -- one place where I did not feel alone.  This year, in large part because of your comments, I know fully that I am not alone, no matter where I am.  You are never far from my thoughts.  I am grateful to belong to this far-flung community of kindred spirits.

A friend who is staying in Laguna Beach, California, with her husband this week emailed me this ocean scene.  It may take several clicks before the video appears:

P.S.  Rosemarie -- Our public library secured a copy of Overcome for me.  I am just a few chapters into the book. The long and eventful life of Ellamae Simmons is an inspiration.  Thank you for making it possible for her story to be told.

Almost 50 years ago

Deven's sister found this photo in one of Deven's old photo albums and emailed it to me.  My R took this photo of me when we were on the island of Oahu during the week of the 4th of July 1970.  I flew to Oahu from San Francisco.  He flew to Oahu from the war in Vietnam.  It was a bittersweet week.  My overflowing happiness at being with him in that moment was innocent of what he had already been through in Vietnam and of what was to unfold for both of us (all of us) in the years to come.



From "The Hours"

And...and I remember  thinking to myself:



"So this is the beginning  of happiness..."



"This is where it starts!"





"And, of course,  there'll always be more."



Never occurred to me



it wasn't the beginning,



It was happiness.



It was the moment...

Just Because

"This Land Is Your Land" sung by Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings

With gratitude to our friend at 37 Paddington who recommended the Netflix documentary, "Knock Down The House."  A friend of mine who subscribes to Netflix had already watched it and was more than happy to watch it a second time with me this morning.  Both of us were moved to tears and gratitude for this documentary.  The above version of "This Land Is Your Land" is sung during the credits.

Here's another version of "This Land Is Your Land," by Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings:

Mandala #42: For Deven (Affirmative!)

"... Those crazy crows always making a commotion ..." (from "This Place," by Joni Mitchell)

Back in 1967, as we became friends while attending University of California at Irvine, Deven introduced me to the music of Joni Mitchell.  "This Place," released in 2007, is a good accompaniment to the mandala for Deven.



Deven and her beloved Kevin (who also created mandalas) making music in the 1980s, and that's their dog, Star:

A rediscovered source of inspiration / Mandalas completed since August 2018

The husband of my friend who died in February died of ALS in 1991.  He was an artist who created large mandalas at the end of his life.  While looking through my photos of my friend, I found newspaper photos of him, along with this mandala:

With her in mind, I started a mandala soon after my friend died but have not found time or energy to work on it since then.  Any day now, I hope to sit down at my work table and see how Mandala #42 unfolds.

I am grateful to my friend's sister who called me shortly after my friend died.  Being able to communicate by email with her during our time of confusion and grief and loss and celebration of my friend's life has meant the world to me.

Viola da Gamba / The mystery bird is a male bushtit / "Mountain!" / Night sky

My dear friend who died in late February was musically gifted.  As a small child, she learned to play the accordion. She taught herself to play the gamba in the early part of this century.  Music sustained her.

Here is a note I received yesterday from an Audubon Society member who identifies birds:

That is a BUSHTIT, male.  The female has a pale eye, the male's eye is dark as in your photo.

My sister, in Santa Maria, had a pair of nesting Bushtits in her backyard. They kept pecking at their reflections in her windows: a territorial behavior.

In non-breeding season you will see them, in flocks of 20 or more, moving quickly thru bushes and willows, foraging as they go.  I also live in Cambria and have had flocks coming to my suet feeder, almost covering both sides!

Here is a photo of my friend in 1993 on one of her many walks in search of birds to photograph:

Below is a photo of her as a small child, growing up in Southern California.  Notice the duckling standing next to her in the first photo.  Her story that went with these photos is that as she was busy drawing, one of her parents asked her what she was drawing.

She pointed emphatically in the direction of a mountain and said, "Mountain!"

My friend struggled with depression throughout her life.  In the last few years, she diagnosed herself as having Asperger's and felt some relief experiencing herself in that light.  That explained many of the difficulties that had plagued her throughout her life. 

Beginning in the 1990s, she suffered from arthritis.  She seemed relatively healthy when I visited in 2008, although she was noticeably underweight and admitted to eating very little due to digestive upsets.  She had not been to a doctor in the Western tradition of medicine in years, although she occasionally sought help from alternative sources, including the use of medical marijuana.  In the last month of her life when with extreme reluctance she turned to Western medicine for help, the doctors and nurses were baffled to find that there were absolutely no medical records that could be found for her. 

In the last years of her life, her passions were for astronomy and caring for her beloved disabled pigeons as she had been doing since the early 1990s.  She sent me an article written by a man with Asperger's who found solace in looking deep into the night sky.  My friend studied star charts and searched for obscure stars and delighted in finding them.  As has been the case for many years, whenever I look into the night sky, I think of her. 

This morning I woke up at 3 a.m. so that I could experience the darkness before the dawn and then the gradually building chorus of birds and frogs.  In the days before and after the Summer Solstice, I feel uneasy here in what is the northernmost part of the U.S. except for Alaska.  I am grateful that my father's ancestors left Norway in the 1800s, as I would have had a harder time living with months of daylight than living with months of darkness.  The long hours of daylight at this latitude begin to feel exhausting and oppressive to me.  I need the respite of darkness and starlight and moonlight.  This year especially.

My friend got to know and appreciate those of you who have been visiting my blog since 2007 and enjoyed reading your comments and occasionally visited your blogs.  Although she never commented on my blog, she visited here intermittently.  She did not particularly like using computers.  I'm not sure if she had visited my blog anytime recently.

Calling all birders (this is part of the story I will be telling mostly in pictures)

A dear friend I have known for 52 years died unexpectedly in late February in Cambria, California.  While accomplishing the major task of settling her estate, her sister and brother-in-law have been staying at the lovely dream house she had bought not far from where she had owned a home in Cambria in recent years.  She was all ready to move in when her death came.  Yesterday a bird began flying at two windows, seemingly trying to get in the house.  Her sister sent me these three videos.  Do any of you have any idea what kind of bird this is?  I am wondering if it is a type of flycatcher.

Three days after my mother died in 1994, a Black Phoebe appeared in a similar manner at my parents' house in Gualala, California.

Before and since then I have heard story after story of a bird appearing after the death of a loved one.  When the husband of my friend of 52 years was dying of ALS in 1989, he told her that he would appear to her as a Baltimore oriole after his death.  A pair of Baltimore orioles appeared in her yard after his death and built a nest and soon there were fledglings.

Here I am, finding that I do have something to write.  I am still gathering photos to celebrate the life of my friend whose death shook me to the core and whose friendship I have treasured since we met in college in 1967.

Here is the view of the backyard of her dream house:

She loved the music of Laura Nyro and Nina Simone:

Update:  Here is a screen shot of a just-received video of the mystery bird:

Richie Havens and George Harrison with more "Ahí viene el sol"

That's Oboe and K-9 in the past week.  It's part of a long story that I don't know how to write about yet.  Maybe that story will be told in pictures.  I can say that K-9 arrived in a large box last week thanks to the sister of one of my oldest friends.